“Nico, what the hell! I’m gonna kick—” Iker had to barge into his own room after his little brother had locked him out. The twerp must have been in there the entire afternoon while he was out. However, upon getting inside was not his brother waiting for him. A massive man laid in his bed, with only a slight resemblance to his brother. The face was similar, sans facial hair but the body? Where had those carved biceps come from? The vein trailing from the shoulder to the forearm was insane. The chest that lay before him had slabs of beef that overqualified as pecs. Twin sets of skull crushing thighs fed down into his lower half. Then there was the gray, briefs bunched up, barely able to contain what it held anymore.
“Holy shit.” Iker started drinking more of the man.
The re-release of older gaming systems and official emulation mods to run older games had been talked about all over the world. It was originally supposed to celebrate the PS2, but once companies saw the hype, they wanted to jump in. Not that Iker cared about all that, he knew the exact games he wanted to try. The download however was taking forever (slow internet sucked!) so he just left out for a few hours. He never thought his brother would have the cajónes to sneak into his room. Nico had been meek and mild but the man currently lounging in Iker’s bed was quite brazen.
“You want your controller back, go ahead and take it, big bro. I think I’m done with it anyway,” Nico gave a short nod to his bulge. Iker's voice ran dry, as he crawled onto the bed between Nico’s legs. It wasn’t fair, Iker was supposed to be the jock of the family. The handsome one. The muscular one. But it was hard to deny how attractive Nico looked. Iker’s hand tentatively reached for his controller, sensing a warmth the closer it got. Nico’s cock throbbed and the controller shifted, falling against his thigh, as Iker’s hand landed squarely on Nico’s pouch. Whatever was under his briefs wanted out and was begging Iker to do it.
In time the news would reveal the grand gaming system ‘vintage’ world release, did more than reintroduce old games. Every ‘gamer’ that participated in the initial wave got struck with an additional 20 years, that no scientist could rationalize as to how. Countless people were affected in various ways, across lives, habits, personalities, and relationships, but the end result being the same: Hotter gamers introduced into the market.
—
Dirk’s situation was a bit more different. He was in the living room when it happened. His younger brothers were playing the GameCube emulation with a revamped old Mario game collection disk. Not much to do on a summer Sunday than hang around in the house in one's skivvies. Such was a tradition passed down by their dad, who was currently knocked out, still asleep in bed still. However, Dirk had brought his gaming chairs into the living room so his brothers could play.
“I want to be player 1!” Tommy shouted.
“No, I want to be player 1!” Willis yelled back.
Their voices argued like that often and frequently especially when they were passionate. Dirk stood between their chairs and rubbed their heads, before he gently moved their heads in circles, and his brothers played along, “Little dudes, stop fighting. You’re going to wake dad up.”
“Sorry, Dirk.” They said in unison.
With a satisfied smile Dirk pushed the gaming chairs closer to the TV as they held to their respective arm rests laughing. He set up the game for them and made sure they knew exactly how to play. Then Dirk collapsed on the couch behind them, laying down, his favorite book in hand: Escape from the Dragon keep.
Snuggled up reading, he let his attention drift every so often to keep an eye on his brothers. The two were still arguing at a lower level.
“You keep dying.” Willis said
“Stoopid, that's you!” Tommy said back.
Then Dirk got to a really good chapter, the hero had to escape Dragon Island. An intense chapter with magic and action, on every turn of the page. His eyes didn't leave the book. A squeak of his gaming chairs, a snide remark thrown between his brothers, Time passed on. Then there was a small grunt, didn’t even sound like his brothers, but the chapter was over, so he took a peek. They knew better than to put hands on each other. Looking up, he didn’t spot them throwing hands, the game was still going, and their legs dangled calmly off the floor. He turned his attention back to his book.
The next chapter was slower. A big come down after a fierce fight. More squeaks as his brother’s bodies slid in their chairs. They just couldn’t stay still. He could tell because when he glanced their feet were closer to the ground. Back to his book, the slow pacing of the chapter got him yawing. His brothers coughed a few times, soft and quiet to start, then harsher and deeper a few minutes in. Were they having a cough competition? Their coughs sounded fake, like they were trying to enhance them. The two were prone to spur of the moment contests like that so Dirk wasn’t surprised, otherwise he’d have gotten the medicine out. The coughing faded into the background as Dirk’s eyes grew heavier. Before he knew it, he was asleep.
When Dirk woke up, he gave a silent yawn stretching. He stood, headed directly for the kitchen, then poured himself some water, wiping sleep from his eyes. Only when he was heading back into the living room did he realize it: he hadn’t heard his brothers fight once, not even in a hushed tone. Maybe they actually had gotten sick. He grabbed the cough medicine and headed back to the living room.
Tossing and catching the bottle he asked, “You guys feeling o—-
The bottle clattered to the floor and rolled away as Dirk froze. Sitting in his gaming chairs, were not his little brothers. Jocks had taken their place. Sure, their faces held some vestiges of Willis and Tommy, but their bodies were more akin to athletes. They had pecs, arms, abs, and legs that stretched across the floor. Their bodies had been sculpted in a way Dirk only thought was possible to see in museums. These weren’t boys, these were bros. They looked older than him. They were older than. Their presence translated that to Dirk. Their bodies, the way they sat, the lack of arguing, all of it gave off a mature air. Only contrasted by their sky-blue underwear with images of a teddy bear on the strap. Which was immediately contrasted by the bulges in the front, how the fabric stretched to the back, and the huge sets of thighs coming out the leg holes.
Dirk was lost studying Tommy’s tattoos, wondering how upset dad was going to be about them when he heard, “Bro, you okay?”
Tommy’s voice was deep, smooth, and rich. It flew into Dirk’s ears and settled into his chest.
“I think he’s better than okay,” A cocky smile sat on Willis face as he nodded to Dirk’s boxer’s. Dirk's eyes flew down; his cock had come out of his boxer’s fly. It was at full mast and there was no debating the reason why. He fumbled, trying to stuff it back in, as it just bobbed all over the place. He had to be having a weird dream. Maybe he imposed the two guys in his book onto his brother's positions.
“No need to hide it lil bro, just the guys here.” Willis added. His voice was much more abrasive, and booming, pure distilled jock in nature.
Dirk knew it wasn’t a dream, when his cock leaked precum onto his foot and the floor. He didn’t even sense it coming, just heard Willis’ voice, and was already amped up by Tommy’s voice, and like a trigger lost it. His cock bucked and there was just a slime trail running down. Dirk had never had that issue in his life growing up. Not in P.E., Not in the locker room, not even in the showers. Guys were hot, but they were never as hot as his brother’s now. His cock had turned faucet.
Willis reached over, with his thumb and forefinger and grasped the tip of Dirk’s cock, squeezing it before stealing the precum. “Fuckin sick, bro,” he said as if it were the coolest thing ever lifting the shimmering line up in the air. He tilted his head back, opened his mouth wide as he dropped it in, then swallowed. Dirk watched Willis’ Adams’ apple move and guide it down.
“Mmmm!” Willis licked his lips, “Tommy you gotta get a taste of this, Dirk’s really on it today!”
“Yeah sure, after the game.” Tommy said casually as he motioned to the screen. Dirk’s internal system crashed, hearing a much calmer and reasonable voice still claim to want his cock.
“Someone’s in a bad mood,” Tommy half stood up and swatted Dirk’s ass, “Go stand next to him little bro might cheer him up.”
Dirk found his legs responding before he even processed. Then his cock was just there next to Tommy's face.
“No thanks, I just want to game.” Tommy said as the two got back into it. Willis stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. But then a pause came when they won a level and Tommy’s fist found Dirk’s cock and stroked it. After that every time there was a lull or pause, Tommy’s hand was on his brother’s cock. The world's worst edging as Dirk’s cock wanted to rebel whenever it was let go. Dirk could have sat down. There was nothing physically stopping him, but then Tommy pressed his face on Dirk’s cock, nuzzling and kissing it. The way Tommy’s eyes looked at Dirk was too powerful to pull away from. Then Tommy would let Dirk’s cock hang there pressed against his face.
Another level on the screen was won, but Dirk wasn’t looking because Tommy had fully stuffed his brother’s cock in his mouth for celebration. Footsteps came down the stairs, heavy weighted. Their dad was up. Dirk panicked that his dad was going to see him getting blown by strangers. And yet even knowing that, he couldn’t pull out. Their dad stepped into the living room, seeing all of them.
Willis gave a lazy wave, “Hey.”
“Good afternoon, sleepy head,” Tommy pulled off Dirk's cock. His warm mouth left Dirk’s dick in the cook air twitching.
“Dad!” Dirk shouted, his cock inched forward and bumped into Tommy’s face. It was too fucking much. His cock blasted all over his Older younger brother’s face, plastering it in white. Some shot into the air and landed on Willis.
“Oh shit,” Tommy said, noticing the hot jizz on his cheek. “Give a warning, next time,” he chuckled, tapping Dirk’s thigh, then Tommy slurped at the cum pouring out. Dirk’s legs shook as his load was extracted out of him. Meanwhile Willis looked unbothered by the cum on him.
“Boys make sure you leave the living room clean at least.” Their dad groaned, walking into the kitchen. No questions about the strange men, or where Dirk’s brothers were. Their father wasn't bothered at all.
