I'd like to think I'm pretty good looking. I hit the gym regularly, I take care of myself, and I'm very lucky to be in a great relationship with a loving boyfriend.
It can be a little tricky in the bedroom since we both prefer to bottom, and his sex drive is a lot higher than mine, but other than that, life's good! Or so I thought.
Turns out, my boyfriend has a massive daddy kink.
I kinda suspected it a while given his dating history; I mean, I'm the youngest guy he's ever dated, and I'm 31. Well, *was* the youngest guy he's ever dated is a little more appropriate.
It also turns out that he's got some witchcraft in his bloodline. Nothing too crazy... except for specific times of the year, where the fabric of reality is thinnest. Which happened to fall on Valentine's Day.
Imagine my surprise when I woke up in a body 2 decades older than what I was used to.
I called him in a panic, and he guiltily confessed that it was all his fault. It was supposed to be a one day thing, and I shouldn't have remembered any of it. Except something had gone haywire - he managed to change reality to where I was now a silver fox, but he ran out of juice before he could set a time limit, or make my mind match this new body... and this new body's urges.
See, he didn't just conjure up a reality where I was a daddy. He conjured up a reality where I was a kinky, constantly horny, dom top of a daddy who can't stop thinking about putting his boy on all fours.
My boy's loving every moment of it. At first, I tried to get him to turn us back, but... shit, I've started loving it too.
I had gotten us all kicked out of the bar on Friday night, so my punishment was I have to spend the rest of the weekend as the frat house's "gorilla-boy"!!!
Mason’s roommate Ian was insufferable. He got high on the weekends, slept through the day, and had his football buddies over during the night. He rarely washed a single cup, much less his messy, grown out hair. He left his disgusting dirty laundry all over the room, walked around half naked, and often stole Mason’s clean clothes. He ate like a pig and he would masturbate relentlessly over any surface he could.
Suffice it to say, Mason had had enough. He needed to do something, anything to get him to behave like a functioning adult. He tried talking with him, pleading for Ian to have some sense of civility. He got the RA involved, and then the dorm administrators, but the building was packed, and he couldn’t change rooms until at least a year in the future. So, Mason got desperate. He combed through Reddit for some way to make Ian’s life hell, or at least to get him out of the room, and one Friday late October, he found something that just might work.
It was a link to some sketchy website, the kind buried under piles of mindless AI advertisements. The website, in ugly, highlighter yellow Comic Sans claimed that it could let the user exchange two persons’ bodies for a set amount of time.
This was it. If Mason could have Ian’s body, even for an hour, he could pretend to be him, and voluntarily leave the dorms for good. There was only one minor issue; both of them had to be touching the laptop at the moment of the swap. No big deal, though. He’d just wait until Ian was high off his mind, and the idiot wouldn’t even notice.
He did exactly that. He waited til Saturday, when he knew Ian would be stoned. Ian was lounging on the couch, like usual. His bare chest exposed as he put down the blunt he was holding. He raised is arm to scratch the back of his head, his armpit stinking up the room.
Mason rolled his eyes and tried his best to ignore the foul smell. He brought the laptop over to the couch. "Hey, Ian?" He spoke hesitantly, "I gotta show you something on my laptop." Ian lazily looked up with glassy eyes. Mason awkwardly set the laptop over his chest without any protest from Ian, and then hit enter.
For a brief moment in time, Mason's vision went dark. He blinked a couple of times, trying to ground himself. He had to go down to the office, but he couldn't leave the dorm shirtless. "Why not?" He asked himself. He closed his eyes and rubbed them hard. Focus. He had to focus. But he couldn't do it for the life of him. He felt giddy. The couch felt nice. So nice. He ran a hand through the fabric of the couch. It was soft. Really, really soft. And his hand was huge now too. He put one foot on the tiled floor and tried to get up, only managing to sit up on the couch. He heard a weird sound. He looked down, and his laptop was on the floor. Why was his laptop on the floor?
He picked it up and struggled to open it, but it wouldn't turn on. Oh, well. He let it fall on the floor again and sat back on the couch. Man, this felt nice. He stretched his arms and opened his legs. He took a big whiff of the air around him. It smelled masculine, and a little musty. What was he so worried about just a second ago?
