#iq drain

[breakmymind]

rubbing myself to the idea of being a good toy for someone ♡

[thisisahypnokinkblog]

Making someone mindless is hot and all, but what about making someone dumb? Hypnotizing them to drool their brains out and mercilessly gaslight them, because they’re just so stupid and naive they believe everything you say. You tell them their name is Pretty Bunny and they’re your personal sex doll? Duh, of COURSE they are! The fact that they can’t remember doesn’t mean anything with their brain so melted~

[misctf]

The Game Show

You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.

"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"

"Jason is like totally the hottest."

"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."

"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"

You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.

"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"

The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.

“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"

"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.

"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.

The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"

You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.

"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"

Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.

"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"

"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"

"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.

"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."

"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"

You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.

"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.

"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.

"No shame in that, brah!"

You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.

"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"

Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"

"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"

The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.

"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.

"Chlorophyll."

"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"

Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"

The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.

"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.

"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"

You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."

"Correct!"

"Woah bro, nice one!"

Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.

"What the…?"

The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…

"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"

The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"

"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."

But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?

"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."

You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!

"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.

"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."

You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...

"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.

"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."

The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...

"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"

"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."

"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.

The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?

"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."

"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"

"Dead lifts..."

"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."

The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."

Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?

"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.

You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.

"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.

"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."

Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.

"The answer is hips, bro."

"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.

As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.

"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.

Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind- Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.

When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?

"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.

Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?

A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.

The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."

"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.

"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.

"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"

The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"

The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.

"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."

Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.

The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.

With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.

"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.

And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…

[devinpink]

April Fools

"You actually found some!" Oliver exclaimed in astonishment when his best friend and fellow geek, Jake, proudly walked into his room holding two conversion bottles. "How did you manage to get your hands on those?"

"I have my ways," Jake replied smugly, flashing Oliver his infamously mischievous grin. "Now, let's down these bad boys!"

A thrill of excitement ran down Oliver's spine as he quickly jumped out of his computer chair and hurried over to Jake. Nervously biting his bottom lip, he took one of the bottles from Jake's hands. They removed the caps and took a curious whiff, only to be immediately repulsed by the strong odor.

"Damn, that's quite a stench!" Oliver exclaimed in shock, followed by a slight cough. "Are you sure these are the right ones?"

"Come on, dude. You think I'd mess up something this important?" Jake scoffed.

Oliver took a moment to gaze longingly at his newly opened bottle, his mouth watering. "So, these are going to transform us into jocks—big, muscular jocks—permanently? I've wanted this for so long."

Jake smiled. "Then let's not waste any more time, dude." They clinked their bottles together and chugged. Oliver felt the effects of the magical concoction kick in immediately. His shirt and sweatpants suddenly felt tighter. He glanced at the mirror, amazed to see his skinny body bulge and swell with ripped, muscular definition. A wave of pure joy washed over him as he finished his bottle, ecstatic that his nerdy life was finally behind him.

However, Oliver's excitement faded when he realized that Jake wasn't transforming. Instead, Jake stood there with a smug expression, crossing his arms and grinning maliciously from ear to ear, which gave Oliver a pit in his stomach.

"Why aren't you—?!" Before Oliver could finish his question, his mind became overwhelmingly fuzzy as the second phase of the magic kicked in at full force. He tried to find the words, but it was impossible to think clearly as his body swelled and bulged even further.

"There, there," Jake said, gently petting Oliver's newly chiseled head. "Let those worthless thoughts slip away. Just relax and enjoy your transformation." Jake then casually walked behind Oliver, his hands seductively caressing Oliver's newly bulked biceps as he turned. He slid his hands up under Oliver's shirt and removed it, exposing Oliver's ripped chest and prominent nipples to the cold air. He softly rubbed his throbbing bulge against Oliver's tightening ass, turning Oliver on. Jake gently stroked his fingers over Oliver's sensitive nipples, intensifying Oliver's desire. Oliver's eyes rolled back in ecstasy as Jake licked the back of his neck and worked his hands down to his crotch. "You're going to be such a good, dumb jock, aren't you?" he playfully whispered into Oliver's ear. "You'll be my big, dumb jock—my mindless, obedient toy—only wanting to satisfy my every desire."

