I felt the change the second I slipped my big bro's sports cup over my cock. It was like magic, bro! I suddenly had the body of a jock god, totally unrecognizable from the scrawny weakling I once was. I was suddenly in full uniform too! It was awesome, bro! I instantly got why my big bro had that dumb expression all the time. My mind got mad stupid, like it melted down into my newly fat nuts, bro! All I could think about was lifting and fucking. My donger totally doubled in size, too; the cup could hardly contain me! I needed release, and beating off wasn't gonna cut it. I needed pussy! The cup like exterminated my gayness, bro. No desire for cock at all! As if I cared, though. Being straight is way better! Now I can get a hot cheerleader girlfriend and fuck her till she's pregnant! Fuck yeah, bro! Coach will love that! I'm gonna make coach so fucking proud, bro!
Here is the second story in this series. First story can be found here: Acts of Service
"Words of affirmation, makes sense."
"What was that, babe?"
Luke tossed his phone aside, "Took one of those online quizzes." He smiled as Ryan crawled into bed, "Told me what my love language is."
"Words of affirmation, huh?" He pulled Luke in for a kiss.
Luke returned it, gripping his hardening cock through his grey shorts, "Looks like someone's horny." He teased.
He smiled as he threw Ryan down onto the bed, lying on top of him and kissing him passionately. The two continued to make out, exploring each others' bodies. Ryan moaned as Luke removed his boxers and licked along his hardening shaft.
"You're so fucking sexy." Ryan moaned, "I fuckin' love the way you look at me. With those slutty blue bottom eyes."
Luke blinked a few times and stopped what he was doing, "Blue bottom eyes?" He'd usually top. And he definitely didn't have blue eyes, "What're you...?"
"Fuck, why'd you stop? You're always so desperate for my cock."
Luke shuddered as he took in the sight of his boyfriend's dick. There was something different about it. Something beyond anything he had ever felt. He needed that dick. In his mouth. Up his ass. Just...
"Oh fuck..." Luke practically swallowed it whole, the very feeling of it entering his mouth sending shockwaves of unfamiliar pleasure throughout his body. Yeah, he enjoyed pleasuring his boyfriend, but this? It was beyond anything he ever experienced.
"Yeah... there we go..." Ryan moaned, "Fuck, you're so fuckin' cute with that slutty little haircut." He said, grabbing a fistful of Luke's hair.
Luke was too busy deep throating to realize that his hair started to restyle itself. The sides faded, while the top grew and became tousled, wavy, and thick.
"I always liked 'em blond too."
Luke broke away now. What was Ryan talking about? He wasn't blond. Ryan never said he liked blond guys before. What the fuck was his boyfriend talking about?
"Babe, what're... you... I'm not... fuck..." Luke tried to focus, but he kept staring at his boyfriend's thick cock, fighting the urge to swallow it whole, "We... we need to... stop..."
"What's wrong?" Ryan asked, brushing a hand along Luke's cheek, "God so perfect... always so smooth and clean-shaven."
"Babe, I'm hairier than you!" But when he reached a hand to his face, he was met with soft, smooth skin, "Wh-what?" He yelped when he looked down and found that even his body hair had seemingly vanished, leaving him smooth, "Oh fuck, Ryan! Something's..."
"God I fucking love your slutty little lisp." He kissed Luke passionately, before breaking away, "You always sound so fuckin' desperate."
"Babe... Ryan, like what're you talking about?" Luke's hand covered his mouth, his blue eyes widening, "Oh em gee! What like the actual fuck?" The high pitched, lisp-twinged voice was not his own. It never had been, "Why am I like talking like this?!"
"Fuck, why're you freaking out?" Ryan chuckled, "Here, we can take a break. Come here," He laid down, "I know how much you love being the little spoon."
And suddenly, Luke felt compelled to just crawl up against Ryan. He felt Ryan's firm, hairy chest against his back. The man's cock nestled up against his ass. And Luke sighed. He felt so relaxed, although part of him was confused. He was usually the big spoon. He usually held Ryan like this. This felt...
"I love how small you are. How easily you fit against me."
"But we're like, umm the same size?" He hated how high and whiny he sounded now, "Babe... please..."
He let out a pained whimper as his body shifted and changed. His body contorting, shifting. Legs and torso shortening. Broad shoulders and back caving in. His musculature? Shrinking- no longer built for strength. Becoming increasingly more toned- more for showing off than anything practical. Ryan's now meaty hand firmly grasped Luke's smaller pec, pinching a hardening nipple.
"I love how loud you get in bed."
"Ryan! You need to... Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"
Luke was unable to stop the desperate, slutty moan that escaped his lips from just the slightest stimulation of his nipple. He blushed and pushed Ryan away. His neighbors had to have heard that, fuck anyone walking in the hall could've heard that. He'd moan, but not this loud. Not this fucking slutty.
"Like babe! This is sooooo messed up!" Luke whined desperately, "Like, please stop!" He looked down at himself and felt tears stinging at his eyes.
His skin was cute and unblemished, clean shaven and bare. His pecs were small, toned, and graced by two pert, pink nips begging to be squeezed. His firm abdominal musculature was now diminished and smooth. Both arms dainty, hands and nails well manicured. He looked over at the mirror on the dresser and gasped- blond hair, blue eyes, and pouty lips. He looked like a slut. He sounded like a slut.
"Oh my gawd!" He cried out in his high-pitched, lisp-stricken voice.
"Come on and get back in bed." Ryan coerced, "I just know you want this cock up that fat ass."
Luke barely had time to brace for the next change. In an instant, his ass swelled and swelled. Packing on muscle and squeezable, jiggly fat. And with each pulse of growth, Luke let out loud, desperate moans that echoed beyond the room itself. He nearly collapsed from the pleasure as he firmly grasped his two engorged ass cheeks, feeling his hole pulsing with a desperate need to be filled.
"Come here."
And Luke did. Because he needed it. Because Ryan had been right- he wanted that cock up his fat ass. He bounced on it, crying out Ryan's name, screaming in pleasure for all to hear. Tears threatening to fall from his blue eyes, blushing from the sheer embarrassment of what he was doing and how much he was absolutely loving it.
"God damn, you're my favorite fuck buddy." Ryan moaned with another thrust, "Best fucking bottom in this damn city." He thrust again, "Such a fucking slutty fuck toy."
Luke felt a momentary, unmeasurable sense of loss as his relationship dissolved into nothing more than a series of quick, no-strings attached, hook-ups. He felt an even greater sense of loss as his IQ plummeted rapidly. His mind slowed and filled with cotton candy. His eyes dimming to reflect just how little was going on behind them. All to make room for his slutty new existence. Thoughts focused on getting fucked, sucking dick, and whoring himself out. He loved being a little slut. Just a fuck toy. A loud, slutty, thick assed bottom.
Both of them came with Ryan's final thrust. Luke lay there in post-orgasmic bliss, moaning like the desperate slut he now was.
"Fuck..." Ryan moaned, "You're such a good fuck." He affirmed.
Luke giggled. He certainly knew what he was, he really didn't need to be told. He was the best fucking bottom in the city. Always needy, never satisfied. But he certainly appreciated Ryan's affirmations.
Luke was on a healthy diet, but his roommate kept offering him food all the time. Until one day, he just couldn't say no and took a slice of pizza his roommate handed him. After that, everything became a total blur—Luke had no idea how much time had passed, and honestly, he didn't even care. All he cared about was his next meal… and his feeder.
Inspired by a weight gainer blog. Tbh it's the first time I found out about this culture. So forgive me if I make any mistakes or misunderstand.
My wife and I were high school sweethearts. First kiss, first love, first everything. For our anniversary we wanted to switch things up a bit and try something new in the bedroom; or rather, someone new.
Our neighbours are lovely people but you can't say the same about their asshole of a son. His picture's next to the dictionary entry for "overcompensating". He's full of unearned bravado, built like a male model, and the skintight jeans he struts around in leave nothing about the beer can shaped bulge between his thighs to the imagination.
He would've been the ideal body for me to shift into for a weekend romp in a remote cabin. All of the good looks and none of the shitty attitude.
Or so my wife thought. Fuck, she can be dumb. I trusted her with finding the stupid spell, but I think something's gone wrong. The longer I'm in this body the more I'm starting to act like the sexy asshole I look like.