Someone familiar came into the room. Mason had a shirt just like the one the guy was wearing. The man was excited about some thing or another. He couldn't be bothered to actually listen. He let himself fall back on the couch, and as his head hit the pillow, he couldn't help but notice how hot that little twink was. He absentmindedly fondled his new, much bigger package as he watched the guy run around the room. Oh, right. That was his old body. He looks like he's having fun. And man, is he having fun as well.
The heat of the late summer evening pressed down on Marcus like a heavy blanket. The air in his cramped apartment was still and humid. He lay across his bed, stripped down to nothing but a pair of faded yellow briefs. They were loose, standard cotton things, typical of the plain, unnoticeable life he led. Sweat pooled in the shallow hollows of his collarbone. He was scrawny, a constellation of sharp joints and pale skin, his arms thin rods holding his smartphone. He was just mindlessly scrolling through social media, a digital life that mirrored his empty social life. Girls didn't notice him, and he’d resigned himself to a life of digital voyeurism.
An ad for 'WishApp' flashed on the screen. His thumb hovered, then pressed. Why not? he thought, a flicker of curiosity momentarily cutting through the heat-induced lethargy. He downloaded it.
The interface was minimal, almost clinical. A simple text box appeared with a direct question: What is your desire?
Marcus let out a self-deprecating snort. He knew exactly what he didn’t have. Confidence. A presence. He stared at the box.
“What do I want?” he said to empty room. He was a skinny, shy straight guy. He wanted a relationship. He wanted to be able to just be with someone. And he wanted a body that meant something, a body that people would respect. He started typing rapidly. He wanted a relationship so he could have sex every time he wanted it. And also, be a proper big muscle guy. He hit send, not even noticing the tiny, fateful typo in the word ‘guy’.
We appreciate your request. Processing will take some time, the app replied.
He stared at the blank screen, expecting… something. More options? A confirmation code? Nothing. He sighed, disappointed. Thinking it was just a silly gimmick, and he closed the app. Tossing the phone away, Marcus rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and quickly drifted off to sleep. He had no idea that as soon as his consciousness faded, his body and mind would begin a profound, unstoppable transformation.
His dreams, once filled with vague images of unapproachable girls, began to change. Instead, his subconscious was invaded by images of beautiful, powerful, muscular men. The shapes were defined, the lines confident. He was surrounded by them, not as threatening figures, but as icons of adoration. The dreams felt different—heavier, thicker, filled with a desire he couldn't quite articulate.
The first physical changes were subtle. His skin tightened. A faint rasp of stubble began to push through on his previously smooth jaw. On his chest, where there had been only pale skin, fine, soft hair began to sprout. He writhed in his sleep, the clean sheets now sticking to a body that was growing in density, in volume.
The process accelerated. A deep, resonant hum seemed to vibration through his bones. The app’s 'processing' was intense. His skeletal structure didn't expand dramatically, but his muscle fibers hyper-growth. His deltoids broadened, becoming wide, powerful shelves. The biceps and triceps definition sharpened, his forearms hardening. His chest, once a flat expanse, became wide and massive, the new hair becoming dense and curly, spreading down his sternum. His core tightened into hard, visible blocks of muscle, a six-pack etching itself above a wider, stronger abdomen. Thick, natural hair now covered his chest, abs, and legs.
As the first faint hues of dawn began to bleed through the open window, painting the room in a warm light, the violent crescendo of the transformation finally reached its peak. The frantic shifting and tossing in the bed subsided into a heavy, rhythmic breathing. The skin-and-bones Marcus was completely gone.
In his place lay a magnificent specimen of pure, raw masculinity. His shoulders had expanded into a massive, heroic V-shape, his traps sloped steeply down into wide, boulder-like deltoids that seemed to strain against the very fabric of the mattress. His biceps and triceps muscles were now thick and full, carved with deep, branching veins that pulsed with a newfound, powerful circulation.