Oliver's transformation was nearly complete. It wouldn't be long before his mind was entirely lost. Sweat began to drip down his body, as if he had just come back from an intense workout. His thoughts were becoming empty, replaced only by new desires to exercise, play sports, and obey Jake, his new master.

"Didn't I say you could trust me?" Jake playfully asked, stepping back in front of Oliver and grinning deviously, pure lust in his eyes. "April fools."

And just like that, Oliver's old self was gone. His transformation was complete: rippling abs, broad shoulders, a wide chest, perfect biceps, a firm ass, massive feet, and an empty head. He had become the jock of Jake's dreams. Oliver smiled like a dumbass, vacantly staring into Jake's intent eyes, eagerly awaiting his master's command.

"Good thing I switched out my potion for water, huh!" Jake exclaimed, then evilly chuckled.

He got down on his knees and pulled Oliver's sweatpants and underwear down, revealing his newly-enormous cock. He looked up at Oliver, feeling as if he had won the lottery. He paused for a moment to admire Oliver's impressive, chiseled physique, glistening with sweat, before taking Oliver's fat cock into his evil, greedy mouth.

[corruptedbyhim]

Brain Stuff. You're hunched over your desk, the glow of your laptop screen casting shadows across your cluttered apartment. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to type the next paragraph of your dissertation. Something about neural plasticity in machine learning models. It's brilliant stuff, the kind of work that's gotten you whispers of "genius" from your PhD advisors. You're in the zone, brain firing on all cylinders, when the front door clicks open.

"Hey, babe," comes his voice, low and casual, like he doesn't know what it does to you. Your boyfriend steps inside, shedding his jacket. He's got that easy grin, the one that makes your stomach tighten. You glance up, meaning to say something sharp and witty, but he's already peeling off his shirt, revealing the lean muscle underneath. Your mouth goes dry. The words you were about to type slip away before you can catch them.

"Missed you today," he says, crossing the room. He's close now, close enough that you can smell the faint spice of his cologne. Your pulse kicks up, and you try to focus on the screen. You're a goddamn scholar, you can handle this. But then he leans over your shoulder, his breath brushing your ear, and says, "What's my smart girl working on?"

Your brain stutters. "Uh… it's, um…" You squint at the screen, but the words lose their meaning. Neural what? Plasticity? Fuck, you know this. You wrote fifteen pages on it yesterday. His hand slides onto your shoulder, thumb brushing your neck, and you feel your IQ drop in real time. "It's… brain stuff," you manage, voice small. You hate how stupid you sound, how you can feel your own brilliance leaking out as he toys with you.

He chuckles, soft and loving, and that sound alone makes your thighs clench. "Brain stuff, huh? Tell me more." His fingers dip lower, tracing the edge of your tank top, and you try to string a sentence together. "It's about… how brains… change?" Your voice lilts up like a question, and you want to scream. You're not some ditzy undergrad; you're a fucking PhD candidate. But his hands are on your chest now, cupping you through your shirt, and your thoughts scatter.

"C'mon, babe," he teases, turning your chair to face him. "You're usually so quick." He's smirking, and you hate how much you love it. You open your mouth to snap back, to prove you've still got it, but then he's kissing you, hard and messy, all tongue and heat, and your mind goes blank. Not fuzzy. Just empty. You kiss him back, hands fumbling at his waist, and all you can think is cock. One word, looping, again and again.

He pulls you up, backing you toward the couch, and you trip over your own feet. Normally you'd curse yourself for being clumsy, but right now you just giggle. High pitched. Brainless. "You're so hot," you blurt, and it's the most coherent thing you've said since he got home. He grins, shoving his jeans down, and when you see him hard and thick your knees buckle. You drop to the cushions, staring up at him, mouth slack. You should be analyzing data right now, not drooling like some horny idiot.

"Fuck, look at you," he mutters, climbing over you. His hands yank your shorts off. You're already so wet. You try to focus, one last chance to claw back a shred of intellect. "Wait, I… I need to finish…" you start, but then he's pushing inside you, slow and deliberate, and the rest of the sentence evaporates. Your head lolls back, a moan spilling out instead. You feel him stretch you, fill you, and your brain shuts down completely. "Oh… oh God," you whimper, legs wrapping around him on instinct.

