I'm trying out something different for my birthday this year! I'm throwing a big birthday celebration. As someone who doesn't usually celebrate, I wanted to go all out this summer.
We've got a huge pool, hot tub, a potluck and barbecue, and plenty of drinks to keep the party flowing. Whether you're down for some playful lawn sports or turning it up at the dance floor with the DJ, there's something here for everyone.
The only request? Bring your own self! However you want, as whoever you want.
Looking forward to seeing how y'all show up and celebrate! 😉 As for me, I'll be enjoying the day with our very gracious host of the party, who's opened up his mansion so all of us could celebrate.
Don't feel shy about showing him some gratitude when we greet you at the door. A little grope here and there with some muscle worship sounds like the perfect birthday gift...
feel free to reblog + add your own stories/images! can't wait to see what y'all cook up ^^
“Humh, not too bad after all,”
Living life for the past 9 months inside a huge bodybuilder, any change would felt less rewarding since you would lose the muscle you’ve been proud of and felt like it was your own. But Kurt wakes up his another day of body hopping adventure in the body of this hunky college jock that seems like having a good time previous night. The randomness of the body hop make it more exciting since he cannot control when will he move from one body to another and which body he will ended up in.
A little bit drowsy from the booze, he checked himself out a little bit, approving the toned and youthful body he now acquired and then as he tried to stand up, he inhaled and exhaled the fresh air of this mountain-side house, letting the memory of the guy slipped through
“This is Jordan’s house……and my name is….Lee,”
He scanned the messy living room, some bodies still flopped on the floor and the couch, snoring and breathing quietly as most of the partygoers still in the middle of their sleep, and then he found Lee’s shirt from last night. He grabbed it, sniff it a little bit just like Lee always did and decided to leave the house, he gotta some ‘personal business’ to be taken care off.
Four friends debate the latest gay dating app to hit the market. Four friends inevitably become walking advertisements for the very same app. Remember, What’s Good for the Gandr is Good for You!
Here's one for all you droney himbo fans! Average gay friend group into four Adonises literally molded to be the perfect men for Gandr’s supernaturally expanding user base. Hope you enjoy! -Occam
(L to R) Sven - Blaine - Clint - Guy
“It’s called Gandr! I’ve heard nothing but good things! Besides, I’ve been obsessed with the founder since he guest judged on Drag Race!” Clint held out his phone showing an ad for the newest dating app to hit the mobile store. “And it’s not even just for dating! It’s for the lifestyle!”
His friends are nonplussed. Swirling a drink in his hands, Blaine rolls his eyes. “Have you heard anything about it that wasn’t from an ad? I mean- Girl. Obviously it’s not made with guys like us in mind? Like, fuck look at those guy, they wouldn’t seven give Sven a second look unless it was to laugh at him!”
Clad in his usual deep v-neck and squinting at the screen, Sven shrugs in agreement before speaking up himself. “Dunno about this one Clint, something about it feels off? But you know me, I’m not really about apps and shit.”
Huddled around the phone in their favorite haunt, a lowkey gay bar-cum-brunch spot, the group continues bickering about their interest in reality star Chad Gleeson’s latest venture. Taking little part in the chatter, while his cohort debates whether or not this is a cash grab or a genuine attempt to build community online, Guy is simply staring blankly at the disembodied oiled up torsos still scrolling past on Clint’s phone.
Quick to agree with Blaine’s appraisal that the four of them would certainly be less than popular on the app if this is the clientele, Guy certainly sees the benefit in downloading it for a constant stream of eye candy if nothing else. He’s halfway to drooling at dancing bodies when Clint turns the screen off, the debate apparently having come to a head without his input.
Blaine’s unsure if he’s arguing against the app for Clint’s own good or if he’s just jealous that his friend has the confidence to throw his hat into a ring of men who live in a different bracket of existence. Either way, he swears his friend is going to regret trying to sign up. “Look babe, I just don’t want you to be hurt or embarrassed if they don’t take your application to ‘join the Gandr’ or whatever the fuck their little tagline is.”
For the first time hearing anything of substance about this app, Guy shakes out of his horny stupor. “Ohh, so you need to be approved or something?”
Blaine and Clint respond at once, the former squinting in irritation while the latter nods peaceably.
“Girl have you just been mindlessly ogling at those probably ai-generated PNGs??”
“And agree to their terms and conditions, but you need to do that before literally going into, like, a Claire’s these days.”
Sven nods along sagely while nursing his second drink and the group devolve into their more standard shenanigans. Discussing board games, reality tv, and the ongoing petty grievances from their everyday jobs, no one watches as Clint taps away at his screen applying to make a profile on Gandr.
When at last brunch ends and they go their separate ways, none are the wiser as Clint’s rushed application launches a series of events that are to land all of them slots on that app he’s so eager to join. The first of which goes to who else but himself. By the time he arrives home there is an invitation sitting in his inbox.
Clint Darwin thank you for your interest in Gandr! We can’t wait to like, share, and spread your profile! To finally join your fellow gay hunks in this online paradise there are only two final easy steps!
Ecstatic to be accepted and welcomed into an exclusive community alongside men so hot they boggle his mind, Clint agrees to the terms without giving them a second thought. Sure they can do whatever they want with his biometric data and obviously he’s more than happy to recommend three of his friends to join!
Typing each of his variably disinterested friend’s contact information into Gandr, Clint impatiently clicks more than a few boxes signing off on whatever the app asks of him as he rushes to finalize a profile. When he finally reaches that fabled grid where he can add the five or six expertly curated pictures of himself, he sits up straight and grins before a large error sign fills the screen.
We’re so excited to welcome you into the Gandr! Last thing’s last- Our expert team needs to make a few subtle changes so you can fit our desired user base. The better you fit in the more you can show everyone else what they’re missing out on! Remember: What’s good for the Gandr is good for you!
And so the second shoe falls. Self-confidence shot, Clint placidly assumes this is them calling him an uggo. It seems Blaine was right all along and the app is just going to take his application fee and leave him high and dry. Clint reassures himself that at least his friend won’t try to apply so Blaine won’t even know to rub this in his face.
Reading the message again, his eyes latch onto the final motto: What’s good for the Gandr… Clint feels the tagline sink slightly more in to his wounded ego. What’s good for the Gandr. Wondering what ‘a few subtle changes’ even means or how the stupid app even knows what he looks like. Seconds away from closing the app, he believed in for good, his eyes shoot to a swirling loading symbol and half a second later, the screen flashes red.
Unblinkingly staring into the swirling symbol as a thin line scans his face from chin to thinning hairline, the doubt he had of Gandr only seconds ago is forcefully yanked from his mind. How could he ever doubt the app! It wants what’s best for him and he it. When at last his vision recovers from the blinding scarlet light, he sees a small little animation of Gandr’s founder giving him a thumbs up.
Smiling at the chibi man, Clint doesn’t even read the short message explaining the process he is about to undergo to more align with Gandr’s mission. Instead he sees the screen refresh to a profile already fully made and filled with pictures of an almost impossibly buff young man. Perhaps a decade younger than the pushing late 30’s Clint, the man prepares to scroll away and find someone more fitting for his lifestyle before he realizes his name is attached to the profile.
Clint Darwin
Cooper D.
Yeah. Yeah that’s his name. But, that’s not a picture of him, is it?
Slightly woozy as a few of Gandr’s catchier mantras begin to trickle into his mind, Cli Cooper tries to shake off the stupor and nearly falls over. Leaning onto his kitchen counter, the delirious man struggles to pull himself onto a kitchen stool.
“Man… When did it get so, uhh, hot in here?” Reaching to fan his shirt, Coop suddenly realizes how heavy his arms are as even the slightest movement feels like he’s lifting weights heavier than he can conceive. Every twitch is a workout as he tries to wipe sweat from his forehead before it can run down into his stubble. Furrowing his brows, unaware as they begin to bleach and lighten, Cooper’s confused to find his facial hair thinning. Would’ve sworn he had a full beard?
Looking to a mirror he stationed in the corner of his studio for fit checks, Cooper watches as the last of his scraggly beard is sucked into his jawline as his skin tightens and shifts rosier. Lips plumping as his surly brown eyes speckle green like seafoam, Coop can’t help but smile as his dark brown hair starts to bleach into the sunday blonde of a man who lives at the beach.
“God I look good~”
His smile continues to widen as his mind asserts ‘of course I do! Everyone on Gandr is a stud.’ And then he begins to grow. Still clad in the cardigan he went to the bar in, the stitches soon strain as his arms lengthen before beginning to bulk. Bicpes the same size as his needly forearms balloon into meaty weapons earned from countless sessions at the gym.
Seams tear at the first sign of Cooper’s bloating body, buttons begin to fly off his cardigan as his upper body expands into that of a man whose sole concern is looking hot. Feeling the discomfort of fabric holding him back he attempts to wield his bulging arms to remove what is now more scraps of fabric than clothing. Even beginning this movement tears the rest of his shirt to ribbons.
Freed to the air in spite of his pathetic attempts, two massive pecs burst onto his chest as rows of perfect abs pound onto his torso below them. Back widening as his waist tapers into a figure that will always cause needy men to double take, Cooper rubs his sweaty abs and chest as his previously scratchy hair softens into little more than a few blonde curls that may as well leave him hairless.
His hands crack wider as they follow his changes down. Suddenly able for his much larger feet to rest on the floor while sitting on the high stool, his longer legs bloat into heavy thighs as the package in between them throbs into a rod that a jock top like him demands. More rips tear into his skintight pants, leaving a handful of alluring holes for his tasty thighs to catch eyes.
All the while, in between hungrily watching and feeling the power and beauty amassing in his new body, Cooper’s mind has been pushing Gandr’s mission and ideals more to the forefront. Hobbies and work that once belonged to a bygone man are simply washed away so that Cooper may throw himself into recruiting more men to join him on the platform.
After all, who wouldn’t want to be here with a man like him.
Posing in the mirror, what was once just a subconscious desire to get more men on Gandr becomes his driving purpose. Even as Cooper feels his cock throb while flexing his new massive bicep, he knows he would feel even better if he had his gang with him. He needs to usher them into what is going to be the best place for gay men on the internet. In the world.
● ●
While Sven and Blaine may be trickier marks, Guy is an incredibly easy sell. Having received the preliminary invite from Clint’s invitation, Guy was already scrolling through the promo material himself, eyes thirstily taking in every shirtless man thrown his way. Though, even he was hesitant to make a profile as he’s not overeager to beef up his left-swiped statline.
No, he’s happy to just be a lech from the outside. At least that's what he tells himself. Each new sexy hunk chips away more at his resolve. It wouldn't be so bad would it? To be a Gandr Man. But he- He doesn’t really want to be on a dating app. Gandr’s not a dating app. It’s for everything. It is everything. It’s just a place for men like him.
“Oh shit.” Shaking free from his stupor, unwilling to acknowledge the strange almost-ads playing in his mind, Guy looks up to see his bus peeling away. The idea of decency finally returns to the man as he stands to just walk home, adjusting his pants to hide that he has a semi from gawking at men.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that, he tells himself. They submitted these pics to be used in advertising, they want to be looked at. Shoot he would too if he looked like them. You can look like them, you just need to join. This sends a shiver up his spine, he remembers all these studies about subliminal messaging from way back in undergrad. Must be something like that. Pupils quiver as he wonders if he even minds.
Swearing to himself that he’s written off the idea together, his surely impenetrable self-control immediately crumbles when he gets a text from Coop. Guy double takes at the name, feeling like it should be in his phone as something else. Cooper probably? The slight confusion pales in comparison to the message sent
Accompanying a brief text asking that he go ahead and join is a picture of Coop that Guy can’t help but drool at. The shreds of memory of the man who existed before Cooper are blasted away along with whatever hesitation remained as he stares at his friend’s massive thighs and an upper body so built it can’t just be natural.
He’s been right by his friend’s side as he built that killer bod though! All the while building up his own so he can show off and get some with his sq- uh? Guy takes a beat to look at his unimpressive body and is confused why he thought he had a body anywhere nearly as impressive as Cooper’s. All he needs to do is sign up.
Making sure he’s walking in the vague direction of home, Guy returns to his phone to sign up only to find he has already clicked the link sent by Coop and is well on his way to being a Gandr Man. Scrolling past walls of text including diversity statements and waiving application fees for AAPI applicants, Guy clicks every agreement without a beat; As if his hands already knew exactly where every dotted line was.
Before he rounds the block, Guy is already well on his way to being just like the countless men on Gandr he’s been obsessing over. Agreeing to help create promotional material and for them to algorithmically create the perfect profile for him, Guy submits his application and is immediately approved. Seeing the confirmation, he feels a tickle in his chest that he at first mistakes for his usual anxiety.
Brimming with excitement at the idea of meeting his perfect partner and joining a crew of like-minded (more importantly, like-bodied) men, Guy doesn’t notice as his attention is drawn to a loading symbol that fills his mind with algorithmic tricks and the perfect strategies for getting ahead on social media. Head suddenly heavy with far more knowledge about soliciting clicks with a body he doesn’t have yet, Guy’s too absorbed in planning his upcoming deals as his hair lengthens into a dark, trendy middle-part befitting a younger man.
With a twitch his whole head compacts for a far twunkier effect as his baby-blue eyes stain to a shade as dark as the black screen in his hands. The discomfort in his chest only continues to rise as two heavy pecs begin to bounce with every clumsy step homeward. Soon enough he feels two pert nipples, dragging uncomfortable against his shirt.
Need to get a pump on for some pics. No question in his mind, Guy Samlain starts jogging down the street. Hair retracts on his forearms as they brown and glisten under the afternoon sun. So too does his chest begin to tan with his splotchy new skintone as his pecs bulk large enough to pop off a few buttons.
Feeling his hitherto heavy gut tighten and smooth with every strutting step onward, Samlain smirks as he imagines how hot he’s going to look on the profile Gandr makes for him. Getting a little too excited about all the men he’s going to convince to join him on the app, he needs to adjust his gait as his little Samlain starts to help hold up sweatpants starting to sag on his thinner waist.
Panting as he sweats through his shirt, it’s not long before he realizes there’s no need to be wearing one at all. As he yanks it off and bares his muscled up new body, Samlain grins as immediately he starts catching eyes. Reaching up to tousle his hair he realizes he should be catching this on camera for the app!
Setting up his phone on a tripod, like he’s done so a million times, Sam feels his sweaty pits scratch between his bulging biceps and bouncing chest. It’s the only place body hair remains on him and he’s gotta show it off, Gandr knows what its users want and all.
Sam steps back and plays with his hair again, expertly performing cutesy twunk realness despite every move being carefully calculated and controlled. He can practically see the men frothing at their mouths as he tilts his head and plays with his pec. Knowing it’s not long at all before his oversized underwear falls to his feet, Samlain finishes his journey home and takes a quick selfie to send to Blaine. Gonna be all hands on deck to convince that whiny stick in the mud to give in.
● ● ●
Only a few blocks away, Sven is sobering up from their sloppy brunch before a quick shift at a plant shop down towards the beach. Sun shining on his still merry face, the man doesn’t even notice the first few notifications sent to him by Gandr and the man formerly known as Clint.
No, happy-go-lucky as he always is, Sven simply enjoys the morning and reflects over the more pleasant conversations from the time with his boys. For obvious reasons this does not include even a moment of their chat about Grando or whatever that dating app was. At least, not until he sees a massive poster for the platform being actively pasted onto a wall.
Taking a breather to inspect it and relearn that the app is apparently named Gandr, Sven is shocked to see Cl- Cooper’s familiar, gleaming smile looking down at him. He doesn’t know how his paper teeth can even look so shiny. Snapping a pic, for a moment he thinks Cooper looks far more musclebound than he usually is and starts to excitedly text that he saw his in an ad.
But then he remembers just how commonplace it is for him to see Cooper or, uh, Samlain when he’s scrolling or walking the pier. As the thought strikes him Sven sees a similar poster of Sam going up. Scratching his exposed chest as he frowns slightly, Sven deletes his half-typed message and at last finds the texted invite from Coop.