His chest had risen into two massive, heavy slabs of muscle, so broad and deep that they shook slightly with each deep breath he took. A thick, masculine carpet of dark, curly hair now completely blanketed his torso, running in a dense line down his defined, rock-hard abdominal wall and disappearing into his waistband.
The change was so absolute that his yellow briefs, which just hours before had hung loosely on his boyish hips, were now stretched to their absolute limit. The cotton fabric was pulled over his heavily thighs and wide hips. Up front, the pouch of the underwear was incredibly tight, straining against a noticeably larger, heavy bulge that pulsed with the intense morning heat. His legs had transformed into thick, powerful pillars,
The transformation was absolute, leaving no trace of the fragile youth who had fallen asleep the night before.
When he woke up, he sat up with a groan. The first rays of morning light illuminating the messy sheets. He didn't immediately notice his change. His mind was still tangled in the powerful, intimate images of his dream.
“Why do I have morning wood after this strange dream?” he muttered. The sound of his voice shocked him. It was a deep, gravelly baritone, completely unlike his usual tenor.
He tried to clear his throat, but the deep pitch remained. He finally looked down.
"What!" he roared, the deep voice echoing in the small room.
He ran for the mirror in his bathroom, his now powerful legs nearly knocking him off balance. He stared at his reflection, his eyes wide in absolute disbelief. The face staring back had sharp, chiseled features. A full, well-maintained beard, short-cropped and styled, covered his jaw, matching the neat, styled hair on his head. He looked like an immaculate, well-defined muscle bear. His eyes were wide, taking in the massive chest covered in hair, the sculpted abs, the thick arms, and the deep muscle strength. He ran his hand over his new body, his fingers pressing into hard muscles. He noticed his yellow briefs, now extremely tight, with a very prominent, powerful bulge. His initial panic began to morph into something else—a strange, thrilling sense of self-awareness.
Suddenly, he heard sounds from the kitchen. The sizzling of eggs, the clatter of a pan.
Marcus slowly pushed open the bathroom door and walked into the hallway. The kitchen door was slightly ajar. He peeked inside. Standing by the stove, his back mostly to Marcus, was another man. The man was massive, a fellow muscle bear with incredibly well-developed muscles. His deltoids were wide, and his biceps bulged as he expertly flipped an egg in a frying pan. His chest was covered in dense hair, matching the hair on his arms and legs. Marcus froze, the sheer, imposing presence of the other man dominating the space.
Marcus watched him. What a man, he thought. Wait, why am I thinking that? I’m not gay. Or am I? The realization of his typo on the app hit him simultaneously with the new, powerful feelings swirling in his core. The dreams had prepared him.
The other man turned around, a friendly expression on his face. He was bearded, with neat, light-colored hair, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of tight red briefs with a nice, round bulge.
"Good morning, sleepy head," the man said, his voice a deep, comforting rumble. "I just made breakfast. I hope you want some."
Marcus took a step forward, the unfamiliar sensations in his transformed body now commanding his actions. His desire for this stranger, this fellow icon of power and beauty, was primal.
"There is one thing I want," Marcus said, his deep voice thick with newfound intent.
He crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between them. The man smiled as Marcus approached. Without a word, Marcus took the other man's body in his powerful hands and kissed him passionately. The man immediately dropped the spatula, his arms wrapping around Marcus's broad shoulders. They pulled each other tight, their muscular bodies pressing together, hair on hair, muscle on muscle, in a sudden, intense embrace.
"Let’s get back to bed…" Marcus whispered against his lips. The other man simply nodded and pulled him along.
As they left the kitchen, Marcus’s phone buzzed. A new notification appeared on the WishApp: Enjoy your wish!
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Can you transform me into a muscular, hairy, dominant man, where I'm being changed without my consent and without realizing it at first?
When you got the notification that a package had arrived at your door, you were confused by the sleek black box sitting right outside your place. You didn’t remember ordering anything, and unlike most cardboard deliveries, this one had an expensive design. You carefully brought the strange package inside and opened it. Inside was a black-and-gold envelope resting atop a few expensive items. You knew it wasn’t something you would have ordered, but the address on the box was yours.