He starts moving, thrusting deep, and you're gone. No more dissertation. No more research. Just his cock, slamming into you, turning you into a panting, writhing mess. "Tell me something smart," he pants against your neck, mocking you now, and you want to, you need to prove you're not just this dumb slut he's turning you into. "Th-the brain… it… f-fuck, it d—" You can't finish. Every thrust scrambles your thoughts more, until you're babbling nonsense, hips bucking to meet him.

You're frustrated, somewhere deep down, because you know this isn't you. You've presented at conferences. Dismantled arguments from tenured professors. But right now you can't even remember your own name. "More," you gasp. That's all you've got. One syllable. You used to know so many words, but now you're reduced to this. But then he grabs your hips, angles himself deeper, and you stop caring. "Sho… haaard…" you slur, drooling over the syllables, "sho… deeeep…"

He laughs, a low rumble. "That's my girl. Let the real you out." And you do, you can't hold on anymore. He fucks you harder and you're nothing but heat and need, whimpering every time he bottoms out. Your nails dig into his back, and you're close, and then he groans, loud and guttural, and you feel his hot cum flooding you. You climax together.

It's instant. The second his cum hits you, your vision clears, your breathing steadies, and your brain kicks back into gear. Synaptic pruning. Neural plasticity. You blink up at him, still slick with sweat, and push him off with a shaky hand. "Rude," you say, voice strong again. He flops beside you, grinning, while you stagger to your desk, naked, his cum dripping down your thigh. You sit down, pull up your dissertation, and start typing like nothing happened. Sentences crisp. Ideas flowing.

"Welcome back, genius," he calls from the couch, annoyingly smug. You don't look at him, but your lips twitch. Just ignore him. You're back, and you've got work to finish.

At least until he gets hard again.

[dumb-bimboboy]

💖Dee’s Guide for like totes dumbing yourself down💖

1) Prepare a spiral to stare at

2) Prepare various mantras that totes highlight your like, desired state of mind

3) Make sure you won’t be bothered for the like um few hours

4) Spread your legs

5) Start to uh…touch yourself

6) Stare at the….ummm.… spiral

7) Start to like uh… repeat your ummm… mantras

8) Ummm …. like uhh…. keep like touching…. till uhh like your uh, like totes….ummm….a dumb slut like me….

9)

…….Like umm what was I doing?

[salmonskinrolltf]

Alumni Relations

[Thank you to @twistedtfs for contributing the second image for this not-so-short story.]

That’s my boyfriend, Blake, lying down, and me, Tyler, lying on him. As you might be able to tell, I’m a top. Not that he and I actually do anal all that often. It’s a lot of work, honestly, and a lot of cleanup. We often prefer just trading blowjobs, which is what we’re getting ready to do right now.

We’re on a time crunch, anyway. I’m on my lunch break at the law firm where I work, and he’s about to start his closing shift at the art supply store.

Just as I’m kissing my way down to Blake’s waistband, his phone starts blaring Chappell Roan’s “Pink Pony Club.” Again. This is the fifth time that an unknown number has called in the past three minutes. Blake blocked the last three callers, but the calls keep coming from different numbers, so it isn’t working.

“Ugh, might as well see what they want,” grumbles Blake. I reluctantly roll off of him and he gets up, walking over to the bureau and answering his phone. “Who is this?”

I palm my tented briefs and he winks at me as he says, “No, I’m sorry, you have the wrong-”

Suddenly, his eyes go glassy.

I take my hand off my dick, sit up against the headboard, and watch him, curiously. What’s going on? Is it bad news or something?

“Well, yes,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. He must be nervous. He’s mussing his hair hard enough to pull the strands back, or something, because the part above his ears looks a lot shorter. When he moves his hand, I see something odd. His hair is shorter.

