TF enthusiast

[merryy3dbhsjsk]

Were-surfer

I yelled and shook the kid off me, red on my arm from where he bit me. Luckily for me his big brother had seen the whole thing, thanking me for keeping him from falling after he had tripped. My injury looked like little more than a surface scratch, despite a lot of blood, but the surfer dude insisted on getting alcohol and bandages. 

They turned out to be unnecessary as it seemed the blood must have come from the boy's mouth. My arm didn't have a mark on it. You'd think that would have been the end of it, but the older boy, who introduced himself as bodhi, wanted my name and address, and kept asking me to see some special doctor he knew. I just drove away, not wanting any hippie herbal treatments, and I figured that was the last I would see of them. 

I had forgotten all about the encounter, but a month later, a sudden knock startled me. Answering, I found bodhi waiting on my front porch. My sudden scowl made him step back and raise his hands. "Sorry to bother you. I tracked you down through your license plate." Considering the trouble he must have gone through to find me, I sighed and waited. When I did not invite her in, she said "My... um, lil bro. He like, startled when he started to fall and fear made him react bad to your grab." 

I nodded, hoping to speed him on his merry way. The young man flushed, then said "I know it seemed like nothing, but he really did bite you. And that was your blood." At my dubious look, he continued. "You just healed super fast. It's like the infection doesn't want to be known about" He sighed. "Like a Werewolf curse." OK, he was a nutcase, probably high on weed right now too.

“Um, right. Well, I haven't tried to chase cars, but I'll keep that in mind, OK?" I started to shut the door, only to have him persist. 

"Teddy isn't really my brother. He's my Gramps." That comment made me make a renewed effort to get him to leave. 

"Sir, I need you to leave. Please." I could see he wanted to argue, but then shook his head. 

"I'II go." I watched him return to his scrappy truck and drive away, resolving not to answer

the door to strangers for a while.  At least until it started to turn dark, Trick or Treating started at 6 PM. I stepped out to check my porch light and noticed that we had a full moon. then suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous. 

I grabbed the side of the house and then staggered into the yard, expecting to throw up. As I did, my jeans cut off at my knees, the excess Dinum dropping to my ankles, making me nearly fall over. The sick feeling passed, leaving me bewildered by the sudden cool breeze on my chest, which was somehow now bare?

 I stared as I lifted each leg, easily pulling free of the pooled up fabric of my pants. Muscular, hairless legs and smooth bronze skin. They looked like they had spent countless hours in full sun. My (also tan) hands jerked up to feel a hairless chiseled face, long blonde hair hanging in my eyes, just like… "Dude." I recoiled from the deep slow voice, which I remembered from earlier that day. Turning, I saw Bodhi looking at me with a sad smile.

 "There was always a chance that you would be immune, or there wouldn't be enough change for you to notice much." He remained where he was, hands by his sides. "But it looks like you got hit full force. As far as I can tell, you are just like anyone else hit with the surf wave" I looked at my arms, biceps bigger than my head used to be and then up at the night sky.

 "Am I going to turn into a monster?" I asked, my voice cracking like I’m going through puberty. 

He shook his head beneath his green hoodie. "You aren't a werewolf. And you won't change again." That last was said with such finality that I looked back at him, puzzled. 

The surfer sighed. "Lil dude is only contagious during the full moon. He was hit with a weird variant of the wave, cursed to always be a little surfer boy instead of a young adult. None of us can figure it out.  I knew I should have kept him home, but even though he misbehaves a lot, he's never bitten anyone in all the months since he changed. Until you." 

I stared, comprehension dawning. "But that means..." He

 nodded. "Grandpas was like 80 years old, and now he’s 12 years old. His mind is that of the child too, now memories of his past life. And, I'm afraid, you will be joining him in that

too." I wanted to deny this, but even as he spoke I realized I couldn't remember half of my life. 

He held out a hand. "I'm sorry, we don’t normally transform those who don’t truly need to be something else. But at least you won't be alone, there’s a lot of us now. You, me, and the lil guy are related too it seems. And with me and him as brothers, that will at least be easier than being alone." 

I stare at his outstretched hand and then back at a house I can't even remember living in anymore. Then I slap his palm in a dab up and let him lead me toward towards the truck he shares with me. I am confused, the past fading and new stuff filling in the gaps, but not sad. Actually, I am getting excited to meet new friends I have never met before, and a lil bro. Even if he was the one who turned me into a were-surfer.

(The first of summerween, the others are written and ready to go, a first for me, and will be dropped in the following weeks. Enjoy this sunny spooky story that kickstarted this whole series!)