Well shoot, it would be rude not to check out his friend’s whole thing. He’s gotten them to show up countless times to buy pothos or succulents or whatever plant he accidentally over-ordered. And he’s just a clerk! Obviously Coop must be way more involved in Gandr, why else would he be so obsessed with pushing it. Constantly explaining their goals and quoting metrics. It’s so annoy-
“Ah… That’s not very nice…” Sven mutters to no one as he guilt trips himself into starting an application for a dating app he assumes he’s never going to open again. As if he were atoning for this slightest slight, Sven continues down the same digital road oh so recently travelled by his dear friends.
Decidedly the least online of their little coterie, Sven okays the first few boxes before stowing his phone. His intent to join has been taken by Gandr however, and this is more than enough to begin the grand work of user assimilation onboarding!
There’s a shiver down Sven’s spine as he is struck a little woozy. Taking it in stride the beanpole of a man shakes off a slight headache as the closer he gets to work, the closer he finds himself to the earth. Powering through a tightness in his back greater than he felt even after his most intense and draining days from his time as a younger athlete, Sven stretches and staves off overwhelming pressure in his limbs.
Memories flit through his mind of having a group, a crew far larger than that he has now. As his back compresses and his long legs thicken from the sheer half a foot in height lost, the weight quickly shifts upward towards his ass, never a muscle-group favored by the friendly top, causing it to thicken into his main attraction.
Bared to the world, Sveb’s messy patch of chest hair begins to retract into a chest bulking as it bronzes from the afternoon sun. Still blearily stamping towards work as his pants fall over his feet. Sveb- Sveb? Seb starts sweating up a storm, causing his short hair to sag with sweat over his forehead as it darkens and curls into a look far less intentional than he usually prefers.
Shaking his curls as his woozy headache begins to give way to a contented delirium, his lips twitch into a grin as his permanently clean-shaven upper lip darkens with peach fuzz. When it immediately thickens into a trendy mustache, his smile widens further to show off his gleaming pearly whites.
V-neck halfway to exposing his toned abs, Seb takes it off and just stows it in his back pocket as he nonchalantly course corrects to head towards the beach rather than work. Full upper body now exposed to the world, Seb pays no mind to all the aimless eyes caught by his aesthetically maintained body.
None of his body hair remains save two mandatory patches in his pits and his newly paltry happy trail. The latter of which he fingers mindlessly as he steps onto the sand and feels at home. And with every physical change Gandr’s mission sinks in deeper, hiding just out of conscious thought, eager for its newest vector to begin his unique work.
Emanating an aura of thoughtless friendliness, it’s not long before the shirtless man is approached by a couple and offered some trunks to replace his jeans. Headily agreeing, Seb has no modesty at all as he changes then and there, paying only the slightest effort to make sure his loose briefs stay on in the in between.
No modesty in sight, part of him is unaware as the pair of friendly beachgoers blush at his exposed ass and trimmed pubes. Performatively stretching as he feels the trunks hang, some previously hidden aspect of him sees an opportunity to strike “L- let’s get a pic bros!” The words fall from his lips as he throws an arm around one of them and awaits the other to snap a picture of him and his new friends.
So too does his tongue spill out of his mouth like it never has, as if he’s panting like a dog, Seb flirtily smiles and awaits the snap. This is what it’s all about, building community. Community. Helping Gandr Grow. His hand trails down the back of his new friend as his eyes shift far sharper. Still maintaining the effortless appeal of a beach bro, one seemingly focus grouped to lower defenses, Seb sinks his teeth in to do his favorite brand’s dirty work.
“Heyyy, you guys know what? Have you heard of Gandr?” His other hand moves to the back of the other’s neck where he playfully draws circles on his soon-to-be cohorts traps. Both men await his explanation with hunger. Shit this Gandr stuff is just too easy! Feeling his attention span waning, Gandr’s newest ambassador quickly does his plug before getting back to doing this the proper way, being a walking advertisement for the greatest social media app there’s ever been.
● ● ● ●
Elsewhere Blaine is fed up. Anywhere he turns there just seems to be more ads for that shitty app Connor wouldn’t shut up about. His eye twitches as he thinks of his friend, something feels off but he hasn’t the toolkit to even begin to unpack what. Since breakfast he’s received so many texts and DM’s from the ass suggesting he chill out and just give it a try that he’s ignoring the man all together.
This leaves Connor’s tried and true tactic of thirst trapping his friend onto the app of little use as by the time he sends his first selfie Blaine has already muted his friend’s number. He’ll check back in with Connor when the jerk’s done shilling for that stupid shitty app. Like the world needs another platform for conventionally attractive gym-gays to hold themselves as the pinacle of queerdom.
Scowling as he sits in the dark at his desk, Blaine reflects over their time at lunch wondering if he might be acting a tad too dramatic. But when he thinks back now his friends were even more adamant about the app than he had thought. Even Sven- er, Seb and Sam were all about it.
“C’mon bro, it’s such a sweet gig! Just hop on and hang at the beach with me~ Gandr just wants to spread good vibes~”
“You’ve always wanted to be a smokeshow right B-babe?”
Refrains of their arguments bounce through his mind to a point it’s almost difficult for him not to start agreeing. But, powering through, Blaine shakes them off and rolls his eyes, “Multi-level marking dating app bullshit… An MLM MLM heh.”
Letting his guard ever so slightly down as he chuffs at his own joke, Blaine finds no harm in checking just to see what his friends are spamming him with. It’s not like there’s any harm in reading their messages, he’s not some paranoid maniac. They’re just text messages. When he at last grabs his cell however, he finds a video call ringing from Sam. Maybe Samlain has already realized the error of his ways! Assuming as much, Blaine smiles to himself and picks up.
The self-satisfied grin immediately falls to open-mouthed shock as his eyes can’t help but stare hungrily at his friend’s bouncing pecs. Atop rows of abs twitching with his slow breath, his chest is a bulky capstone that almost causes Blaine to drool. Playfully grinning himself as he watches any higher thought vacate Blaine’s head, Sam at last speaks up.
“Yo! Seems like you’re just about on board huh? Gandr’s happy to have you little buddy, just gotta accept and you can finally reach your pinnacle. Help the Gandr Grow.”
The words send a throbbing pang through Blaine’s chest as stray thoughts of ‘how bad could it be’ and ‘could he really get a body like that?’ rise in volume. Then his eyes drift to find the cocky smirk on Sam’s face and he scoffs. “Ugh fuck off! I’m not going to sell-out just because you flexed your pecs at me you ass!”
“Soooo..? This doesn’t turn you on then?”
With a grunt Blaine tosses his phone to the floor and walks away, unaware of the quick-track application sent by the man who did indeed turn him on. Eager for a distraction to get his semi the rest of the way down, a knock at the door provides just that. Or it would have, had yet another shirtless friend not been awaiting him on the other side.
Traipsing into Blaine’s home as soon as the door cracks open, smelling of sex and the beach, Sebastian stretches as he looks around Blaine’s place. “Heyyy babe, feel like it’s been forever!”
“It’s been maybe 6 hours, Seb.”
Looking into the middle distance, Seb starts to think back to six hours ago and gets too bored by the prospect. Shrugging as he instead searches for the perfect light in Blaine’s apartment to highlight his figure, the sunkissed Seb posts up in a doorway and tries to do what he does best.
“You seem out of it B? Something up?”
Clenching his jaw, Blaine tries to make any sense of his situation. Seb is his friend. Seb has always been his friend. Why shouldn’t he trust Seb? God. Seb is so fucking hot.
“You need a hug Blaine?”
Before the man answers Seb already has his arms around him. Body as warm as the midday sun, Blaine’s breath catches in his throat as he smells the heady dried sweat on Seb’s neck. The hunk’s defined arms hugging his thin back. It feels so right to be held by him. He needs this. He needs to hold others just like this.
Hesitantly reaching around, Blaine feels Seb’s burning back, the individual muscles twitching as he can only imagine the man’s strength. He feels his friend’s breath on his shoulder, the scratch of his mustache and the soft kiss of his lips. Seb turns his head to whisper in his ears, “Do you really not want this B?”
Irises twitch in his eyes as he tries to think of any reason to not want this. To not want to offer this to others. To not give in.
“I- Of course I want to join Seb!? I-”
Confirming verbal contract. Welcome aboard Blaze J. Thank you for aiding Gandr’s Diversity objectives and remember. What’s good for the Gandr is good for you!
“I no- Thas not my…” he tries to push free from Seb’s arms but his captor hugs him even tighter, bleary smile on his face. Shaking his head, the man who can already only think of himself as Blaze puts everything he’s got into escaping what was moments ago a friendly hug.
Everything within him strains as he pushes. Blaze’s weary arms burn as his chest twitches with muscle awakening. Eyes forced shut to focus on escape, Blaze opens them to find himself suddenly looking down at a peacefully smiling Seb. Shaking his head in shock, he then shoves Seb away with ease and looks down at his hands.
He can see bones twitching underneath his skin as his forearms tighten and the span of his hands cracks wider. The buttons on his polo pop off as his pecs put on weight at an unfathomable rate. Nipples immediately showing through his shirt as his chest grows with every shaky breath, he moves to feel the muscle and hears his sleeves tear from the slightest movement of biceps bloating into serious weapons.
Sitting nearby, Seb just watches as Blaze’s blond hair begins to darken and curl. Sideburns that never even grew thick enough to be considered peach fuzz race down his cheeks as a stubbly goatee circles his puffier lips. Seb playfully bites his own lip as the newest Gandr user’s shirt suctions against his growing body, his fuzzy treasure trail exposed as his adonis’ belt firms to a degree almost inhuman.
Catching a glance of his own reflection, Blaze can’t believe it, he looks like a model. Like a statue of some divinity. His pale skin begins to speckle darker as his lips continue to plump and his vaguely chubby cheeks sharpen. His foppish updo tightens into a fade as the whole of his lower face is covered with perfectly trimmed stubble that will never leave his face again.
Wandering to his nearest mirror, the effort of moving tears away what remains of his shirt as his chest and shoulders stretch wide enough that they could never be contained. Neck thick with amassing strength joined by traps and an athletic wingspan to support it, when Blaze at last sees his full sexy new self, he can do nothing but smile.
He is a Gandr man. Why did he ever foolishly resist?
Flexing his bicep just to see how high it peaks, for the first time in his life Blaze sees the world as an Alpha does. What sense is there fighting against natural order? Thick fingers trail down his abs carved from stone as his pants struggle to contain a heavy package growing ever-larger.
His legs struggle to put on mass as he keeps inching taller, drinking in his reflection as he stares at individual strands of muscle dancing across his veiny arms and curl-speckled chest. Stepping back to gauge Seb’s reaction he already knows his friend will be all about his new look. His eye twitches at the idea, guess he has a pump from the gym but otherwise he’s always looked like a king. Like the stud he is.
Putting on a show and flexing for Seb he watches as his friend gets visibly more excited, pants a size or two small do quite a poor job hiding one’s erection and all, Blaze delights in his first of many partners on Gandr. Pouncing, when the pair begin making out Blaze’s mind fills with all the proprietary knowledge that every Gandr man needs to perform his mission.
To ensure everyone finds what they're looking for. To grow their user base and show any detractors what they’re missing. To have the time of their lives just as Gandr’s founder envisioned. If perfection is on the table is it not the only right thing to do to spread it as far and wide as possible. Blaze certainly agrees.
Within a day Blaze is on his own beat working to show every gay man what he’s missing out on. Newfound strength and impossible need guiding him like a carrot on a stick, Blaze lures a too-critical influencer home and easily finds his way into the bedroom.
“You know you’re missing out, Hal. You could have all this, just need to say the word.” The twink even whinier than he was but a week ago stares at Blaze’s beyond muscular body, honed for this and this alone. Rationalizing begins to give way to unadulterated lust as he sees the Gandr man’s thick eyebrows raise.
It’s just a quick fuck, he’s slept with worse. Is he above a man putting out for some beyond bizarre brand activation? Why the fuck should he be!? Look at him. Harder than he’s been in years staring at the fuzzy cleft between Blaze’s prodigious, bouncing pecs, Hal feels any scruples just melt away.
Somehow knowing he’s agreed, Blaze walks over and straddles him in bed. Mouth hanging open with need,showing his perfect gleaming teeth above traps thicker than any lesser man’s shoulders. Sticking out his tongue ever so slightly, he raises his head and looks down. “Just need to say the magic words and then you’re all mine.”
Raspy voice like a siren to his ears, Hal would say anything to get this man on top of him. “Please God, whatever you want! I’ll do it!” Blaze smiles down as another job well done begins to form, and now he’s to enjoy his own handiwork as Gandr’s new world grows ever wider.
I knew I'd struck gold when I met my boyfriend Aaron.
I had a habit of falling for straight acting masculine guys. Those deeply closeted "bros" who think hitting the gym somehow makes them less queer.
Aaron was very far removed from my usual type. He wasn't effeminate, but he wasn't aggressively macho or constantly posturing either. He was always quick with a smile, a hug, a kiss... and I loved it.
But after a while, I realized there was still one thing I was missing.
See, the reason I kept ending up with those big buff jerks is because... I just love muscular guys.
At one point, I'd been at my wit's end trying to get an ex to stop treating me like shit all the time, and I'd downloaded this whole bunch of hypnotism stuff. I made him a few files with some simple suggestions... problem was, he thought it was "too gay" to listen to something like that.
I'm not sure what I thought would happen, but on a whim, I made some files for Aaron too. I made sure to keep his personality intact - because, after all, I love him - but I threw in some suggestions to eat healthy, start going to the gym, and focus on prioritising fitness.
A couple of months in, and my sweet boy had packed on 20 odd pounds of muscle. He'd started picking me up, and on one very memorable occasion he actually pinned me to the bed before showering me with kisses.
I was planning to stop there. Even that little change made him my perfect guy. But then Aaron said something that changed my mind.
Aaron told me it made him feel closer to me, having my voice in his ear while he was at the gym, that he felt so safe drifting off listening to me.
I knew I should probably come clean and tell him that I'd been using them to hypnotise him, but... well, first of all, it sounds ridiculous, and second... I was scared of how he'd react.
So instead of doing the right thing and telling him the truth, I made him a new set of files. I really liked how he'd started being more confident, so I gave him some boosters for that. I also made him focus more on lifting and on bulking up, telling him he enjoyed getting bigger for me, that he loved feeling like my big buff protector.
And look, maybe I overdid it. Aaron took to the new instructions like a fish to water, and within a couple months he'd already outgrown his wardrobe. Again.
But I couldn't stop. I was enamoured with this enormous guy he'd grown into, so sweet and gentle with me and so imposing and burly otherwise.
Eventually, I reached a breaking point, and I told him the truth. But... look, I couldn't risk him getting scared and ending things, okay? So just in case, I put in a small suggestion in the files, telling him that maybe he liked being hypnotised, and maybe he got aroused by the thought of me moulding his body.
So when my sweet Aaron told me he'd scored some back alley supplements from a guy at the gym, gave me his best puppy dog eyes - despite the hulking bod and scruffy beard - and asked me to make him a new set of files and help him get HUGE... I couldn't say no.
We've just celebrated our anniversary, and the mountain of muscle that throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing and lumbers around from how wide his thighs have gotten is nothing like the cute boy I fell for. You'd be forgiven for thinking he's one of those closeted guys who pump themselves up with mass since they're scared of looking queer.
Except underneath all the excess bulk, body hair, and testosterone, it's still Aaron underneath it all. Just as lovely and as sweet as he was back when he was nearly 200 pounds lighter.
“So is the suit ready?”
“Well all the vitals are in check and the muscles are reacting perfectly to the tests. I think you can give it a go.”
“Perfect! I can’t wait to show my wife my Halloween costume… ‘Takashi’ is sure to be a hit at the party tonight.”