The back and sides are cropped close, and the only remaining length is at the top. I’m about to ask what’s going on when Blake does something that causes me to freeze in surprise. He grabs a blue baseball cap from the top of the dresser and puts it on, backward. He’s never worn a baseball hat like that. He’s never worn a baseball hat period. We don’t even own any!

The hat should be pressing his bangs flatter to his forehead, but they’re actually rising. They’re almost floating, like he’s touching one of those static electricity machine things at Spencer’s Gifts. They bristle and curl into a styled swoop that looks like it has been trained to flow in that exact way by years of cap-wearing.

I feel like my nerves are firing wrong, because I can’t move. All I can do is panic and try to process what I’m seeing.

“Yeah, of course,” Blake says. Is it just me or is his voice slightly deeper?

While the way he speaks has grown more masculine, his face is starting to look more boyish. His cheekbones rise, his lashes lengthen, and that beard that I love running my fingers through begins to fall from his face in small tufts, like flakes of paint being chipped off a wall. What’s left behind is patchy stubble, dark and thick on his chin and upper lip, but pretty sparse everywhere else.

“Totally, dude,” says Blake, letting out a deep guffaw that rumbles through his chest.

His ribs expand, as if they’re trying to properly contain the booming laughter that is bursting out of my normally restrained boyfriend. His thick pelt of chest hair holds on for dear life as his flat chest rises, his nipples suddenly perched on two solid mounds of muscle.

As he nods and continues to agree with whoever is on the other end of the phone, more details keep shifting. His septum ring glints as it vanishes into thin air. His underwear strains against a growing bulge. The stench of musk floods the room as he idly scratches an armpit. His eyes grow even more vacant and blank than they had looked at the beginning of the call.

He turns to look at me and I jolt. I was so shocked by Blake’s sudden transformation that I had forgotten I was actually in the room and not just observing this nightmare from afar.

“It’s for you, bro,” he says, holding the phone out to me. A goofy grin splits his face.

What the fuck do I do? Do I run? No, I can’t do that. This is Blake. The love of my life. Something weird is happening, and I need to fix it. I take the phone.

“Who is this, and what the fuck have you done with Blake?” I bark out the second the phone touches my ear.

“I don’t know any Blake,” said a calm voice on the other end of the phone. Male. Maybe early 20s? “But I asked Brody to hand the phone to you, so you can add to his generous donation.”

“Donation? What kind of scam-”

“My name is Evan and I’m calling on behalf of the local chapter of Beta Theta.”

“The frat? Look, I-”

“We’re raising funds so we can remodel the frat house. But our fraternity dues aren’t quite enough to cover everything.”

“OK, so talk to your frat alumni. Isn’t that how you people usually raise money?”

“I am talking to the frat alumni.”

“No you’re not.”

“Our tastes run expensive, as you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“We’re a relatively new frat, so there aren’t enough alumni in the area to get us what we need. I’ve had to get creative. I’ve been making frat alumni… calls.”

“OK, so you’re making calls. Why call us? And what did you do to Brody? I mean Blake.”

“You’ll understand in a minute. Look, the reason I’m calling is that you’re a former Beta Theta yourself.”

“I’m telling you, I’ve never been part of Beta Theta. Or any frat, for that matter.”

“My listings are never wrong. Don’t you live at 999 Hawthorne Place?” “Well, yes,” I say, as my fingertips start to tingle.

“And you have close-cropped brown hair?”

“I mean, yeah,” I say, running my hand across my shorn scalp, enjoying the prickly feeling. It’s weird how much darker my beard and chest hair are than my head hair, but I’ve always liked the way the length and the color clash. “But what does that have to do with-”

“And you’ve never been able to grow a full beard?”

I rub the patchy chestnut hairs on my chin and grimace. “Well, that’s true too, but you didn’t have to roast me like that, man.”

“And you’re just as muscular as Brody, but have way less chest hair?”

“All that is on the form?” I ask, looking down at the light brown hairs that are scattered along my shelflike chest.

“And your handsome face gets flushed when you drink, right?”

I suddenly felt dizzy. My deep voice slurs slightly when I respond “Yesh.” I take another swig from my Corona and set it down on the nightstand.

“And you’re always dressed in the frattiest clothes possible?”