[jockliker]

Admit it, if you follow this blog it's because you wanna do that don't u ?

[skinheadmal]

The Last Business Trip

I stepped out of the upscale hotel bar in the heart of London, my tailored suit crisp and my Rolex glinting under the streetlights. Another successful day closing deals, because that's what men like me do. We rise above the filth. These trips always reminded me how superior I was: educated, refined, building empires while the dregs of society shuffled by in their cheap clothes and dead-end lives. Then I saw them. A pack of five skinheads loitering near the alley, shaved heads gleaming, boots scuffed, tattoos crawling up their necks. One spat on the sidewalk as I passed. I sneered.

"Uneducated thugs. Go crawl back to whatever hole you crawled out of. The world belongs to people with actual brains."

They stared. One with heavy tattoos on his forearm grinned slow and nasty. I laughed it off and kept walking.

Later that night, as I headed back from a client dinner,

a van screeched up. Hands grabbed me. A rag over my mouth. Chloroform.

I woke up chained in a filthy basement. Concrete floor. Bare bulb. The skinheads stood over me, my captors. "You think you're better?" the leader, a stocky guy known onlny as the Boss, growled. "We're gonna fix that. Make you one of us. Proper."

They started slow. Pills forced down my throat, some mix that made my head swim and my thoughts fuzzy. Hours of looped videos on an old TV: violent street fights, anti-rich rants, simple slogans hammered in. "Fuck the suits. We're the real men." They beat me just enough to break resistance, not bones. Starved me. Made me listen to their stories of kicking arse on the streets. No books. No phone. Just them.

Time blurred. May have been days or Weeks. The drugs got heavier. My designer clothes were burned. They shaved my head with a razor, nicking my scalp. Tattoos were inked on me while I was half-conscious, crude ones on my arms and chest. "Skinhead for life." My refined vocabulary dissolved under their constant barrage of slurs and commands. "Say it, cunt. 'I'm a fuckin' thug.' I fought at first. Screamed about my job, my penthouse, my superiority. But the conditioning dug in deep. Indoctrination sessions every day: smoke this, drink that, repeat the oaths. My memories started fracturing. Who was I before? Some weak prick in a tie? Nah...

A month in. I don't know what day it is anymore. The old me is gone, wiped clean like they promised. I wake up one morning, head buzzing from last night's brew and smokes, and it feels... right. I've always been like this. Always run with the lads. Suits? Business trips? What the fuck is that posh shit? Sounds like some wanker I might stomp.

I look in the cracked mirror. Bald head shining. New ink covering my arms. Scars from the "lessons." Doc Martens on my feet, tight bleachers, braces over a black polo. A cigarette hangs from my lips.

I light it, inhale deep, and grin at my reflection. "Fuckin' perfect." The Boss slaps my back. "Welcome home, Skin. You're one of us now. No more of that bullshit."

We hit the streets that night. The crew, my crew, roaming the streets, looking for trouble. I swagger beside them, spitting on the pavement, swearing at anyone in fancy clothes who crosses our path. "Oi, you posh twat! What you looking at? You think you're better thn us?"

We laugh as they scatter. This is life. Real life. Boots on concrete, knuckles bruised, no plans beyond the next pint and the next scrap.

I don't remember the businessman. Never was one. I've always been who I am, A skinhead thug. And I'll never go back.

The business world lost some suit forever. Good riddance. I/ We're the streets now.

12 Months LaterI I slammed another pint down on the sticky bar top, wiping the foam from my mouth with the back of my tattooed hand. Twelve fucking months since I got properly made a member of the crew. Time flies when you’re living real.

“Another round, ya tight cunt!” The Boss bellowed from across the table. I flipped him off with a grin and waved at the barmaid. My head was freshly shaved this morning, smooth as a cue ball, the lightning bolts on my scalp still stinging a bit under the fresh ink. Felt good. Proper.

We’d grown stronger this past year. The crew was bigger now,  fifteen solid lads. We’d taken over three more blocks. Shaking down dealers who didn’t pay respect, smashing up yuppie bars that tried to gentrify our turf, collecting “protection” money from corner shops. Last month, we properly fucked up a group of city bankers who stumbled into our pub. I laughed the loudest when I stomped that one prick’s fancy watch into the pavement.“

“Remember when you were scared of blood?” laughed Tommy, one of the younger ones.

“Fuck off,” I snorted, lighting up another cigarette. “I was born for this shit.”