More than his brothers’ ages were altered. Their entire family’s reality was changed. A world where Dirk was the younger brother to two post-college studs. Their lazy afternoon Sundays had devolved into unofficial ‘bro time’. No expectations of personal space with them as the older ones in charge. Surprisingly though with all the closeness, there was no more fighting between the two. Later that night, Dirk scrolled online, lying in bed. He should have gone to sleep hours ago but he was reading all about the Vintage gaming backlash. There were thousands of comments from people posting their stories. Dirk didn’t even know where to start. Stories ranged from people being aware to others denouncing the whole thing as a hoax. The changes had truly run the gambit of altering people's memory or simply adding to them. Dirk wondered where his brothers fell in that regard.
A crash came from downstairs. Dirk crept out of bed, and down the steps. Hushed voices came from the kitchen where the light had been turned on. The young man rolled his eyes, imagining his father must have come down for another afternoon snack. He strolled into the kitchen, eyes going wide at not finding the situation he imagined.
Tommy’s naked figure pounded into Willis, who was laid out on the table, beneath him. The two were fucking in the open. Hard to believe such strong bodies could be so quiet as they rutted, and yet not betray an ounce of the power each executed. “What were you thinking, getting Dirk all hot and bother with that voice of yours.”
“You’re just mad, you couldn’t make him leak.” Willis combatted, pecs jiggling with Tommy’s thrust.
“Leak? Dude, he literally nutted on my face.” Tommy bragged.
Dirk watched astounded from the shadows. They hadn’t outgrown fighting. They were fuck-fighting. Every grievance and displeasure sent by the meeting of their hips.
Tommy’s body convulsed with a soft, “FUCK.” Three loud slaps of skin then stop. He gently grabbed Willis' neck in a mock choke. “Say you’re not going to make Dirk precum again.”
“Shit,” Willis shrugged, sucking his teeth. “Wish I could, but this body’s got hormones and needs. The only reason I’m not up in his bed now is I’m afraid I’d break him. Luckily, I think you and I were made pretty even.”
Tommy dropped his hand, shaking his head. “Same. Dirk was so good with us before and all I could think about was demolishing his pelvis. Didn't want him to think I was some sex demon.”
“Ha, I think he thought that, when you attempted to suck his soul out his dick.” Willis sat up, then made a circle motion with his hands that Tommy understood. Within seconds, Tommy's hands were behind his back, and Willis had a firm grip on them. “Now, it’s time for your punishment for draining our new little bro without me.”
Dirk watched dumbfounded. They remembered he had been the older one just that morning, but their bodies needed and craved more than their former older brother could provide. Perhaps if he worked at it one day he could keep up with them, but for now he could wait in the shadows.
—
Some stories were much simpler.
Steve Moran was at a loss. He had got the PS2 system re-release and was excited to introduce his nephew to all the games he’d grown up with in his childhood. Steve’s older brother, Geoff, had never been much of a gamer and always preferred to be outside than in a chair. Steve was the common nerd beloved by his family, but still an outcast in some ways. For some reason the cross pollination of gamer & jock never took hold of Geoff, as it did with his other friends, he was too cool for video games. He’d pick up a controller looking lost as a lamb. Always asking for Steve to help out. It was never Geoff’s element; he needed a ball in his hand to excel.
His entire life Steve wished him and his brother could bond over hobbies, but they were diametrically opposed between games and sports. But then like a miracle deferred, Steve’s son, Charlie, was born and had a strong passion for games. There was finally someone for Steve to unload his passion onto and Charlie ate it all up eagerly.
When the re-release was coming Steve had personally built up the hype, getting Charlie invested. Geoff was going on a personal vacation with his wife, which meant Steve and Charlie had a whole week to lose themselves in game after game.
The PS2 was ready in the living room, when Steve dropped Charlie off. There was a bit of small talk between brothers, but Steve’s thumb twitched the entire time; his x-button masher was ready. The moment Geoff left, Steve practically flew to the couch. He tossed a controller to his nephew and told him to start the game. But then he remembered he had popcorn and soda ready to go waiting in the kitchen. He hopped up, for a second going to his counter. The familiar ‘Whoosh’ of the old system startup and it struck the nostalgia in his mind. He happily snatched up the bowl of popcorn and soda, dancing back to his TV and nephew.
His body went rigid upon seeing Geoff in his living room. Awkward as hell, Geoff knew Steve was a nerd but never seen his brother at unrestricted display. If that wasn’t weird enough, Geoff had somehow walked back in and was standing in his underwear. His older brother’s furry chest and stomach were out, but what captured Steve’s attention wasn’t even Geoff packing heat with the bulge in his underwear. Rather the game controller in Geoff’s trained arms was the true center piece. In all his years on earth, Steve had never seen his brother pick up a controller. And yet there he was holding it expertly in all his jock-dadness.
“You ready Uncle Steve?” Geoff asked
Steve blinked, upon hearing that as he slowly began to register the man in his apartment was not his older brother, just looked very close to him. Then came the thought of Charlie’s whereabouts, his nephew was nowhere to be seen. Eyes going to the ground, Steve spotted ripped clothes Charlie had on moments ago at the man’s feet. His eyes went back up, mouth agape, realizing his nephew had turned into an almost exact replica of Geoff. 20+ years pushed on him and that’s what Charlie grew into. He even had his dad's beard, the same angles for his face and everything!
Steve finally got to see what it’d be like if his older brother had been into games.
—
Stories witnessed by chance had a place in the news cycle too.
Preston was not into gaming in the slightest. He didn’t like the noise or the sounds. Digital water gave him nausea for some odd reasons. Timed missions made him anxious. Pure Overstimulation. He preferred the company of a good book. Never once would he be found outside or behind a screen. His next-door neighbor, Marques, however, had no qualms gaming or having late nights yelling with his window open.
Based on the position of their windows, Preston could peer right into Marques’ room. He’d see his neighbor, making countless expressions, jumping around, or yelling at the screen. Needless to say, Marques was very into gaming. They had co-existed in this way for years. No arguments or fighting. Preston was used to turn Marques into background noise. Not that it would matter to Preston much longer because in a few weeks he was out of here.
This neighborhood. The town. Always spinning the same cycles, he read a book like that once. The point being, his graduation had come and gone, and college was coming to take him away, while Marques and all the rest had another two years to suffer.
Was it not obvious the bookish nerd, never would have known what the vintage release was? Or why Marques rushed into his room that day. Eyes up from The Last Petal Dropped novel, he watched the black teen drop his stuff and swivel in his chair. Marques happened to look over at Preston, not one of his usual moves, and gave a head nod. Preston gave a playful two finger salute then was back in his book.
He only looked up briefly, when Marques stopped speaking. Normal curiosity. He expected to find his neighbor blowing his nose. But how wrong he was. Marques body erupted outward as if it were a dam keeping back a torrential force. However, water was not what came surging out, rather an insane muscular physique made Marques’ clothes explode and burst right off his body. The young man stood up at once, gaming chair flying back to his bed.
Preston’s mouth dropped upon seeing the hard cock pointed directly at him.
A few months later, Preston found himself at college…rooming with Marques. Unbelievable how so much could change yet nothing at all. He waited all those years to escape town, thinking of the people he’d leave behind, but they were here too. Well, he did at the very least have a boyfriend right in his dorm.
The news came so often that eventually, Preston got tired of answering. Their dorm door was closed until the vultures flocked somewhere else. It didn't matter to the boys though Preston could relax in his chair, while Marques played away. These days when Preston peered up from his book no muscles burst forth. They were already there, waiting to greet him.
“You’re getting that look again,” Marques said.
“What look?” Preston asked innocently.
A quick shake of his head, Marques would casually ask. “You trying to fuck?” lowering his voice for the roleplay.
Preston would set down his book. They could agree there was one thing that was a lot more fun than video games or a book.
—
Parents were blowing up stations to get their stories heard. The legal settlements were going to be insane if they ever figured out what grounds to sue on. Emotional distress was a good starter.
Mr. Delgado was never the type of man who thought about suing anyone. He was a single father and didn't bother anyone. Went to work and picked his son up from school. Same day in day out. Being on the younger side as a father, on account of his wandering dick as a teen, his way to distress was with a nice video game session. Now in his late 20’s it was more than a hobby; it was a fixed part of his schedule. His son Mauricio had even gotten enthralled in them.
When the Vintage re-release was announced, Mr. Delgado knew he was going to download it to introduce Mauricio to all the games he played as a kid. Back when he was just Luiz Delgado, coming home from school, not a care in the world. Sitting on his bed to play the latest game. He’d hoped now he could bond with his boy over how terrible or great the games were in hindsight. There were bound to be bad graphics, clunky dialogue, and yet still narratively heart wrenching dialogue.
Mr. Delgado was the one bouncing on the edge of his seat as the download happened. His son was in his own chair beside him, controller and headset ready to go. Mr. Delgado didn’t even know if his son needed the headset for the old games, but he wanted everything to be perfect. He went to the bathroom for a second and heard scuffling back in his room. After washing his hands once he was done, strolled back in.
“Hey everything—
“It’s all good, you gonna grab your controller, man?” a man, Mr. Delgado’s age, answered back, gaming already. A man in place of where Mr. Delgado’s son should have been. Oddly enough the young man was in exactly the same outfit, Mr. Delgado had picked out his son that morning. The blue shirt, the hat, even the socks and sneakers. The only difference was the size of the body within them. Even the young man’s face was close to Mauricio’s sans baby fat, and the black undertones of facial hair above his lips. There was one more noticeable thing to that glaring difference: Hairy manspread legs leading to a visible cock print. The underwear was familiar. The cock inside of them? An intruder.