“I mean duh, bro,” I say, rolling my eyes as I run my thumb along the length of my chain and adjust my backwards mesh hat.

“And you’re as dumb as a box of rocks?”

It takes a minute for that question to sink in. My gears have never turned all that quickly, and I got distracted by grabbing my package and leering at Brody. I can’t wait to get off the phone so I can bury this cock in his ass, to the hilt. Oh wait, didn’t that Evan guy ask me something? “Oh.. uh, yeah.”

“And your name is Tigger?”

“Yeah, bro, but it’s just a nickname. They called me that because Prez kept catching me bouncing on Brody’s dick,” I say. God, I’m so horny. My ass aches to be filled. Brody is taking off his underwear and jerking his fat cock. I’m drooling at the thought of it. I can’t resist jumping his bones every two hours or so whenever we’re alone together between shifts at the gym. The Beta Theta tattoo on his wrist flashes up and down with every stroke.

“And you’re a devoted Beta Theta?” Evan asks.

Is that even a question! “Uh… doy,” I say. “And they say I’m the dumb one. I have the tat on my asscheek to prove it. So you need money, yeah? Would 10K do? I have that much saved from my lame old job.”

“$10,000 would suit us perfectly well,” says Evan.

“Hell yeah, boyyyyy,” I say. “Just, like, make sure to put up a plaque or something when you build it. ‘Brody & Tigger’s Beer Pong Stadium’ or something like that, y’know?”

“Will do, Tigger. And thanks again,” says Evan.

“Anything for Beta Theta, man! These are the best years of your life, I wouldn’t want them to go to waste on a sucky frat house!”

After making the Zelle transfer, I hang up the phone and lumber over to Brody, grabbing his dripping cock in my meaty hand. I can’t wait to crash my mouth against his and feel his sexy stubble scrape against my chin. “Now, where were we, bro?”

[immortalmrwavell]

Different Choices

I present you with my first completely original story in over a year! I’m feeling a little rusty but I’m happy with how this one turned out overall. Hopefully a lot of you will agree. Enjoy!

Gerald sighed as he sat outside his usual coffee shop on a Friday evening. He stared down at his coffee, eyes heavy after yet another unfulfilling day. He always told himself he should be grateful. At 43 years old he’d secured himself a very well paying job as a financial advisor which he was pretty damn good at. And yet he never felt satisfied. Especially over the last few years. Gerald would finish with his clients for the day and suddenly find himself sinking into a pit of discontent. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that he was wasting his life somehow.

He pulled out his phone after taking a sip of coffee. In an effort to forget his own sorrow, he opened up the first social media app that caught his eye and started scrolling. It helped for a while. That is until he stumbled across the profile of a young hunk. He was handsome, had great hair, thick muscles, and loads of tattoos. Practically the polar opposite of Gerald who was unremarkable in every way. He could barely stand to look at his own flabby aging body nowadays. So whenever he saw these gorgeous younger men online, he found himself drowning in envy. Wishing he’d had what they do. Wishing he’d made different choices when he was their age.

He could’ve been a stud had he ever bothered to go to the gym. He could’ve been an athlete had he pursued sports like his father tried telling him to. Even if he didn’t become a star, he might’ve at least felt more proud to look back on his past. Now when he looked back all he could see was a younger version of himself wasting his youth.

Gerald glanced up from his phone for a moment to grab his cup again when another man caught his eye. He was seated not far away and seemed to be glancing in his direction though it was hard to tell behind the sunglasses.

The man looked to be a similar age to Gerald, maybe a little older, but he was far more attractive. Perfect salt and pepper hair that seemed to glow in the sunlight. An immaculate beard that was surprisingly dark compared to the hair above with the exception of his chin where it turned a snowy white. He was alluring in a way that made it hard for Gerald to look away. He must’ve stared at the man for a good minute or so before he was snapped out of it when the handsome figure stood up suddenly.

“Excuse me. May I have a word?” The mysterious man asked as he stepped towards Gerald. “My name is Mr Wavell and I just couldn’t help noticing you staring.”

Gerald was mortified. There was nobody else around the man who could've been speaking to. His face turned bright red as he scoulded himself internally for being a bit of a creep.