Been letting my wife ride my monster of a cock and treat me like the fine stallion I am... except instead of paying attention to her I find myself more preoccupied with mugging at myself in the mirror. Hot damn, I look good. Got pecs and ass for days.
Speaking of pecs... Mine are getting me more horned up than her saggy pair of tits.
Shit. Maybe this blustering macho act is the neighbour's kid feeling insecure about being into dick.
Adrian's lured into the tutelage of professional bodybuilder Zeke. Losing his preferred life of leisure, Adrian is soon molded body, mind, and soul into the perfect new showpiece for his trainer.
This one could have gone on forever, and had I the time to dedicate it may well have haha! At any rate, hope you enjoy Adrian's journey towards into a mindless, muscular trophy in the image of his trainer! -Occam
Adrian wasn’t really looking for a personal trainer. Honestly he’s only kept the gym membership to feel better about how little else he has going on. At least he hits up the gym a couple times a week right?
Certainly not eating enough to make any serious progress, the homebody is more than happy to stay thin and maintain the little bit of strength he has attained through not too much effort. Looking around aimlessly at a room full of people he sees as more dedicated than himself, Adrian stretches, sighs, and figures it’s time to call it a day. Don’t wanna stick around for that after work rush and all.
Already packed enough to zip out, Adrian shoots a look to the locker room before deciding to shower at home, as he always does. Putting his headphones back in their case, the young man now hears how busy it is and picks up his pace. This leads him to almost immediately walk into a wall- or at least he thought it was a wall.
Now looking straight ahead as he always ought to have been, Adrian sees the wall, rather warm and fleshier than they usually come, is instead a bodybuilder. Pink with blush, Adrian stutters out an apology that is wholly buried beneath the titan turning and bellowing out his own apology.
“Sorry there lil’ dude, didn’t see you there!” There’s a beat before the giant reaches out a hand, “Zeke, nice to meetcha. It’s Adrian, right?”
Eyebrow twitching from surprise that the must-be professional bodybuilder knows his name, Adrian meekly shakes the hand twice the size of his own. “No it was totally my fault, ahah!” Trying to still his nervous laugh he anxiously continues, “Of course I know you, you’re kinda the figurehead of the gym- or no! Sorry, that’s a little? Spokesman, maybe? You, uhm…”
“Don’t sweat it! I’m used to people being starstruck heh!” Haloed by the fluorescent lights dotting the largely industrial ceiling, Zeke puts a heavy hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “Just want you to know though,” he prods the smaller man’s chest with a meaty finger, “I see potential in you.”
Having already made plans to pick up junk on the way home and rot away, it takes a good deal of self-control for Adrian to not laugh at the idea. Still, more than unconvinced, Adrian tilts his head and tries to bashfully step away. But Zeke’s grip remains firm on his shoulder.
“I mean it though. Trust me Adrian. You’ve got it. If you let me coach you…”
Anxiety flaring up once more as he’s trapped beneath a hand that could kill him on accident, Adrian opts to humor him. “Sure, sure- I’d love that, it’s just, funds are a little tight at the moment?”
The titan’s eyes glitter and a wide smile curls onto his face, “Nah don’t worry about money. Pro bono. Think of it like promo for the gym, for me. I’ll get your protein, your macros, you follow my instructions and show everyone just how good a trainer I am. Win-Win!”
Holding out something retrieved from his pocket, Zeke offers out a company card with his name on it, “Here take it, for your meal. No cap.” Adrian’s hasty plan to bolt out the door and never return is put on hold as the promise of free food in perpetuity suddenly seems worth the prospect of at least feigning interest in becoming Zeke’s student.
Before he knows it he’s grabbed the card. Scratching the back of his neck non-commitally, Adrian sighs out an acceptance, “Well, I guess if you need a pet project that bad… I just, I don’t understand, why me?”
“Already told you dude, I see potential in you. You remind me of myself.” Adrian can sense something hiding beneath the words, an implication he can’t quite make sense of, but before he can follow-up the conversation turns to logistics and he’s buried beneath the true weight of the commitment he’s made.
By the time Zeke finally lets him be. He’s already scheming how to get out of this monumental commitment as soon as he’s able. Burdened with an excessively large container of protein mix, at last Zeke is content to let him leave. Unsure if he was thinking more with his dick or his stomach, Adrian kicks himself for obviously not thinking with his mind and hopes the brute won’t be too angry when gives up at his earliest convenience.
That moment is yet to come, as for now Zeke’s texted instructions are not out of the ordinary at all for the happy-to-laze young man. At long last returning home with a slightly more meat-heavy burrito bowl, Adrian collapses onto the couch and quickly finds something to watch.
‘C u tomorrow at 6am sharp brobro 💪💪💪!!’
Groaning as soon as he gets the message, Adrian feels his fingers already itching to send out a raincheck. But picturing that excited look on his trainer's face- well. Surely he can happily power through one session, right?
Wrong.
From the minute he stepped into the gym the playful Zeke who happily encouraged him is gone and in his place is Zeke the trainer. Obviously Adrian knew the man had discipline in spades, his body more than proves that, but the novice had no idea just how intensely Zeke would enact that same strength of will upon him.
“Again.”
After hearing of Adrian’s hitherto lifting limits, the trainer flatly increased every base weight and then demanded repetitions beyond failure. And then again. And then again. There is no kindness in his eyes as he spots Adrian, no minced words as he demands his pitiful trainee do better.
Finally deciding he’s had enough as his biceps sear with pain that makes him wonder if his arms are about to tear themselves from his body, Adrian erupts. “Fuck off. Fuck! Off! I don’t need this. Literally, I’m done.” He can barely lift his arms enough to push at the titan which of course only leads to himself falling to the floor on legs more jelly than bone after rigorous rounds of squats.
And at last, looking down upon his whining student, Zeke cracks a smile once more. “Done are ya? Day one and already throwing in the towel.” Clearly not seriously acknowledging Adrian’s surrender, Zeke reaches down to help the spilled man up. “Gonna let all that potential go to waste?”
Adrian meant what he said though, he’s done. If he has to spend another set being berated encouraged by Zeke in his life it’ll be too soon. But then his words sink in and act like a ripcord to his heart, to his ailing muscles, to his surrendering mind. Uncharacteristic, overpowering thoughts refuse to take the challenge sitting down.
Slapping the hand away, despite soreness searing in every twitch of his legs, Adrian stands with a pained grunt. His vision blurs as he starts to fall back once more before he’s easily caught by Zeke who laughs before he starts helping Adrian hobble into the back area of the gym where he’s never been.
“Think you’re right, it’s a good time to call it for today. I’ve got a little space onsite, let’s see if I can’t cook you something up.”
The words fly over his head as exhaustion begins to sink in. He wonders if he could even say no if he wanted to. With each step it almost feels like he’s being tugged forward by Zeke’s hand, danced onward like a marionette. He shakes the idea off, it’s in his head. He’s just tired. Wearier than he can handle.
“Here have one of my shakes, should do in the meantime.” Retrieving some chalky liquid from his fridge, Zeke sets a shaker in front of Adrian. For a moment his stomach turns from the idea, despite his hunger something about protein powder still sets him off. Watching from afar as he begins to cook however, Zeke sternly tells him to “Drink up.” and Adrian’s mouth starts to water.
Slow sips give way to chugging and in no time the whole thing is downed. Gasping for air, Adrian scarcely has a moment to realize what he’s done before he has to give it his all to try and quiet a rising burp. He fails. “Burrrp- Ugh…”
Standing at the stove just reheating prepped meals Zeke grins at hearing him burp. Slyly turning to look at his student, seeing the slight delirium on his face Zeke smirks as he can already see the results of his work beginning to show on Adrian’s body.
Sleeves strain slightly more than they ever would after an honest day's pump. Squirming on the small sofa, Adrian tries to yank at his shorts to find any position where they’re not awkwardly tugging on his legs or pulling at his crotch. He only succeeds at making himself all the more uncomfortable.
When at last Zeke walks over with a meal Adrian doesn’t wait a second before tearing into it. Not even knowing what it is before he starts shoveling it into his mouth. He had no idea he was so famished? Standing nearby with his arms crossed, the sound of Adrian eating like a pig at a trough is music to his ears.
Grunts and groans of the man devouring mush go on for longer than Adrian realizes, when his protein scramble gets low Zeke surreptitiously wanders over to top it off. By the end of the meal the new mentee put his hands on his bloated stomach and moans, absolutely stuffed.