The stranger kept gaming, eyes briefly shifting to Mr. Delgado in the doorway. “Look, you can join or you can blow me if you want, just don’t make me lose this level.”
“What?” Mr. Delgado shook his head.
“Dude, roommates do these things for each other. Don’t make it a whole thing. Remember when I blew you during your Baldur’s Gate 3 Session? Your bros on discord didn’t know what the fuck was going on under that desk.” The young man smirked proudly.
“What are you talking about, where’s Mauricio?” Mr. Delgado asked.
The guy made a face and paused his game. Pulling down the headset, “Are you feeling okay? I’m Mauricio.”
“Not you, I mean my son.” He stated. “Mauricio Delgado.”
“Son?” The guy’s eyebrows went up. “I’m Mauricio Delgado, and I can assure you big bro I’m not your son.” Then with a naughty smirk, he nodded to Luiz’s pants tenting. “Looks like you do remember me.”
“I…I,” Luiz Delgado said nothing else, staring at his cock, aroused for one thing only.
“Well, whenever you figure out, whatever roleplay you’re doing this cock will be here waiting to get drained.” Mauricio Delgado, returned back to his original gaming position.
—
There were stories that would never be told.
Alonso was shit at every job he tried. Factory worker, fast food, even the library. Labor was his enemy since birth; his only real skill was gaming and shirking responsibility. His only real job he could manage was part-time at a tattoo shop. It made sense. He had indulged in getting a few tatts himself and completing them on others gave him the same rush as clearing a level. But he was shocked when his girl dropped her son, Paulie, off for the day. Alonso didn’t want to babysit; he wanted to spend the day gaming. However Clariece was a master word spinner, she had to be to date a man like Alonso. And he begrudgingly accepted as Paulie launched into his house, excited, already claiming the couch where his controller was.
“Thank you.” Clairece put on a sweet voice, before leaning into kiss. He walked her to the stairs then watched her go down the unit’s floor, before returning to his apartment. The moment he stepped back in, there was something off about his place. It looked like there were more things in there than before. Odd.
“Who was that?” A man in his underwear asked Alonso.
“Just your sister checking on you babe.” Alonso closed the door.
He sighed, “I wish she’d stop doing that.”
“Why, it shows she cares, Paul.” Alonso leaned back, drinking in his boyfriend's form. Paul was in nothing but his briefs and socks. Alonso’s cock responded happily. What turned him on the most about Paul, was it the beard? Their mutual love of tattoos? Or his boy’s ripped body. Regardless of the way Paul sat, his cock and ass were open for business.
And though Alonso would never know it, he had once again shirked another job.
—
Some stories the news would talk about endlessly.
Clyde just happened to be one of those unlucky ones. He was doing a gaming stream with friends, only 5 or so people were watching. They were talking about nothing, but then the emulation of the PS2 came up. That brought a spark to the conversation, putting down the shitty graphics and terrible game quality.
The teens joked on, but it was a random chatter who told them to give it a try.
“Yeah sure, why not,” Clyde said with one intention to drag the system through the mud. His friends were still laughing as he purchased it and a random dumb looking gaming, Vexx or some shit.
He started the emulation.
All of his friends watched as his body began to grow. It started with a slight height climb, anything a reasonable person could dismiss. But then his clothes began to stretch and tear, as pecs pushed the seams to their further limits. His shoulder broadened to the width of a man several times his age with arms that could pop actual biceps on a moment's notice. Faint abs made their presence known as his shirt was done away with. It didn’t fall or float to the ground. It was just gone. Clyde’s bare torso was out. And his pants? No one saw those go either; they just saw a growing lump in his underwear poking forward.
Then his face was just…different, youthful one second, sprouting facial hair the next. The round smoothness chiseled down. Favorite hat was still on his head, there was no mistake, all of it was happening in real time. As his face finally came together, his large cock exploded as he came hard. Multiple shots that soaked his brief until they were see-though. Eventually his cock would fall limp but still have its grandiosity on display.
He became the first example to many of seeing what the Vintage release had done for the population. Saved online in high definition for people to see until they got tired of it.
—
As for people like Roy Madden, their stories were less public, but no less shocking.
He had gone to the bathroom, while his younger cousin, Logan, watched the download. They were having an impromptu sleepover to celebrate the release. Roy was being nosey going through his aunt and uncle’s medicine cabinet, which is why he got back to the room late.
If Roy had bothered to even once turn on the news, he’d have seen the story, and therefore not have been shocked when he found an all-American jock had replaced Logan. Like any self-respecting gay community college freshman, all he saw first was the stacked body. Cannonball shoulders, supporting bulked arms and also juicy pecs. Then there was Roy’s controller, which now sat on the stranger’s massive cock. The face, no matter how square or defined by its new jockish nature, made it obvious who was at the helm. Logan sat, taking up the entire width of the couch, with legs twice as long and wide.
He didn’t say anything, but the look and position were obvious. He wanted Roy to come grab the controller and play with a new joystick.
—
This just in! A clip of someone minutes after their transformation:
I'm a 6'4 handsome jock, big beefy muscles, a deep baritone voice and got every guy on the team begging to suck my 8.5-incher.
I know this al sounds amazing and fuck yeah it is.. but the last few days I felt weak, not like I was sick or anything, but like my strength started leaving me. I heard a lot about your wishes where people drain their bullies or the jocks of their school. I'm an upstanding person, I have helped go up against bullying even from my teammates, I've helped my younger brother in the gym when he didn't know what he needed to do, even coach thinks I have everything he needs to become state champion this year.
So please save me from loosing all my hard worked size, I don't even know who is doing this to me.
Oh no you're losing muscle?!?!?! well we can't have that. The truth is mate I know exactly what is going on and who is doing it to you. A new student at the college gym always wanted to work out but his parent's never let him, worried it might stunt his growth. He desperately wanted to catch up and asked if I could put everyone in the gym's gains on him for the next week. Nobody noticed but you've got a keen eye and seem to notice what's going on so I tell you what I'll stop this guys wish, tell him to wish for something new and as a reward for being so perceptive I'll make you the new focus of the wish. Get you your gains back from the past few days and give you the gains of everyone who goes to the gym for the next week.
Day 1 was dope as fuck, your muscle felt pumped again, you were no longer tired after lifting and you felt incredibly solid after a workout. You were happy to be yourself again, working towards you goals. As much as you had prided yourself on hard work and being natural you were low key excited for a little magical boost, just a couple pounds of muscle from magic surely would still make you natural, after all the gains being sent your way are still gains worked for, just not gains worked for by you.
Day 2 was even better, whole fuck you were pumped all the time, you probably didn't even need to go to the gym but you wanted to, you loved the gym and didn't want to take the week off because you were getting free gains. After all it was like working double time getting swole, you were excited for the state championships in a few months and to go home and see your brother and show off your gains. The Christmas dinner keeps running in your head of him asking you how you got massive and you just saying diet and exercise. the thought of entering a bodybuilding comp crossed your mind, you were getting huge and its not like you could test positive for roids, and you'd never be tempted by them either.
Day 3 was different, you woke up at 12:01am on the dot and felt an insane pump, it wasn't slow and every lasting like how day 2 was this was fast, like a flood of blood throughout your whole body, like you were being pumped up like a balloon,
You struggled on your bed feeling more and more mass being added to your frame. The growth finally subsided and you passed out.
You struggled driving your car to the campas gym, the seat was uncomfortable and your thighs and swollen up so big you gym shorts felt like they were cutting off the circulation to your legs, maybe you should take the rest of the week off....or maybe ask for the growth to stop now....
Day 4 was a struggle, you had another growth surge in the middle of the night and it really set in just how much mass hundreds of people using the 24 hour gym daily can make. You would be fine to be like this, it'd be awesome and absolute easy win at state championships followed by sponsorships, you could drop out and be paid by supplement companies to simply pose with their products, but you couldn't get bigger than this, anymore size and you wouldn't even be able to get in your car anymore, no, you had to text the genie and ask for it to end early.
Day 5 was hell, you had a growth spurt in the middle of the gym changing room, bringing a whole new meaning to the words "Changing Room" not a single person in there noticed, like the magic was just making everyone thing you were always this big. Your coach had commented on how genetically gifted you were, apparently you had been made to do a random roid test several times and always come back clean, something you had no memory of. Going through old social media posts you saw you were much bigger in high school then you actually were, like the past was changing to accommodate for all this new found size.
Still after today you knew you didn't want anymore, even your best friend stood next to you as your posed your hulking frame in the mirror.
"bro, there is such a thing as too large, slim down for a few months or you'll be off the team for being too slow"
He was right, the new size was impacting your ability to play, one strong and fast you were now just strong, a brick wall no one could get by sure but what was the point it you couldn't chase a guy down or move your arms properly to catch the ball.
Day 6 was spent messaging the genie all day different combinations of "I wish to be smaller" or "please stop the growth now" any phrase you could think of to try to get the genie's attention to stop the growth. What your young mind thought would be cool t first turned into your biggest nightmare, you had outgrown your car and you couldn't even sell it for a new one as last time you got out of it you completely caved in the drivers side by simply shutting the door. You spent an hour walking to the gym, the only thing to clear your mind was lifting weights. During a rest your daily does of growth kicked in, your pecs and traps were swelling so close to your neck you could barely turn your head anymore.