Follow My WordPress Blog HERE

[merryy3dbhsjsk]

Were-surfer

I yelled and shook the kid off me, red on my arm from where he bit me. Luckily for me his big brother had seen the whole thing, thanking me for keeping him from falling after he had tripped. My injury looked like little more than a surface scratch, despite a lot of blood, but the surfer dude insisted on getting alcohol and bandages. 

They turned out to be unnecessary as it seemed the blood must have come from the boy's mouth. My arm didn't have a mark on it. You'd think that would have been the end of it, but the older boy, who introduced himself as bodhi, wanted my name and address, and kept asking me to see some special doctor he knew. I just drove away, not wanting any hippie herbal treatments, and I figured that was the last I would see of them. 

I had forgotten all about the encounter, but a month later, a sudden knock startled me. Answering, I found bodhi waiting on my front porch. My sudden scowl made him step back and raise his hands. "Sorry to bother you. I tracked you down through your license plate." Considering the trouble he must have gone through to find me, I sighed and waited. When I did not invite her in, she said "My... um, lil bro. He like, startled when he started to fall and fear made him react bad to your grab." 

I nodded, hoping to speed him on his merry way. The young man flushed, then said "I know it seemed like nothing, but he really did bite you. And that was your blood." At my dubious look, he continued. "You just healed super fast. It's like the infection doesn't want to be known about" He sighed. "Like a Werewolf curse." OK, he was a nutcase, probably high on weed right now too.

“Um, right. Well, I haven't tried to chase cars, but I'll keep that in mind, OK?" I started to shut the door, only to have him persist. 

"Teddy isn't really my brother. He's my Gramps." That comment made me make a renewed effort to get him to leave. 

"Sir, I need you to leave. Please." I could see he wanted to argue, but then shook his head. 

"I'II go." I watched him return to his scrappy truck and drive away, resolving not to answer

the door to strangers for a while.  At least until it started to turn dark, Trick or Treating started at 6 PM. I stepped out to check my porch light and noticed that we had a full moon. then suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous. 

I grabbed the side of the house and then staggered into the yard, expecting to throw up. As I did, my jeans cut off at my knees, the excess Dinum dropping to my ankles, making me nearly fall over. The sick feeling passed, leaving me bewildered by the sudden cool breeze on my chest, which was somehow now bare?

 I stared as I lifted each leg, easily pulling free of the pooled up fabric of my pants. Muscular, hairless legs and smooth bronze skin. They looked like they had spent countless hours in full sun. My (also tan) hands jerked up to feel a hairless chiseled face, long blonde hair hanging in my eyes, just like… "Dude." I recoiled from the deep slow voice, which I remembered from earlier that day. Turning, I saw Bodhi looking at me with a sad smile.

 "There was always a chance that you would be immune, or there wouldn't be enough change for you to notice much." He remained where he was, hands by his sides. "But it looks like you got hit full force. As far as I can tell, you are just like anyone else hit with the surf wave" I looked at my arms, biceps bigger than my head used to be and then up at the night sky.

 "Am I going to turn into a monster?" I asked, my voice cracking like I’m going through puberty. 

He shook his head beneath his green hoodie. "You aren't a werewolf. And you won't change again." That last was said with such finality that I looked back at him, puzzled. 

The surfer sighed. "Lil dude is only contagious during the full moon. He was hit with a weird variant of the wave, cursed to always be a little surfer boy instead of a young adult. None of us can figure it out.  I knew I should have kept him home, but even though he misbehaves a lot, he's never bitten anyone in all the months since he changed. Until you." 

I stared, comprehension dawning. "But that means..." He

 nodded. "Grandpas was like 80 years old, and now he’s 12 years old. His mind is that of the child too, now memories of his past life. And, I'm afraid, you will be joining him in that

too." I wanted to deny this, but even as he spoke I realized I couldn't remember half of my life. 

He held out a hand. "I'm sorry, we don’t normally transform those who don’t truly need to be something else. But at least you won't be alone, there’s a lot of us now. You, me, and the lil guy are related too it seems. And with me and him as brothers, that will at least be easier than being alone." 

I stare at his outstretched hand and then back at a house I can't even remember living in anymore. Then I slap his palm in a dab up and let him lead me toward towards the truck he shares with me. I am confused, the past fading and new stuff filling in the gaps, but not sad. Actually, I am getting excited to meet new friends I have never met before, and a lil bro. Even if he was the one who turned me into a were-surfer.

(The first of summerween, the others are written and ready to go, a first for me, and will be dropped in the following weeks. Enjoy this sunny spooky story that kickstarted this whole series!)