“Oh… I’m so sorry sir. I didn't mean t-to stare. I was just… zoning out a little. I didn’t mean to disturb you or anything.” Gerald stumbled through his words like an idiot while feeling embarrassed beyond all else.

Wavell smiled. “You’ve nothing to apologise for. I completely understand. I get looks all the time. Most people just can’t help themselves.” He moved closer to Gerald before taking a seat next to him at his table. “Besides. I can tell there’s something bothering you. Why don’t you tell me all about it.” Wavell placed a hand on Gerald’s thigh, his eyes shimmering behind his sunglasses.

Gerald’s mouth went dry in an instant. After that first comment he wanted to say this gorgeous man was a bit up himself and yet he couldn’t help proving him right by continuing to stare helplessly as Wavell took his seat. But the moment Wavell’s hand landed on his thigh, Gerald could stop himself from getting a boner harder than he’d had in years. It was embarrassing to say the least. To get this worked up over nothing but a man’s touch.

“I guess I’ve just been feeling a little regretful? Like I wish I’d done things differently when I was younger.” Gerald wasn’t even sure why he was admitting this to a total stranger but he couldn’t help himself. “I wish I could go back and do it again. Change my decisions, you know? I’m always looking at these young hunky men online and wondering if I could’ve been like them if I took a different path.” The words just kept spilling out.

Wavell squeezed Gerald’s thigh. “Is that so? Well why don’t you tell me more about it on the way back to your place?”

Gerald squinted for a moment. Why would he let this stranger he’s just met accompany him home? But the more Wavell’s hand rubbed his thigh, the more his cock pulsed and the more he just wanted to nod and agree.

“S-sure. Okay.”

———

The journey home was a blur. Gerald felt as though he was high with the way the world spun and how time seemed to bend. One moment he was sitting outside the coffee shop speaking to one of the most handsome looking gentlemen he’d ever met and the next he was stumbling through his front door with that very same man trailing behind him.

“Show me to your room won’t you?” Wavell asked though it sounded more like a direction than a question. One that Gerald didn’t think twice about as he nodded before leading the way. All the while not caring how his dick was pulsing aggressively in his trousers, creating an obscene tent that he should’ve been trying to hide. Yet a foreign voice in his head urged him to let Wavell see just how excited he was to invite the gentleman into his home. In any other case this line of thinking would’ve repulsed Gerald with how perverted it seemed but the more he tried to snap out of it, the deeper he fell into whatever fog had cast itself over his mind. By the time they reached the bedroom, Gerald didn’t know what to do with himself. Mr Wavell’s magic had settled so harshly over his brain that he struggled to think for himself without command.

“So.” Wavell began. “You wish your life was different?” He placed a hand on Gerald’s shoulder.

“Y-yes sir. I do.” Gerald replied honestly in the manner of a drone.

Wavell hummed as he scanned Gerald’s body. Middle aged. Out of shape. Mundane clothes to match the boring look of his house. “Well. You’re in luck because I just so happen to have the power to grant your heart's desire.”

“Please. Please fix me. I’ll do anything for you sir.” Gerald begged as he dropped to his knees. “I-I’ll worship you. I’ll be your personal servant. I’ll-” He was cut off before he could continue.

“There’s no need for all that.” Wavell stared down at the man as Gerald began hugging one his legs. “You’re one of those huh?…” He mumbled. Wavell knew that nobody could resist his magical aura. No matter how strong willed they were, they would submit to him. Even the strongest of men would crack in seconds if Wavell flooded their minds with his magic. But other men were so weak to his power that they found themselves melting into submissive puddles even under such mild exposure. Gerald was one of those men. Wavell barely had to thread his magic through the man’s head and already he was willing to become a devoted love slave.

Wavell told Gerald to get back up on his feet. Gerald complied in a heartbeat, jumping back up with glazed eyes. Wavell was silent for a moment before telling him to strip off. Without a second thought Gerald practically ripped off his baggy suit and tossed each article of clothing to the side until his flabby aging body was on full display.

“Alright, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me what exactly you wish was different about your life. I want to know all the choices you would change. Can you do that for me Gerald?” Wavell asked.