Day 7, the final day of growth. You had become a fucking monster. Lost your place on the team from barely being able to move. You were staving all the time and spent most of your day now shovelling food down your throat as simply waling down the dorm room stairs caused you to burn a whole day's work of calories for any normal guy. You were anxiously awaiting today's growth and spent the whole day locked in your room. Everything around you was destroyed, unable to handle all the strength you had busted most things you touched and your furniture had all collapsed. Cheap college budget furniture could barely hold your weight how you were before all this but now it was just scrap wood and metal on the floor, you couldn't even bend down to pick it up. The whole day passed you buy and you saw the time 11:30pm...any moment now your final growth would happen and then you could figure out how to reverse it, or live with it. You tried to think positively, how awesome it would be to be an absolute monster, how much action you'd get. A deluded lie you told yourself, the truth was after what you did to your care you were terrified to go on a date or out for a hook up, every time you thought about it you could only think about accidently breaking the guys spine, but you'll finally get to figure all this out in just a few minutes, after tonight no more growth, just learning to live with the size. A message appear on your phone, from the genie, maybe he had finally seen your messages, maybe he'll shrink you back to how you were a few days ago, maybe you'd get punished for turning away the gift and turned into a twink....but being a twink would be better than this.
"hey bro, hope you are enjoying all the mass from the guys in the gym, today is gonna be a bit different. I explained what was going on to the original wish maker and he felt shitty and made a new wish, he wanted the nicest guy in the gym to triple in size and well I have decided you're nicest guy! you've been great carrying your team and just being a nice guy in the gym so I dunno how big you are now mate but I hope you always dreamed to be massive. If you've gotten too big from this tell me now and Ill stop the wish but after 11:59pm thats it, it goes through and nothing I can do about it"
You laughed loudly, this was your chance, to get the body from a few days ago, be a massive goliath but not be too big. Thank god. 11:45, still heaps of time. You excitedly went to message back but your phone slipped out you massive hands. Instinctively you went to catch it before it landed on the floor *CRUNCH...you opened your hand to see bits of crushed aluminium and glass slip out your fingers and on to the floor. You stopped, in shock you simply got off your bed and walked to the bathroom mirror. No one had gotten shell shock from breaking their phone before but you just stood in your bathroom, barely big enough for you to fit in and stared at yourself in the mirror. You thought you had become a monster, no, you were a freak, a massive freak of nature but in just a few more minutes, then, then you'd truly become a monster and there was no way for you to stop it now.
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Morphs in the story done by the incredibly Max Morphs check out their blog and show them some love.
Daniel found himself at his computer desk he had tucked away in the corner of his room, right next to his bed for the lowest amount of effort he had to give from staying up all night, pouring over either essays or another presentation for another class that almost, but never has occurred, fly under the radar.
There was something so monotone in his routine, but to him, what else what he do with his lack of company that wasn’t already busy with something else that just highlighted which type of future they’ll have with ease, but sometimes not having an actual group of people to call friends sometimes gave him an uncomfortable feeling in his gut.
That same feeling also came with when his roommate, Sam, ever entered back in their shared dorm. The campus was a moderately larger place with more space, so it’s not like they were ever stacked on one another, but in Daniel’s eyes, it felt like it.
To call Sam lazy would be an contradiction, in a way with the way the other man managed to get himself up early within the mornings and be out the door by 4 and come back with even more energy, which would be surprising when Daniel found out quickly he was going to the gym, making the room smell just slightly stale sometimes. Daniel always felt slightly envious of Sam with his true lack of care of the timing of his own life, as if the world itself took care of itself and let him do his own thing.
Daniel found himself finishing up another long assignment, closing his computer with a sigh. He took a deep breath, flexing his fingers a bit, trying to get the feeling back into them from them typing up a word minimum he would strangle with his bare hands if he could. He took another deep breath, a wave of tiredness lingering in his body, but then his upper lip and nose twitched slightly as a new smell seemed to come up.
Finally considering his surroundings for the first time in hours after staring at a screen, the main culprit for the headache between his eyes, he noticed the bathroom light from the door attached to it had the light on. Sam normally stayed out, presumably out with another girl, the way he spoke about them though, it never once came across serious with any of them. It would make sense behind the fact that Daniel’s personally had a couple of walk-ins on Sam, even with the fair warnings of his arrival with his jingle dance he did against the door to loudly giving notice. Sam never seemed to hear it when it was in action. Or maybe didn’t care.
Daniel stood up stretching his body, his shirt and jeans feeling grimy with how long he’s been in them since his day started that morning, which was technically now the one from yesterday. The smell as he stood up was still there. The shower head in bathroom roared as Sam presumably cleaned himself up. It startled Daniel a little, but he was fine.
Using his nose, he soon found the problem. Sam left left his hamper open, which at some point when he came in, he must’ve stripped out of his shirt and shorts and tossed them on top lazily instead of in it like the stray pieces of clean clothes he manages to have around, no matter how much Daniel tries to clean up.
The smell attacked his senses again, it being much stronger standing in front of them. His nose wrinkled at the smell of sweat, musk and what seemed to be leftover sex. He felt himself sway slightly in a sudden rush of what he thought was nausea, but quickly recovered. After he shook his head a little, his eyes returned to the shorts, curious about… something. Breathing normally. As if whatever once revolted him was masked.
In his mind, he wondered kind of package this guy could have that could have girls running back. But not in a gay way! Sam isn’t his type in any way. There’s nothing about Sam that he would possibly like. That wouldn’t be cool, not that he had a problem with gay people, it’s just… wait. Why it would it be gay? And why would he care? Cause he’s straight. But, in a more positive perspective, Daniel felt a small pang in his gut again, but this time, it didn’t feel like the uncomfortable one anymore.
It felt… hot and burning small, but it was soon growing and growing with every passing moment he stood in thought, but in a strange twist of fate, the original thought he had just had slipped his mind, his attention back to the shorts again. Without a restraint this time, Daniel found himself gripping them in one hand, and without even thinking about it like he normally would, his other hand carefully dragged up to his chest, putting small pressure on it as the fire inside grew. He closed his eyes as the proximity of the shorts kept floating up right into nose, a more stable flow of a now dulling feeling in his brain, as if he was slowing down somehow.
His skin was starting to feel hot now, and without thinking twice about it, he peeled off his shirt and kicked off his jeans. It was like he wasn’t truly thinking too much about his actions, but chasing the consequence of another. The fire ablaze spread upwards, starting something completely different as his body started to shake slightly.
The hand that once gripped his chest was already on its way to the waistband of his underwear, a surprising tightness already awaiting him. He nearly let out a moan as his he pulled the fabric forward, opening his eyes, then widening soon after, his body absolutely not like he once remembered. Within the few seconds of breathing in… that, his body carved itself into something, but another pulse of fire nearly toppled him over on his knees. He grabbed a seemingly growing pec as he rutted himself out of his boxers, and without even realizing, slipping on Sam’s dirty shorts.
The feeling intensified tenfold, making his body buckle with a full intensity he’s never felt before. With every shooting flash of pleasure, his body cracked and popped his once average, more meek shape into something that seemed it could only be achieved with being at the gym at the time. Which… seemed right to Daniel Dan. He liked looking good. He didn’t know why, but there was something about being able to show off his body that made his cock twitch in loosely in the shorts.
Dan could his balls churn fuller and fuller with more and more cum that was only waiting to be expelled somewhere… someone. He rutted faster and faster in the shorts, each trust granting a satisfying pull in his body that hardened his jaw, all the way down in a way that looked like a grand reveal, but for Dan, he felt like a silk zipper was being unzipped. Each trust was more than ecstasy. It made old memories fade away. Daniel. A boy’s name. Science, essays and projects, staying in most of the time. That was over. Being at the gym, showing off and… Sam? But Yes. Sam. With the handsome man’s face flashed in the middle of his mind, it seemed to trigger the last effect on Dan, short-circuiting the last of his brain, completely numbing him down, but his now larger, throbbing beast of a cock shoot hot, thick ropes through the shorts. With every body roll, the last of Daniel left with it. A stubborn, hot-headed jock with a… history with the other room laid in its place now.
And behind the crack door of the bathroom, Sam came against the door, shooting his hot sticky load himself, his plan at something even greater actually worked and he in every way planned to use it.
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Hello everyone! My first story written here and hopefully many more to come! I apologize if it’s a little messy, but getting a stroke of wanting to write at 2 in the morning can, in fact, mess with how much your eyes stay open 😭.
This is my continuation of @artficialtranformazion story 11:48 (link) putting emphasis on the stink and dirt
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The next morning, Martin didn't just wake up; he erupted from the sheets, a mountain of muscle and sweat that had soaked through the mattress overnight. The air in his dorm room was thick, almost viscous, with a heavy, pungent cloud of stale sweat, musk, and the distinct, sour tang of unwashed skin. It was a smell that had evolved from merely "strong" to something that felt physical, a wall of odor that hung low in the room.
He looked down at himself. His skin was coated in a layer of grime and dried salt from days of non-stop exertion. Dirt from the gym floor, chalk dust, and layers of his own sweat had caked into the deep crevices of his massive, newly expanded muscles. His gym shorts, the only garment that still clung to his form, were blackened with grime, the fabric stiff and crusty with accumulated filth.
"Why would I wash this away?" Martin mumbled, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through his chest. "This is the result. This is the proof."
To him, the grime wasn't dirt; it was a badge of honor. Every speck of dust, every streak of dried sweat, represented a rep lifted, a mile run, a calorie burned. Washing it off would be like erasing his achievements. He ran a massive hand over his bicep, feeling the rough texture of the caked-on grime against his skin, and a surge of pure, unadulterated pride swelled in his chest. He was a monument to his own labor, and monuments weren't meant to be scrubbed clean.