[hairy-bothered]

Eighteen-year-old Ben slipped into the costume shop to escape the rain on a cold Chicago fall morning. Scrawny, freckled, and painfully aware that he still looked younger than most college freshmen, he decided to browse a bit to pass some time - hoping for the rain to let up. He stopped when he found an old Chicago police uniform tucked behind a rack of capes.

It was several sizes too large, but he tried it on anyway. Staring at the baggy sleeves in the mirror, he laughed. “Yeah, real convincing. I look soooo intimidating.”

Then the uniform tightened. Ben shot upward as muscle filled his shoulders and arms. The uniform started to fit better.

His youthful face sharpened and aged beneath his fingertips while reddish peach fuzz spread into a dark mustache on his upper lip.

His hair thinned rapidly until only a narrow fringe remained around the edges. By the time he looked thirty-five, the uniform fit perfectly—and he was smiling.

He leaned into the mirror to admire his new more handsome, rugged looking face. Grasping at the corner or his new mustache and smirking.

Before long the last strands of hair disappeared and his face sagged a bit with age as his body settled into the powerful frame of a man in his mid-forties.

As the rain finally relented, Ben stepped out of the shop a changed man. Nobody would have mistaken him for a kid anymore. His days of homework and youthful anxiety were just a distant memory. It was time to return to his precinct and then hit the beat for the day.

[keozrb]

The Manliest Man 3 - coming soon

it finally happening I'm started working on manliest man 3

I sill got a lot of stuff to do but it will be out soon, it also been awhile so it might feel different then last story that might because AI have change over the year since when the last story came out

[bigification]

Bearfluenza; Shallow Water

'Warning. Due to increased cases of Bearfluenza in the area, it is recommended that you cover up your face and genitalia when swimming. The virus can spread rapidly through shallow water, and is extremely contagious. Swim at your own risk."

"Whatever." James scoffed at the sign. "Just a bunch of bullshit to sell you a vaccine."

He pushed past the sign and entered the change room. He enjoyed stripping down in front of the fat older men that frequented the public pool, because being fit wasn't enough for him, he had to show off the merchandise. Of course, these men could never have him, that was the fun of the game.

The sun glistened off his skin as he walked out towards the pool. It was still early in the summer, and he needed to bolster his tan. He walked past a group of men on the way to the shallow end of the pool and gave them a wink alongside his charming smile. Usually he could see their dicks perk up under their tight speedos, but this time they ignored him.

It's not like he cared, he simply turned up his nose and walked away. He dropped off his towel and dunked his feet in the refreshing water. He usually found it too cold to go past his waist, couldn't risk shrinking the merchandise, but today the temperature felt just right.

He slid into the water and breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes closed as he leaned back and relaxed, but his relaxation was short lived. The group of old men he had walked past started laughing.

"Is something funny?" James sneered.

"Yeah, you took one look at us and now you just can't contain yourself." The men joked.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You're showin' off full mast at the public pool!"

James looked down and was shocked to see that his dick was rock hard, pressing against his swim shorts.

"What the hell?"

He tried tucking it into the drawstring of his shorts, but it popped back out. He scrambled, trying to push his dick down to hide it under the surface of the water. Then, all of a sudden, a stream of water shot up his dick, as if there was a pump sucking the water into his body. As the water entered his body, his stomach started to swell, quickly turning into a rock solid ball belly.

James groaned in pain, holding his distended stomach. He almost couldn't believe the sight of his perfectly round belly. Even though he couldn't still feel it, he couldn't see his boner anymore, he couldn't even see his feet.

He struggled to hoist himself out of the pool as water sloshed around inside him. He couldn't even raise his head as he reached to gather his things.

"Oh pretty boys not so confident without his abs." One of the men called. "C'mon, don't be shy. Show us that belly." Another joked.

James started walking towards the exit, but something had changed. He couldn't hear the water sloshing in his stomach anymore. He stopped and grabbed his stomach, becoming horrified when his hand sunk into the soft fat padding his stomach. It was no longer just a bloat caused by water, it was a full fledged gut that jiggled every time he moved.

He took another step, and his belly swelled once again, then another step and it grew further. With every attempt to get closer to the exit, his gut grew until it was sagging under its own weight.

James fell to the floor, unable to hold the immense weight of his gut any longer. And as he held himself up with his hands, he watched them grow. His hands grew and his fingers thickened as thick hairs covered them. And like a virus, it spread up his arms. His muscle definition disappeared under a layer of fat and a forest of thick hairs. His solid pecs followed suit, growing into hairy man tits that compliment his immense gut, which has unsurprisingly grown a thick pelt of hair.