“Sir, before you go, you may want to rethink using the body suit until further tests are made. We’ve had some issues with… hetero-consistency within our models.”
“English, Dr. H, please.”
“Our hosts have a history of turning their wearers gay, Sir.”
“Well I can’t wait now, the party’s in a few hours. It’ll do. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
The elderly white man strips nude and proceeds to put on the muscular frame of the body suit. The Doctor, in his own body suit, helps the elderly man slip into the hulking frame. The old man slips the face mask on his head and proceeds to mold everything into place. Instantly, the man begins to flex his new muscles, young blood coursing through his youthful veins as he feels up his pumped up hard pecs and defined abs. He sniffs his new scent and feels up his rounded biceps and triceps. He feels the giant python lying dormant within his sweatpants, begging for release. Breathing in three large breaths, the old man, now completely one with the Asian host, opens his eyes and spots the Doctor with a newfound sense of lust.
“Dr. Hanzo. You’re quite the looker. The Mrs. can wait, I need some loving right now.” The Japanese stud jumps out of his stool and rips the dress shirt off of the Doctor, making out and grinding on the matt. Both pairs of pants fall to the ground as the hunk, fueled by testosterone and newfound erotic strength, picks up the Doctor’s legs and pounds his hole, thrusting harder and harder as the Doctor’s moans grow louder and louder into a song of unabated bliss and pleasure.
“Mr. Redlocke, this happens every time but you’re by far my favorite client,” Dr. Hanzo manages to say between moans and grunts from the beefed up stud. Mr. Redlocke, or Takashi for the weekend, was going to be a little late to that Halloween party.
Clarence had been obsessed with Superman since he was a kid. It didn't take a genius to see that. He hunted to own every comic book physically, he bought any superman paraphernalia he found, he watched every single movie incessently. Even at 20 he still had superman sheets on his bed. As he grew up it was clear that he tried to emulate the superhero in a way, dressing in blues and reds, trying to style his hair like the hero, but it didn't really work out. His clothes always say on his overweight body strangely- trying to buy oversized clothes to hide his frame, only to highlight the parts he hated. His hair never stayed how he wanted. It was too thin and flat to hold any shape. Despite all this he seemed happy at least to try.
That was until this past month. I saw a guy that looked a lot like clark kent, standing in line at the coffee shop in a suit with coifted hair. Then it hit me how similar he looked. Not because he reminded me of superman, but because of his eyes. After I noticed it was unmistakable that it was Clarence.
The eyes were the only thing though, everything else had changed about him, besides the height. He was leaner, his face had more structure to it- more symmetrical. His hair was thicker and slightly wavy. He was actually very attractive.
I didn't know him super super well, there were just a lot of rumors about him. Me being a business major football jock, him a comp sci major nerd. I didn't hate him, I didn't really have any feelings towards him. I didnt realize how hard I was staring.
He caught my eye and smiled, a dimple forming on his cheek. His glasses giving him a timeless look. Leaving the cafe he gestured for me to join him. I followed like a mouse to cheese.
He continued walking, not even looking back as his feet gracefully strode into an allyway. My survival instincts shouldve stopped me but it was like there was some supernatural force pushing me.
As soon as I turned the corner he pushed me up against the wall, the handsome man was shorter than me, but his dominance commanded the small allyway.
"Hey boyo, you went to uni with me yeah?"
His voice was raspy, and I'll admit, sexy. I just nodded and gulped. A pendant around his neck glowed as i felt my back sliding down the brick wall.
"Have you seen Kelly recently? Your old teammate, quarterback." He said like I could forget my bestfriend from then. I hadn't, not like we didnt want to, we just got busy with our jobs.
He backed off the wall, taller than me. His chest broader. Wiping out his phone gracefully he pulled up a picture of what looked like Kelly, only shorter, less muscular. In general he looked softer, like he couldn't hurt a fly. A far cry from the aggressive quarterback I knew.
"I did that" his voice sounded deeper, "and now I'm gonna do the same to you. But you were kind enough to me so I won't make you as ugly as he is."
I could see his suit strain as his shoulders broadened, my own shirt looser on my body as my vantage point kept dropping.
He licked his lips, as he watched me hungrily. He snapped a picture of me and turned his phone around. I was still me, but shorter, skinnier. The years of football were gone, but I wasn't any less attractive. My eyes were now framed by long eyelashes, my hair falling cutely over my smooth poreless face. I looked a bit like that singer Troye Sivan.
"W-why are you doing this?" I stuttered, my voice higher, hands pressed up against the wall.
"Power." He said as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the abs that he stole from me– and presumably Kelly too.
His large hands gently lifted my shirt off my body and I let him, he traced my lean torso, small toned pecs with sensitive nipples leading down to a toned set of faint abs. My body hair making them look a bit deeper than they were.
I felt my dick get hard, but barely reach the length it used to be at soft.
*Zip*
He unzipped his pants, his huge dick exposed to the cold air, throbbing with anticipation.
"Now go ahead and turn around, let me feel how tight that ass of yours is"
As the temperature rises, the seasons change, and so does your wardrobe. You swap out your winter and fall sweaters for lighter fabrics and airy clothing. But any good outfit needs a signature scent, and your summer cologne collection is severely lacking. You look online for a few scents that may be your style, but nothing really catches your eye.
Your search leads you to a live stream of a handsome and muscular man selling colognes. His tiny blue gym shorts and the stinger tank top that does little to cover his strapping pecs, grab your attention. The more you watch, the more you realize there really isn't much going on. The man on your screen clearly isn't that bright; he's just poorly reading off a cue card. The real selling point is the man himself, the light that makes his tanned skin glisten, a screen to read off that keeps him focused on his simple task, and his powerful bicep flexing as he lifts his arm to show off the blue cologne bottle.
“Okay, so, um… this cologne is exactly what you've been looking for. It's gonna be that thing that really takes you to the next level and uhh… what does that say?”
“Elevate,” a deep voice off-screen replies.
“Yeah, uhh, elevate your vibe, ya know. Every dude needs this; it's sexy in a bottle… um, I wear it every day, and uhh, it goes with everything, bro, you don't even have to think about it, and the effect is super strong and long-lasting. So yeah, trust me, bruh, you wanna smell like this.”
The stream does its job of influencing you, and you buy the bottle off their website. After a short few days' wait, it arrives in the mail, a simple blue and white box with the words “Maco Musk” in gold foil folds open to reveal the blue bottle from the livestream.
You spray the cologne on your wrists and neck, leaving you with a warm, wet feeling. You smell the cologne immediately, you don't think it's your style at first, but as the scent mixes with your own pheromones, your disposition changes. At its base, it's a heavy musky smell like testosterone and sweat that's almost overwhelming, but it soon settles into something sweeter. You can tell exactly what the smell is. Maybe cotton candy, but it's mostly just like mindless fun, nothing you need to think too hard about.
That warm, wet feeling moves from where you sprayed it to encompass your whole body, the same way that the accompanying smell fills your mind. You feel a sudden desire to flex your muscles. And each time you do, they seem to grow and swell in response. Every tightening of your sculpted muscles only makes them more perfect. And at the end of the day, that's all that really matters. That's all you can focus on. Your mind feels so clouded, but you don't seem to mind; it's almost like you've always felt like this, and the cologne did just as it was advertised and awakened your inner you.
You like this new you. You never felt dumber, but at the same time, never felt better. You bet this is how the man from the live felt in a room surrounded by this amazing, sweet, and musky smell all day. Like the world's most perfect himbo with an IQ six feet under and a libido through the roof. Little groans escape your body; the only thoughts of your own your fried brain can cook up are the occasional “uhh” and “bro.” Nothing's left in your little himbo head but simple fuzzy thoughts and an unyielding desire to do what someone asks of you. You don't have to think hard or make your own decisions, just look pretty, flex when you're told, and keep getting dumber.
———
I studied creative writing but don’t have a lot of experience writing any kind of erotica. This was fun though, I’d like to do more short stories or caption though.
I am perplexed. This.....this can't be real. How the fuck all of this happened? Why the fuck am I sucking my own dick?
I try to hurt the motherfucker by biting on this replica of my dick he deepthroated into my mouth, but somehow I just cannot bring myself to do it and instead sucking it even harder
"Yeah, feels good to keep sucking it huh, you drunk bastard?"
This impostor keeps pounding me relentlessly and I can feel like I'm losing my consciousness once more as this wet, musty dick almost block all my respiratory process. Work brain, please work, what happened last night? And....why the fuck do I feel so small? What the fuck is this blonde bangs in front of my eyes? AND WHY THE FUCK I'M ENJOYING THIS?
"Told ya I have a gig quite early the next day when you stumbled across me and my friends last night at the club but you fucked me till God knows when and now here we are, 11 fucking AM and my agent already told me to just fuck off for screwing up that gig. Now, I guess this is the decent payback for making me lost a gig. Gonna fuck you till you blackout,"
His face flashes back to my memory and in between the pounding, I looked around my new physical feature, the toned arm, the stork-like legs and the smooth toned body..... I seemingly have turned into the perfect copy of Howie, the handsome lanky blonde I met last night. And somehow he swapped our body and fuck me as a payback now. Well.....this feels suffocating but at the same time very hot, maybe I should ask how on Earth he pulled this body swapp off, must be a great trick to pull off at my future hook-up
I freaking love my job! Every shift I get to wash these perfect, muscular bodysuits after the guests are done turning them into cum soaked fucktoys. Right now I’m in the cleaning suite with the most expensive bodysuit of the hotel, and personally one of my absolute favorite suits—Suit26. One look at him and you get why he costs a fortune. He’s the full package: Tall, broad-shouldered, with thick muscular slabs of pecs, tree-trunk thighs, and a fat, heavy cock. While most of the bodysuits look cute, suit26 has a rough, manly look to him that lots of the guests love.
And to think this used to be that rude, cocky prick of a guest who checked in like he owned the entire hotel. Treated every member of staff like garbage—snapping his fingers, barking orders, throwing tantrums if his towel wasn’t warm enough. The whole crew breathed a sigh of relief the day the owner pulled him aside and “upgraded” him. We all knew what that really meant. Now he’s just an empty, hollow human skin. No brain. No ego. No nothing. Just warm meat waiting for a real man to claim it. The staff group chat blew up with celebration emojis that night.
I wish I could put him on, but the hotel rules strictly prohibit staff members from wearing the bodysuits, and I don't want to risk becoming an empty husk like him.
The hotel owner runs the whole operation like a genius. This place is a luxury resort on the surface—top floors packed with rich guests living their best vacation lives. But the hottest ones, the ones with the perfect bodies and the worst attitudes, get quietly selected. They disappear downstairs into the Subterranean Complex nobody on staff is allowed to enter. Rumors say there’s this sleek black pod down there that sucks a man’s insides out, leaving nothing but a perfect, limp bodysuit. Then the real rich gay clients rent them for a few days, slip inside, and enjoy their vacation in a brand-new, muscular body. I don’t ask questions. I just thank the boss every single day for creating this paradise… and for turning assholes like Suit26 into rentable fuckmeat.
I grab Suit26’s wrist and lift his heavy arm, burying my face in that deep, sweaty armpit. Shit, there's still some musk left. Sometimes no matter how much I wash their bodies they still smell like they just stepped out of an intense workout. Maybe I should try using my tongue. So I start licking his armpits slowly and thoroughly, letting the musk fill my taste buds while my free hand glides over his thick thighs. Then I spread his legs wide, hook them over the edge of the special cleaning tub, and grab the thick hose built right into the side. The whole bathtub is designed for this—a high-pressure flush system made specifically for bodysuit cleaning. I shove the nozzle deep into his tight ass until it’s sealed in there nice and snug.
I flip the switch and a powerful rush of hot water blasts straight into the hollow suit. The muscular suit jerks once from the pressure, but that’s all it can do. Water immediately starts gushing back out—pouring in thick streams from his open mouth, flooding from his ears, even squirting from his nose like some sick human fountain. His slack, handsome face is a total mess, water cascading down his cheeks and neck while his insides get power-washed clean.
Finally the cycle ends. I pull the hose free with a wet pop, and the last of the water drains out of every hole. His ass is spotless now—pink, tight, and ready for whatever comes next.
My hands roam up to those massive pecs. I squeeze them hard, thumbs flicking over his sensitive nipples until they pebble. I lean down and latch onto one, sucking it deep into my mouth, tongue swirling, teeth grazing. His fat cock jumps and starts swelling—eight and a half thick inches rising like it’s got a mind of its own. The bodysuit nerves still work perfectly even when the brain’s gone. I don’t question the science behind it, I just grin against his chest and keep sucking harder.
I like to think that the men are still there, conscious but unable to do anything, trapped souls in a husk of what used to be their bodies, all they can do is watch strangers have fun while using their skins. I wrap my hand around that throbbing shaft and stroke it slowly, feeling it pulse. My own dick is aching in my shorts. I can't hold myself, fuck the rules. There’s no policy against using the suits as sex toys, and I’ve earned this right!
I slide my arms under him—he weighs almost nothing now—and lift him out of the tub like a giant rag doll. I towel him dry, then drag him to the big bed and push him out flat on his back. Arms and legs spread wide, cock standing straight up and twitching. I strip fast, grab the lube from the drawer, and slick his shaft until it’s shiny and slick. I then climb on top, knees planted on either side of his hips, and line him up. “That’s it, big guy,” I growl at his blank, handsome face. "I always took such good care of you, now it's your time to take care of me...” I sink down in one smooth motion, taking every inch until my ass is pressed against his heavy balls. Fuck, he fills me so good.
I plant both hands on those massive pecs and start riding him hard, bouncing, grinding, using his body like the lifeless fucktoy he is. I slap his left pec, then the right, watching them jiggle. I pinch and twist his nipples until they’re red and swollen. “Look at you,” I pant, slamming down again and again. “All that muscle, all that cock… all mine! Fuuuuckk... Are you seeing this? I hope you are!” I lean forward and start kissing him. I ride him faster, ass slapping against his thighs, my own dick bouncing and leaking all over his abs. The domination rush is insane, knowing this body once would’ve punched me for even looking at him, and now he's helplessly giving me so much pleasure.
My balls tighten. I slam down one last time, bury him to the hilt, and explode. Thick ropes of cum splatter across his perfect pecs, his neck, his slack, open mouth, and those eye holes. I keep grinding through it, milking every drop out of him until I’m shaking and breathless.
I’m still panting, chest heaving, when I notice a drop of water running down from the corner of his eye, could that be... a tear? No way, don't be ridiculous, it's probably just the water from the power washing I did, unless... the door suddenly swings open. The janitor leans against the frame, arms crossed, smirking at me. “Am I interrupting something?"
I laugh, still impaled on Suit26’s cock. “Nah, I’m already finished,” I say as I climb off and start redressing.
He chuckles. “You gotta be careful, man. If the big boss catches you turning his expensive suits into your personal dildos, he won’t be happy. You know what happened to Larry when he was caught wearing a suit. I heard the big boss uses him as a carpet in his office."
“Relax,” I say, pulling up my pants, “We all need a break sometimes. Besides, you’re the only one who knows… and I know about you fucking the shit out of Suit13 in the storage room last month, so we’re good?”
He just nods, eyes flicking to the cum-glazed pecs. “Fair enough. Heads-up though, a gay couple just booked Suit26 for a three o’clock check-in. They want him nice and fresh. Better finish cleaning him up before they get here.” He winks and leaves, closing the door behind him.
I look back at the bed. My load is streaked across the bodysuit's massive pecs, dripping off his chin, pooling in the deep groove between his abs. The once-proud stud just lies there, empty, used, and ready for round two with the gay couple. I wonder if a gay sub was going to wear him.
I sigh and grab the cleaning cloth. “Alright, handsome. Time to make you clean again… for now.”
There was a father named Arthur who was a middle class citizen who in his younger years was one of the best athletes of his time in basketball. He had a one night stand when drunk with Angelica at a party, who would get pregnant with a son name Garvi.