Picking up the envelope, you ripped open the flap and pulled out a black card with gold lettering. There was a scent to the note, almost as if it were lightly spritzed with some cologne or perfume. The note didn’t offer much explanation, either about what this box was for or why it was sent to you.
From Your Secret Admirer. A Self-Improvement Box.
On the back was a scribbled phone number, clearly handwritten by whoever sent the strange gift to you. You tried calling it a few times, but whoever was on the other end didn’t seem to bother picking up. Texting the number yielded no response either, and you were left stumped about what to do with the surprise gift sitting on your kitchen table. Before you could decide anything, you looked more closely at the items inside. There seemed to be a bottle of cologne, a dark liquid glimmering back at you inside the glass. There was also a sleek signet ring, although you weren’t exactly someone who really bothered dressing up or wearing jewelry. And finally, perhaps the most expensive of the three items: a smartwatch. It looked quite minimalistic in design, like one of those fitness watches you would see on a fitness influencer or athlete to track their physical progress. And while it was tempting, you still weren’t exactly convinced that this box was meant for you.
You sighed as you picked up the smartwatch, admiring its fancy design. The metal felt cool and smooth, and for a moment, you entertained the idea of having something like it. Even if you weren’t going to use the items from the strange gift box, it didn’t hurt to imagine what it would be like. Slipping the smartwatch over your wrist, you found yourself enjoying its weight. It might have been great in another life, but right now it didn’t fit your personal aesthetic.
As you moved to remove it, you were surprised to find the device properly latched to your wrist. You grunted as you tried to pull off the new piece of techwear, but it didn’t budge. The strap stayed tight; it wasn’t uncomfortable, but the watch wouldn’t move, no matter how hard you tried. Resigning yourself to the gift, you sighed and left it alone. Not wanting to deal with the weirdness, you closed the box and set it aside, hoping to forget about it. Whoever sent it clearly meant it for someone else, and it was best not to touch another item that wasn’t meant for you.
The rest of your day went by uneventfully. You had a few errands to run, but thankfully, you still had the whole weekend before work. As you went about your tasks, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that you were more energized and invigorated. By the time you got home, you felt an extra bounce in your step, like you could run a mile or two. Glancing down at your new smartwatch, your eyes widened at the tracked steps. You certainly got a lot done today, and the light whiff of sweat from your pits told you as much. Once home, the change felt even harder to ignore.
Making your way to the shower, you found it a bit more difficult to pull off your clothes. Maybe it was the sweat making them stick to your skin, but you couldn’t help twisting and turning your shoulders as you tugged your shirt off. Leaving your clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor, you cast a quick glance at your naked body in the mirror. There were glimpses of definition there, and flexing your biceps showed off some nice peaks. You didn’t pay much attention to it, though, just posing as if it were natural. The last thought you had was that your gym workouts were really starting to show, even though you had forgotten it had been some time since you had even set foot in a gym.
It had been some of the most restful sleep you had ever had that night. The shower was soothing, and you practically dreamed of the slippery sensation of soap bubbles sliding down your back. When you blinked open your eyes, the first thing you noticed was that you seemed much lower than normal. Swinging your thick legs off the side, your large feet thumped along the floor. It seemed that your bed frame had broken again, but this was a common occurrence for you. You struggled to find something that could hold all of your muscular weight. For now, you would have to leave the indented mattress on the floor until you figured out something else. You sighed as you stood to your towering height, ducking your head under the doorframe out of habit. From there, you headed toward the bathroom.
Lumbering toward the bathroom, you raised your hands to scratch and rub at your meaty pecs. It was always a welcome sight to wake up and see such a delicious view each morning, with the valley between your pecs leading down to a chiseled set of abs. Of course, cutting and bulking routines were practically second nature at this point, as your physique was something you put your whole life and soul into. You positioned yourself in front of the mirror once more, your naked body on full display. Sleeping naked was really the only comfortable way for you to get good rest now. Clothes always felt restrictive, particularly when they did very little to conceal your hefty, sizeable bulge. A stray hand slid down to fondle your swaying cock as you admired your physique. It had become a bit of a morning routine, with your admiration for the hard work you put into your body.