Gerald nodded. “Yes sir. Of course. Anything.” He immediately began to think back over his life in an attempt to zero in on all the decisions he made that lead him to where he was today. “Well… for start I wish I didn’t waste all my youth in accounting. I only did it for the money. I never really enjoyed any of the work.”

“Is that so? You want all that time back do you?” Wavell’s eyes glowed, shifting from their ordinary colour to a glimmering violet as a different kind of magic began to settle over Gerald’s body.

A low hum escaped Gerald’s lips as he started to regress from middle age. Slowly the wrinkles that’d etched themselves into his features started to vanish. His skin tightening and smoothing over with a youthful glow as all those lost years came rushing back. His eyes began to look brighter as his hair grew back full and thick. All the aches and pains that’d crept up on him in the last decade or so faded away in moments. Immediately Gerald felt so limber and energetic as he regressed from his forties all the way back to his mid twenties. His erection felt harder than ever now with his cock having been rejuvenated to its prime.

Gerald hardly seemed to notice the changes. He paid no mind to strange happenings of his own body. It didn’t seem to matter right now. All he could think about was Wavell and how to please him. And right now that was by answering more questions. So when Wavell asked Gerald what else he wished he could change about his early life decisions, he was quick to rack his brain until something popped out at him.

“I wish I’d started going to the gym with my dad back when I was a teen instead of burying my nose in books all the time.” With those words another pulse of purple magic caused a new change to begin.

The fat on Gerald’s frame began to melt away as his own personal history rewrote itself. Instead of all those extra hours studying, he spent that time getting into shape when he was younger. This shift caused his wobbly belly to fade from existence as a much leaner frame took its place. He would only remain lean for a moment or so however at that fat was swiftly replaced by burgeoning muscle. All that consistent weight training from years in the gym caused Gerald’s frame to bulk up considerably. Arms bulging, pecs ballooning, legs swelling. All the while new memories flooded his mind as he remembered every second he spent pumping iron and cooking healthier food to fuel his muscles. At the same time though his IQ dropped to a more average level due to all those lost study hours. Yet Gerald hardly seemed to notice.

Reality had already shifted significantly to accommodate the changes. Gerald’s entire family tree had gotten younger along with him for a start. He’d regressed back to the beginning of his career in accounting as well. Initially that was fine but with the loss of IQ in that specialty, memories of struggling to hold his current position piled in. Constantly being scolded by his bosses for being a weak link and making mistakes while the threat of being fired hung over his head. Those newfound memories were exactly what spurred his next words.

“I wish I hadn’t gone for a career in accounting. I wish I could’ve gone for something more fun and athletic.” And with that the transformation deepened… only this time it was less physical.

All that time Gerald had spent trying to work his way into accounting evaporated. In its place memories of trying out a bunch of different sports when he was younger littered his mind. He’d tried athletics, football, and rugby but the sport he excelled at the most was basketball. It only made sense considering he’d always been a tall dude. With that he started to remember all the friends he’d made on teams and at clubs over the years as he got more and more serious about it. He’d excelled to the point of going professional and had managed to make some decent money playing over the years. He was happier than ever. Sure the games were nerve racking but they sure as hell weren’t boring and he almost always had the time of his life!

As these changes happened, the reality warp began catching up to Gerald’s house itself. His personal belongings morphed and changed to fit his new life while the very layout of every room in his home shifted. Before long any trace that a middle aged financial advisor once lived there evaporated as it looked more and more like a messy bachelor pad by the second. Sports memorabilia decorating the walls, gym equipment scattered around, discarded clothes littering the floors.

As more memories began piling in about his new friends, he suddenly recalled how often they went out together to fool around and have a laugh. But one thing that stood out was how often his teammates would go and get tattoos done. Yet he never did. He always feared the idea of stamping his body with something permanent like that. The team always teased him about it while trying to push him to get at least one small tattoo but he never could. For as confident as he was now, tattoos still made him anxious.

“I wish I just nutted up and got inked like my bro’s on the team did.” He barely even noticed the shift in his vocabulary before another buzz of magic vibrated through his being.