Now the boy wasn’t planned in his long term plans and he was still young, Arthur was not able to go to Harvard and was forced to marry the women to take care of the kid as family custom. Arthur to make ends meet would get a job as a Manager at a Restaurant named “Sport Fiesta”, it was the closet thing to living out his dream of anything related to basketball in his career.
Double the years passed and now in his late 30, the boy is now 17 going to be 18 years old. The women Arthur was married to eventually divorced him wanting to start all over, Angelica left him and her son, leaving him no choice but to care for the boy as a single father.
This effected Arthur since despite being able to explore his sexuality that he couldn’t due to not only discomfort back in his younger year and a force marriage but he had to be the bread winner in finances at the house, and when she left, he was left with problems such as when Angelica asked for Arthur to get Garvi a car and got into more than 3 wrecks in the past year alone since 16 years old. When they were together, Angelica at most , aided in taking care of their son, but since the divorce, he had to be full time parent and worker almost nonstop.
Now Garvi, just like his father was a great successor in sports especially basketball and had a very good build that any guy would kill for. However, he was a very arrogant boy and did not take his future seriously.
Even with many opportunities he didn’t apply himself and would constantly be careless, focused mainly on fucking women and get drunk and smoke weed. Even worst, he would be irresponsible with the money his dad gave him and didn’t even try to get a job to be responsible for his own bills.
Arthur did everything possible to support his ungrateful son and he didn’t even care to try to do anything to support himself relying on his Dad to bail him out.
This made Arthur angrily think to himself,
I wish I could have my years that I lost for taking care of such an ungrateful brat of a son, if I were his age again, I would have done better.
Though these words were spoken in his mind they echoed clearly throughout the universe.
One special night, he would go on a jog to calm his nerves and get a workout from the stress of the day. While running he heard a old man in a cloak akin to a wizard speak to him saying,
“Arthur”
“Who said that” said Arthur stop on his place from the voice.
The old man in the cloak approached him.
Greetings Arthur, I am here to make your desires a reality, says the old man.
“What do you mean by wishes, says Arthur.
What if you can relive your glory days over? says the old man.
How would you do that? says Arthur in a careless tone.
“Let’s seal the deal and it is done” says the old man.
“Sure why not”, as Arthur put his hands out to shake the old man hands.
Thinking this was some sort of hoax, he shook on it as he rolled his eyes. As he moved his hand from the old man, a light flashed from behind him and turning around he saw a black truck driving towards him.
Arthur only reaction at this time was to close his eyes and when the car passed him, he opened his eyes seeing it leave, speeding off wildly.
Well that was weird, says Arthur caught by surprise.
He continued to go in his house seeing the door open already.
Garvi, what have said about leaving the door open late at night, you know how I feel about that, says Arthur loudly.
When he came passed the front door into the living room, Arthur saw his son with his girlfriend Lexi sitting on the couch coming to the end of sex.
Ughhh(gasp), moaning Garvi.
That is real good babe and it get better every time, says the Lexi.
Yea babe, says Garvi as he proceeds to kisses Lexi.
Alright, Alright, that’s enough, I got work tomorrow G, says Lexi.
You work for me and it doesn’t hurt to go overtime, says Garvi.
No, No I gotta go now, says Lexi as she resist and hurries up to get dressed.
As she made it passed the front door, not noticing Arthur standing by. Lexi saw a disturbing sight.
As she panicked, she rushed back in and said loudly,
Garvi, I saw your father outside.
Yea, his out jogging, you know his routine, says Garvi.
No, I saw your father lying in the road covered in blood. Babe, we should call a ambulance, he could be seriously hurt, says Lexi.
Oh, I thought it was something else. says Garvi, not phased by this.
Like what else, he’s bleeding outside. says Lexi rushing to make a phone.
To a high surprise, Garvi starts heading to his room as he says,
“Well, I’m tired and I need to get some sleep, the ambulance will take care of it after all, not my problem.”
How can you say something like that, it’s your dad, Lexi shocked by the level of carelessness by Garvi.
“I didn’t kill him, but at least my future is assured since I can get that life insurance money my dad worked so hard for, says Garvi carelessly.
That’s it, I gotta go and take care of this, says Lexi as she walks fast and slams the door.
Mmh, what a bitch. says Garvi.
He then heads to his room, undresses and lays down. He doomscrolls for a bit before going to sleep not long after.
Now still watching Garvi, after processing how truly ungrateful his son really is, Arthur angrily says,
“You ungrateful bastard, I have giving my part of my life to give you everything I could, even took care of you when your mother wanted to leave you out of your fresh start and this is how you view me.”
At this moment, he lunges at his son attempting to choke him, but his hands phase through him causing his Garvi to try to breath. Arthur seeing them in his neck, tries to pull them out, but due to being a ghost is sucked into his son mouth while he tries to catch his breath.
Arthur is then swallowed whole, first an abnormal lump through son his throat, down into his stomach where he tries to fight his way out of this process while the son is spasms furiously like a man with a seizure.
After a minute, Arthur manages to fight his way out of the stomach only to fit his way into every limb of his son body and after inserting his cock into his son who is a perfect fit, he proceeds to the head.
Garvi blacks out completely and Arthur is in full control of his Garvi’s body.
After taking complete control over his son body, Garvi, Arthur initially in shock thought to himself,
“Woah, that was weird, I was just out there a moment ago and now I’m Garvi.
He then begins to feel the sudden changes such as the hard cock, a change that could not be missed.
“Huh, so this is why he has a lot of sex, no doubt he stole that trait from me, thought Arthur.
He then while feeling his new body muscles begins to stand up and without warning had to catch himself for a minute,
Woah, I’ve never been this tall before, this must be what it feels like, he thought as he felt the sudden changes in weight.
Curious to know what he is feeling, he makes his way to the bathroom to look in the mirror. Immediately, he was awestruck as he saw the perfect physique build through physical work, the towering height and the rush of testosterone.
“This is unreal, I’m my son and I’m 17 again, not only that, but this rush of testosterone and vitality, I haven’t felt like this in years.”
He then begins to feel a sudden migraine and with it a desperate urge overcome him.
“Ahhh, damn son, your inclination to fuck is unsatiable, perhaps this is why you have to fuck so much.”
Not being able to endure this feeling, pulls his underwear down and starts stroking his son’s cock, gradually increasing the pace until he euphoria. As he stroked his cock, the euphoria was so intense, that he damn near lost his balance while standing.
When climax was build up and couldn’t contain it, he shorting out sperm like it was ammunition rounds going out.
When the post nut clarity finally came back, he begins to think,
“I haven’t been young in a long time. There no way out of him and if possible I don’t know if I want to and to be fair, he showed no gratitude when I was alive and was insensitive to my death, it a fair punishment.
“Also I finally get my time back for taking care of this brat, now I see why you should do good for others, you get exactly what you deserve, ahaha, and with interest.”
I get to kill two birds with one stone, take care of my son and finally explore my sexuality as a gay man. My son is an upgrade to my old self, but he will offer endless opportunities to hook up with twinks and hunks, maybe even sexy DILF like my old self.”
And so he goes about his life, wealthier due to the life insurance policy he put out to his son and younger.
This is why you should care for your sons, cause when you get your reward, you never know if time and money will come back with interest or there fit bodies, ahahah.
My name is Ethan, I was a 15 year old teenager who dreamed of being able to travel, fortunately I won a school trip, having the best average in school gave me the all-inclusive trip for two weeks to London.
I was very excited, I had never traveled by plane before, fortunately I arrived tired but very excited to the hotel, they told us that we could wait calmly in the hotel and rest as the tour would start the next day. I had studied for many months to improve my level of English so I didn't hesitate to talk to someone else at the hotel.
Luckily I found a very sexy Asian man who was alone and with whom I could talk.
I sat next to him and explained the situation, he very kindly let me talk to him, he told me his name "chuanto" and we introduced ourselves, we could talk for a while and I could notice how dissatisfied he was with his life:
-come on, you've got everything, money, a muscular body, why are you so sad?- I said really intrigued.
- kidding boy? You have friends, family, you have everything -
-I wish I were you"
-Closure?-Would you do that for me?
I answered a little confused, -yes of course you are an adult you can do whatever you want, you have money it would be wonderful to be you -
He explained to me that we could change bodies and I still incredulous, I listened to him
-that way in the morning... everything will be different - he told me almost with tears
We said goodbye, I didn't believe anything but I still went to bed early as he told me.
I felt a strange sensation going through my body, my clothes were fading and my body was growing, I could feel other sheets and my body felt different, I thought it was just a dream and I went back to sleep.
When I woke up, I saw that I was not in my room with my friends, but in a completely different room.
I began to see how my weak arms had disappeared and now I had some muscular ones.
I started to pass my new hands all over my body, for my new and muscular body, I couldn't believe it now I was an adult, when I got to my leg, I was surprised how small my previous penis was compared to this one.
I was extremely sweaty so I decided to take a bath, I could explore my new biceps and my worked abdomen, everything caused a great excitement, can not resist and I began to masturbate, I never imagined this way and that excited me more, I came into his body for the first time and it was glorious, I had never felt such pleasure before.
When I finished I couldn't help but look at myself in the mirror again, my new body was amazing and I wouldn't waste it.
Sinclair was a steadfast reporter committed to spreading the truth. This has gotten him some hot water and his bosses demand he return to grunt work. Four paths before him, which will he begrudgingly choose.
Partially inspired by a couple photos sent to me by MiscTF, this story includes my first inanimate/body part TF! Surely not to be to everyone's tastes but I'm sure there's something to every TF fan's tastes in one of these shorter stories. Hope you enjoy! -Occam
One of four headlines will determine the rest of Sinclair's life:
Pleasant Valley Pistols Find Their Home In State Of The Art Arena: Hockey Player
Fort Pleasant Repurposes Old High School: Soldier
Pan-Asian Community Center Places Capstone: Asian Gym Bro
New Talent Being Developed At Pleasant Valley Paper: Cock
After everything Sinclair’s done to keep this raggedy, well, rag afloat they decide to send him back into the field to do some reporting. Sure, it’s how he started out all those years ago, wandering into the streets, freshly earned degree in hand, to interview for puff pieces in the Pleasant Valley Paper.
Decade and some change of late nights writing and early rises to edit copy, Sinclair just wants to stay at his desk. And his bosses know that. ‘There’s just too much going on in town.’ As if he buys that. It just feels like punishment. Well, no, he knows it’s punishment.
He’s published stories on lemonade stands before and they wanted him not to report on the shady shell companies coming in to buy and redevelop half of town? The fact that one of them bought out the paper a week later is proof that he was onto something. At least, that's what he says to the few coworkers not avoiding him like the plague.
These days that’s mostly his assistant, Marcos, who just walked into his office with the higher up’s new projects for Sinclair. “At least they’re letting you choose, right boss?”
Somehow sighing and scoffing at the same time, Sinclair’s having none of it, “Sure kid. You spend a decade of your life pouring your blood into a typewriter for them to say ‘why dontcha pick between sports reporting a little league game and touring the new sewage treatment plant’ and get back to me.”
Glancing at said typewriter, Marcos holds his tongue from insulting his own boss’ performative proclivities; ones that result in him having to retype each and every article into a word processor. But his boss is right, they’re shafting him. He just needs to stay in the reporter’s good graces long enough to get a rec letter, “I get that Sinclair, but they did kinda tell me this is some last chance stuff. And I know you don’t want to do it, but I think they really found heat this week!”
Grimace plastered on his face, Sinclair awaits his options. Clearing his throat, Marcos does his best to sell them, “For starters, that new arena everyone’s been asking about is finally done and they need someone on the scene to interview the hockey team.”
“Hockey!? Well there are worse sports I suppose. Could be outside, ugh.” He can only imagine the mouth breathing, barely literate goalie he’ll be forced to parley with. “What’s the team?”
“Oh! Uhhh, looks like the Pleasant Valley Pistols.
“Ugh, awfully militaristic isn’t it? Just what small towns need, more gun themed branding …”
“Uhh yeah haha, well you’re not gonna like the next one either boss. Seems they’re converting the old high school into some kinda base? Fort Pleasant they’re calling it.”
Dumbfounded, Sinclair just stares at Marcos. Surely you can’t just do that right? They voted to build the new school, should there not then be a vote on what to do with the old one? Clenching his jaw, while he hates dealing with the military he can smell a story there.
“I can just cross that one off boss-man. Next is more like your old stuff, seems there's a new Pan-Asian community center opening near the park. Little wild since Pleasant Valley’s so well- you know.”
White. Honestly it was the biggest hang up on him moving here from the city. He hadn’t noticed an uptick in Asian locals enough to justify a community center, but hey not like he’s looking out for that stuff. Happy change as far as he’s concerned, and if he can do his part in bolstering that, well Marcos is right. Broken clocks and all that, he’d honestly be happy to.
Nodding Sinclair takes all this in, “Right. I suppose I agree this could have been slightly worse. Could have just canned me. They must not want me gone nearly as much as I thought!”
Marcos thinks about simply not mentioning the final task listed but in the end he can’t help himself, “Well there is one more option, uhm. One that would let you stay in office even.”
Interest piqued, Sinclair motions for his assistant to continue.
And he does, carefully. “Rather than going out they want you to know you can also take the opportunity to uhhhm,” he throws up his guard, “help develop new talent at the paper.”
Sinclair’s blood runs cold as he stares at his long-suffering assistant. Twice now he’s denied Marcos’ request to be promoted citing lack of experience and lack of professionality. Obviously he lied and told his assistant the hangup was elsewhere. “And I take it that you’re the new talent?” He makes no attempt to hide the venom in his voice.
“Look, sir, I wasn't going to mention it. I just figured you might prefer helping you know, the only coworker not ignoring you rather than wandering around a military base or whatever but it’s your call.”
And it is his call. “Of course, Marcos. Apologies for the implication.” Looking at the options, Sinclair makes up his mind with the haste of a man who doesn’t know he’s about to have his life and form wrest from him. “I’m gonna go with…”
The Hockey Team - Should be easy
Fort Pleasant - Something’s fishy over there
The Community Center - Think I could help their cause
Marcos. - Ugh, I do owe you something. I guess.
Pleasant Valley Pistols:
“Go ahead and let the coach know that I’ll be stopping by, Marcos.” Running the numbers, Sinclair decides this should be the simplest and easiest task offered to him. Well, besides mentoring Marcos, but the surly reporter certainly isn’t going to be training his replacement. Of this he is sure.
One routine email and a quick car ride later, Sinclair finds himself outside a robust new ice skating complex. The large construction zone had been slow-going for months and everyone in Pleasant Valley had been placing bets on just what it’s to be. Strange given someone in town must have had some prior warning that there’s an ice rink coming to town.
If not city planners then construction workers, Sinclair can’t help but speculate as he watches a crane lower a large hockey stick over the front entrance. Perhaps there’s meat on this bone yet. Crossing his arms the journalist looks at his scrawled plans to interview a player or two and publish profiles and crumples it.
This is connected to everything else, he bets. The Pistols must be connected to that shady company coming to take over Pleasant Vall-
“Hey there! You must be from the local paper eh?”
Sinclair almost jumps out of his skin as a hand the size of a baseball mit pounds him squarely in between his shoulder blades. Turning with fear in his eyes to find the source of this assault he instead finds a beaming man who clearly just intended to pat him on the back.
Apathetic or clueless to the clear grimace on Sinclair’s face, the bear of a man reaches out his mitt to shake, “Coach Whitlow, you must be Sinclair eh? Your bosses told me you were comin’ and to give you a Warm Pistol’s Welcome!”
Begrudgingly meeting Coach Whitlow’s hand, Sinclair frowns and does a poor attempt to butter up the man with all the power here, “Yes! I’m quite excited to learn of and spread the good word about Pleasant Valley’s new superstars. How’d you land on ‘Pistols’ anyhow?”