He stepped out of his dorm, the floorboards groaning under his immense weight. The hallway, usually sterile and clean, instantly filled with his presence. The smell hit the first person he passed—a fellow student rushing to class—like a physical blow. The student gagged, stumbling back, eyes watering as they waved a hand frantically in front of their nose.
"Whoa, dude, what is that?" the student choked out, backing away.
Martin just grinned, a wide, square expression of satisfaction. "Just hard work," he said, his voice booming. "Smell the gains."
He didn't care about the shock on their faces. In fact, he thrived on it. Their disgust was just a testament to his power. He walked with a heavy, ground-shaking stride, his bare feet leaving damp, dirty prints on the pristine tiles. He didn't bother with shoes; his feet were too large, too powerful, and frankly, he liked feeling the cool floor against his soles, even if it meant tracking more grime.
As he entered the gym, the reaction was immediate and visceral. People stopped their workouts. The air conditioning seemed to struggle against the sheer density of his odor. A group of women near the stretching area covered their mouths and noses, whispering frantically, their eyes wide with a mix of horror and fascination. A trainer approached him, looking pale.
"Sir, you can't… the smell is overwhelming," the trainer stammered, taking a step back. "We have to ask you to leave or at least shower."
Martin laughed, a deep, belly-shaking sound that echoed off the walls. "Shower? And wash off the sweat of my labor? No thanks." He flexed, his massive pectorals straining against the thin, filthy fabric of his shorts. "This is me. This is what I've built. If you can't handle the reality of it, that's your problem."
He moved to the squat rack, ignoring the stares and the retreating figures. He loaded the bar with plates, the metal clanging loudly. As he lifted, his body heaved, and a fresh wave of sweat poured off him, mixing with the existing grime to create a slick, dark sheen on his skin. The smell intensified, a potent cocktail of ammonia, musk, and raw effort that made the air feel heavy.
People watched in stunned silence as he performed rep after rep, his muscles rippling under the layer of filth. They were shocked, yes, but Martin felt only a profound sense of rightness. He was the apex of his own creation, a creature of pure, unrefined strength. The dirt on his skin was his armor; the stench was his aura.
As the clock ticked closer to 11:48, Martin felt the familiar churn in his stomach, the precursor to another expansion. He didn't worry about the space he took up or the reactions of the people around him. He just grinned wider, his teeth gleaming in the dim light, ready to grow even larger, even stronger, and even more magnificent in his filth.
"Let them stare," he thought, gripping the bar with hands caked in black grime. "Let them choke on the smell. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
The bell rang. 11:48.
A massive, earth-shattering belch tore from his throat, echoing through the gym like a thunderclap. His body surged outward once more, muscles swelling, bones cracking and reforming, pushing against the limits of the room. The gym shorts, already stretched to their absolute limit, groaned in protest, the fabric darkening further as it absorbed the fresh torrent of sweat.
Martin stood there, a titan of flesh and grime, surrounded by the shocked, retreating crowd. He didn't move to cover himself. He didn't try to clean up. He just breathed in the thick, foul air, savoring the scent of his own dominance, and smiled. He was perfect. He was unstoppable. And he was never, ever washing off.
Planning for the club was the hardest thing ever, with all the business and having to take care of the wife. Barely, and I mean Barely, were you able to find a open spot to go to the bar.
You hadn't been to this bar in forever but all you knew is that it got bought out by another company. But it still remained as a bar, you were interested and seeing if there beverages had stayed the same.
You put on the finest suit, a little tight, but what's wrong with a little muscle hanging out. It's not like you dont already have a wife . .
Once 9:45 hit, you headed out. You sayed your goodbyes and opened the door to your SUV and hit it down the road to the bar. Grab a drink and go, that was your idea. You pulled up into the reserved parking spots, payed the fees. You noticed a abundance of huge vans with graffiti all over them.
"Alot of people must have showed up today" you say to yourself, probably crowded in there. You looked up at the new sign.
"CHUBBY BEAR BEAR"
"Thats a wierd name" you say out loud. Must of been that new company that purchased them. These bears might be really good if they can "knock out" a chubby bear.
Once you opened the door to the bar, you see a bunch of chubby men just laying around drinking. Some using each other as beds. You notice one of them staring at you with a man on his stomach.
He gives you a strange grin and you simply walk past him. A strange oder follows, the whole place is completely stunk up. You can nearly breath under the perfound odor.
You collect your composure and head straight over to the bartender. He's juggling the bottles like a professional, you notice that hes the only one in the bar (other than you) that isn't really chubby,
"How can I help you sure?" He says, "Suprise me man, and make it quick, I wanna get out of here" you relplie. "WHY is that? To, much for you?" He replies slighly. "OK man, just hurry up" you say hastily, "ok ok, no need to rush."
He grabs a bottle and shakes it up, hands it to you. "This one's on the house" he says.
You thank him and take a sip to make sure it taste good. It has a funny little taste, but its, intoxicating. You become addicted instantly. You want more, you've NEVER wanted something so badly.
The bartender notices this and already about 20 bottles waiting, you chug and chug them down. You body becoming more sluggish, your tissues feeling light. You feel like your getting bigger, you muster all your strength to throw the bottle away. A crowd starts laughing and booing, some start to chase you. "Whats wrong with these people" you think to yourself. Once you enter the bathroom you open the huge stall close your eyes and slam the door shut.
You open your eyes, looking at the handle and quickly locking it. You feel a sense of relief and anxiety, you look down at your body, your stomach is pocking through the shirt and your pecs are wider than they should. You jump back and fear but knock into something causing you to fall, you look up and see a towering figure above you
He doesnt even look at you, just grabs you by your arm, unlocks the door. And drags you out the bathroom. You plead with him to let you go but its almost like hes a zombie, not speaking and even looking. Just has a dumb smile and a huge body.
He throughs you into the crowd of people, all of them screaming as your body gets bigger. They grab bottles and start pouring the liquid on you, you swat at them to get away but they swarm you and retain you. You think about your business and wife, but they feel like a distant memory. Your body keeps expanding. Your stomach feels full,
Your mind feels dull, you stop resisting and start chugging again, not out of your own self control but because you love it. It has to be corrupting your mind- NO
Its not "corruption", its purification. You love the taste of the bear, the hard earned sweat of the musk. Your belly is your pride. Your pecs your own milk cushions
You are amazing, the primary life line. Your bros need help, just lay on my stomach, the pecs just provide extra nutrients. The transformstion is compete, you are the best you could possibly be. All the fellow bears cheer for YOU,
You hear the door to the bar creak open, a new victim for your special drink. You'll make sure they love it, you stare at your future prey.
Morris needs a job, Byron Industries needs an lab rat perfect for their new trial to make a mindless (read: horny) grunt. Paging through his favorite book while he waits, for such a reader he surely didn't read any fine print.
Wrote this one for a GSS challenge a bit ago! Here it is ever so slightly touched up with a few images added. This one's for all you real Melville heads out there. -Occam
“Call me Morris!”
The literature grad surely expected at least some reaction to his smallest of Moby Dick references. It’s not the first time he’s met with silence at the playfully pitiful introduction, but usually there’s at least confusion. This receptionist simply stares blankly. Perhaps there was a perfunctory smile under the facemask, but it certainly didn’t reach his eyes.
“Morris Baker, yes? For the interview?”
Still recoiling from his scuffed opening Morris is hesitant to speak up. All the well as the receptionist takes his silent quibbling as confirmation.
“Sir Byron will be with you shortly, please have a seat and enjoy our lobby’s amenities.”
Clutching his shoulder bag tightly as he sort of bows before stepping away from the front desk, Morris realizes that he’s not just working himself up. It’s not in his head, something is off about that receptionist. Sneaking a quick glance back, he sees the clerk is still staring at him. No? Staring through him.
To his credit, Morris stills the shiver that runs up his spine at the realization. Focusing on what matters, Morris convinces himself that between the two of them the secretary’s the weird one. That’s why the man didn’t react to his solid Moby Dick reference! Turning with a cocksure grin to take in the amenities the strange receptionist spoke of he wonders what he’ll find. It’s not every day someone like him gets to wander into Byron Roman’s business, after all.
Local celebrity doesn’t begin to cover what the titan of industry has become, but it’s certainly where he started. Morris remembers him being the talk of their provincial Texan hometown, nothing exciting ever happened around here so why not discuss the now-billionaire who escaped.
No one ever expected for him to return to their suburban ghost town to set up shop. Apparently disaffected with the West Coast preoccupation with burning money in pursuit of LLM’s and other digital faux progress, he felt a dire need to take his money elsewhere. For he is concerned with the world material.
Staring up at a painting of the great man adorning the wall above an elegant single-cup coffee machine, Morris can hardly believe they’re from the same ZIP code. That they walked the same high school corridors. Thick silver-speckled beard hiding a jawline everyone knows is as sharp as his mind, Byron seems like a man from a different age. One to be found amongst the pages of Morris’ classic literature more so than as the chief executive of an R&D company HQ’d in bumfuck nowhere.
And to think, Morris is here to work under him. Far, far, far under him presumably. The email didn’t say who he was meeting with, or really what he was interviewing for, but it must be for a low level clerk position. At least he told himself this as he signed an ‘interview contract’ that he had barely read.
Obviously said document could have held these answers and more but Morris was too excited at the opportunity to work for Byron Roman to even glance at the thing before signing. And now it’s almost as if it’s been washed from his mind. Perhaps that would be concerning if he were able to really recall it at all. But right now Morris has bigger fish to fry, sure of his intelligence at least, there is little else about himself he is confident about.