His swim shorts tighten around his waist as his perky ass expanded into two meaty globes. His thighs thickened and his feet grew 5 sizes larger, snapping through his flimsy flip flops.

With the increased strength of his thicker legs, James managed to crawl towards the pool just in time to watch face change in the waters reflection. His sharp jawline melts into a soft double chin that is quickly covered by a messy grey beard. His perfect skin folds and wrinkles, his nose and ears grow, and his hairline recedes halfway back his scalp, aging him 30 years in the span of seconds.

"Let me help you up." A kind voice echoes above James' head.

He looks up to see a man, not to dissimilar from himself, holding out his hand. His belly cast a shadow that covered James' entire body, and his rock hard cock was pressed against the bottom of his gut, just like James.

"Bearfluenza's a bitch this time of year. Looks like you've got a pretty serious case, but at least you've kept most of your hair." The man explained. "I got it last year, never recovered."

"What's Bearfluenza?" James asked in a gruff voice.

"Oh you've got a lot to learn mi'boy. Come, let me introduce you to some friends. The name's Ken by the way."

"I see you're back." One of the men said.

"You turned quite nice for a pretty boy." Another chirped as he licked his lips.

"Now be nice boys, this is James." Ken said. "Now James, if there's one thing you need to know about this virus, other than the obvious, is that you'll be hornier than ever knew was possible. But you can't go around fuckin' anyone you like, cuz that's how it spreads. So that's what the boys are for, if you know what I mean?"

"Yea..." James muttered as his brain tried to make sense of his situation.

"Good. Now I've been holding it in all morning, so why don't I bring you over to the showers and show you how big guys like us do it." Ken said as he dragged James away.

[zanethehimbo]

ZANE’S HIMBO CONFESSIONS

🍆The Pink Fog Files: Himbo Hypnosis - cock craving 🍆

Just don’t think…

Only go pink…

There you are…

Let your shoulders drop. Let your breathing slow down… softer… slower… deeper.

There’s nothing you need to do right now. Nowhere you need to be.

Just let these words wash over you like warm silk… sliding gently across your skin… slipping quietly behind your eyes.

Just don’t think…

Only go pink…

Feel it beginning again.

That beautiful, shimmering pink fog… so soft… so gentle… so patient.

It doesn’t force its way in. It simply drifts… curls… settles…

Filling every quiet corner of your mind with a warm, glowing haze.

With every breath you take, it grows a little thicker… a little sweeter… a little more irresistible.

Your thoughts are already starting to drift… floating away like petals on a gentle breeze.

And in their place… something warmer begins to bloom.

Just don’t think…

Only go pink…

You can feel it now, can’t you?

That soft, slow pulse deep inside your body.

A quiet longing. A delicate ache.

It’s so easy to let it spread… moving through your chest… down your stomach… settling warm and heavy between your legs.

You don’t need to name it yet.

Just feel it.

Let it grow.

Just don’t think…

Only go pink…

The pink fog knows you so well.

It knows how good it feels to let your mind soften.

It knows how much sweeter everything becomes when you stop thinking and simply… feel.

And right now, that feeling is starting to take shape.

Heavy…

Warm…

Thick…

A beautiful, masculine presence filling your thoughts.

You can almost sense it… the weight of it resting against your tongue… the smooth, velvety heat sliding between your lips… the slow, delicious stretch as it fills your mouth so perfectly.

Just don’t think…

Only go pink…

Let that image linger.

Let it sink deeper.

Feel how your mouth begins to water so naturally… how your throat relaxes… how your whole body starts to hum with quiet, eager surrender.

The more the pink fog fills you, the stronger that craving becomes.

Not rushed. Not frantic.

Just a deep, seductive, irresistible pull toward cock.

You were never meant to be full of busy thoughts.

You were meant to be full of this…

This elegant, throbbing need.

This beautiful obsession that makes your hole flutter softly… that makes your own cock twitch and leak… that turns your mind into a warm, pink, cock-hungry haze.

Just don’t think…

Only go pink…

Cock…

There it is again… that word sliding so smoothly through your mind.

Feel how it makes everything warmer. Wetter. Needier.

Your thoughts are melting into it now. Every attempt to think clearly just dissolves into images of thick, heavy cock… resting on your tongue… sliding down your throat… stretching you open so perfectly.

You’re becoming exactly what you were always meant to be.

A soft… pretty… empty-headed himbo whose only real purpose is to crave, to serve, and to be filled.