Notepad out, he prepares to take notes before instead watching a somehow even blanker look croses Whitlow’s face. Confusion seeps from the corners of his friendliness as he makes what is at best a guess, “Well it’s certainly fun to say right? Pleasant Valley Pistols! Nice and literar-ative like all you booky-boys say.”
“Right.” Eyes on the prize, “Well Coach I’m sure I’ll stop by for an interview before I depart. Would it be alright if I looked around the facilities first? My readers are simply dying to learn about your state of the art facilities!” He didn’t know he had this level of bullshitting still in him.
“Oh, great idea there son! Might as well stop by the weightroom while you’re at it, awfully scrawny for a sports writer. Should call you Shrimpclair, HAH!”
Indignant at being called a sports reporter moreso than the dig at his scrawny form, Sinclair flashes a smile and motions for Whitlow to lead him inside. Which the Coach promptly does, “Now don’t have too much fun poking around there Mr. Reporter, not unless you wanna stick around heh heh!” Turning towards his office while repeating Shrimpclair and giggling to himself, Whitlow leaves Sinclair to explore.
Spoiled for choice, the journalist is shocked at just how pristine this arena is. He was under the impression that this was some kind of below collegiate level team but the sheer size of the place alone that can’t be the case. Shoot he’d swear it’s bigger than some of the NHL arenas he’s seen- Of which he’s seen none. Obviously.
Sneaking around looking for proof of foul play or corporate espionage, it’s not long before he smells something suspiciously alluring in the air. Taking deeper and deeper breaths of the strange scent, Sinclair’s oblivious to his chest rising higher with every one. Exhaling slightly less with every inhale, he quickly finds his baggy shirt starting to awkwardly pull at his skin as he continues walking. As if he were beginning to inflate.
Quickly realizing he’s been following his nose like a dog, the proud reporter shakes off his stupor and scoffs. Scratching at his suddenly itchy jaw, Sinclair does his best to ignore the haze and focus on the sure scoop here. Unfortunately every breath continues to vie for his attention.
There’s gotta be some proof somewhere that this is owned by the same assholes who bought the paper. Gosh smells like new pads doesn’t it? His feet kinda hurt, why’d he wear such small shoes today. Shit for an ice rink it’s kinda warm in here isn’t it.
Prideful about his attention span as he is about anything else, Sinclair can’t believe how much he’s struggling to keep his train of thought on track. He doesn’t hear his fingers scritch in stubble that prickles underneath his chin as he looks at his notepad.
The only thing scrawled, in sloppier handwriting than he’d ever humor, is ‘Pistols = Gud?’
“My God!? I didn’t write that!?” Taking another quick sniff just to breath, the reporter feels a new itch in his pits and ignores the urge to give them a sniff. Shaking his head his dark hair begins to shorten into something sportier, Sinclair’s neck cracks thicker. Below the belt he feels his legs begin to balloon with every struggled sniff.
Feeling his jeans begin to strain against his legs as he notices he can somehow see his pale midriff exposed, Sinclair clutches at his mouth. It’s the smell, it must be. Ignoring the scratch of a stubbly mustache poking at his hand, he does the only thing he can think to stop smelling something. He breathes through his mouth.
Obviously this does not go his way.
Taking a far deeper breath through his mouth than he ever could with his nose, his body expands in every way it can. Arms that only ever strained from typing away at a keyboard suddenly rise like dough as biceps force their way onto his bones. Bulging against the sleeves of his shirt, slightly tanner skin is quickly visible through a number of tears.
Kicking off his shoes as soon as discomfort rises enough to register in his foggy mind, he finds feet so large he can’t even imagine finding shoes to fit them. Above ankles now prickling with thick hair his jeans are strained at the calves as well as his lower body grows even more impressive than his meaty arms and his chest still twitching larger.
Even more pronounced than the physical changes are those wreaking havoc in his mind. Mouth-breather is an insult the reporter had oft leveled at Marcos and anyone else he viewed as less intelligent than himself. And as his higher thoughts begin to dissolve into sand, it’s clear that uh, well nothing’s really clear to him anymore.
Besides hockey, duh. Smirking as the memories him shooting through the rink rush into his mind, he stumbles up to the locker room’s entrance on much larger feet. Taking heavy steps as his jeans tear more with every stumble, Sinclair quickly pushes open the door and enters his favorite place in the world, the Pistol’s locker room.
Taking the deepest breath yet, he feels the air, stagnant with the stink of sweat and industrially cleaned uniforms, fill him from head to toe. Scratching his chest as a manly coat of curls etches across pronounced pecs, his rough hand yanks off the rags and tosses them to the floor.
Looking to the mirror he’s surprised to find his pants have also completely fallen away, leaving him cock out in his locker room. Not that his teammates mind of course huhuh. Seeing his gleaming white smile reflected, his foggy mind tries to recall that he doesn’t have teammates but the thought shifts to confusion at his teammates simply not being here with him. No puck bunnies or twinks either…
Scratching his pubes and pits and barely abating an urge to helicopter his twitching dick, Sinclair figures he’s here for one on one practice or somethin. Hockey ass bouncing with every lumbering step, the Pistol’s new piston falls onto the bench and starts pulling on his pads commando. No time for that shit, not like his pads’ll stink any less after. Sides, Coach’ll be pissed if he’s late again.
Feeling the scratch of hard plastic on his thighs he feels his last sense of self struggle. Looking at meaty hands and feeling his defined abs twitch with every breath he tries to remember being a reporter. His deeper, thoughtless voice does little to help. “I’m not a, not a fuckin’ hockey… I’m a journaler, uh? I write, uhh, stuff. I’m Sink? Sin- uh?”
“Sinner!? That you in there boy? Should be out on the ice by now, I swear!”
Yanking his pants up to his sternum and shoving his sweaty feet into somehow already sweatier skates, any fight fades from his eyes as Coach’s voice reminds him who he really is. Leaning against the cold wall as Whitlow strides into the locker room, he smirks and awaits the reprimand.
“What am I gonna do with you… Shit you been using the new weight room eh Sinner? Settin’ a good example. Give me a flex there boy.”
Like he needed the command. Raising his arms into a double bi he takes a deep breath as the complexity of the world fades. He’s just a hockey star, and soon everyone in Pleasant Valley’s gonna be a fan.
Fort Pleasant:
“There’s something weird afoot over at the old high school right Marcos?”
His assistant shrugs, “I mean for sure, but the bosses want an, uh. Well it’s sorta an ad?” Marcos winces preemptively.
“An advertisement!? For the military?”
“They’re technically private security I thin-”
“They want me to- Well! I’ll tell you what Marcos. I’m going to go report on what I find and if the Pleasant Valley Paper’s not interested I’m taking all my fans and finally going indie! You just stay mum and look busy, I’ll be back before you know it.”
Watching his boss storm away, Marcos sighs knowing he certainly has no ability to stop Sinclair when he’s got his mind on a story. Good kid Marcos is he’s not even going to snitch on the turncoat, not like he wants a private militia kicking around town. Wordlessly wishing Sinclair pulls something off here, the assistant just hopes his overeager boss doesn’t just make his situation worse.
Nearing the base, Sinclair flashes back to his breaking expose of his university’s ROTC when he was in school. He can’t hold back a laugh at the memory, those wannabe schmucks never knew what hit them! This’ll be another walk in the park. Flashing a press pass at the gated entry, Sinclair grins as he’s just waved on through, already planning his brutal take down of the place.
Illegal appropriation of public land and goods. Lax security at best. That glorified doorman’s probably just jacking off in between dapping up his brainless coworkers.
Far off in the remains of a football field, Sinclair can see a few men clad in camouflage doing some exercise drills. Shuddering at the thought of whatever poor sods have been tricked into working for some shoddy soon to be bankrupt private security firm, Sinclair rolls his eyes and hopes they enjoy the paid workouts while they last
Collecting himself and his journalistic materiel, Sinclair sets a small recorder to just tape every moment of the next half hour. The first sound recorded is a muttered ‘Shit!’ as Sinclair immediately drops his notepad. Leaning down to pick it up, his blood runs cold as he hears a gruff voice shout-
“Ateeen-shun!”
His hands freeze just before grabbing the notepad as he feels his bent spine straighten. Eyes locked on the booklet, he feels his body shoot up to standing. Arms forced to his side, thumbs stuck to his shirt's seam as if they were magnetized. Puffing up his thin chest and fighting against raising his chin, Sinclair freezes in this pristine pose for a full second before breaking free.
Gasping, he stares dumbfounded at the man clad in fatigues. Stubbled chin wide and dimpled, tucked shirt straining against a lat wingspan Sinclair wouldn’t think possible, there’s a smirk clear on his face at his words having such an effect on some petty annoyance. The soldier watches as Sinclair collects his notepad and clears his throat.
Before he can get a word out, the burly, brusque man issues another order. “Follow me, recruit.”
“I think you’ll find I’m here for an interview, s- sir.” Sinclair scrunches his nose at the reflexive honorific, swearing himself to not utter one again. “Obviously I’m not one of your muscle-brained, violence hungry, lunkeys. The Pleasant Valley Paper sent me to find out exactly what this operation’s all about.”
Following behind the sergeant, what difference does it make if he’s doing so because he was commanded or because that’s the quickest way to get to the bottom of this mystery. Ensuring that his shirt is tucked in, as anyone would! Sinclair doesn’t notice as the edges of the cotton top seem to be staining a light green.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“Sinclair, Sir- Ugh. If you wouldn’t mind, could you stop calling me soldier? I’m not-”
The man quickly turns with his arms crossed and stares down at Sinclair. Silenced by his steely gaze alone, Sinclair feels his lips trying to move as his body freezes into attention once more. This time his back is even straighter, he feels it straining his impeccable tuck as his shoulders seemingly raise higher. Hidden from sight as army green stains creep further up his shirt, his chest that was once but skin and bone begins to subtly widen.
Clenching his jaw until there’s an unmistakable cracking sound, Sinclair grunts as he finds his voice. Unwilling or unable to acknowledge the power this buffoonish jarhead cosplayer has over him, he tries to attack logically. Ignoring how his eye twitches as he even mentally insults the sergeant. “Look, obviously I’m too old to be of use as a soldier, just give me a couple quotes for the paper and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Rubbing his tight high-top, the sergeant smirks as he watches the army green fabric of Sinclair’s shirt continue to rise. At the same time the long sleeves begin retracting to reveal thin, hairless arms still stuck at attention. “Too old eh? Wouldn’t say you’re a day over 23 there soldier.”
Beyond stunned, Sinclair stands there in shock as the words sink in. “Th- nnn-” When he tries to speak the air is knocked out of him as a decade of his life is simply erased from his body. The wrinkles beginning to creep out around his eyes and on his forehead are ironed away as his skin tightens.
The slight paunch hiding under his regulation issued shirt is converted into rows of youthful abs as his hairline ceases retreating before rejuvenating altogether. Catching a reflection of himself in the floors polished to shine, Sinclair can’t recognize the man he’s becoming.
“And before you say it, I do believe you’re more than fit enough. You’ve been hitting the gym since high school, far more than you ever hit the books soldier.”
Breaking out of the trance enough to shake his head, Sinclair feels his arms begin to bulk up in their frozen state. Quickly piling on pounds enough to strain the sleeves of his shirt, he feels them darken with hair as the mop on his head curls into some G.I.’s coif. Thick sideburns creep down his cheeks as far as they’re allowed.
“S- Sergeant.” His voice cracks lower as the know-it-all timbre of the reporter gives way to the vocal fry of a younger man who’s ecstatic not to think for himself, “Ssssir. I swear, you don’t have to this. L- let me get back to the office. I know the perfect recruit for youuuu-”
Sweating from the stress, Sinclair feels his underarms stain sweat as his hairy arms lead to even hairier pits. The trimmed bush that usually hid under them gives way to a wild-straight patch of pit hair designed to collect musk. Trying to worm his way out of these changes only accelerates them as by the time he even attempts to throw Marcos at his sergeant’s feet his memories of being anything but a soldier begin to drain.
Irritated at the man’s pathetic scrambling as he watches Sinclair continue to fill out his uniform, jeans finally corrupting into a heavier camouflaged fabric, he barks orders to his newest recruit. “Go sit until I decide what to do with you maggot. And take that fucking shirt off, you’re sweating like a pig.”
“Sir, yes sir!” Twitching desperately with every ordered movement, Sinclair obeys the command as every reason not to begins to rapidly disappear. Tearing off his shirt he feels dog tags fall back onto his chest, square between his enticing new pecs. His widening nipples harden as he pristinely folds his sweat-stained shirt and stows it under a wooden chair that creaks when he sits down.
Feeling his balls throb, Sinclair’s got a good guess where his thoughts and personality are draining to as he stares ahead. Trying to hold on to wispy memories as they fade, it’s not long before he can only assert what he knows he isn’t. He’s not a soldier. He’s Sinclair, he works for Fort Pleasant. No. He was here to? He’s not a soldier. He’s twenty- No he’s thirty- uh? No, he’s twenty three. Yeah.
The sergeant watches as his soldier at last begins to settle, pupils twitching with resistance slowly fade as he tosses around potential new posts for this handsome little lap dog. Not like they don’t have enough officers to guard every business in town. Why shouldn’t this one be just for him.
“Soldier, what’s your position?”
Sinclair bolts up, his back somehow getting even straighter as his feet lance out to their perfect 45 degree position even when sitting. “I’m your assistant, sir!”
“Very good, at ease.”
The sergeant watches as, for the first time since stepping foot on For Pleasant’s grounds, the new soldier finally relaxes. Performatively sitting back so his sergeant can appreciate every new bulging muscle on his exposed torso. He exists to serve this man above all else.
“Put your arms behind your head, soldier.”
Beautiful. He’ll need to send thanks to the Pleasant Valley Paper. Though the way these things work he wonders if even their most diligent of records have any trace of ever having a ‘Sinclair’ on staff, after all, he’s never been anything more than a soldier.
Hidden in his fatigue pockets, ever so close to a thick cock doing its best to hold back pre that will stain them, a journalist’s tape record finally stops rolling. And oh what a scoop Sinclair found after all, shame the soldier's going to turn that into his superior as soon as he remembers he’s even wearing pants.
Pan-Asian Community Center:
“Screw it, if I’m being muzzled I might as well raise some funds for a community center right?”
Marcos genuinely smiles at his boss’ optimism, “I think that’s a great idea boss!”
“Yeah whatever. Hold down the fort then, I imagine I’ll have something typed up for you by the end of day.”
Sighing as he looks to the pile of other stories he still needs to type up and submit himself, Marcos prepares for a long day of trying to get any of his boss’ work approved as he watches Sinclair depart. “Huhhh… He’s been recommending me for promotion, it’ll all be worth it one day…”
For his part, Sinclair’s sure this is going to be a nice and easy trip. What fledgling foundation would be opposed to free press right? Evidently this one.
Walking past a small gated outdoor gym, Sinclair mutters judgementally to himself as he enters the lobby. “Who wouldn’t want to walk by a sweat factory to watch some foreign cinema…” Putting his attitude away, he forces a tight smile on his face as he approaches the receptionist, a younger woman who’s clearly bored out of her mind.
Dubbed Setsuna by her name tag adorned with a small Japanese flag, she looks up to Sinclair when the center’s front door slams shut. Frowning and rolling her eyes, she begins her spiel, “Konnichiwa and welcome to the Pleasant Valley community center. What can I do for you today.” Though it was ostensibly a question, her tone makes it clear that she is not here to help.
“Yes! Hello, I’m Sinclair from the local paper!” His smile creaks as his patience already wears thin.
“Okay?”
“And I’m here to help with your Community Center?” After she blankly stares he continues, “I mean, we both know that the town is as white as it gets. I guess my bosses figured you could use some help with fundraising?”
“Right. Well you can go ahead and let your bosses know that we’re doing fine on our own. Thanks.”
“Heh. Well, Miss. I think you’re being awfully blasé to the best reporter the Pleasant Valley Paper has.”
“死ね! I’m sure we’re really missing out.”