Too gaunt to be considered pudgy, too average to be dubbed attractive. Morris, like the CEO, seems to be pulled from the world of fiction, though one rather distinct from the epic Sir Byron Roman is cut from. No, Morris is more akin to a street urchin busking to sell matchsticks. Some Dickensian side-character that would be left on the chopping room floor.
Stealing another glance at the portrait wondering if he should hazard another cup of coffee, Morris can’t believe the sense of gravity he gets from the painting. It’s as if the man were standing her before him, asserting his masculinity through brushstrokes and painted posture alone.
Coming to this exact realization as he awkwardly averts his eyes and starts brewing a cup, Morris jokes to himself, “Can oi interest you in a pape milord…”
Unbeknownst to the off-duty barista, the receptionist has yet to take his eyes off him. Watching as Morris taps away at a coffee machine that inexplicably has a screen, he scans with concentration more like a machine than a man.
Only when the nervous interviewee sheepishly looks over his shoulder at the otherwise empty room does the receptionist at last avert his eyes. Having apparently gathered everything he needs, when Morris sits down with his steaming to-go cup, the receptionist speaks up.
“Sir Byron will see you now. Please proceed through the door on my left before entering the third room on the right.”
Letting the man’s words hang in the air for a moment, Morris puffs his cheeks and squints as he realizes this is the second time the secretary has outright stated he’s going to be meeting with the CEO.
The first time he had assumed it was a simple mistake, just a slip of the doorman’s hidden tongue. Having spent even a second longer with the mechanical man, Morris feels confident that he is not the type to speak in err. Nevertheless he opts to clarify.
“Hey! Hi there~ I don’t believe I got your name earlier, Mr..?” His question hangs in the air long enough that he gives up and continues. “Right. Well, I do believe there has been some sort of a misunderstanding? I-I’m here for a simply preliminary interview, surely Mr. Roman had better things to do than-“
“This organization is Byron Roman. If he allows some plain well-read fop to represent him in any regard, and that ungainly grunt makes an embarrassment of his name. Well.”
It’s the most animated Morris has seen the man since he walked in. Despite the cool collected tone he’d swear he saw the man’s eye twitch at the very idea of someone embarrassing the brand. Breezing past being called a grunt and clinging to being called well-read Morris tries to salvage the situation. Sure that if everything goes well that he’ll be working to some degree with the severe man before him, he beats down his nerves to perform.
“Of course! Of course~ I completely understand, sir. The squeaky wheel- err? Rather, a man is always judged by the company he keeps! I am simply surprised that a man as great as Byron Roman would make time in his busy day for an aspirant such as myself.”
Unlike the previous hidden grin, at this the secretary’s eyes light up with a smile. Like a faithful hearing true testimony of their lord.
“Well spoken Mr. Baker. Perhaps we’ll have a fruitful working relationship after all. Hold fast to that fervor. Now, if you don’t mind, please away to the next suite. Sir Byron will arrive to join when he is finished with his current business.”
Once more gesturing to the door to his left, the secretary’s face resets to its emotionless steel as he awaits for Morris to obey. Coffee cup in his hands he is torn whether to leave it or bring it to the second location. The simple decision almost freezes him in place.
He can’t help but overthink every single choice before him. Scoffing at himself as he clenches his jaw, in lieu of a decision he follows the path of least resistance and keeps the cup in hands. Still chiding himself for his perpetual lack of volition and his obsession with minutiae, he attempts to beat stoic surety into himself in preparation of meeting a CEO.
The process is interrupted as he crosses the threshold out of the lobby only to find an unremarkable hallway. Warm wooden flooring and vintage wallpaper give the place a homey vibe far more similar to a small-town doctor’s office than the working HQ of a tech company. Even seeing the large elevators at the end of the hallway in a building Morris knows is only the one story tall, he can’t help but be lulled by the place’s provincial decor.
“It’s like my mom decorated this place…”
Snooping just enough to check out the other few doors on the way to the promised third on the right, Morris finds only more beige doors. Their handles are covered with a thin layer of dust that his attention just glides past, much like it does regarding the gleaming elevator down the way.
Far less overactive minds would begin telling themselves horror stories and worst-case scenarios about wandering into the back office of a billionaire’s clearly shady studio. Taking a sip of his coffee and stealing one last glimpse of the empty hallway, Morris refuses to give way to anxiety. The rich light roast on his tongue grounds him, it perfectly reminds him why he’s come here today.
He is not going to be a barista anymore. The lobby’s attendant flickers in his mind as he swallows. A job just like that, maybe one where he doesn’t need to be quite so dogmatic, is that too much to ask?
Lost in thought as he enters the room. From the side of his eye Morris catches movement and spits up coffee as he flinches into the door in surprise. Instantly worried that Byron has been waiting on him and caught this jittery display, he tightens his posture and forces an awkward smile on his face to feign confidence.
His harried resolve immediately drops when he turns completely only to find a full-length mirror leaned against the wall. Sighing in relief Morris decides to use the opportunity to freshen up. Setting down his coffee he wanders closer to inspect his reflection.
Hair as unfrizzled as he’s able to get it, there are more than a few curly fly-aways sticking out of his tight dirty-blonde bun. Looking down his baggy button-up there are thankfully no coffee stains on its placket.
At least everywhere visible is stainfree if nothing else. The same can surely not be said regarding the sweat under his arms, but this is thankfully hidden by a neat cardigan and nigh-medical grade deodorant.
‘I’ll be fine’ He tells himself on loop, tugging his cardigan down to cover a wrinkle. Looking downwards his pants are simply too long and bag atop dress shoes he only pulls out for very special occasions. His belt still slightly limp even on its most extreme loop, Morris feels nerves prickle on the back of his neck. He absolutely won’t be fine, he looks like a fucking mess!
The barely positive mantra he’s been clinging to is succinctly batted away as the reality of the situation pelts away the hope he’d been foolish enough to trust. He hadn’t even applied for any position in particular, simply thrown his resume at the company’s inbox alongside a pathetic cover letter asking to be used however they see fit.
As if their CEO would waste a second of his day besides to come down here and chastise him for wasting his important company’s time. The receptionist held more worth in a finger than could be found in all of Morris put together, and he thought he’d be able to work a job like that!? He’d crumble under the slightest obstacle, some rich investor chews him out and he’d dissolve. Morris feels himself tearing up at the very idea.
Or perhaps he’s simply halfway to weeping for being a dumbass who thought things could be better. Always thinking. Too much thinking. He feels his fingers clench into his forehead before he even realizes he’s put his face in his hands. The pain of his fingernails scratching brings him back to his senses and after making sure he didn’t leave splotchy red marks on his hairline he takes a deep breath and turns away from his watery-eyed reflection.
Now’s not the time.
If this is real, and it must be. Then this is a massive opportunity he simply can’t waste because he got in his own head. He’s too smart for that. He’s smart, and Byron Roman himself has a position in mind for him. This is-
BING BONG DING DONG- DONG DING BONG BING
“Jesus christ…”
Nearly jumping out of his skin, it’s clear that despite telling himself to calm down he has remained well on edge. Looking up to find the villainous implement that startled him, Morris is shocked he didn’t notice the clock before now. Still recovering from the jumpscare he can hear a subtle tick-tock, grounding him in reality as he attempts to find calm.
Centering himself on the consistent clicking of gears nearby, Morris sits in a small chair and sets his bag down beside him. Time to lock in. Reaching down to paw through the couple of belongings he saw as necessary, Morris debates whether it’s best to read through his printed resume or to focus wholly on setting his mind at ease.
Obviously he’s not going to just scroll on his phone. At worst he’ll stumble across something that’ll stress him out more. At best he’ll look like some screen-addicted zoomer right when Mr. Roman walks in.
Fingers glaze the worn cover of his trusty bible. Melville’s masterpiece. Moby Dick. Thinking of the tome and the vastness of the sea within, the classicist feels the constriction in his chest just melt away. Focused on the sound of North Atlantic gulls in his mind, buoyed by the persistent ticking of the newfound clock, how could Morris ever notice the slightest hissing now emanating from the nearby overhead vent.
Book in hands, he turns it over a few times before opening it to some choice section on whales and their constituent parts. Morris at last relaxes back into his chair. Despite doing everything right, as he reads his pulse continues to rise. First putting his hand on his chest to feel its racing beat, Morris shakes his head and pointedly ignores how it suddenly feels warmer in the room to read the passage before him.
Fanning out his button-up he frowns and tells himself the discomfort is all in his head. Shifting in his seat he feels the pooling sweat in pits and resolves to ignore it. Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, he squints at the text and begins to whisper it aloud to himself.
‘Gnawed within and scorched without, with the infixed unrelenting.. Uh?’ Hearing something bump in the hallway he turns to hopefully see his interviewer interrupting him only to find it’s presumably in his head. Scratching at the side of his chest, carefully not shoving his hand deep in his pits, Morris purses his lips and looks back to the book, unknowingly skipping a few lines.
‘Or, if for any reason thought to be corpo- uhhh? Corporately, no. Corpor-really? Corporeally? Jeeez, god… I must be more stressed than I even thought.” And he certainly thought he was plenty stressed.
Leaning back against his chair, Morris closes his eyes and simply tries to find peace in the darkness. His foot anxiously taps on the floor, at first matching the ticking before rapidly outpacing it. And then it falls heavier. His shoes were tight from the get-go having rarely been worn, but suddenly it’s almost like they’ve gotten tighter in the last few minutes.