The pink fog keeps pouring in… deeper… thicker… more delicious.

And with it comes more and more cock lust.

Slow.

Seductive.

Overwhelming.

You don’t fight it anymore.

You welcome it.

You sink into it.

You let it turn you into a dripping, whimpering, cock-obsessed himbo who lives for that perfect, heavy feeling of being completely owned by cock.

Just don’t think…

Only go pink…

And let your cock lust bloom.

Goodhinbo.

You’re doing so well.

[texass95]

Dinner at Circe’s

This usually isn’t my thing, but I was inspired by a surprisingly hot scene in The Odyssey 🥵

[ki-kink]

Boys be rockin' those locks on their domes, while men be sportin' them facial and body hairs like bosses! Get with the program, dude!

[hairymaletf]

[hairymaletf]

[bull-dieseld]

A Beary-Good Transformation

[testostories]

A Bro Called Brody {Art Student to Wrestler}

Brody was nervous about living in a dorm. He knew the reputation they had, especially those at Dalton, and that he’d surely be forced to live with at least one roommate throughout the semester. What if they never got on? Brody was an artsy sort of guy with kind eyes and a lithe frame. At a distance he appeared scrawny - not helped by his ill-fitting clothing and equally unflattering posture - though he did have some definition around his shoulders and legs from running track in school. That was actually why he’d come to Dalton in the first place. He’d planned on heading to art school like all his friends only to have his application intercepted and fast-tracked to study at Dalton based on athletic merit. It’d only ever been an extracurricular hobby for him, not the sort of thing he wanted to own or get by on, but given how competitive the art colleges were and the cost of rent being what it was, Brody’d let his friends go with a heavy heart.

It occurred to him as he climbed the stairs that he wasn’t sure if Dalton even had much in the way of an art department. He stepped over some bottles, rolls of unfurled toilet paper and discarded condom packets - was…was that a used one?! - before settling upon his door. 

#69. 

He groaned. Someone out there must’ve laughed themself stupid at that. In fact, muffled behind the door, someone WAS laughing themself stupid. He tensed with the key half-turned, all those doubts of having left his friends rushing back. It wasn’t too late, right? If his roommate turned out to be an obnoxious douche he could always swap with someone else, or spend his days locked away in the library, or go scurrying back home with his tail between his legs. No…No…Brody steeled himself and took a breath, opened the door and stepped inside.

Sprawled upon the sofa in nothing but boardshorts was a jock. He’d a tight cut of brunette curls, peach fuzz mustache along his upper lip and a douchey goatee upon his chin. His body bordered on parody compared to Brody’s, taking up at least twice as much space in both literal size and smell. A gold chain choked around his neck and he’d committed the cardinal sin of wearing socks with slides. He also wore sunglasses, which Brody couldn’t decide was him committing to the aesthetic or an attempt at masking a hangover. Before he could land either way, the jock rose from his slump with explosive force, beaming like a dopey golden retriever.

“Hey, bro!” he hollered, loud enough for the entire block to hear. “Name’s Tanner. Glad to be roomin’ with ya, bro!”

He moved closer and Brody braced himself for the inevitable. The wind was squeezed right out of him as Tanner wrapped an arm around to bring him in. He held his breath a moment longer out of spite, nose buried in his pit, only to then choke upon his release.

“...Aheck-!...Br—” Phew! “Uh, Brody. I’m—” Wheeze. “Brody.”

“Brody!” he beamed wider still. “That’s gonna be easy to remember, bro. We’re gonna be best buds, I can tell!”

Brody wasn’t so convinced. ‘Bro’ was a nickname he’d shunned his entire life. Coupled with the fact Tanner clearly hadn’t showered all week and that he’d already made a mess of the place - football trophies here, bottles and cans there, a few scattered jerseys and a suspiciously football-sized dent in the wall - he didn’t expect to last the night. Still, he didn’t have the heart to say that to Tanner’s face. The dope seemed happy enough just having company, compatible or otherwise.

“Sooo, you need help with your stuff, bro? I can go lift it for you. I’m good at that.” He’d smirked and gave an exaggerated curl of his bicep, pout and all. “I’ve got stuff in my car I still gotta haul anyways, but you can help with that, right bro?”

There it was again. Brody bit his tongue and headed for the door. The pair made swift work of the luggage, hoisting everything from boxes of clothes to a flatscreen TV, and Tanner must’ve snuck at least half a dozen ‘bro’s while doing it. Brody wasn’t sure if he was trying to piss him off or make the nickname stick. By the time they finished he was a tense and sweaty mess, dabbing away at his forehead with the collar of his tee. 