Sure whatever she just said was an insult, Sinclair goes for an old favorite, “Well! I’d like to speak with your supervisors.”
“Oooh so sorry, they’re busy, yeah. I can go ahead and summon security if you’d like?”
“Why I-”
“Thank youuuu~ Buhbye now.” Waving at Sinclair as he holds his tongue, the receptionist waits for the door behind him to close before getting back to scrolling on her phone. Were she anyone else she might wonder if Sinclair would be back sooner rather than later with a different name and nationality. But she’s certainly not paid enough to care.
Someone who cares even more than he’s paid is stomping away from Pleasant Valley’s latest community center. Steaming like he hasn’t since his last heated argument at work, Sinclair’d usually have worked himself up into weariness. For some reason, today the engine just seems to keep going. Each passing moment just fills him with more irritation and more energy.
Almost seeing red, the reporter looks to the outdoor gyms and spitefully decides to work off some of his newfound rage at this public resource. That’ll show them! Unsure what instinct he’s following, Sinclair is apathetic as he gets on something he thinks is supposed to exercise the shoulders and starts pushing.
Grunting as he quickly sweats up a storm, Sinclair grits his teeth as his arms burn with exertion he hasn’t felt since high school. Immediately finding himself dehydrated as he’s started working out in the sun having had nothing to drink today besides coffee, Sinclair figures his pathetic point made.
That is, until he sees a large water bottle sitting right by his feet. That he’s even humoring drinking from it should be proof enough he’s not in his right mind. Covered with stickers, he knows it can’t be his and yet scrawled on top of it is his name: Sonclair. In no time his sweaty hand brings it to his mouth as he enjoys the ichor of ice cold water.
Standing from the machine, the irate reporter finds the sweaty shirt sticking to his skin incredibly irritating. In further proof of his rapidly teetering state of mind, the journalist who’s so body shy that his chest hasn’t seen the sun since childhood begins to remove his shirt. It clings to his body like a second skin as it tears away to reveal an upper body far more impressive than it should be.
Still entirely untrained, there is raw power pumping through his limbs like it should not be. Sitting back down at what he now mindlessly recognizes as a chest press, he begins pumping at it until failure. With each heaving thrust his arms throb larger as his chest realizes that it can hold muscle as well as fat.
Under the afternoon sun his pallor begins to give way to a tan. Having to continually readjust his position as his arms creak longer and his back expands to completely hide the seat behind him, Sofclair watches as his hands are decidedly darker than his skin tone could be in any light.
Breaking him free from his ire-induced haze, Sofclair takes in what his arms have become. Even as he watches they continue to expand, veins trail down their length, throbbing with each beat of his racing heart. He should feel horror, calloused hands that are not his own feel the warm bronze skin that now make up his bulky forearms.
Looking down to a chest for the first time graced with pecs, he cannot hide the grin twitching onto his face. Darker, wider nipples point askew above a core designed for strength. Flexing his heavy new arms, Soflier takes another deep gulp of his water jug. Feeling it splash onto his face, he smirks even wider as he feels a thin mustache suddenly prickle onto his upper lip.
Discontent with his progress he splashes some of the icy liquid onto his face and feels as his whole face reconfigures itself. His jawline sharpens as his new tan finally creeps up his neck. Hair that has only been styled by barber’s hands thickens into a style that Soflier sees on all his magpinsan- uhh, cousins?
Shaking off whatever that strange fake word was, as Soflier’s eyes darken from their tepid blue into a brown darker than coffee, the journalist influencer scans the gym for his next machine. Scowling down at legs not nearly as impressive as his herculean chest and bis, Soflier stomps over to the leg press.
Pumped in a way he can hardly understand, with each step he grows all the more impressive. Rows of abs bulge through a gut maintained more for strength than aesthetics. Biceps bloat even larger as sweat streams off his bovine shoulders and drips down his sides from pits muskier than any two of his bros put together. Dreamily wondering where they are, he sits on the next machine and starts pumping.
At first embarrassed at the stick thin legs barely able to hold up his titanic torso, each rep packs pounds onto his thighs and calves. From the feet up his lower body changes to match its better half. Feet burst free from his cheap leather dress shoes before they’re promptly covered once more by ostentatious tennis shoes four sizes larger.
Shocked that he’s been working out in pants his whole time, when he blinks he finds he’s wearing his favorite gym shorts. Malinaw naman… Uhh, obviously, he never hits the gym without them! Probably slept in them after his sesh last night. Shamelessly giving himself a sniff as continues thrusting his legs larger, they quickly outpace even his upper body’s growth.
Sofiel bites his lip as he feels soreness burn deep in his thighs. Hungrily staring, he almost starts laughing as they fill his shorts to their breaking point. Only just formed socks slide down his calves as veins trail up from his feet to his heavy crotch. “God, sexy ako…” He moans to himself as the sun overheats his already steaming body.
Rubbing hands up and down his body, feeling the throbbing veins trailing across his form and the warm skin struggling against the growing muscle underneath, Sofiel’s shorts struggle against the new package within. Having bulked to as close to human perfection as he cares to, Sofiel’s feet slam to the floor as he closes his eyes and begins rutting into the air.
His publicly indecent reverie is interrupted as some mysterious force pours the rest of his ice cold water right onto his head. “Ayy what the fuck!?” Bolting up on the machine, the new Filipino gym bro sees none other than the Japanese receptionist who kicked him out.
“Answer your fucking phone next time! Jesus Sofiel, they’re gonna fire you if you don’t get your shit together.”
“Ahhh and I bet you’d hate to lose this eye-candy huh Suna?”
Rolling her eyes and yanking out her phone to performatively scroll at the accusation she goes on, “As if I’d wanna be with a dick who couldn’t find his way out of a finger trap”
“Ahh, ripping it in half counts! You’re just jelly…” Waiting for a response that doesn’t come, he looks up to see Setsuna gesturing inside.
“Did you not hear me, you oaf? Your horde of elderly women are getting impatient for their Zumba.”
“Ah shit! I owe you another one!”
She can’t help but stare at his ass and back as he leaves. Again she’d never bite but shit, if he isn’t hot. How’d he even get a body like that…
Marcos:
Though it’s the furthest thing from what he wants to do, perhaps ‘developing future talent’ will allow him to get Marcos more under his thumb. Maybe he can even get the kid to tag along when he’s inevitably fired by the end of the month. Sinclair’d hate to train another assistant up when he’s got an entirely passable one in Marcos.
“So, Marcos, what precisely did you have in mind for me to help you develop?”
Stunned that his bitchy boss is for the first time showing interest in him, Marcos accidentally crumples the list in his hands. “Really!? You wanna help me sir!?”
“Well don’t get so hysterical about it. It’s the least shitty option available.” Staring at his assistant, he’s already begun to second guess that. Marcos was never his first choice. The year before last the paper decided to hire all three of its summer interns as staff for the department heads, and while he’s been shafted out of that role his provided assistant remains.
That summer Marcos only applied to have something accompanying soccer and a high school degree on his resume. Taking an initial gap year before applying for college, the short internship has turned into a cushy enough gig and he’s long been angling for a more permanent role on staff.
While diligently working under the most obnoxious man in a relatively toxic workplace for two years and a bit now, Marcos has always known there’s a lot he can learn from the writer. If he could just catch him on a good day. And finally, he will get his chance to do just that.
“I mean, well, I guess what’s a day in the life like, right?”
“Wh- You know that Marcos, you’ve been working under me for years yes? Why don’t you tell me?”
Changing strategies, Marcos tries to shift the onus on him. Doing his best not to stoke an ever-rising temper, “You’re right, sorry boss. I guess, if you had any notes for me we could work on those together today?”
“Notes hm? Well for starters you could certainly care more about your appearance.” A shocking statement from someone wearing a coffee stained shirt to an assistant who clearly hits the gym regularly. Yet he takes it in stride.
“Right, that’s fair. Dress for the job you want right?” Oop, shit-
Sinclair’s eye twitches at this, “Right. The job you want. And what job is that? Marcos.”
Obviously aware what Sinclair’s asking, Marcos tries to salvage it, but one cannot simply wrangle this genie back into the bottle. “You know I don’t- I wouldn’t still be here if I wasn’t okay working under you Sinclair.”
“Okay?! Just okay, is that right? Vouching for you to stay on as an assistant even after my position was erased. I- This is exactly why I tell them you’re not ready every time you apply for promotion.”
Marcos was prepared to walk everything back immediately until Sinclair confirms something the young man never even suspected. After everything he’s done for the jerk. Ignoring every spiteful comment and shitty assignment tossed his way so he can be near a writer he has always respected despite himself.
All this time it’s been Sinclair holding him back. His eyes well with tears as he feels his face burn with embarrassment and rage, “You what?”
“Oh don’t look at me like that, you weren’t ready. I was just the feather that broke the camel’s back.”
Biting his lip, Marcos has been deliberately holding something back from Sinclair. He’d explicitly told Sinclair that these jobs were a last chance, and that includes this one. He just didn’t think Sinclair would be such a callous asshole. His boss had always treated him like a tool. Well, Marcos is going to give him one last chance or he is going to literally become one.
“Say sorry.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mr. Sinclair. I would appreciate if you apologized for, on multiple occasions- no fuck that, for day in and day out making my life more difficult than it needs to be.”
So up his own ass he takes offense to the implication that he’s done anything of the sort, despite explicitly confirming he’s stopped Marcos from promotion just moments ago, Sinclair scoffs. “Now I’m sorry if you find the meager workloads I assign you too demanding, kid. But that’s life.” The writer eyes Marcos fingering something in his pants, “Go on, share with the class.”
Retrieving a small button Marcos has a severe look on his face as he presses it. “They told me to use this when I gave up on you.”
Laughing at the hysterics, Sinclair struggles to take someone he views as so lesser seriously. Before he can get out a full sentence chiding him however, he’s wracked with pleasure “Come now Marcoohsshit!” Suddenly every inch of his skin is burning hot. He feels his heartbeat in his head.
“Whuh, what did that- What did you just do to me Marcos!?” Staring at his boss with wide eyes, the assistant reaches towards his crotch as he is similarly filled with pangs of pleasure.
“I- I don’t know?” Reaching down to adjust his package as he is immediately rockhard, when his fingers manhandle his cock Sinclair again contorts in his desk chair.
“Gaahhhd Damnit Marcos! Stop?!” Pent up more than he can understand even as he starts cumming in his pants, Sinclair stares daggers at his assistant while drool begins pooling in his mouth.
Struggling to swallow the spittle rising more and more as he continues to rut and unload into his jeans, Sinclair feels his clothes sear against his skin as everything just feels too much. Face burning up, moving his limbs is suddenly more difficult as he looks down to find clothes that were already slightly too big for him draping across his thin body even more dramatically.
His shoulders slump slightly more as he sees his sleeves fall even limper. Taking another deep, struggled swallow, the reporter notices that his fingers are suddenly barely visible through the ends of his sleeves. Similarly when he shifts his weary legs his shoes just fall to the floor. Despite getting warmer by the second, it seems as if Sinclair has lost the ability to sweat everywhere save his legs which have already stained through his jeans with sweat.
Giving up on swallowing the still increasing pool in his mouth, the reporter allows himself to openly drool as he looks to Marcos. Lost in a reverie clearly more pleasant than Sinclair’s own, his boss has no qualms about interrupting, drool dripping down his cheeks he shouts. “Earth to fuuuhhking Marcos!? Help me get thesesh schlothes off!”
Taking his hands from his crotch Marcos quickly moves to help, shaking his head all the while “Right, sorry! I don’t-” He easily removes Sinclair’s top, though as it drags against his boss’ stomach, the man can’t help but cough up some drool as pins and needles tickle his every inch. Thicker than it previously was, the reporter begins to notice a distinct salty, acrid taste as it refuses to slow down.
The jeans give more trouble as they catch on his thighs which are for some reason bloating slightly. After a tug that dislodges another wave of spit from Sinclair’s mouth, the pants are off. Falling back into his chair as he feels his legs give out, they both apprise the empty crotch hanging between his still growing thighs. But Sinclair feels nothing from this, there’s a far more pronounced vacancy coming from his ass.
Sinclair’s mouth falls open and no matter how hard he tries it stays that way. He feels a pressure deep in his stomach, no lower- His legs are throbbing. It’s rising. Across his body he feels massive veins begin to throb larger. Arteries, blood vessels, and nerves once vital for him to move and think and act are instead being converted into nothing but sacks to hold blood, to make him feel more pleasure, to make him harder.
Liquid from his mouth gets cloudier as he feels his neck get tighter, bloating larger, racing his shoulders to match his torso growing more cylindrical. Throbbing up from his balls, from his legs, he sees the beginnings of a thick tube in the center of his stomach. Barely noticeable at first, he sees it getting more prominent as something seems to course up through it. Higher with every throbbing pump.
Gurgling for help he looks to his assistant who is yet again preoccupied with his own cock- No, even though it’s in his hand, Marcos’ attention is indeed squarely on Sinclair. Hunger in his eyes, it’s the only thing he can understand. Humping his hand, Marcos can’t help himself as he rushes to his boss and flips him over.
Pressure races through Sinclair as he feels his neck tighten and throb. He doesn’t even notice Marcos fucking him. He fails to produce anything besides wet heaving moans as he spits up more viscous pre, and then he hears nothing but blood rushing as every single faculty remaining within him tenses. He feels his legs pull and gags as he spews his first load as Marcos’ cock before blacking out.
When he comes too his vision is hazy. He feels a tickle on his ass that must be the jungle of Marcos’ pubes, straight and untrimmed, unlike his own. Looking down as much as he’s able with a neck that no longer moves he sees his skin tone has drastically darkened, even more than his assistant’s warm tone.
He doesn’t remember having arms to not have as he looks to see his legs balls have grown hairier. They look so big! He’s glad he’s given Marcos such impressive balls. At the thought he feels his skin get a little tighter as he gets excited. At the same time he feels two hands reach to hold him.
Slowly they start rubbing him up and down, “Shit… S*******? You awake?” Marcos' thoughts are so loud. The cock hears him say a word it doesn’t really understand, someone’s name maybe. It doesn’t care. It focuses everything in Marcos on what matters how horny he is.
“Ngggh, no Ssin- you- cock, When I cum again- When we cum again that’s it… I’ll get your, uhhh fuckin’ skills or whatever but you’ll just be…” Flexing its mobility, as Marcos slows down, the cock yanks the man’s heavier balls up as it forces itself to bounce. It can only imagine the quivering look on Marcos’ face as it yanks tight and spews pre in waves.
Looking down as thicker hairs begin to grow at the base of his cock, Marcos watches as whatever pale skin of Sinclair remains is washed away by that dark skin of his cock. It’s so much bigger than his used to be. Cupping his balls as he struggles to masturbate with one hand he sees his cock fully spurting pre as a foreskin quickly grows to fully cover his cockhead before being displaced as his cock gets even harder.
“Noooouh- You don’t understand if I cum that’s it!” But his oh so needy cock doesn’t care. It needs release. It has one button to press, and it is pressing it. Horny. Horny. Horny.
What remains of a boss Marcos can’t even remember is splattered on the door of his new office’s private bathroom. Shaking off a migraine he looks down at his ever so slightly hairier chest and tighter torso before pulling up his underwear. Filled with the pride of a man too cocky for his own good, Marcos looks down at his cock with the smirk of someone who will be a far more pleasant employee of the Pleasant Valley Paper.
“Good one little buddy, now let’s get some actual work done.”
I freaking love my job! Every shift I get to wash these perfect, muscular bodysuits after the guests are done turning them into cum soaked fucktoys. Right now I’m in the cleaning suite with the most expensive bodysuit of the hotel, and personally one of my absolute favorite suits—Suit26. One look at him and you get why he costs a fortune. He’s the full package: Tall, broad-shouldered, with thick muscular slabs of pecs, tree-trunk thighs, and a fat, heavy cock. While most of the bodysuits look cute, suit26 has a rough, manly look to him that lots of the guests love.