Every muscle in his body tensed, he uses his anxious tension to jump up with a start and pace the otherwise empty office. This does nothing to abate the discomfort in his shoes, but as he does so he begins to find that it is not only his feet that are suddenly acting up. Crossing his arms tightly as he patrols the small suite, his cardigan tugs against his shoulders like it never has before.
With a scowl he looks down at his wrists exposed from both his sweater and shirt. Imagining the surely pristine suit his town’s idol is sure to arrive in he easily works himself up anew about his foolish daydreams. Even worse than before, as if every already extreme emotion had heightened. As if they were still heightening.
Throwing his arms down and swinging them to simply remove them from his sight, he refuses to acknowledge how the twigs twitch with every sway. Muscle fibers that have been inactive save to froth milk and open novels suddenly twinge and burn with a need Morris doesn’t understand.
Struggling to make sense of the strange sensation, with pursed lips his fists cramp and at last it becomes perfectly clear. Aggression. Morris is filled with the all-too unfamiliar need to punch something. His consistent pacing back and forth immediately stops as the urge takes pride of place in his mind. Staring as his dainty hands curling into fists, Morris watches mouth agog as the veins on their backs throb.
The sound of his knuckles cracking larger with the force of his clenching is absolutely clear. Wispy blond strands that have long decorated his wrists seem suddenly darker in this office light, to say nothing of the fact that it seems like there are altogether more of them.
Hidden by his cardigan sleeves, Morris suddenly feels his forearms filled with force. Not knowing what a flexor or extensor even is, Morris is dumbstruck as he feels muscles reflexively constrict. Higher up his arm, and far more eye-catching, he is stunned as he sees his sweater catch on biceps like he’s never seen. Muscle like he’d never even been able to imagine on his unimpressive form.
Everything else is washed from his mind as he sees his arms continue to bloat. The shock from his sudden violent streak and even the slight pain still pinging from his shoes pinching more and more, everything fades away as a grin overtakes his shaky face. Panting almost as he lowers and raises an invisible dumbbell, Morris watches as with every lift his sleeves are strained further. And his arms continue to grow.
Hands stretch further from the end of his sleeves as the scratchy, darker curls spreading up his forearm continue to thicken. Doing everything short of drooling at his biceps bulging thicker, when it starts to strain against the dress shirt beneath, his vacant expression twitches into one of frustration.
Nose flaring in irritation, he unintentionally takes a deeper breath and gasps as he suddenly notices a pervasive stink has begun to fill the room. Sure that it simply can’t be coming from himself he raises his heavy right arm to look underneath and can hardly believe the sight. Sweating through both the dress shirt and the thick, once baggy cardigan, Morris can’t take his eyes off the dark, spreading stain in his armpits.
Stunned, his face burns bright red and then feels starkly itchy itself. The urge to scratch is waylaid by the far more powerful need to shove his head into his pit and inhale deeply. Get some of that sweat on his face… Maybe it’d stay there, stick on his upper lip and he’d get a deep whiff of his musky male odor with every single breath.
“Nnno… That- I cann’tuhh…” Words dissolve from his mouth and mind as his lips simply fall open.
Tongue almost lolling, his neck that had been surreptitiously thickening itself begins to lean towards his waiting pit. Converted to the cause, his barely cognizant rational self, tries to make sense of his need. How is he to fix the issue without truly understanding it. He has half a mind to unbutton his shirt and let his pits breath to the open air.
Mind wont to picture the bushy tangle of pit hair that must be hidden beneath these restrictive layers, he does just that. Thicker than his pubes and almost as scratchy, he imagines the chalky deodorant he threw on this morning simply melting away. Absolutely overwhelmed by the prodigious musk his pits produce, proof of his own prodigious manhood.
Lost in a daydream, one hand slowly reaches over to scratch the armpit he imagines and finds it just as hairy as he imagines. Stomach quivering as higher thought continues to vacate. Buried beneath two tops, even still his fingertips can still feel the deep scratchy strands that have begun to stretch well beyond their underarm stomping ground.
Lips twitching into a grin, Morris moans quietly to himself as blush returns to his pale cheeks as its skin tightens and grows rougher. Standing limply in the center of the room as he continues to fill out his clothes, there are a couple inches of straining dress socks showing from the pants that were ever too long.
On the opposite end of the garment, his growth is far more drastic. Never much of a shower or a grower, Morris’ petit package has more than filled his lucky pair of briefs. While one hand remains preoccupied with his pits, the other enthusiastically goes to cup a cock slowly twitching larger.
Quickly struggling to remove a belt now constricting his widening waist before it snaps, at the very same moment it clinks against the floor he hears his swelling cock strain his briefs. When it at last breaks free from his underwear and begins throbbing down the side of his pant leg, obviously visible, Morris’ hips twitch forward and he is brought back to the unmistakable reality of his situation.
“OHHHhhh GOddd~” Panting as he tries to make sense of this must-be nightmare, Morris stumbles over to the mirror to try and free himself from this manic hellscape. Thicker lips drooping open surrounded by stubble darkening from its blonde peachfuzz into a real man’s beard, he forces his face into his hands and tries to convince himself that these changes aren’t good. Cock throbbing in response it’s not looking good.
Thick breath mists the mirror, hiding the vacant look in his eyes as they trail up and down the reflection of his body’s new almost pornographic proportions. So focussed on the meaty arms hanging at his side, he had yet to notice how a forming chest suddenly strains the buttons on his shirt. Nipples encircled by lancing curls are absolutely visible through the sweat-stained top.
Hunger and need fill the spot left by intelligence in his eyes, he forces a hand to his mouth to stop a loud moan as his chest cracks wider, at last tearing the pitiful dress shirt. Strange new strength filling him more with every moment, he is again felt with the impatient urge to make use of it. To fight, to ff- fuck. Forcing his fist into his mouth he bites down to feel anything but the oppressive sensation pulsing from his cock at the idea.
Desperately willing himself to settle down and figure out how to wake up from this hallucination, Morris slams the fist not cupping his cock into the wall as he bites down hard on his lip to try and force himself back to his senses. “FUCK!”
Clutching his injured mouth he stomps a foot in pain as the taste of iron fills his mouth. This marks the end of his dress shoes as the seams on its front burst open to reveal long toes almost completely visible beneath the sparse threads of a sock barely hanging in there. The sound of leather tearing continues as his freed foot continues expanding and tears the tattered shoe in two.
Apathetic to the small trail of red dripping into the thickening stubble on his chin, he looks down at his mismatched feet. One with a shoe hanging on its ankle, still widening beyond the pale. The other barely hangs in there, shining leather filled to the brim with the mass of a foot simply far too large.
Gasping in pain at the feeling of his left foot trying desperately to match its pair’s growth while still confined, there’s an ice cold pit in his stomach as he at last realizes he can’t be dreaming. It just feels too much, too good. And then the other shoe bursts open, sending fabric and laces flying, the slightly humid air of the office a balm to the sole.
Somewhere increasingly buried in his mind, he struggles to understand. If he’s not dreaming, then this is real. His back cracks as he adjusts to stand slightly taller. This is impossible.
Staring at the remains of the most expensive piece of his outfit now hanging from both ankles, Morris tries to understand. It’s what he’s best at, making sense of something. Thinking. He has a degree. He was in debate and wrote for his university’s paper. At least he’s pretty sure he did?
Furrowing his brows as they begin to thicken from their patchy blonde, Morris finds it suddenly difficult to recall. Concern at his situation rapidly gives way to frustration which gives way to apathy. He’ll just wait for Byron to come in and explain everything. Surely he’ll know what’s going on.
As it begins to become more and more difficult to recall his higher education, his thoughts begin to drift increasingly to Byron. Picturing the great man does no favors to his libido, his trigger happy crotch is eager to twitch with fervor as Morris struggles to control himself.
No matter what he’s not going to be caught masturbating when the mysterious executive walks in. Despite wanting nothing more in the world to do so, he moves to sit down and struggles to tuck the massive cock in between his thighs before doing his best to cross the thick trunks.
Vaguely recalling he brought some book with him, Morris looks at the novel tossed aside and picks it up. There’s a flicker of recognition as he knows it’s a book he really likes. But as he reads the title he has to stifle a laugh as in lieu of that ingrained peace, he simply reads the words ‘Moby Dick’ “Pffff WAH HAh ah- Hrm.” Clearing his throat as his voice cracks lower, shifting to one which yearns to guffaw rather than giggle.
Steeling himself, as much as he’s able. Morris recovers slightly and sternly tells himself he likes this book. That he’s a big reader, he’s got a degree in books. This is his favorite book. But even as he flails to remember what exactly a B.A. stands for, the memories of going to university feel less true.
Surely he’d be smarter then…
When that thought flits to his mind the pride he holds in his intelligence returns. Determined to prove it by reading a book thicker than he can clearly remember reading, he opens it to a random page once more: Chapter 94. A Squeeze of the Hand.
Eyes glazed over, the language is far too advanced for his simplifying mind to even begin to comprehend. Still, they drift over the lines enough for him to pretend he’s grasping anything before at last they catch on something: ‘Squeeze! squeeze! Squeeze!’ Exclamation points calling to him, Morris continues to read Ishmael’s account of processing spermaceti. And unsurprisingly, he begins to laugh.