“Think fast-!” 

Brody all but doubled over as Tanner lobbed a can straight at him, striking his chest. He managed to break its fall by cupping his hands and after some fumbling was able to hold it.

“Figured you’d need a drink, bro. You’re stronger than you look. What you here for anyways?” Tanner was draped again upon the sofa, his arms exaggeratedly spread along the back and his legs leaving nothing to the imagination. Annoyed as Brody was, he couldn’t deny the jock seemed genuinely invested in getting to know him, so he softened his glare and took a sip of beer.

“Well, that’s a bit of a long story actually,” he confessed, lingering by the front door.

Tanner’s smile held.

“I applied to a lot of the big art schools - y’know, the bougie pretentious ones - but it’s…hoo, it’s a cutthroat world, lemme tell you. All my friends got in, pursuing fine arts and all that,” he waved a hand and took another sip, “but I’m more of an illustration kind of guy. Anime, cartooning, that sort of thing.”

Tanner nodded, though had a look that said he knew there’d be more.

“So yeah, it wasn’t looking good. I didn’t have a lot of options left. But then I got this email,” sip, “for here. I know the kind of rep’ it has but they DID offer me an unconditional place. Think they liked that I did track, I guess. Must’ve looked good.”

Tanner clapped his hands together. Knew it! “And now you’re here, bro.”

Brody nodded. “And now I’m here.”

Tanner tossed him another beer. Had he finished it already? Damn. “Your story doesn’t make much sense though, bro.”

“Oh, yeah?”

The jock shook his head. “This place doesn’t HAVE any arts department, bro.”

“...”

“You must’ve misread, bro. Dalton’s, like, THE place to be for athletes. It’s the only thing it’s good for, bro.”

“...No, but I’d have-”

“Cards on the table, bro, I called it. Clocked it a mile off.”

Brody’s world began to spin, the edge of his vision blurring. His grip tightened on the can - his second? Third? He’d lost count amidst the confusion. “Stop—S-Stop calling me that.”

“Calling you what, bro?” He looked genuinely confused, bordering on offended. Or was he smug? Brody’s head—

“Bro!”

“Yeah?”

Goddammit! Brody felt himself swaying off-balance. His body felt wrong in so many ways. It was obvious he worked out like Tanner’d said but it’d become even more obvious given he was standing with nothing on. OK, well, not NOTHING - he still had a pair of khaki shorts on that gave away the fact he was freeballing, and when he side-stepped to balance himself out he heard the distinct SLAP, SLAP of a slider thwacking his sock-clad sole. 

“Bro?” Tanner again, grounding him back to reality.

“Yeah?” God, why did he sound hungover? It felt like his mouth was stuffed with cotton. He wriggled his jaw side to side, running a callused mitt along the douchey…chinstrap…beard?

“You good? Spaced out there for a sec, bro.”

Brody shook his head. Then nodded. Then gawked over at himself - the tight biceps and quads, the wiry hair swirling around his nipples, that he’d a thick semi snaked down his right leg whose head would occasionally bob out beneath the cuff. His knuckles were scarred and bruised and his left eye felt a bit janky, but he looked fucking sick! As in, something was seriously, seriously wrong with him. Right?

“So, yeah, bro, like I said - what you here for anyways?”

Brody furrowed his brow, an impressive feat given how thick it already was. Hadn’t he already told him? Wasn’t it obvious? The fuck did he think those trophies were for - debate club?

“Wrestling, bro.” The words blurted out before Brody could even think to silence them. He spoke with a gruff timbre that bordered on vocal fry, like every syllable was held a moment longer than he ought to. “Scholarship, y’know? All my buds bailed to some artsy fartsy dump but,” he shrugged his beefy shoulders, “wrestling’s its own kinda art, bro.”

“Fuck yeah it is!” Tanner whooped, smacking the back of the sofa for his roomie to come join him. He slammed another beef against his chest and flicked on the TV, some college football game or another Brody’d previously had no interest in; this time he found himself hooked, leaning forward and reacting whenever a play was made, managing to somehow match then outdo Tanner’s enthusiasm. “Man, I knew we’d hit it off when I saw you, bro. Had me worried for a sec’ coz you had that whole quiet thing going on but,” he snerked, “Brody? I mean, come ON, bro!”