And to think this used to be that rude, cocky prick of a guest who checked in like he owned the entire hotel. Treated every member of staff like garbage—snapping his fingers, barking orders, throwing tantrums if his towel wasn’t warm enough. The whole crew breathed a sigh of relief the day the owner pulled him aside and “upgraded” him. We all knew what that really meant. Now he’s just an empty, hollow human skin. No brain. No ego. No nothing. Just warm meat waiting for a real man to claim it. The staff group chat blew up with celebration emojis that night.
I wish I could put him on, but the hotel rules strictly prohibit staff members from wearing the bodysuits, and I don't want to risk becoming an empty husk like him.
The hotel owner runs the whole operation like a genius. This place is a luxury resort on the surface—top floors packed with rich guests living their best vacation lives. But the hottest ones, the ones with the perfect bodies and the worst attitudes, get quietly selected. They disappear downstairs into the Subterranean Complex nobody on staff is allowed to enter. Rumors say there’s this sleek black pod down there that sucks a man’s insides out, leaving nothing but a perfect, limp bodysuit. Then the real rich gay clients rent them for a few days, slip inside, and enjoy their vacation in a brand-new, muscular body. I don’t ask questions. I just thank the boss every single day for creating this paradise… and for turning assholes like Suit26 into rentable fuckmeat.
I grab Suit26’s wrist and lift his heavy arm, burying my face in that deep, sweaty armpit. Shit, there's still some musk left. Sometimes no matter how much I wash their bodies they still smell like they just stepped out of an intense workout. Maybe I should try using my tongue. So I start licking his armpits slowly and thoroughly, letting the musk fill my taste buds while my free hand glides over his thick thighs. Then I spread his legs wide, hook them over the edge of the special cleaning tub, and grab the thick hose built right into the side. The whole bathtub is designed for this—a high-pressure flush system made specifically for bodysuit cleaning. I shove the nozzle deep into his tight ass until it’s sealed in there nice and snug.
I flip the switch and a powerful rush of hot water blasts straight into the hollow suit. The muscular suit jerks once from the pressure, but that’s all it can do. Water immediately starts gushing back out—pouring in thick streams from his open mouth, flooding from his ears, even squirting from his nose like some sick human fountain. His slack, handsome face is a total mess, water cascading down his cheeks and neck while his insides get power-washed clean.
Finally the cycle ends. I pull the hose free with a wet pop, and the last of the water drains out of every hole. His ass is spotless now—pink, tight, and ready for whatever comes next.
My hands roam up to those massive pecs. I squeeze them hard, thumbs flicking over his sensitive nipples until they pebble. I lean down and latch onto one, sucking it deep into my mouth, tongue swirling, teeth grazing. His fat cock jumps and starts swelling—eight and a half thick inches rising like it’s got a mind of its own. The bodysuit nerves still work perfectly even when the brain’s gone. I don’t question the science behind it, I just grin against his chest and keep sucking harder.
I like to think that the men are still there, conscious but unable to do anything, trapped souls in a husk of what used to be their bodies, all they can do is watch strangers have fun while using their skins. I wrap my hand around that throbbing shaft and stroke it slowly, feeling it pulse. My own dick is aching in my shorts. I can't hold myself, fuck the rules. There’s no policy against using the suits as sex toys, and I’ve earned this right!
I slide my arms under him—he weighs almost nothing now—and lift him out of the tub like a giant rag doll. I towel him dry, then drag him to the big bed and push him out flat on his back. Arms and legs spread wide, cock standing straight up and twitching. I strip fast, grab the lube from the drawer, and slick his shaft until it’s shiny and slick. I then climb on top, knees planted on either side of his hips, and line him up. “That’s it, big guy,” I growl at his blank, handsome face. "I always took such good care of you, now it's your time to take care of me...” I sink down in one smooth motion, taking every inch until my ass is pressed against his heavy balls. Fuck, he fills me so good.
I plant both hands on those massive pecs and start riding him hard, bouncing, grinding, using his body like the lifeless fucktoy he is. I slap his left pec, then the right, watching them jiggle. I pinch and twist his nipples until they’re red and swollen. “Look at you,” I pant, slamming down again and again. “All that muscle, all that cock… all mine! Fuuuuckk... Are you seeing this? I hope you are!” I lean forward and start kissing him. I ride him faster, ass slapping against his thighs, my own dick bouncing and leaking all over his abs. The domination rush is insane, knowing this body once would’ve punched me for even looking at him, and now he's helplessly giving me so much pleasure.
My balls tighten. I slam down one last time, bury him to the hilt, and explode. Thick ropes of cum splatter across his perfect pecs, his neck, his slack, open mouth, and those eye holes. I keep grinding through it, milking every drop out of him until I’m shaking and breathless.
I’m still panting, chest heaving, when I notice a drop of water running down from the corner of his eye, could that be... a tear? No way, don't be ridiculous, it's probably just the water from the power washing I did, unless... the door suddenly swings open. The janitor leans against the frame, arms crossed, smirking at me. “Am I interrupting something?"
I laugh, still impaled on Suit26’s cock. “Nah, I’m already finished,” I say as I climb off and start redressing.
He chuckles. “You gotta be careful, man. If the big boss catches you turning his expensive suits into your personal dildos, he won’t be happy. You know what happened to Larry when he was caught wearing a suit. I heard the big boss uses him as a carpet in his office."
“Relax,” I say, pulling up my pants, “We all need a break sometimes. Besides, you’re the only one who knows… and I know about you fucking the shit out of Suit13 in the storage room last month, so we’re good?”
He just nods, eyes flicking to the cum-glazed pecs. “Fair enough. Heads-up though, a gay couple just booked Suit26 for a three o’clock check-in. They want him nice and fresh. Better finish cleaning him up before they get here.” He winks and leaves, closing the door behind him.
I look back at the bed. My load is streaked across the bodysuit's massive pecs, dripping off his chin, pooling in the deep groove between his abs. The once-proud stud just lies there, empty, used, and ready for round two with the gay couple. I wonder if a gay sub was going to wear him.
I sigh and grab the cleaning cloth. “Alright, handsome. Time to make you clean again… for now.”
Warning: I guess some slight body horror but other than that no AI in writting so if I make a mistake plz dont look too much into it.
The life of an office worker was not the most eventful thing in life, Dave knew that as much. Even his name seemed to confirm it—Dave, short, plain, and painfully ordinary, the sort of name that belonged to a hundred middle-aged men in identical shirts sitting beneath identical fluorescent lights. It was safe, familiar, and insignificant, much like the life he had been pushed into. Still, being an engineer was not all bad. His days were steady, filled with difficult problems that eventually gave way to patience and logic, and there was a quiet satisfaction in watching something he had designed finally work. The pay was decent, his colleagues were kind, and his family was supportive - well mostly since he came out as Bi, they still held on to the hope he would swing “the right way”.
Yet already in his forties, and when he looked at himself honestly, he could not help feeling that life had passed him by. He was not particularly handsome, with thinning hair, tired eyes, and a face made dull by years beneath fluorescent office lights. He was still single, lived alone, and had little waiting for him at home beyond reheated dinners and the low murmur of the television. Sometimes, he would notice the younger men passing through the office or laughing together outside—confident, sharply dressed, and effortlessly handsome—and feel a quiet ache of envy. Looking at them, Dave often wondered whether he might once have become someone like that, had he not been pushed so early into a safe and ordinary life chosen more by expectation than desire. He did not hate what he had, but he could not stop mourning the person he might have been. Whenever he looked through the window at the city moving beyond the glass, he felt that his real life was happening somewhere just out of reach. Dave wanted more—a little adventure, a stronger sense of confidence, and perhaps a chance for a prettier view..
And then, at last, the prettier view arrived.
Her name was Sadaki, and Dave noticed her the moment she entered the office. She was strikingly beautiful, polished and graceful enough to draw attention without asking for it. Unfortunately, beauty was almost all there was to her. She was vain, dismissive, and casually cruel, ignoring Dave unless she needed something from him and speaking to him as though even that brief attention were a favor.
Though she joined the company as an intern, Sadaki climbed into junior management with suspicious speed. The reason was obvious. She had quickly attached herself to the company’s newest rising star: Hernando Saionji, the CEO’s son, recently returned from studying overseas. He was young, broad-shouldered, sharp-featured, and effortlessly handsome, but beauty was almost all there was to him as well. Like Sadaki, he was arrogant, shallow, and cold, treating anyone beneath him as though they were hardly worth noticing.
Sadaki followed Hernando everywhere, laughing at his jokes, praising his ideas, and making herself impossible for him to overlook. He accepted her admiration as naturally as he accepted every other advantage in his life. Together, they made a beautiful pair, and beauty seemed to be the only worthwhile thing either of them possessed. Watching them, Dave felt the old bitterness return. Some people were born with the right face and the right connections, while others spent their lives working for people who would never bother to remember their names.
So Dave began to wonder: if beauty truly was only skin-deep, and if the right appearance was all a person needed to move through life with ease, then what would happen if he could wear Hernando’s skin? He imagined it like slipping into a cold, wet skinsuit—first sliding his hands and feet into it, then slowly pulling the smooth, elastic body over his own until every inch clung tightly around him. The handsome face would come last, hanging loose and empty before he stretched it over his head, drawing Hernando’s sharp features across his own and aligning the eyes and mouth until the disguise settled perfectly into place. Would people finally look at Dave instead of through him? Would doors open, voices soften, and admiration come without effort? The thought was absurd, impossible—and yet once the idea entered his mind, he could not force it out.
So..
A dark reckoning began to take shape in Dave’s mind. This was not some story from one of those strange sites he visited late at night—there would be no enchanted needle to hollow him out, no magical dagger that conveniently opened a seam along Hernando’s back. No miracle would simply hand him another man’s life.
This would require planning, patience, and calculation..
If Dave truly meant to become Hernando Saionji, then wearing his face would never be enough. He would have to study the way Hernando walked, the way he spoke, the careless tilt of his smile, the names he remembered and the people he ignored. Every habit, every secret, every private detail would have to become Dave’s as well. The disguise could not merely look flawless from the outside; it had to survive every glance, every conversation, every moment when someone expected Hernando to be standing before them. Dave would need to become him completely—inside and out.
For two years, Dave stayed close to Hernando and learned from him in silence. He swallowed every insult, smiled when he wanted to sneer, and let Hernando mistake obedience for devotion. He studied the effortless charm that made people lean toward him—the warm flash of his smile, the lazy confidence in his voice, and the way he always left the top two buttons of his dark shirts undone, the fabric pulling tight across his broad chest as though barely resisting the strain. Dave memorized the rhythm of his laugh, the way he entered a room as though it already belonged to him, and every small, practiced gesture that turned beauty into influence. Hernando never noticed that Dave was not merely admiring him. Piece by piece, he was learning how to wear everything that made Hernando irresistibly charming.
Then the time to reap his reward finally came..
Hernando was attending another of those glittering parties held high above the city, surrounded by champagne, tailored suits, and people who laughed too eagerly whenever he spoke. Dave moved among them disguised as one of the serving staff, his posture lowered and his expression arranged into the blank politeness expected of someone meant to remain invisible. After two years of watching Hernando, slipping unnoticed into the background had become second nature.
“Another drink, sir?” Dave asked, offering him the tray.
Hernando took a glass without properly looking at him. “Obviously. And make sure it’s cold this time.”
“Of course, Mr. Saionji.”
Dave watched him drink before disappearing into the crowd. It was not long before Hernando’s easy smile began to slip. His fingers tightened around the edge of a table, and he blinked repeatedly as the lights above him blurred.
“What the hell was in that?” he muttered.
Dave appeared beside him just as his balance failed.
Hernando tried to shove him away, but there was little strength behind it. Dave caught him beneath the arm and guided him toward the private elevator, calmly explaining to anyone who noticed that the CEO’s son had simply drunk too much. No one questioned him. Men like Hernando were always being carried, protected, and quietly excused.
Dave took him to one of the penthouse rooms above the party and lowered him onto the bed. By then, Hernando was drenched in sweat. His breathing came in short, uneven bursts, and an unnatural heat had spread through his body as though he were burning from somewhere deep inside. The fine clothes clung to his skin, outlining the powerful frame beneath them.
Then Hernando finally opened his eyes, confusion lasted only until he recognized the man standing over him.
“You?” he rasped, struggling to rise before another wave of heat forced him back down. “What did you do to me?”
Dave remained silent.
Hernando’s face twisted with disgust. “You disgusting faggot. Do you have any idea who I am? You’re finished!”
Dave sighed, almost as though the insult had merely confirmed what he already knew about him. Then a slow smile appeared on his face.
“Well,” he said, “I’m not finished with you yet.”
“The solution in your drink was designed to loosen the skin from your form,” Dave continued, his voice unnervingly calm.
Hernando watched in horror as Dave reached beneath the waiter’s coat and drew out a knife, turning it casually in his hand until the blade caught the light.
“And this,” Dave said, watching the fear finally enter Hernando’s eyes, “is for the separation.”
…
Whatever horror followed was lost beneath the music below. Hernando’s screams rose only briefly before the party swallowed them whole—buried beneath laughter, bass, and the clinking of champagne glasses. By the time the last guests began to leave, Dave had already cleaned the penthouse with methodical care, wiping away every trace that anything had happened there. Only the bathroom remained untouched. In the center of the vast marble room, the king-sized tub had been filled with a pale, chemical solution. Floating within it was the translucent shape that had once belonged to Hernando, emptied and strangely delicate, its handsome features drifting just beneath the surface. The liquid slowly thickened around it, preserving every curve and detail as it solidified. Dave stood beside the tub in silence, watching the skin become firm enough to wear.
Dave undressed and stood before the bathroom mirror. Under the harsh white light, every disappointment seemed sharper: thinning hair, tired eyes, sloping shoulders, a soft middle, and pale skin marked by age and years spent beneath office lights. His body looked small and ordinary, worn down by a life that had demanded everything from him while offering little in return. His gaze travelled downward, lingering on the intimate imperfections - his small dark manhood he had always tried not to think about, before shifting toward the bath. Hernando’s translucent skin floated beneath the thickening solution, broad shoulders and sculpted proportions preserved with almost insulting perfection. Even emptied, it appeared younger, stronger, and more complete than Dave had ever felt. Every detail remained intact, waiting to be inhabited. Dave looked between his reflection and the shape in the tub, then smiled faintly. Soon, he would never have to see the man in the mirror again.
Dave lifted the preserved skin from the bath. It hung from his hands like a translucent imitation of a man, cold and heavy with solution, its features slack except for the mouth, which gaped far wider than any human mouth should. There was no seam along the back, no convenient opening hidden beneath the hair. Hernando’s mouth was the only entrance. Dave placed both hands between the soft lips and pulled. The jaw stretched soundlessly, widening until the handsome face became a grotesque ring of skin and teethless darkness. He pushed one foot through, then the other, forcing his legs down into the hollow body. The material clung to him at once, slick and resistant, as though it resented being filled by someone so different from the shape it remembered.
The sight in the mirror was unbearable. Dave’s thick, aging body writhed beneath Hernando’s flawless exterior, creating a distorted parody of both men. His stomach bulged beneath the narrow waist; his knees bent in the wrong places inside the longer legs; sculpted muscles twisted and swelled as he searched for their proper spaces. Hernando’s empty arms flailed while Dave struggled to reach the waiting hands, and the beautiful face stretched around his waist like some monstrous collar.
He kept pushing. His torso disappeared through the distended mouth, forcing Hernando’s face wider until the cheeks and jaw lost all recognizable shape. For several moments, it looked as though the perfect young man had swallowed something too large and was choking upon it, his body bucking and rippling around the heavier figure trapped inside. Then Dave found the arms. He drove his hands through the narrow sleeves until his fingers filled Hernando’s, and the warped shoulders snapped gradually into place. The borrowed skin tightened around him, compressing his softer shape and drawing it into the proportions it had once possessed. The swollen abdomen flattened. The uneven limbs lengthened. Smooth muscle re-formed over the body as each distortion vanished beneath the settling surface.