“Guess you liked my signature dish huh Adrian?” Zeke grins as he sees a few seams on the man’s athletic shirt start to stretch beyond straining as they begin to fray. “Here, let’s get you changed into something that fits, huh kid?”
No reason to fight back, the still woozy Adrian allows himself to be dragged to a bathroom where his trainer tries to peel off the top. It takes a few hearty yanks but eventually he’s freed from the stuck shirt, Adrian can’t quite believe what he sees in the reflection.
Mind flickering back to his hellish first workout with Zeke, sure it was more intense than the word can convert. But it was just that, the first session. And yet, looking at his arms, flexing at his own reflection, feeling them up, they’re larger.
It should be concerning. Shifting his gaze to where nothing but flat, flabby chest should be he instead sees the beginnings of true muscle. True strength. It should be concerning, but the idea of having pecs is too exciting.
So exciting in fact, that he starts to feel his already strained pants grow even tighter. Inspecting the new curves on his chest and arms, the thought crosses his mind before burrowing deep into his subconscious that Zeke knows what he’s doing. That he needs to listen to his trainer, his coach. Implanting whatever control the man has over Adrian even deeper.
“Like what you see?” The smaller man nods mute, eyes slightly glazing over as his trainer sidles up behind him. Massaging Adrian’s shoulders he continues, “Just imagine what you’ll look like tomorrow…”
Tilting his head, the work-in-progress wonders what Zeke means. Surely he’s not going to be in the gym every day right? And besides, they started early, didn’t they? For the first time checking his phone, Adrian breaks from his stupor and falls into a new one as he finds it’s already 10 PM.
Racing through memories to try and figure out where he lost so much time, Adrian turns to Zeke with fearful suspicion. Backing away from the massive man, still sore arms trembling as he lays them on the titan’s chest Adrian shakes his head. “I don’t know what you did, what you’re doing…”
“Heyy, hey now Adrian. I just think you’re a little confused? Maybe a little sleepy, yeah?” As he says the words Adrian’s eyelids feel significantly heavier, still he valiantly tries to maintain consciousness. “Don’t worry lil dude, you can crash here! That’ll make it way easier to get a morning session in, don’t you think?”
So seamlessly does his sleepy shaking head give way to a nod, that would be convenient. And then he can go straight to work, easy. Led like a prize steer, Adrian collapses onto a futon at Zeke’s instruction and is fast asleep before his head hits the pillow.
Dreams are as expected of a mind being conquered. Under constant refrains of Zeke’s voice, Adrian sees himself working out. Exercising on various machines he’s never imagined, practicing poses he’d never attempted. And then he’s posing on a stage- or no, it’s not him. Is that Zeke? No, he- he can’t tell the difference?
When Adrian awakes gasping in a pool of his own sweat, he is perhaps less surprised than he should be to find his body had continued to grow overnight. In place of his bloated stomach are rows of abs clearly present even in the unlit den. Rubbing down his sweaty new pack, his mouth twitches into a grin as his fingers explore the ridges and valleys now etched into his body.
As if he was waiting to hear Adrian stir, Zeke bursts in and hurls work out miscellanea at his trainee. “Up and at ‘em! No time to waste Adrian, already got a late start.” Catching a protein shake thrown to him, Adrian bolts up and obeys his trainer.
There’s no question in his mind as he follows every subsequent order. Giving himself a quick sniff he feels he should hit up the locker room and shower, but Zeke chastises him for trying to delay his better self. Struck to the core at the accusation, Adrian feels his drive burn with even more fervor.
Standing straighter, he follows Zeke into the gym and enacts the bodybuilder’s will. When thirty pound free weights are set in front of him he does not falter, does not complain. No he simply tries to use them and fails as many times as it takes before he is finally able. And then he curls them again, and again.
With each thrust his already pumped biceps thicken even more. Sweat trickles down his back as it pools in his hairy pits. Throbbing veins bulge down his arms as they grow and grow. Grunting deeper with every burdensome lift, when Zeke finally frees him of these weights he simply stands there breathing heavily as he awaits further instructions.
His skin itches as his body can’t help but showcase his masculinity in every regard. Stubble scratches onto his face as body hair that grows only to be shaved off begins to prickle everywhere it can find purchase. Acne and stretchmarks abound as his unsustainable growth continues on and he produces an atmosphere of musk around himself.
Set under a bar, Adrian waits for it to be loaded before dutifully doing squat after squat. He doesn’t ask how many, he doesn’t question the weight assigned, he simply does. His shorts scratch against the thighs as with every rep they hug his legs tighter. Tears begin to echo through the gym as with every thrust up his thick thighs expand.
Other patrons steer clear of the pair as they go about their humdrum lives. Zeke compares those burly men he may have once thought of as students, potential successors, but when he sees Adrian mindlessly obey, when he sees his already impressive form bulk even further he delights in finally attaining what he’s always been after.
From there on his training only accelerates. Adrian doesn’t know when he finds himself on a bench but when he grips the bar once more he bench presses until Zeke physically stops him. Where the humble beginnings of pecs once lay now there is now fully fledged melon sized. Tight glistening skin looks full to bursting under the tearing tank, veins descend across Adrian’s throbbing chest, patterning it like a lightning strike.
While all his beyond prodigious growth is impossible, even those aspects of himself that cannot be trained begin to sharpen. Having stood at least a foot shorter when he bumped into the man’s pecs what feels like a lifetime ago, as he’s ferried between exercises Adrian continues to inch taller. Were his clothes not already hanging off his form in tatters his tank would surely be a crop top.
Toes outstretched on the gym floor catch more than a few side eyes but after his wide soles outgrew his trainers Adrian had no recourse but to discard them. Besides, Zeke encouraged him. He shouldn’t let them get in his head. Really he shouldn’t think of them at all.
And so he didn’t. The world around him soon began to fade away. As if there were a spotlight on Zeke, and Zeke alone, Adrian’s already focussed attention began immutably focused on his trainer. Even aspects of everyday life begin to lose their meaning. No need to check his phone, the new bodybuilder never knows what time it is, what day it is.
All that matters is his technique, his form, his growth. Often he puts on so much mass it becomes difficult to move. So pumped that Zeke needs to escort him back to their small studio hidden in the back as he did on the first day of their partnership. Then Adrian may rest so he can come back tomorrow and grow even more.
He forgets his job, his friends, his apartment. After all, he’s got more than a sweet enough setup here. No commute to the daily grind. Every new day his body edges closer to what it is meant to be, what it must be. Zeke points out aspects that need to be changed, obliques that need modifications, a jawline that needs to be sharper, hair that needs to be shorn, and somehow through sheer force of will Adrian obeys.
Through nightmares where Adrian can no longer recognize himself his jaw sharpens, thickens into that of an Adonis. His stark white teeth now a perfect smile, for the rare occasions in which he is distracted from the grind enough to do so. There’s a darkness to his eyes that make it clear there is only one thing on his mind at all times.
Now well beyond any paltry suffering, Adrian spends long sessions practicing posing alongside his coach; he begins to feel disdain at any patches of body hair remaining, and then he blinks and he feels no such pain. His tan, glistening chest is as smooth and perfect as ever. When Zeke explains what judges look for at contests, points out areas for improvement Adrian is almost confused. He knows this by heart, he always has.
After what could be days or years under Zeke’s tutelage, after yet another flawless day of carrying out his trainer’s will he finally hears what he has always longed for, “Think it’s time kid. You ready to show those judges what you’re made to do?”
Adrian beams and adjusts his poser. This is what he’s been waiting for his whole life. All his worries about the world and about work, everything that once made up his sense of self has been poured into this single goal. And at last it was time. He already knows when the contest is, who the judges are, and exactly what he needs to do to dominate the competition.
Paying no mind to the new ink etching itself across his right arm, he steels his mind to win. His sole purpose approaches and he is going to perform perfection. Throwing his sweaty arms around his coach he feels Zeke’s meaty palms pat him on the back. He would be nothing without him. Though he knows he’s going to prove him right, in the back of his mind he’s content to continue training the same as ever. Come what may after his competition, he’s going to make Zeke proud.
I looked out of place. And I was nervous too, though whether because of looking out of place or something else, I don't know. All around me, there were handsome men and beautiful women going on about their days. Couples in love and their pets. Seniors and their families. Where I grew up, the richer sort would scoff at me for being unsightly and wealthless, and my psyche defended itself with the feeling of being morally superior. Here I was surrounded by normal people. Nice, kind and helpful. I felt better, and worse at the same time.