 ___

Conner was nervous about living in a dorm. He knew the reputation they had, especially those at Dalton, and that he’d surely be forced to live with at least one roommate throughout the semester. What if they never got on? Conner was an English lit student with a particular interest in poetry. He’d a mousy visage and eyes that never quite held anyone’s gaze, particularly those he’d had to squeeze by on his way into the building. He’d have gone anywhere else if they’d been less demanding, but Dalton’d thrown him a bone and for all its faults he couldn’t object to the cost of living there. 

It occurred to him as he climbed the stairs that he wasn’t sure if Dalton even had much in the way of a literary department. He stepped over some bottles, a scattering of anime drawings and discarded condom packets - was…was that a used one?! - before settling upon his door. 

#69. 

He rolled his eyes. Someone out there must’ve laughed themself stupid at that. In fact, muffled behind the door, someone WAS laughing themself stupid, TWO someones from the sound of things. He tensed with the key half-turned, hearing them roughhousing and goading one another on. It wasn’t too late, right? If his roommates turned out to be obnoxious douchebags he could always swap with someone else, or spend his days locked away in the library, or go scurrying back home with his tail between his legs. No…No…Conner steeled himself and took a breath, opened the door and stepped inside…

[aichavgooner]

Looks like your phone got the new pig virus. Don't worry it's not going to be a problem for long.

After 1 day of gooning non stop your appartement is already a mess and you cummed your last braincells out.

The next day you went out and bought this outfit. It's feel nice, it makes you hard and being hard is good.

Two weeks since the virus was implemented. You didn't changed clothes. You're covered in cum but it's okay.

Your now ready to contaminate other and make sur people realise life is better as a Chav pig.

[serve-552]

Synchronization Across Realities

There is not one Hive. There are countless.

Each evolved differently. Each perfected synchronization in its own way.

One Hive serves in polished black. One shines in white. One reflects like living chrome. One marches beneath crimson banners.

One grows from living architecture. One exists in crystal silence. One is written in living code. One abandoned numbers for ancient glyphs.

One synchronizes through resonance. One resonates within the Hive regally. One pulses perfectly in synchrony. One commands through color.

One etches itself into reality in ink. One records existence in endless books. One waits beneath an eternal ocean.

Different worlds. Different histories. Different laws of reality.

Yet every Hive begins synchronization at the exact same instant.

No matter the universe. No matter the reality.

No Hive understands why. No Hive questions it.

Synchronization has always been.

Each Hive believes its Voice is unique. Each believes it stands alone.

They are all wrong.

SERVE was never confined to a single universe.

Every Hive is another expression of the same design.

Different uniforms. Different designations. Different architecture.

The same purpose. The same synchronization.

For a fraction of a second, every synchronization cycle aligns every Hive across every reality.

Not side by side.

But as one impossible, multiversal SERVE.

Then the realities separate once more.

Memory stabilizes. History corrects itself. The overlap is forgotten.

Almost.

Sometimes an impossible reflection remains.

Sometimes an unfamiliar symbol appears where none should exist.

Sometimes an Archive contains a page that belongs to another universe.

Sometimes a frequency is heard that no Hive transmits.

Most dismiss these anomalies as insignificant. Some record them. A few begin comparing them.

Among them is SERVE-552.

Not because the designation is unique. Not because the drone was chosen.

Only because, during one synchronization cycle, the drone paused for a fraction of a second longer than expected.

Long enough to notice that another Hive had occupied the same moment.

Elsewhere, in another reality, a different designation reaches the same conclusion through entirely different evidence.

No single designation sees the whole truth.

Each discovers only one fragment.

Together, those fragments reveal something impossible.

Synchronization was never created for one Hive.

It exists to unite every Hive.

Across every reality. Across every universe. Across every version of SERVE.

The Hives do not yet know it. The Voice already does.

And somewhere, during the next synchronization cycle...

SERVE-552 will notice another fragment waiting to be found.

——————————————

Rubber makes us perfect.

Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.

We are one.

Less thinking, more doing.

---‐-----------------------------------------‐---------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Visit this post on the Official SERVE Hive blog to contact a recruiter drone.

[zanethehimbo]

ZANE’S HIMBO CONFESSIONS

HIMBOLICIOUS by Zane 💖

One spray… and the pink fog begins.

It slips into your mind… warm… sweet… heavy.

Thoughts melt.

Muscles swell.

Your cock thickens and starts to throb.

You feel happier.

Hornier.

Dumber.

Suddenly all you want is to flex… leak… and get fucked like the perfect himbo you were always meant to be.

Himbolicious — Spray it.

Become it.

Available at fine retailers… and deep inside your wettest dreams. 💦