A soft beep from your smartwatch reminded you of the brunch you were getting later with some friends. Grateful for such a convenient device, you rarely took the watch off. It felt like second nature to have it on you. As you washed up and prepared for the day, you reached over to grab some cologne to spray on. Your hands found an unfamiliar bottle, practically unopened, with the amount of black liquid still inside. Before you even had a chance to register what was happening, you applied a few quick spritzes to your chest and neck. The smell was rich, dark, and musky, like bergamot mixed with leather. Your eyes widened as your brain began to register the bottle in your hand. It came from that strange box you found yesterday, though you didn’t remember taking it out and setting it in your bathroom.
Your brows furrowed at the strange mystery, but the beeping alarm from your smartwatch quickly interrupted you. You didn’t have time to think about that now; you’d have to deal with it when you got back home. Hurrying out of the bathroom, you turned to the side to let your boulder-sized shoulders and wide back through without bumping the frame. Throwing together a quick, easy streetwear outfit, you took a moment to admire how the clothes clung to your skin. The shirt was almost a crop top, so small, and you could practically see the seams starting to rip. One simple bicep flex and it would burst into a flutter of tattered fabric. Ignoring your intrusive thoughts, you hurried out the door, leaving behind a deliciously thick scent.
Meeting up with your friends was always enjoyable, and you were glad that everyone had enough free time to grab a meal together and catch up. Today seemed a bit off, though, as more than one person kept complimenting the way you took care of your facial hair or how nice a tan you had. You weren’t really sure why they were so hung up about that. Your skin was a rich caramel tone, covered with a healthy dusting of coarse, dark hair. When you first met your friends, you had told them about your summers in Pakistan visiting family. The facial and body hair was an absolute must for you; there was no way you were ever shaving it off, especially when it was part of your manly, masculine appeal. While people kept pointing out the obvious, you noticed how one of your friends seemed particularly infatuated with your scent. He made small comments about how nice your watch looked or how the new cologne really suited you. His attention made the whole outing feel more charged.
He hadn’t been someone you had noticed before, really, but even you couldn’t deny the way his eyes lingered on the dark hair peeking out from under your shirt sleeve, leaving very little to the imagination with the growing sweat stain under your pits. The summer sun wasn’t exactly kind to your darker complexion as you all sat outside, and you could feel the top of your head grow warm under the rays. But a quick wipe on your forehead with the back of your hand, and you were back to catching up with your friends about what they had been up to. By then, the moment had settled into the afternoon.
Brunch ended rather uneventfully, with a few promises to meet up again soon. Your smaller friend seemed to linger back to give you a hug goodbye, and you couldn’t help but notice how his head seemed to slip up between your pecs comfortably, like a missing puzzle piece finding where it belonged. You offered him a strong, hearty squeeze, making sure to press his slim frame up against all your heat. The other man squeaked in surprise at the feeling of your flexed muscles pressed up against his backside, and he scurried away just as frantically as he appeared. Shaking your head in amusement, you scratched at your hairy chest as you made your way back home. It was finally time to just kick back and relax.
With nothing else planned for the day, you began peeling off the sweaty clothes and tossed them to the side for you to deal with later. Flopping down on the couch naked, you could still catch a whiff of the dark cologne you sprayed on this morning. Mixed in with your natural musk, the scent was actually quite overwhelming. The spiced scents flooded through your nostrils, and your eyes rolled back at the rather intense smell that rattled your brain. Dazed in the moment, your head lolled to the side to stare out at your coffee table.
There, perched upon the glass, was that simple black box. Before, you didn’t want a single thing to do with it. You hadn’t even had time to look into who it might actually belong to. But now, there seemed to be this strange pull that enticed you closer. It was like your body was moving on autopilot, with you, a passenger, watching a movie. As you pulled back the box lid, you saw the note with the phone number lying inside next to a signet ring. Pulling out both objects, you felt a sensation in your chest that made you focus more on the ring.
It was a simple, golden band with a nicely designed crest on top. It certainly looked expensive, which fit your style perfectly. Without much thought for anything else, you slipped it onto your pinky. The new piece of jewelry made things begin to click into place, like a fog of confusion lifting from your mind. In that moment, you knew that this was who you were meant to be. A beefed-up, hairy, hunk of a man that was in control of everything in his life. All the decisions, the guidance, the permission granting… it lingered in the back of your throat like a cough. Dominance never felt like a personality trait or a role you had to fill. It was just who you were as a person, and people loved you for it.