There's no people here. Thank goodness. Just me, inside this pod. In my parents’ days, going through immigration as an outsider came to mind in the form of long lines of impatient and desperate individuals queuing before tall, glass-shielded booths to be questioned, at times yelled at, or, once in a blue moon, detained. The practice isn't entirely gone, but fortunately in Halithia the experience is more intimate and less anxiety-inducing, even for someone like me whose documents could hardly get me through even airport security. Every applicant is assigned a single pod, where everything will take place. The standard stuffs. Verification of identity, confirmation of status, and, in my case, acceptance of my application for fast-tracked citizenship, and announcing the final decision.
Even integration is supposed to be performed here, though I have no idea how. The pod is small but comfy. Vintage in a way, not plagued by the proliferation of new-gen screens and integrated appliances. Functionally it's not that dissimilar from a tiny hotel room thanks to it being sufficiently furbished for the occupant to entertain himself. There are water and soft drinks in the corner, a nice couch, a bookshelf and a screen, and what looked like an empty section with markings on it.
I'm fidgeting again.
I usually eat when I'm anxious. But the unfamiliarity of the environment I'm in, and the uncertainty of whether I would become a citizen, or eventually rot somewhere not far from here, moneyless, alone and unknown by most, eases somewhat the hunger trying to make itself known through infrequent bouts of gurgling in my stomach.
The video on the screen is cut short, replaced by the visage of a handsome young man. I gather that he's the clerk assigned to deal with my case. The device's surface bulges out following the contours of his face, and a few seconds later a physical copy of his torso is already in the room with me.
He speaks to me warmly, with bright smiles interspersed between soft-spoken words. I was asked if I wanted the translation to be audial or textual. I picked the latter. I want the Homeland to haunt my thinking process as least as possible. My brain, however, skips most of the small-talks while the transcript of the whole conversation is being provided. I fumble some answers here and there. It's obvious that I'm unprepared.
I'm aware that bureaucracy is universal to all societies. And when dealing with government officials, them being nice to you is just par for the course. It warms my heart nonetheless, talking to this man. He could, right in this moment, demand some huge sum from me to serve as his pocket money, or force me to kneel on my knees and beg for citizenship, or call out security personnel and have me thrown into a dark cell somewhere. But he doesn't, and probably won't. He does not go out of his way to be cruel, and that is enough of a reason for me to feel glad.
"We confirm that you are eligible for immediate citizenship. The integration process will begin shortly."
I want to cry.
I am crying.
To say that I am overfilled with joy is an understatement. I know this is not the end of all of my problems. But so long as they are being dealt with, there is still a reason to keep on living.
“Please remove all articles of clothing and accessories on your body. When you are finished, step on the pedestal in the right corner of the room”, continues the clerk after having provided some reassuring words. At his mention, warm, faintly yellow lights turn on around the section that moments ago I thought was empty. The area surrounded by markings props up, revealing an octagonal pedestal.
It takes some time to remove all of my clothes, given my weight. When I think that I'm done, I turn towards the section.
“You forgot your glasses.”
I look at the translated text, and apologised profusely for the gaffe.
I step on the pedestal, in my birthday suit, vision blurred and face still wet from tears.
This section of the room is not tiled, or perhaps it originally was, but later got overlaid with a metallic layer. It's cold, and fortunately my feet aren't wet from sweat right now, cause otherwise I may as well have slipped right up when I stepped on it. The elevated platform covers an area big enough for me to stretch one of my arms out, but not both of them. It's only when I'm on it that I notice another detail on the ceiling – a depression of exactly the same shape and area as the pedestal. I turn back to the clerk for further instructions.
"Just a piece of advice. The following steps won't have translation available. Don't worry about them. Language won't be a problem for you soon," warns the clerk. He pauses for a while to check for something, then promptly continues.
"Now I'll redirect your pod to the integration centre. There will be a short moment where you're gonna feel disoriented. This is normal, just stay calm. We will meet again on the other side. All clear?"
I nod enthusiastically. It's been a while since I last felt that feeling. Even when nothing has been done yet, I can already sense energy spreading through my body. Any upcoming minor discomfort won't inconvenience me, that's for sure.
I hear a whirring sound from above. A thick, cylindrical glass wall is slowly descending from the ceiling. As it connects to the perimeter of the pedestal I'm standing on, a deep, reverberating clicking sound echoes throughout the small space that I'm now finding myself in. A robotic arm from the wall brings out a thick, multi-layered metallic panel with several holes of different sizes and slides it through the glass close to the ceiling. One of the inner layers – wider, with bulky rim – pops out, and the arm seals it shut. The whole panel has been clamped to the glass cylinder. My whole body is now encased inside a giant, transparent tube. A glass chamber.
The ceiling opens up, revealing total darkness on the other side.
I suddenly stumble forward, palms reflexively pushing against the glass surface to steady myself. My balance is lost for a few seconds. The whole structure is moving up not unlike a lift, propelling me into the pitch-black void above and beyond. The cozy room that I've just started to feel comfortable in is slowly moving away from my vision.
Now it's gone.
It's so dark here, that there's practically no difference whether my eyes are closed or open. The nausea hasn't faded away, a sign that I'm still en-route to another section of the building inside this mildly claustrophobic device.
The lift stops. Inertia pulls my torso forward. I feel dizzy for a moment.
Sharp, geometrical blue lights banish the oppressive darkness away. It's still dark inside, but at least now I can see my body and make out the edges of my surrounding. Which is not that useful – without my glasses I can't register much of the machinery around me. The only thing that stands out most is a giant screen in front of me. The vintage kind – flat and lacks the capabilities to project or remodel.
The clerk appears again. He says something. His voice seems oddly clear. Maybe there's a speaker embedded somewhere inside this glass tube. I think I heard 'okay' at the end of the last sentence. I'm pretty sure he knows that his words all go in one ear and out the other. After two more sentences, he disappears, just as quickly as he arrived.
The screen now shows a 3D model of my body with a lot of text on each side. Can't read any of that. Shitty eyesight and being illiterate in this language. The dead silence in the sterile and glass-wrapped bubble of air is broken by a soft hum. I hear a loud burst of pressurised gas above. The sealed hole of the top panel has opened up, and through it bright cerulean smoke starts to flow in. The waves reach my face. Odourless, but heavy enough to feel its pressure. I touch it, and shiver. Cold. Or wet. Maybe cold and wet at the same time. The sensation, however, doesn't seem as vivid if I just let the gas follow its natural path. And I did.
After some time, all the air around me has taken on the same hue. If I was lamenting the darkness earlier, now it is too bright inside. Every part of my body, every roll of fat, and even minute veins and blood vessels on the surface of my skin are now exposed. Yet the gas keeps pouring in, and I'm starting to feel pressure from every direction. Perhaps my body has acclimatised to the texture of this thing. Even with all of these molecules grazing against my body, the initial mix of cold and wetness has essentially disappeared. In its place, a thickening effect can be felt. At some point, the substance surrounding me has turned from gas to liquid. Or at least it seems like so. If it truly is liquid, how am I not drowning yet?
The pressing force is turning uncomfortable at this point. The thing is, the annoyance does not come from the point where my skin meets the semi-liquid. It's whatever it's doing to me inside. My body feels groggy. My brain feels turbo-boosted as if by concentrated caffeine, and not in the best way. It complains about being unable to act and move. Caught in this conundrum, I feel a compulsion to shift my body.
I regret it immediately.
My feet are now floating above the glass floor. Yet my face has not met the glass pane yet. My arms are flailing helplessly in this bizarre coating that sometimes acts like a liquid, other times like gas. The turbulence caused by my movement has given birth to a counter force that is pulling at me from every direction.
It’s very much like being sub in water. I'm being suspended mid-air, arms flailing, feet swinging like a dying frog. The only difference is that the pressure is very light, and my panicking has nothing to do with me actually being in danger. I'm still breathing with my lungs. I'm not drowning. I feel air coming into my body, albeit slower.
The process continued. The anxiety passed. I'm calmer now, heart beating slower, lungs breathing longer. Grogginess seizes my body. I have stopped my useless and counterproductive struggling, partly because I was out of breath, partly because the gas-fluid itself prevented me from further doing so. It has thickened considerately, to the point of being opaque. The only part of my body that I can move with ease is my head; a sensation I've never once felt in myself. Now that the initial unfamiliarity has been gone, it feels quite comfortable.