Only the head remained.
Dave pushed upward through the throat until his skull entered the hollow face. Hernando’s mouth stretched over his chin, then slid downward into position as Dave pressed his nose and eyes against their waiting places. The loose features shifted over him, first grotesque and crooked, then slowly aligning. The lips contracted around his own. The jaw regained its sharp shape. Dark hair settled across his scalp as the last traces of translucence faded.
Dave stood motionless before the mirror while the surface finished tightening.
A moment earlier, it had resembled a malformed creature struggling beneath a beautiful man’s skin.
Now there was no sign of Dave at all.
Hernando Saionji stared back at him.
He trailed his hands over his newly acquired body, tracing line and vein over the flawless skin that is now his. Drowning in the bliss and pleasure, Dave trailed his hands downward to his stolen cock, his breathing fastened, … and all came to a complete stop. Instead of getting to hold his new fresh pale clean meat, he was rewarded with an unworn empty sack. Confusion washed over him until he noticed..
Beneath the smooth skin of Hernando’s abdomen, instead of perfectly defined muscle, an unnatural ridge pressed upward, trapped awkwardly between his old body and the new shape surrounding it. looked warped there, twitching faintly as the borrowed skin struggled to draw everything into its proper place. Dave pressed his index finger on the tip of the stretching shaft and a violent shock tore through him, buckling his knees and sending him crashing against the counter. His borrowed body convulsed, every muscle tightening at once as heat surged beneath the skin like fire.
The fever climbed rapidly. Hernando’s skin rippled over him, tightening in some places and peeling away in others, as though it had finally recognized the stranger trapped inside. Dark veins briefly surfaced across the flawless chest before vanishing again. Dave clawed at the marble, struggling to remain upright while the face in the mirror twisted between his own features and Hernando’s.
The skin was rejecting him.
Carefully, Dave dragged himself out of the bathroom and onto a couch, getting himself into his most comfortable position when he needed to pleasure himself. In a haze, with hands oiled with his sweat, he pushed his own thick cock under the skin towards the empty hollowed cock. A condom, Dave thought, was what it looked like without anything to fill it, so it should act the same way. So he pushed hard, as his old cock slid behind the surface of the skin, till it plopped itself behind the hole. As Dave traced the skin of the hollow shaft from Hernando’s cock over his own, he realized with horror that even though the cock sleeve was at its end, the old cock had not even finished going in yet. With nothing else he could do, Dave let go of his hand and surrendered to fate.
The more his own cock slid in, it gave him an equal part and pain and pleasure: Hernando’s shaft rose above its own size, and the skin stretched thin to its limit, till it thinned out and he could see his old cock silhouette, twitching and squirming underneath. Dark and horrible fantasy plundered his own mind.
“Oh hahhhhh, please, my body was invaded by Dave and my skin was being worn by him. Now my skin and seeds are all his..!” Hernando’s voice squealed and moaned echoed across the room.
There was pain and pleasure, then there came darkness and bliss. The cock sleeve and his own warped itself and bonded as one, and as his tips finally lined up in sync with Hernando’s, he could feel a twitching wave crashing from the back of his mind, ripped through his whole being and flushed out through his cock. Mouth- opening, breath-heaving, hand-gripping tightly onto the couch, the fluid came out unnaturally dense, stretching in pale, sticky strands that clung to the skin instead of running, as though it had already begun to set.
Under the bliss and sound of this bustling city, a new life was born, not from love, but from ambition and twisted fascination.
“Hernando, Hernando, Hernando,..” Dave chanted his name, as though it was a spell, bounding his soul to this husk till the end of day. As he traced skin and drew marks across the sweat, cum and blood, Dave scooped up a little residue left on his foreskin and brought it to his lips. It was bitter at first then changed over the new taste of mildly salty and wood, as though the life of an underappreciated engineer is slipping away and replaced by royalty and lavish lifestyle. “I will take good care of your life, Hernando. I will wear your skin, smile your smile, command the attention and no one will know!”
________________________
Afterward, “Hernando” showered, cleaned away the last traces of the night, and stretched out naked on the couch with a cold beer in hand. The air-conditioning cooled the fever still lingering beneath his skin, and in the dark reflection of the penthouse windows, he looked exactly as Hernando should have looked—young, powerful, and perfectly at home.
The doorbell rang.
“Hernando?” Sadaki called from the hallway. “Are you in there?”
Before he could answer, the lock turned and she hurried inside, still dressed from the party.
“There you are,” she said, relief softening her face. “You disappeared without saying anything. I’ve been calling you all night.”
She rushed over and knelt beside him, pressing a hand to his forehead.
“God, you’re still burning up. What happened?”
“Hernando” took a slow drink and looked down at her with quiet disgust. This woman never cared about me this much in my old life, he thought. She barely noticed I existed. Now she was staring at him as though his slightest discomfort mattered more than anything else.
Sadaki hesitated beside the couch, still studying him with concern.
“I saw that older engineer near you earlier,” she said. “Dave. It looked like he handed you something. I thought he might have done something, and then you disappeared. I was worried sick.”
“Hernando” smiled faintly. So she had noticed Dave after all—only when he stood close enough to threaten someone she actually valued.
“Dave is gone,” he said calmly. “You won’t have to worry about him again.”
Something in his tone made Sadaki pause, but he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“You were worried about me?” he asked.
“Of course I was.”
“And if I asked you to do something for me,” he continued, his smile sharpening, “you would do it, wouldn’t you?”
Sadaki beamed, then nodded.
“Hernando” leaned back against the couch, satisfied. For years she had treated Dave as though he were beneath notice. Now, wearing a handsome face, he barely had to ask before she offered him everything.
Sadaki stayed, and the night blurred into heat, tangled sheets, and breathless movement. “Hernando” held her close, but his attention kept drifting away from her and back toward himself. Each time her fingers dug too firmly into his back, the not-yet-settled skin shifted beneath them, pulling strangely across his shoulders and tugging at the edges of his face. He would pause, press his features back into place, and smile as though nothing had happened.
Sadaki seemed too overwhelmed to notice.
In the mirror beyond the bed, “Hernando” watched the borrowed body move—broad shoulders flexing, chest tightening, dark hair falling across that perfect face. As he planted a hand on top of his head and pulled the scalp backward as though adjusting a loose hood. The motion stretched his forehead smooth, drew the cheeks tight, and briefly widened the eyes into an unnatural stare and for a brief moment, he was Dave again. He held it there until the face settled properly over the shape beneath, then released it with a faint, wet snap and “Hernando” returned, pristine as ever. All the while running his hands possessively across the broad chest and sharp jaw, occasionally tugging the face loose simply to watch it distort before smoothing it back into perfection.
She believed his attention was fixed on her. In truth, he was barely aware she was there.
With the stamina of a stallion, “Hernando” went for quite a few rounds till he finally released his seeds inside Sadaki’s hungry hole. As he pulled his cock shaft out, he noticed that what remained carried the same unnatural thickness as the bonding compound from earlier—pale, heavy, and slow to separate, as though something of both men had been fused together within it. The thought of invading a noble bloodline brought him so much satisfaction that he ever thought it would.
Sadaki curled contentedly against his chest, tracing one finger across the smooth skin she believed she knew.
“Maybe this could finally become something real,” she murmured. “You and me. A future.”
“Hernando” wrapped an arm around her and smiled into the darkness. Beneath his palm, the borrowed chest rose and fell with perfect calm.
“Oh, you’ll have a future with me,” he whispered too softly for her to hear. “Just not the one you imagined.”
Sadaki soon fell asleep against him, trusting and content, while “Hernando” remained awake. He listened to her breathing and studied his reflection in the dark window. The face looking back was calm, handsome, and still faintly unreal—yet with every passing minute, it felt more like his own.
He touched the corner of his mouth, remembering how he had forced his entire body through that impossible opening. There had never been a seam to close. Hernando’s lips had simply contracted around his own once he was fully inside, restoring the sharp jaw and flawless face as though nothing had entered it at all. “Hernando” hooked a finger to his cheek and pulled experimentally. The skin stretched farther than it should have, briefly revealing the older shape hidden beneath, before snapping back into perfect alignment.
Better than before.
The fever was gone. The borrowed skin had stopped shifting, and even Hernando’s scent now seemed to rise naturally from him.
Sadaki stirred against his chest.
For the first time since the fever broke, “Hernando” felt cold. A thin line of sweat gathered at his temple as he looked down at her, searching her face for suspicion. Had his voice slipped? Had she noticed the way his skin moved, or how often he had stared at himself instead of her?
“Different how?” he asked, forcing Hernando’s usual lazy confidence into the words.
Sadaki opened her eyes just enough to smile. “Less distant. Like you finally know what you want.”
He held her gaze for another second before letting himself breathe again.
“Maybe I do,” he said softly.
She settled back against him, unaware of how tightly his hand had closed around the beer bottle.
By dawn, “Hernando” had made his decision. He would burn every bridge leading back to that tired engineer and settle completely into this new life—the penthouse, the company, the attention, the face people trusted before he even opened his mouth.
Yet he had not forgotten the older men from his department, the ones who had spent years being ignored just as he had. Perhaps, once his own position was secure, he could offer a few of them the same kind of rebirth: younger faces, stronger bodies, and a place among the beautiful people who had once looked through them. A new circle could be built inside the old one, populated by familiar minds hidden beneath flawless appearances.
Clark sat down in his living room sofa doom scrolling his way through after a full day. Really just the same routine as anyone else would when they go down the rabbit hole — it’s doom scrolling through Instagram Reels, Youtube Shorts, and even Tiktok
Every time though he’d come across ads from Amazon, some random bogus website, and finally one of those game ads where you can actually play it right then and there. “Damn it, not this again” he said after getting stuck on one game ad that froze his screen, unable to continue scrolling unless he completed the task.
The game was Super Adventures and it had a feature of creating your own superhero avatar so you could do missions in-game. The ad allowed you to customize your own avatar with specific traits and powers.
“Fine I’ll do it, ugh” Clark complained.
The ad for the game was simple enough, it had an avatar in the center and a selection of powers you can give it
On screen he chose the basic superhero powers that he knew Superman had — since he was named Clark after all, he thought why not just input those choices?
“Alright so just flight, super strength, invulnerability, speed, and laser vision” he said as he tapped his way through. After selecting the screen then showed the hero avatar — what caught his eye was it kind of looked like him but as if he were drawn like a comic book hero with an absolute unit of a body, one that would be impossible to attain without steroids he thought.
After that, he was finally able to continue doom scrolling. “Man, I hate these pesky ads” as he continued looking through reels of dog memes and funny accidents.
He started feeling tired so he got up from the sofa and made his way to his kitchen to get something to eat. What he failed to realize was — he wasn’t actually walking
As he “walked” past his living room mirror, he saw a glimpse of himself but what shocked him was his feet weren’t touching the ground at all. He dropped most of what he had been carrying to put away
“Whaaat the fuuu..” he exclaimed as he saw himself floating in mid-air. “This can’t be real…I-I’m just tired that’s all” he said worryingly closing his eyes. As he did, he floated back down to the floor as he felt the wood touch his feet.
“No way that could’ve been real” he said as he remembered he clicked “Flight” as one of the superhero options on that ad earlier
“Okay okay that might’ve just been a hallucination, breathe Clark” he said. But to fully dispel his worries, he thought of trying to lift the sofa to be sure the “Super Strength” didn’t apply.
Boy was he in for a trip.
As he positioned himself beside his sofa to try and lift it, it actually budged as if it were just made of a sheet of paper. What previously took him effort with a friend to even get into his apartment was now above his head with just one hand and with almost zero effort
“Ho—ho-okay this can’t be fucking real” Clark said with the sofa hoisted above him almost touching the ceiling. He then lowered it back down to make sure he doesn’t damage anything. He thought that if he now had that kind of strength, one wrong move would easily destroy anything
And that’s when his clothes practically exploded
With loud rips, his clothes practically exploded and tore off his body — why? — because it was as if massive muscles just piled up onto his frame without warning
His shirt and hoodie couldn’t have expected his entire torso to just suddenly pack on pounds of pure muscle mass — thick pillowy pecs, biceps as big as his head, an impossibly wide shoulders and back, 8-pack abs, and all supported by the most powerful set of legs that were now damaging his floor
“FUCK what the absolute FUCK!” He shouted as the rush of his body expanding that much was surprising as the past two powers
He looked down and decided to tear off the torn up fabric off his body to take a better look
As he got whatever was left of his shirt, hoodie, and joggers off his body (with incredible ease), he finally got to see his body in its newfound glory
First, he really couldn’t see much downwards as his heaving chest was now blocking the view. He instinctively gave them a flex and saw how thick and far they went as they bounced.
Second, he felt up his new arms that were now futher away from each other. He felt up the bicep that he couldn’t even wrap his new massive hand around and felt up every ridge and vein that was now there
Third, he propped up his shoulders and back feeling up the new wingspan. He guessed he would at least be double the previous width he was just a few minutes ago with how his lats were pushing his arms out and his shoulders being capped by bowling balls
Fourth, he finally peered down to look at his legs. This thighs alone were bigger than his previous waistline with all the muscle mass stuffed in there
“Fuck man, this can’t be happening for real can it?” He said as he flexed a bicep in the mirrors direction, catching it ball up as big as his head
As he walked to the window he couldn’t feel the floor again. “Might as well take this out on a test run” Clark said as he flew out of his apartment
As he zipped through the sky, he decided on landing just down on the street of his apartment building to test out his new muscles and strength
People on the sidewalk were shocked to find a man with barely enough clothes just land heroically out of nowhere.
Clark then tried lifting up a parked car on the road. Much to his excitement and wonder, the car weighed nothing more than a feather as he hoisted it above him like the sofa in his living room.
Unbenknownst to him while being distracted by his new powers, everyone got their phones out and was recording the behemoth lifting up a car with one hand.
Unbenknownst to him as well, he was lifting the car so high up because everyone stood only up to his lower pec height. He didn’t manage to check how the ad also affected his height as he towered over everyone on the street
“This is gonna be great” Clark said to himself as he put the car back down and flew off, leaving a crater on the road where he launched himself — “gotta go back and install that game” he said as he flew back to his apartment.
Epilogue
Clark, now alias Goliath, was back in his apartment after a long day fighting crime in the city as he doom scrolled his way through social media again having a bit of difficulty with the size of his phone versus the size of his hands
See, after downloading the game, he made more specific modifications to his superhero avatar — all for the better he thought — now being twice or thrice the size he previously was with just the ad version of the game.
“I guess some ads aren’t all that pesky, heh” he laughed to himself bouncing his now massive pecs.
——————————————-
Credit to the owner of the first photo who’s also on here. Sorry the moment I saw it, I knew I had to make a story out of it.
Enjoy! I had a hard time writing this because the AI gave me photos I couldn’t resist staring at
"And the fact that he said that he's going after you, I'm just so horrified but thank God you're fine,"
"Yeah, I bet that ugly nerd probably just bluffed to you. And after all, not like he could hurt me, I'll hurt him the moment he appears in my sight,"
"I'm just glad you're okay, babe. Because when I was in high school, he legit tried to attack my older brother as he said that he would come after him. He brought this weird ass syringe or something that he tried to inject to my older brother. But he failed as my brother thwarted him and my brother's friends came to help. Until now I still didn't know what kind of poison he tried to inject to my older brother,"
"That sounds horrifying. Why didn't you tell me about that? We could asked for restraining order or some sort for that unstable creep,"
"Maybe we should, I just didn't expect him to came back to my life actually, that's why we didn't put a restraining order to him,"
Not only back to her life, Freddie is literally in Missy's life now as her boyfriend already turned into a suit that Freddie comfortably wore in the past 3 hours. But of course she has no idea, and not like Freddie ever planned to take the suit off ever again as long as it means that he could be together with Missy. Unless Missy decided to marry someone else and that's when Freddie gonna make his move again.