Dark spots of ink began to swirl across Gerald’s skin at almost every point of his body. From his neck down his chest, stomach and arms, across his back and even along his legs! All kinds of patterns that twisted into words, animals, faces, numbers. You name it. His youthful body became an art canvas covered in all kinds of pieces. A tiger crawled along his right shoulder. A pair of axes mirror each other on his pecs. A snake slithered over his left trap and down his arm. A mermaid to the left of his stomach. A skull filled with tentacles on his right thigh. And between them all a multitude of symbols, phrases and faces belonging to various men and women until the only part of his body that was clean of ink was his face.

Gerald bit his tongue as the sizzling feeling began to subside. He still refused to look down, his gaze locked on to Wavell’s glowing eyes, but he knew something else had changed. But as his memories shifted, he struggled to comprehend what possibly could have happened. For a moment he remembered what he’d wished for but now it didn’t make sense. He’d wished he was inked but he’d been getting tattoos for as long as he could remember.

“Wait… why did I… wish for those things?” Gerald managed to say aloud. He remembered all the things he wished were different about his life but none of them made sense. Why would he wish to be younger when he was in his prime? Or to be in better shape? And he never wanted to go into accounting right? None of them made sense.

Wavell placed a gentle hand on Gerald’s cheek. “Don’t think too hard about it. In fact, don’t think about it at all.” He pressed a finger against Gerald’s temple and in an instant all the hunk’s doubts melted away as he fell into an even deeper trance.

The warlock took a moment to admire his work. He’d changed this unhappy middle aged man into a young bright eyed athlete. Wavell ran his hand along Gerald’s huge chest before hefting the tattooed muscle. He gave each bicep a squeeze before allowing his palm to glide over Gerald’s abs. Only after admiring those bulky legs did Wavell’s gaze shift back up towards the hunk’s face. His magic hadn’t touched a single feature besides and yet he looked more handsome than ever. It was incredible what looking after your body could do for your face. He went from looking painfully average to being a total knockout. And as a bonus Wavell even sprinkled in a little magic to stop that hairline from receding again any time soon.

“Not bad. Only four self-inflicted reality shifts for a change as dramatic as this.” He hummed. It was always fun to manipulate his subjects into driving their own transformations every once in a while. And in this case it couldn’t have worked out any better for old Gerald.

Wavell took a step back before snapping his fingers. Immediately Gerald’s eyes flashed with awareness as the haze that’d dogged up his brain began to lift.

“W-woah dude. What the hell is going on… am I naked?” he grumbled, holding his head as he stared down at his hard veiny cock before finally looking up again to see the suited warlock standing before him.

“It would appear that way.” Wavell responded and before Gerald even had a chance to question any further, he flicked his wrist with a flash of purple magic.

“Ohhhh F-FUUUUUUCK!!” Gerald moaned as the magic swirled around his cock. It gathered up any residual memories floating around inside Gerald’s mind about his previous life in an attempt to purge anything that would contradict this new reality. All of those memories and experiences were sucked down on his balls where they were churned away into nothing but a huge virile load waiting to shoot. Moments later Gerald threw his head back as ropes of cum launched from his cock and splattered across Wavell’s suit jacket.

The warlock wiped some of it up with his finger before plugging it into his mouth. “Mmmmmm that’s the stuff. Nothing quite like a post-transformation orgasm.” He chuckled before returning his attention to the confused panting hunk. “Now. Go to bed. Forget all about me. Forget all about this experience. Wake up tomorrow as a new man with a new life.” Those very words seemed to carry magic of their own as Gerald’s eyes began to lull. He became too sleepy to argue or question why. He was hardly able to slip on a pair of underwear and shorts before collapsing into bed where he fell from consciousness.

With that Wavell took one final look at his most recent subject before nodding with satisfaction. Moments later he turned on his heel before allowing a purple cloud of smoke to engulf his body and teleport him away. Leaving Gerald alone to a new life where he’d made better choices for himself.

~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoy my stories then please consider donating to my Ko-Fi. Even the tiniest of donations would make a huge difference and would be greatly appreciated. Let me know if there are any issues!