I hear a soft, metallic clanking, then nigh-inaudible humming, like some mechanism just got deployed and is now sliding down from above, its sound distorted by the liquid. Through a hole of the top panel, a colourful ball dribbled into the chamber. A different kind of liquid? It hits the top of my head. Doesn’t splash as strongly as water would, but instead makes a gentle impact and uniformly spreads in all direction. The new substance clings tightly to my skin, and moves in a way uncharacteristic of a liquid. There are no droplets – the whole pool of it moves like a thin, sticky film rolling downward. It's path of motion is not straight-forward, either. Where there are creases or like when it reaches my jaw, where the body part protrudes more than what's underneath it, it deliberately pulls itself inward to cover that unexplored area of my body.
Feels like a second layer of skin. Smooth and void of blemishes. And hairless too. Wherever new-liquid touches, it removes whole patches of hair in that region. Hair on my head, facial, body, pubic. My brows are gone, and the thing drips into my eyes. I so desperately want to scratch them, but of course I cannot. Not that it's unpleasant, there's no distinguishing traits for me to tell the liquid inside my eyes apart from water, I just don't want anything rubbing my eyeballs, that's all. Thankfully the itch stops. I open my eyes and briskly blink.
Good Lord.
I could see every single detail of the hairless, smooth, fat bastard on the screen. His gigantic belly and the mound of meat underneath where his tiny cock is hidden. Blemish-free, saggy skin pulling down from his shoulders or thighs; a double-chin between a pair of blinking blue eyes and another pair of fat, milkless jugs jiggling in tandem with the floating of his body. I see numbers jumping up and down on both sides of the screen, and mathematical symbols sliding leftward and rightward. I don't understand any of them, but I could see them, in all of their crispest, sharpest, incomprehensible glory. Texts. Curves, bowls, hooks, beaks, tails, spurs, ascenders, descenders.
And I see another man on the screen, one who would appear briefly for a few seconds as the system updates. A handsome Halithian native, with dark eyes, thick eyebrows and plump lips, and a dreamy, fit body. The opposite of me. He too, blinks as I blink.
He glitches out again. And the two biggest numbers above the progress bar jump up. It seems a new stage is in store.
A set of tubes descend from above. Six of them in total. Two grab my arms, another two down my legs, and the last two are hooked to my torso. I briefly feel lightheaded as suction force begins to intensify where the tubes meet my skin. Everything is happening so quickly. Or is my processing capacity slowing down? I don't think I lost consciousness at any point during the whole procedure, but when my brain finally starts to function normally again, I already notice some big changes to my body.
I've lost weight. It's the feeling that comes first. My head, still unnumbed and being able to move freely, senses the weightless excess skin pulling downward where my beard used to be. There's a lack of pressure on my back and chest, and a spontaneous exhilaration as my breath no longer feels shallow as it had been throughout my entire life. Then the images hit, and I see the result for myself, as I focus my gaze to the screen.
The man on the screen looks comical. He's wearing loose, baggy clothes three times his size, with the peculiarity being that the clothes are made of pure, smooth skin. His face is slim, his nipples are nearly touching his belly-button, and the outline of his cock is naturally obscured by four layers of what is basically gravity-affected human rawhide.
I don't have much time to embrace those new sensations or laugh light-heartedly at my new look, however, as news of the next stage has already arrived in the form of engine's whirring, echoing from above. A swarm of teeny tiny drones gust in, each no bigger than a fly, leaving bubbles trailing behind their path. They circle around me, and start to pull. I'm not sure how exactly they work, but the excess skin is starting to ... disappear? I guess the wastage must be stored inside each drone somehow, but as far as my eyes could see, the drones essentially just touch me, and my skin starts to tighten. They continue to do this for a while, until I start to resemble the default human in those 3D modelling programs, a slim man whose body hair density is on the same level as a Ken doll's.
I don't know what to feel; I've never been this light. The handsome man, me at the end of this procedure, appears on the screen again as more statistics are updated. There is a jarring sense when you look at someone and know you're destined to be him, yet feel so removed from him that you feel disbelief in thinking you could even become such a person. A third of the procedure is done now, and don't get me wrong. I feel fantastic. But at the same time, I cannot push aside the vast difference between us. I still view myself as a pathetic man. Now better-looking, but still pathetic. Every time the viewport switches back to showing my current self, I am reminded of that fact. The man's eyes exude confidence, mine don't. His look carries the accumulated knowledge and lived experience of a man born and bred in this beautiful coastal city, one I've only spent less than two days in. And my brain refuses to accept the reality that soon, it would be modified to not only match the former description, it would never remember being me again. Me – obese, nearsighted, undocumented immigrant. Me – weakling, pathetic.
There are no more images or numbers on the screen. Only one giant message that I can't read. Two robotic arms have entered the chamber, and are now steadying my neck, trying to hold it in place. I hear that whirring noise again, very softly behind me, but definitely louder compared to the drones. My nape stings, and my vision blurs.
The words ... they are beginning to make sense. Rec. Ons. Tru– no.
Reconstruction.
RECONSTRUCTION NOMINAL.
Fuck, head <NOM> my hurts. I can now those letters <ACC> read, but, something wrong with the word order <INSTR> is, I think? Goodness gracious, what are these endings? The device <NOM> behind me vocabulary <ACC> into my head is injecting. But only, exclusively, vocabulary. Or maybe my impression that just is. The English nouns in my brain are being replaced en-mass, and my grey matter is being intimidated by these weird, extensive sets of nonsensical rules. Thankfully, the grammar still remains digestible. I don't know, what does English grammar look like anyway? The only thing I am certain is that, somehow, the messages have reverted back to a more readable form.
The screen starts updating again, and for the first time, I can at least make up a significant percentage of what is being written. Executive function. Process cognitive. Something something spherical-half.
I close my eyes. There's just too much text.
On one hand, it is absolutely a euphoric feeling to have a foreign language, or even just half of that language, slowly being poured and packed into your brain in such an expeditious manner that you can already immediately understand things in it.
On the other hand, to say that it's unpleasant would be a wild understatement. I am very much overwhelmed, and I cannot explain why. A feel like a dictionary the size of a few thousand pages has been jammed ice-cold into my head, and my illiteracy has been elevated to a level that's still not quite literate. It's the same feeling when I was listening to a lecture on Quantum Physics: every individual word made sense, but the percentage of things I understood never made it to two digits. Except that now the topic is just basic biology.
A tiny message appeared on the screen. "Nominal reconstruction completed". The progress bar boosted up a few inches, and all the previous statistics were minimised to the corner, as two new windows popped up.
TOPOLOGICAL REMAPPING, one of them displayed.
The top of the glass container opened up, this time much quicker compared to the previous phases. I can rotate my head now, whether due to the diminishing effect of the liquid-gas or the presence of the new object, I cannot tell. I look up to see a flat, holey object.
A mask. Not just the front, but more like the whole skin of a human head. There are creases where openings should be: eyes, mouth and nose. The biggest hole corresponds to the neck. I cannot see what the outside looks like, whether there is hair or if the outer surface is less veiny and filled with blood vessels. It floats slowly in the thickened air, until the horde of drones soar up and spread it out, bringing it closer to my face. It covers the top of my head, then my forehead, then my eyes, nose, mouth, neck. A perfect graft assisted by the robotic army. The atomic stinger behind me vibrates, and I feel light-headed once again.
Light returns to my eyes.
For a very brief moment, I am stricken with an uncanny feeling. Triggered by the marvellous ability of the homo sapiens to recognise faces. And just as marvellous, the ability to distinguish one’s own from others’.
Only one window remains, in the middle of which a handsome face is displayed.
My face?
My face.
Me from a minute ago would say that this is what would become my face. He saw this face as inherently different, foreign and intrusive, despite wanting it. Me from just a moment ago would say that this is the face of my twin. A non-existent twin, a doppelganger. One who carries a face that intellectually is yours, but instinctively is not. But that moment has passed, and soon memory of its existence will also be erased by the sterile metallic object behind me.
I blink. The man on the screen mirrors my motion.
I open my mouth. My facial nerves seemed excited to exercise. Like an athlete hospitalised eager to make use of his limbs again. I sense familiarity. I also sense the lost of something that I cannot name. And for some reason, I cannot even bring myself to want to take it back.
"Remapping completed."