While earlier he was reading to focus on the text, now he almost needs to sound out the words for them to sink in. Following the lines with his fatter finger “All the morn-ing long; I squeezed that- hehheh, Sperm till I myself almost melted into it HAH HAhah- Huh… Sperm… Squeeze…”
Biting the lip that has miraculously healed already, if only he could recall the injury, Morris’ now sperm focussed and squeeze happy mind can only do what the written page suggests. Dropping the tome as he manspreads in an office chair that now creaks beneath his heavier load, he swallows the drool pooling in his mouth. Looking to pants now decorated with small tears, the once-academic stares at the too squeezable cock stretching halfway down his meaty thigh.
Pants so tight he can see the thick veins through the tearing fabric, Morris’ mouth falls open as he drools outright, beginning to rub his own whale through pants seconds away from tearing apart altogether. Feeling it scratch against his curl covered thighs and the cheap satin of his dress pants, he can scarcely recall that he’s in this room let alone the reason why.
Pool of pre rapidly pulsing through the vicelike pants, Morris’ moans echo as he can recall no reason at all to quiet himself. As he can recall nothing but the pleasure emanating from his wanting cock. Louder than the clock, completely covering the ever-present hiss of the vent that has been steadily increasing; not that Morris ever stood a chance at noticing. His twitchy hips rut as he spits up over himself from excitement at release that is soon to come.
Every aspect of self and every stray neuron firing is focused on the rising pressure in his crotch. Morris can feel his balls pull up as his free hand clenches the chair about to break underneath his weight. Legs extend as every muscle flexes, and just as that sweet release is on the precipice of freeing him from the grand weight of his worries- the door knob turns.
Clad in a tailored three-piece suit more expensive than Morris’ apartment enters the prodigal chief himself, Byron Roman. Morris veins run cold at being seen in such a compromised position by that most influential man that has ever stepped foot in their podunk shared home town. Bolting up like a bullet, the horny man’s spine is straight as a ramrod.
So too is his cock as it finally wins the war against his cheap dress pants. Sending a small stream of pre flying as it bursts free from confinement, Morris can’t help but cross his eyes as it bounces in the air. Hazarding a glimpse, he can hardly believe just how impressive his dick is. Almost twice its previous size and veinier than his arms after the best pump he’s ever had, Morris would have cum at the very sight were he not wholly stunned from being in the presence of Byron.
Closing the door behind him as he enters outright, there is no surprise on the executives face as he inspects the goods. Striding to meet the man, he holds his hands behind his back as he inspects every inch of the man standing firmly at attention. Expressionless as he takes in every detail of Morris.
Zeroing in on whatever bodypart of Morris’ strikes his fancy, as he stares Morris continues to grow. Accelerating from the attention of the great man before him, as if every muscle and mindless body part were trying to make him proud.
Starting from behind, Byron takes an interest in the man’s ass. Morris twitches as his glutes expand, what remains of his briefs fall irrevocably into their crack as his hairy cheeks hang larger in the open air, stretchmarks painted across their prodigious mass like the work of art it is.
Eyes trailing upward, Morris' waist fills out to give his silhouette the most powerful shape one can imagine. Connecting his heavy chest with wide hips and heavy thighs, there is no way someone could look at the drooling man and imagine anything but strength lying within him.
Finishing a slow lap around his aspirant, Byron stands in front of Morris and does one last look down and up. Landing on his face, Morris feels his jaw sharpen underneath the perpetual stubble that coats it. His chin juts out like a superhero’s while his cheekbones and brow ridge grow just as prominent. There’s a small crack in the air as Morris feels his nose reshape into something either aquiline or one that has simply broken and rehealed.
Still frozen in place, Morris’ stunted mind only just realizes that he’s at eye-level with Byron Morris. It’s so unbelievable that it almost breaks him free from whatever trance he’s in. Feeling the sweat drip down his exposed midriff as a breeze in the room sails through the treasure trail etching itself up his puffy abs mostly hidden by his strong gut, a needy grunt ekes out of his throat.
Finally, Byron gives any real indication that he’s anything more than a passive observer. Waiting for his guest’s glazed eyes to look back at him, the CEO smiles. “So. What is it that brings you in today?” His voice is like an upright bass alone in an orchestra hall, tightly controlled, smooth, and completely attention grabbing.
Unable to string two thoughts together he grunts and tries to explain himself, “I- I, uhh… J- Job- s ssir…” Struggling to swallow drool still spilling from his overactive glands, he tries to stand even straighter to hide the obvious mess he’s in. Taking a deep breath to recover from the strain of speaking, he inhales a hearty dose of his musk and struggles against the handful of twitches his body enacts in response.
“I hope you don’t mind the subterfuge, from your letter I did gather you were quite desperate. So much so you were quite lax reading the fine print of- Well, I imagine you can’t recall anyway so what is the point, right old- Er? What was your name again?” For the first time Byron reaches out to touch Morris, brushing some shred of torn cardigan stuck to his sweaty skin as he asks the question
“I’m Mo- Mo…” Finally thickening enough to be the caterpillar-like brows he’s always admired on other men as his brow ridge bulges lower, his eyebrows furrow as he tries to recall the simplest of answers. Waiting patiently, Byron starts to massage his bicep, distracting him all the more. It’s his name. It should be engrained within his mind, within his self more than anything else.
Byron’s hand travels up his shoulder before shifting over to cup his heavy pecs, prodding them as if he’s inspecting livestock with a grin. “Come now boy, you must know your name! I read your very brief resume- or I briefly read it, rather. Hm, I suppose you couldn’t mind such a dig at this point ah ha ha!” With each laugh he presses firmer into the man’s chest, delighting as he quivers with need.
“I’mmm Mmmnhh”
Byron reaches up to grasp the man’s jaw with his free hand while he travels down the whole of his torso with the other. Batting away the shirt as he easily sails down sweaty abs and haphazardly detangles scratchy body hair, Byron smiles as he forces the man to look directly in his eyes. “You wouldn’t mind if we just gave you a new one? After all, what could you want more than a fresh start under my wing.”
Needily nodding, the now nameless man melts as Byron at last graces his cock with attention. Lightly grazing its veiny surface with his manicured nails, the executive gives one small tug on the meaty cock’s head and watches as pre that has been trickling down his shaft drips onto the floor.
Eyes darting to the book lying on the floor, Byron smirks as he brings his hand to his mouth to sample the sticky ichor glazing his hand. “Moby, hm? Isn’t that swell.”
Tongue hanging limp from his mouth as he pants like a dog, he must agree the name feels fitting. It feels like him. Or he would if there was a single thought in his mind. At the moment any higher consciousness, much like his blood, was rushing to that most turgid of organs. He was just waiting for Byron’s permission to finally become.
As Byron’s hand reaches to grasp what little of Moby’s cock it’s able, the new hire feels the peace he was always longing for. Mind simplifying with each small tug and twist of the fingers, he feels all he is and was drain into his balls as they pull upward.
Eyes rolling back as his supernaturally rigid posture twitches and almost collapses under the touch of his boss. There’s a blank grin on Moby’s face as he prepares to release the heavy weight of understanding. And with a few simple flicks of Roman’s wrist, Moby does just that.
Erupting like a geyser, everything that made Morris what he was is launched from him in pearly strings. His application and the contract he thoughtlessly signed, his few long years as a barista, his poorly received thesis and the best years of his life precipitating it; all converted to a messy cum splatter on the floor of this corporate office.
Moby pants as he falls back amongst the pools of his scattered past self. Bleary smirk on his face, the toll of almost doubling in size leaves him drained as his eyelids begin to waver. Pulling up a chair and lighting a cigar that had been hidden in his jacket, Byron Roman watches him overtaken by sleep.
He doesn’t remember too much about the man smoking above him. He doesn’t remember too much at all. But he knows the man is everything to him. And when he wakes up well, he’s going to do his best to make him proud.
Byron Roman never really saw the point in a grunt. His many underlings all served their purposes, true. But a body man, one always at his beck and call, one always by his side. He always imagined it would be suffocating.
Never has he been more pleased to be proven wrong. Moby has performed every duty even better than expected. Given their steamy first meeting it’s not long before their relationship grows beyond that of boss and muscled-up assistant.
His scientists always pushed one of their own to be the lab rat, but Byron has always preferred the humanities. While mechanical intelligence may have sufficed, Moby’s tortured classical passions gave his final form far more flavor.
Reclined at his desk, incense burning slowly as he stares at Moby standing over watch outside his office, Byron decides it’s time to call it a day. To that end, he calls his grunt over for their now daily ritual. Calling him over, Byron’s mouth curls into a grin as watches Moby’s tight uniform contort and stretch over his muscle with every labored movement.
“You rang boss?”
“Moby be a dear, lock the door and close the blinds.”
Blush burns underneath Moby’s permanent five o’clock shadow as his mouth reflexively falls open. Sprinting to the door to do just that, he bounds back to his boss to do exactly what’s made for.
Undoing his tie, Byron’s already well-excited himself, zipper creaking as this becomes indisputable. Something about their sessions always leaves him feeling rejuvenated himself. When he looks in the mirror after he’d swear his beard is always a touch darker, the neck it hides thicker. Perhaps he’d worry, but fucking and being fucked by the titan simply has a way of softening his many worries.
Stealing one last glance at a weathered blue copy of Moby’s old book, he cracks his shoulders and feels them reset ever so slightly firmer. “Time to do what you do best, boy.”
He knows damn well you both are on the verge of cumming in the middle of the gym just by working out with each other. But he also knows how much is worth when you two get home and fuck until your blueballs go out.
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