Twiddling the note between your fingers, you flipped the piece of paper over to read the hand-scribbled number on the back. In that moment, you remember why that number seemed so familiar to you. A small, knowing smirk formed on your lips as you grabbed your phone off the coffee table. It seemed there was a rather naughty, needy boy who needed to understand what his role was in your new dynamic. He would have to become reacquainted with the new you, given that he did so all on his own, without your permission. You turned on your phone camera, taking a picture of your naked body. Making sure to include your heavy set of balls, hairy chest, and half-chubbed cock, you texted over the photo to the person who sent over the box. It was ridiculous that he even thought you needed self-improvement. You were perfect the way you were, like a god who decided to walk amongst the mere mortals.
get over here, boy.
it seems you’ve done something without my permission again.
you’ll have to earn my forgiveness.
The reply came back fired back just as quickly, a simple “Yes, Sir,” giving you all the confirmation you needed. It made no difference. If he didn’t come, it was his loss. And if he did, you would show him the fruits of his labors. Until then, you reclined on the couch and made yourself comfortable. It was going to be a long and eventful rest of the day.
Bro one of my frat brothers came back from a trip and he seems different. His skin is darker, he has a beard, and I think I heard him speaking Arabic. I heard him on the phone saying something like “the change will happen soon”. I’m kind of worried
...
"I don't know who you are, dude. How did you even get this number?"
*hangs up*
...
It had been a week since that phone call, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about Jake. He had always been a bit of a wild card, but this was different. How could he have changed so much in such a short amount of time? At the start, you thought maybe he'd just got a tan or something, but the beard was harder to explain. There's no way someone like him could have grown that beard in just two weeks without some kind of help. And the Arabic? That was just bizarre. You had never heard him speak anything other than English before. No way a big idiot like him could have learned a new language that quickly.
Though he was still your bro, right? You had to believe that. You really had to.
You tried to talk to him about it, but he just brushed it off and said he was fine. Same old Jake, just with a new look. You couldn't help but feel like there was something more going on, though. He seemed more serious, more focused. He spent more time grooming himself and hitting the gym alone instead of hanging out with the guys.
Life went on like usual. Every day, you'd wake up, eat your favourite cereals for breakfast, and head to class with some of your frat brothers. You'd go to the gym together, grab lunch together, and then hit up the local bar for some drinks at night. But Jake was always doing his own thing. He'd skip out on group activities and spend more time alone. You couldn't help but feel like he was hiding something from all of you...
It was about a week or two later when you felt something. You woke up one morning and your head was pounding. You looked in the mirror. Same old you, but you kinda felt weird. Maybe it was just a hangover from the night before? Whatever, you thought. Time to get up and eat some breakfast.
You entered the common kitchen and saw Jake sitting at the table. He didn't even look up at you. He just stared at his phone, scrolling through something. Grabbing the milk inside the fridge, you poured yourself a bowl of cereal and sat down across from him. Every time you grabbed a spoonful of cereal, you couldn't help but notice how he was staring at you. Really unsettling... but that was basically it. Your head felt much better after eating though, so you just tried to ignore it. After that interaction, you went about your day as usual, though you felt a bit weird...
You hit the gym with Mike and Ryan like usual. The weights felt good - lighter than normal, actually. The rest of the day was normal, you went to class, hung out with the guys, and then hit up the bar at night.
...
That night you woke up twice with a raging hard-on.
Not able to ignore it, you grabbed your phone in the dark, loaded up your usual porn - the kind you always jerked to in secret - and started stroking... but nothing. Your cock stayed rock hard, leaking all over your fist, but the video kinda felt boring. You went back to your feed, scrolling through more and more porn until you found something that caught your eye: a little twink being fucked by 2 guys at the same time. Usually you weren't that into twinks, but something about this video made you curious. You clicked play.