But my identity is still incomplete. I bear the face of Argio. My name is Argio. The name bubbles up and dissipates inside my mind, leaving behind a sense of disorientation not dissimilar to that feeling when I saw my face on the screen. I know my native language is Halithian, but I cannot cast away the imprint in my memory, that I grew up in an English-speaking country. I know I was never obese, and I also remember a time when blob-like people waddled around me, at home, at school, in the street, everywhere. I know I was immigrant, and I paid everything to come here.
Was I?
My head hurts. I try to recall a moment from my childhood. Any moment. I fail. Images and sounds enter my mind, but I recognise neither the voices nor the people in them. I am made aware of a lack, that the events in my past that still linger in my psyche no longer make logical sense. Even if they objectively make sense, I am no longer in such a state that can comprehend them. That lack, of an established, consistent and continuous self, only serves to intensify my angst. I want it gone.
STRUCTURAL INTEGRATION.
Resolving temporal conflicts
Resolving spatial conflicts.
Resolving …
Resolving …
There were at least a dozen lines of similar 'resolving' messages. The numbers were jumping up and down like crazy. This is it. The last phase. I know it not just from the indicator on the screen, but also just through the sheer imposing presence of the machinery that's gathering in glass chamber.
The chamber is getting hotter, and I feel like the dense layer of gas-liquid surrounding me thinning and loosening. Another army of nano drones rush in. Two disc-shaped objects latch onto the arm behind me as it retracts and recalibrates, ready for one final round of mind-warping chemical-altering brain-reconfiguration.
And then another arm from the front. The body has the same clinical, sterile metallic appearance as the rest of the equipment I've been exposed to. But the head looks oddly organic. If not to say, human-like. Reminds me of …
—it quickly attaches itself to my circumcised cock, forming a seamless patch of skin whose only sign indicating where mine ends and the thing's begins is the colour – mine is paler. With light pressure, it starts pumping. A thick, viscous liquid slowly travels through my urethra, and then deeper into my balls, where it is met with resistance.
I feel a dull itch behind my neck, a sign that the ween needle-bearer has fucked with my nervous system once again. At the same time, a new, slick force has arrived near my rear entrance, prompting a loud moan from me. As the two of them work effortlessly in tandem, I quickly succumb to the probing, and deliver my load. Yet the machines only took that as the sign to continue. With each cycle, I feel the weight hanging between my legs become heavier. My whole package has grown to unimaginable size, and what started as just a miniscule bronze-tinted tip has spread to the base of my cock, such that even through the hazy cyan air I could see the rich, brown undertone of my genitals.
A pair of drones levitate towards me, strapping between them a squishy, glossy round-orb. The screen flashes with "Ingest", and I follow its instruction. The thing seems to have been compressed, and once it lands in my mouth, it quickly expands in volume, coating the inside of my mouth with a rich, creamy, sweet liquid. It's also very sticky, and even after swallowing several times, I have a feeling that some of it still remains stuck to my throat.
Needle and prober work me up against, and reflexively I react with a soft whimper. The voice that comes out sounds almost unreal. A deep, rumbling baritone that echoes throughout the chamber. And then the machine scoops out that brief moment of awareness from me, leaving behind at first the impression in my brain that I've always sounded like this, until the impression gets shrunken, and totally disappeared. Of course, I sound like this, is it even a surprise?
But the changes to deeper than that. The effects of neurochemicals working overtime to retroactively create- no, help me rediscover my past, are felt every microsecond. I now hear my own voice in my head, and it leaves the same masculine residual as it did an hour ago, days, months, years ago. The way I talk, the words I overuse, the intonation I'm inclined to fall back on, my laughs, my speeches, my talks with friends. My nouns, my verbs, my way of being me. They are here, in my mind, taking roots, reappearing, fixed, immovable. They're spreading out, as tiny crumbs of miniscule linguistic unit weave and twine, springing up unique baggage of emotions that accompanied me during all those pockets of reality.
What I spoke and how I felt when I stood on a stage in an oversized blazer, recipient of the Junior Operation Planner award, while my parents sat in the audience. I remember making the starting lineup of our varsity sports team after being cut the previous year, the things that came out of my mouth and landed in my coach's ears when I saw my name on the roster. I remember my pride and joy, when I was accepted for the position at the State Logistics Department.
The stale inorganic smell of the chamber has gone away, only my scent remains, earthy, strong, undeniably manly. A batch of drones lash out, making imperceivable incision on my body. Massive amounts of energy enter my body from every direction. I want to explode. Ruthlessly efficient is the procedure. The dull pressure in his hips and spine quickly turns into a sharp ache in my knees, my ankles, my jaw. My limbs stretched incrementally, joints expanding, bones lengthening along to almost twice their previous length. I feel my torso elongating, vertebra by vertebra. My collarbones widened subtly, femurs stretching, tibias extending, hands growing broader, fingers lengthening, joints realigning with a series of small pops and throbs. The pain, muted and cushioned by the tank’s anaesthetic properties, was enlivening. I am reliving, in real time, my years of gruelling training condensed into just a few seconds.
My chest balloons up with cords of muscles. A golden hue spreads, downward from my neck, and upward from my cock, dominates the remaining pallid spots of my body, until inconsistencies finally disappear from my skin. My calves thicken with strength, my thighs double in size. The glass chamber is becoming too small to my outlandish gain in stature and musculature.
Every bout of growth is followed by oddly specific actions from the drones done on odd parts of my body. A handful of memories from my formative years jab at me. They simulate the moles and birthmarks. Another batch. The healed scars buried deep beneath skin tissues, from a fall while on the track. The next bunch. The wounds long forgotten, injuries from major to minor. Tiniest details are being made to reconcile with the narrative streaming in my mind.
As the last act of memory reconciliation takes place, the arms behind me start to retreat. My gigantic balls churn, and I cum one last time, delivering my thick load into the piece still docked to my cock. It detaches, revealing my hefty foreskin and the full size of my huge member.
[ALL CONFLICTS RESOLVED]
[INTEGRATION COMPLETED]
My muscles are sore, my heart still syncopating maddeningly. Sweat pours out of my body, coating the chamber with my scent, and cum keeps dripping from the tip of my manhood, long after the stimulation was gone. I feel like I just had the best workout session of my life, and the best sex too. Euphoria seized my mind for so long that throughout that whole time, I never once paid attention to the glass chamber that has just started to move upwards.
As darkness gives way to bright green neon lights, the slowly manifesting surrounding fires up neurons in my brain.
This is my hometown.
This is where I grew up.
This is where I work.
This is where I will raise my children.
The door opens up to a narrow, but brightly lit corridor ahead. With confidence in my gait and determination in my eyes, I strut. Reception is waiting for me to pick up the reissued foreman uniform. I must get to the terminal and start my next shift.
Sensors beneath the floor dry up any liquid that drops down from my body. A familiar male voice echoed throughout the hallway:
“Welcome home, citizen."
P/S: I did make another NSFW version of the final pic, but thought that it didn't fit very well. Here it is, if you're interested.
You looked up from the online textbook you’d been reading. And up. And up. Looming over your bus seat was an absolute behemoth of a man. His black hair was slick with sweat, a clear sign he’d just been at the gym, although his beefy physique and rank musk could’ve clued you in just as easily.
“S-sorry, what?” you stammered.
The guy responded with an easygoing smile on his broad, bearded face. “Your phone. Could I borrow it for a sec? I’m visiting my bro, but my phone’s outta juice and I forget what stop to get off at. I just need to call him real quick.” His voice was deep and vacuous.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” you said. “Knock yourself out.” You placed your phone in his meaty bronze hand, carefully trying not to notice how dainty and pale your fingers looked compared to his sausages.
With nothing else to do, you watched awkwardly from your seat as he dialed his friend’s number. “Yo dude, it’s me,” he greeted boisterously. “Yeah I’m on the bus using this nerdy guy’s phone right now, mine fuckin’ ran out, haha…”
You blinked in outrage, and embarrassment. “Nerdy guy”??? Just because you wore a white button-down, and had a mousy brown mop and a complete lack of facial hair, and your entire body was skinnier than his arm, didn’t make you a nerd! You had a leather knapsack — those were cool, weren’t they? Anyways.
As the bus continued on, you caught snippets of the conversation unfolding in front of you. Evidently, the guy had gotten hopelessly turned around, and his friend was trying to figure out how to get him to his destination. Privately, you thought this seemed too complex for his simple brain to comprehend.
“Ok wait, so you’re saying I need to be on the 115? And then take Johnson Street to the 67 line? Uh-huh, uh-huh. Gotcha. Thanks, bro. That means I should get off on…” He glanced at the route map above you, and you could see his thick head visibly struggling to make sense of it. Then his brown eyes widened comically. “Shit, this stop right here!”
Sure enough, the bus had been decelerating, and now it came to a complete stop. The guy pushed his way to the crowded exit, still absorbed in his conversation. You noted with disgust that he had your phone lodged between his bristly cheek and his broad shoulder, both of which were sheened with sweat. Then it hit you — he was about to leave with your phone!
“Wait!” you said, trying to get his attention. You hated how squeaky your voice sounded compared to his bovine bass, but still, it worked.
“Huh? Oh right,” he said. Speaking into the phone, he said, “Fuck bro, gotta go. See ya soon, king.”
Then, he hung up and turned his attention to you. “Yo, thanks so much, little guy!” At this point, he was too close to the door, and there were too many people pushing to exit, for him to turn around and give your phone back. So instead, he stood up straight, braced his knees, and lobbed your phone at you with a dumb, cocky grin. “Catch, bro!”
Oh my god, what was this idiot thinking? You were going to miss, and then your phone would hit the floor and shatter into a million pieces, or it would smack someone’s head and they’d sue you for everything you had, or…
You gripped something in your hand. Peeking one eye open, you found that your phone was secure in your grip. Despite your lacking hand-eye coordination, you had somehow caught your phone, acting purely on instinct.
Then you immediately laid it on your lap, because it was slick with sweat and had thoroughly absorbed the guy’s scent. As you leaned down to clean it, your phone screen lit up with a notification. It was a message from an unknown number.
wait did u say u we’re on the 103
BRUH u werent supposed to get off yet lmaooo 💀💀
You internally groaned. Did that meathead’s friend think he was just going to keep your phone forever? He probably did; he was obviously just as much of a dumb gym bro as his friend.
You prepared to type in a polite response informing him that he had the wrong number, but suddenly the bus lurched and you lost control of your phone for a moment. Glancing back at your screen, you realized that you had accidentally pressed send:
bro just gimme ur addy i’ll put it into maps
That was absolutely not what you had typed in. You tended to be pretty dexterous, so you had no idea how that had happened. Although… you looked at your hands consideringly. They were brown and veiny, with wide and hairy fingers. You supposed it was hard to type on a phone keyboard with massive mitts like yours. Briefly, you thought that your hands seemed disproportionately large against the rest of you, that they weren’t supposed to be this big and manly, but you dismissed it, because why wouldn’t they be?
Anyways, now that that encounter was over, you could go back to studying. You scrolled through your phone, trying to locate your Kindle app. But it didn’t seem to be anywhere. Frustrated, you swiped back and forth across your home screen, not noticing how each tap sent a jolt up your body.
Swipe. You felt movement on either side of you — which you quickly realized was caused by the passengers sitting next to you. You couldn’t avoid brushing up against them with how broad your square shoulders were. It was a good problem to have.
Swipe. Absent-mindedly, you dragged your giant paws across your equally giant pecs. You didn’t know what made you feel more virile — scratching your tangled black curls of sweaty chest hair, or accidentally brushing against your protruding dark nipples. Oh wait, you knew the answer — scratching your tangled black treasure trail and brushing against your washboard abs.
Swipe. You splayed your tree trunk legs further out, stomping your size 14 feet on the floor of the bus. You didn’t care if the other passengers thought you were rude — with thighs this thick, it was impossible not to manspread, especially for someone as well-endowed as you. A wet protein fart trumpeted from your inflated ass, but you took it in stride.
Swipe. The bus lurched again, and for a moment it felt like you had leaped half a foot into the air. But your line of sight never shifted back down, and why would it? You had always been tall — just like you had always had perfectly sculpted lats and traps, and a thick bull neck, and…
Your swiping was interrupted by a notification: 5% battery remaining. You furrowed your caveman brow in confusion. Hadn’t you left your place with a full charge? How had it run out so quickly? As you were thinking, you grabbed your squirt bottle from the pocket of your gym bag and took a swig.
Duh, your gym bag — you’d been at the gym! That explained the phone battery, then; you liked to listen to workout podcasts or mindlessly scroll through TikTok as you worked out, and with how long you spent at the gym each day, more often than not you walked out of there with much less charge than you’d started with.
Judging by the sweat leaking through your black mesh tank top, though — and not to mention your musky stench — it had been an especially good session today. It had been an arm day, and you silently admired your hard work, the way your biceps and triceps swelled with power and your veiny forearms pulsed in time with your heartbeat, all wrapped up in a layer of thick black hair and perfectly tan coloring. Yeah. Those were some impressive arms you had.
A text notification popped up at the top of your screen:
bro how do you not know this by now 😭
its 992 carter st apt#208
Oh yeah, you’d been so distracted by your muscles that you’d forgotten why you were on this bus. You were going to visit your best bro later today, and your license was suspended from the last time you two had gotten a little too crunk, so public transit it was.
You glanced at the route map above you, trying to figure out the best way to get there. So you were on the red squiggly line on the left side of the image, which meant… no wait… maybe you were on that green dot in the middle? Your eyes glazed over, and your brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton candy. While that was a feeling you were very much used to, and even proud of, right now you were annoyed. Why’d they have to make these picture thingies so fucking confusing anyway? Whatever, that was why they’d invented Google Maps.
Copying over your friend’s address, you attempted to navigate to the map app. But your thick finger missed the icon entirely, instead opening your photo gallery. The most recent photo was a selfie you’d taken at the gym today, and you took a moment to admire yourself. You felt your blocky, bearded face form the exact same cocky smirk that was in the photo. Hell yeah, you were one sexy motherfucker.
Suddenly, the image turned black. You’d run out of power. You stared for a second at the face reflected on the blank phone screen, identical to the one in the photo.
“Fuck,” you muttered in your deep, slow voice, scratching your temple with one finger like a Neanderthal. You hadn’t gotten to put your friend’s address into Google Maps, and you definitely were too dumb to get there on your own. What to do?
Slowly, painstakingly, an idea formed in your thick meathead mind. Maybe… you could… use someone else’s phone… to call your friend up and ask him how to get there! You scanned the bus for people to ask. There were lots of people on their phones, but for some reason, one passenger stood out to you. He was shrimpy and short, sitting a few seats away from you in the opposite row as he tapped away at some mobile game.
Pocketing your dead device, you rose from your seat and swaggered over to the little guy.
There's always been something about Ryan. At least, Liam used to think so.
He never knew if it was his bright and fun personality, his gorgeous face or his top-notch body. I mean, really. Almost 6'2, with arms the side of his own head, pecs that hung out of his chest like tits, rock-hard abs, thighs that could crush a skull with ease and an ass that could put any of the Kardashians to shame. There wasn't anything else to expect, really. Ryan was one of the main jocks on campus.
And to be honest, almost everyone had a crush on Ryan. Even those who weren't really attracted to men, and the guy truly knew it. He was a total show off, parading himself around the halls in the shortest shorts possible, and when he wasn't wearing tight tank tops or compression shirts, he went shirtless, leaving his incredible physique on display all the time.
Still, it was weird for Liam to have a crush on him. He'd never been attracted to jocks or really built guys. His type was people like him; skinny, nerdy and shy guys. He found jocks and gymbros kind of annoying. They were always loud, smelly, dumb as bricks and with egos the size of a planet.
But even with all of that, he could never shake the feeling he would get every time Ryan would walk by him. He was so drawn to him. Always wanting to be near him, look at him. And very recently, he actually wanted to try hanging out with him, which was a crazy thing to think about. A little nerdy nobody hanging out with one of the most popular jocks? Complete and utter madness. However, he overheard a conversation between Ryan and one of his 'bros'. Ryan needed help with a literature essay. And now Liam was walking directly to his direction to offer him exactly what he needed.
"H-hi" Blurted out Liam awkardly, cursing to himself for sounding so embarassing. "Uhh, do I know you, bro?" Ryan looked away from his phone to look at the scrawny kid talking to him. "No you d-don't know me, but I was sitting by you in literature when I heard you say you needed help with your essay. I can help you if you'd like it" He said, starting to get that feeling again, like being close to him was making him lose his mind. "Really, bro? That would be so nice of you, what was your name, bro?" Ryan's eyes lit up. "It's Liam, nice to meet you" He extended his hand to Ryan without thinking, regretting it immediately after.
Ryan grabbed his hand and in a swift motion, he pulled him into a bro-hug. When he touched him, his mind went wild with desire. His skin seemed to burn with every second it touched Ryan's. He felt himself getting hard. Embarrassed, when Ryan let go of him, he covered himself with his bag, and sat down next to him to talk about the essay, trying to get his mind off of his unusual thoughts.
They agreed on meeting up in Ryan's dorm after classes so Liam could tutor him, or end up writing the essay for him, he wouldn't mind. As long as he could get to hang out with him, he could write essays for him for the rest of his life. He would give everything to be close to Ryan. And that wish, as he would soon find out, would be granted.
Liam was restless the whole day, counting every second of every minute of every hour until he could see Ryan again. When the day was finally over, he ran to his own dorm to clean himself up and grab some stuff that he needed for the essay. He ran to Ryan's dorm as fast as he could, wanting to spend the longest amount of time with him as possible.
When he arrived and knocked on the door, the door opened almost immediately after he knocked, almost like Ryan was also eager to see him. He was shirtless, wearing only some short shorts that left little to the imagination. Liam couldn't help but stare for just a second, just enough for Ryan to notice.
"You don't mind me being shirtless, do you bro?" Liam just stood there stunned, not knowing exactly how to answer, opting for an awkard "N-no, not at all. If you're comfortable like that, I don't mind" Ryan smiled with a faint malice, one that Liam didn't pick up on. "Come on in, bro. Mi casa es su casa or however it goes".
When he walked in to the jock's dorm, he saw the absolute mess that the guy lived in. Clothes hanging around everywhere, none of them looked particularly clean. His kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes, and the kitchen itself was a mess of various stains, presumably from meal prep and even more dishes. After a second of taking what would be his work environment in, he started getting that weird feeling again. His mind started racing and going places he really shouldn't right now.
"So, should we start with that essay of yours? The faster we finish the earlier you can send it in, right?" He hurriedly asked to try and get those thoughts away as fast as he could. "Uhh, sure bro. We could work on it on the couch, it's the most comfortable place to work, I think" Ryan answered, sitting down and signaling for Liam to sit down right by him.
The nerd's heart skip a beat, the idea of being so close to the Adonis of a man in front of him making him go wild with joy. He sat down right there next to him and pulled his laptop out of the bag he brought with him and started talking to Ryan about the assignment and what exactly he needed to write about.
They (actually, mostly Liam) got to work on the essay. With the jock just watching Liam write down idea after idea in the form of fancy and long words. Honestly, the work would have been much easier for the nerd if the beautiful man in front of him would stop being so attractive for a second. He would get distracted from time to time looking at the guy's incredible body. And his mind could not stop thinking about him in every inappropriate way possible, and Ryan noticed this, knowing soon would be the time to strike.
Almost two hours went by when Liam announced that the essay was done. "You're done already, bro? It would've taken me weeks to write that on my own, huhu" Ryan chuckled dumbly, turning around to face the guy who just gave him an A+ and lifting his arm up to reveal a jungle of wiry dark hairs in his pits. Liam immediately locked eyes on the jock's pits and felt his mind go absolutely crazy with want, desire and need. "It really was n-no problem at all" He stumbled on his words, trying to hide the thoughts he was having.
Ryan smiled maliciously, knowing exactly what was going in the nerd's mind. "You're tripping over your words, is everything okay, bro?" He lifted his arm further, scratching his back. "Y-yeah, I'm fine. I s-swear" Liam's eyes were glued to the dark and damp paradise that was just in front of him. That's when he noticed the smell: sweet and appealing, yet kind of musky and salty. The same smell that, unaware of it, he'd been inhaling since the first time he came close to Ryan.
"You finally figured it out, didn't you bro?" Liam was startled, but still unable of doing anything but stare at the jock's pits "W-what? What do you m-mean?" Ryan just chuckled dumbly again "That little feeling you've been having all day? That would be my smell, bro. It has a special effect on everyone around me, it makes me completely irresistible to those who inhale it" The nerd's mind was steadily fogging up, leaving him confused about everything he was saying to him.
"You can't even think anymore, dude!" Ryan cackled loudly "It normally just makes you attracted to me for a couple minutes, maybe hours. But you've been taking it in for more than two hours, that's where the other part of it comes by. Your intellect is melting totally, bro!" Liam could barely understand anything the jock was saying to him, his mind focused totally on his pits.
"I think it's time for you to take it straight from the source. Come here, bro!" Ryan grabbed the back of Liam's head and pushed it towards his pit, successfully drowning the latter in his scent. In his dazed state, Liam could do nothing to stop him, he just inhaled every bit of the man's smell. His mind melting totally into a sea of pure want and desire for him, leaving no room for any other thought other than pleasing the jock.
His body started heating up, continuing the process further. "Woah! Already at the physical changes then?" He felt hot all over, like in an oven. Suddenly, a pressure appeared on his entire body, pushing it outwards like a balloon getting inflated. Only he was being filled with pure meat and muscle all around. His arms grew, filling up nicely with hard muscle to impress anyone he wanted to. His pits became sweaty and hairy like Ryan's, producing his own musky scent. His hands became big and callused from his time at the gym, veins spreading from them out to his upper arms.
His chest grew heavy with soft muscle that would work like pillows for anyone who layed on them. His nipples growing sensitive and perky, perfect for playing with. Ryan took a handful of the muscle-tits he just gave him, getting a nice moan out of the former-nerd that got muffled by his pits still covering his face. His core grew strong and wide, abs popping into existence until he had a nice and hard six-pack to show off.
Above, his face reshaped to that of a hot jock, becoming sharp and beautiful. His hair grew messy and fluffy. Like the one you would see in a popular influencer, perfect for grabbing attention everywhere and from anyone.
Below, his legs grew into tree trunks ready to pull, carry or push any weight necessary. His thighs turning into the ones of a guy who never skipped leg day: wide, strong and incredibly sensual. His ass started inflating with soft muscle that lifted him up of his seat, making the task of getting as much of Ryan's scent easier. His calves looked like the ones you would see in a football player, and his feet grew into size 13 soles to match the size of his new body.
Finally, his junk grew to incredible sizes. His balls filling with powerful seed worthy of a jock, and his cock grew harder and harder until it started growing longer and wider. He reached a nice 9 inch monster the width coming close to that of a beer can. Ryan grabbed onto his cock and drew another moan muffled in the jungle of his pits. He started stroking it, coming close to the climax of Liam's transformation.
Memories of straight A's and studying were replaced by evenings in the gym, making his body as desirable as possible. Nerdy friends and interests became nights drinking with his bros, watching sports and talking about their recent conquests and affairs. And finally, any attraction he had towards any skinny guys disappeared, turning into desire for other big guys like himself. Specially for his lover, Ryan. Who he'd met in the beginning of college and with whom he had hit it off right away.
He spent every moment of every day possible with him. Going to the gym with him, sharing classes with him. Practicing football with him and enjoying themselves in the showers after evey game and every practice. Actually, enjoying themselves at every opportunity they could, in the car when they went out to eat. In the college's bathrooms, in their dorm every night after a long day of getting buff for his man. Leaving messes everywhere they were, none of them cared enough for cleanliness or being proper. He was absolutely devoted to him, caring only for what Ryan thought of him and needing to please him in every way possible.
The thoughts of pleasing him made him tip over the edge, finally coming in his new jockstrap and gym shorts. The remainder of his old clothes torn and destroyed around him. Finally lifting his head up from Ryan's pit, to look directly in his eyes and smiling dumbly. "Had fun, dummy?" Ryan spoke first, giving his jock a loving and mischievous look. "Well what do you think?" Liam signaled to the mess in his jockstrap, getting a laugh out of his boyfriend.
"I could still do one more round, though" The former-nerd said, getting up from the couch and walking towards their room, letting his laptop fall to the ground. He was shortly followed by his boyfriend in a fit of dumb giggles and chuckles. He's sure now that there's something about him, and it's everything about him.
Hello hello! this is my very first story, i've been lurking in the shadows in the community but never dared to get into writing myself until now. I don't know if i'm going to upload regularly or if i'm even going to continue posting, but I wanted to at least give it a shot.
All constructive feedback is appreciated, if I do continue writing I want it to be as good as possible. Hope you enjoyed!