The twink's ass was so tight, you could almost feel his heat through your phone screen. Your eyes widened as you watched a thick cock slide in and out of his ass, stretching it to its limit. You couldn't help but think about how good it would feel to be inside that tight little hole. It made your own dick throb harder than ever, until you eventually came. Very weird... You'd never been into twinks before, but you were too tired to think about it and fell back to sleep...
The next morning the headache was back, and worse. You stumbled straight to the kitchen, grabbed the first thing you saw in the fridge to quench your thirst (some milk), and poured yourself a huge glass. Chugged it in four gulps. Relief washed over you so fast you actually moaned a little bit.
"Fuck... that's better..."
Jake was at the table again, scrolling on his phone. He glanced up this time, eyes flicking over you with that same unsettling smirk.
"Morning, bro. Enjoying the milk?"
"Very funny dude... my head's hurting like hell... I just need to hydrate", you replied taking another sip of milk. Your headache had subsided enough that you could think clearly again.
The rest of the week felt almost normal. Classes, gym, meals, hanging out with the bros - everything rolled on like usual. Jake kept doing his own thing, but you stopped pressing him about it. Whatever. Bros change sometimes.
The only things that weren't normal were the headaches and the constant need to jerk off.
Every single morning the pounding was there the second you woke up, like your skull was trying to split open. You'd drag yourself out of bed, splash water on your face, and the pressure would ease a little once you got moving. By evening it would start creeping back, but you powered through.
The horniness was worse though. Way worse. You'd be in class, trying to focus on the lecture, but your cock would be throbbing in your pants, leaking pre-cum onto your thighs. It was like you'd hit puberty again and couldn't control it. You jerked off four, sometimes five times a day, each time taking more than before to reach climax.
You also started noticing other weird things around the frat...
Mike had always been the big jock of the house, but lately he looked extra pumped after every workout. You started questioning if he'd hopped on gear or something, though it was probably just your imagination. He looked bigger, stronger, manlier. You could even tell he'd started letting his facial hair grow in, even though he always shaved every single morning. And the sweat... fuck, he was always drenched in it now, pits smelling nastier and thicker than ever before, like pure raw musk. He did look hot as fuck though.
Then there was Ryan...
Ryan, Ryan, Ryan... the frat's charming party bro. He used to be the frat's resident stud, always hitting on girls at parties and making sure everyone knew his name. But lately he seemed different. He'd been showing up late for nights out, sometimes not even bothering to show up at all so he could go lift at the gym alone. His skin had this warm glow lately, and he seemed so fuckin' different - way more jacked than before - even though it was clearly still him. You didn't know he could grow a beard like that, let alone that he had chest hair now. All of it was so damn confusing.
Finally there was Tyler...
Tyler was one of the smartest guys in the frat, always acing his classes and doing well on exams despite looking like a bodybuilder. But lately you couldn't help but notice he'd been acting a little different too, like his mind had been completely blown by something. Usually you could find him either buried in his books or at the gym working out, but now he'd just slouch around the house shirtless, watching braindead TV like a total idiot for hours. You didn't know he was that fucking hairy under his shirt. The guy used to be a straight-A nerd and now he just looked like a lazy, hairy, half-naked slob zoning out on the couch. It was all very fucking strange... and for some reason you kept catching yourself staring at his chest way longer than you should.
It wasn't just them either. Pretty much all the other guys in the house had been acting a little different too. The vibe around the place was changing. Some guys seemed more aggressive than usual, like they were itching for a fight. Others were more withdrawn, like they were lost in their own heads. It just felt off, and you didn't know why, but you knew it had to be connected to Jake and his trip somehow. You just couldn't figure out how...
Until four nights later.
It was 2 AM. The headache slammed you awake like a fucking hammer to the skull, your cock already half-hard and leaking into your boxers. You crept downstairs in the dark, desperate for something to take the edge off. A faint light glowed from the kitchen.
Jake was standing in front of the fridge in nothing but shorts. You looked down and saw his hand grabbing the milk jug. On his other hand though, you could see something huge... You could see it... it was... his cock! His shorts were shoved down, his fat brown cock out and leaking. You watched, frozen in the doorway, as he stroked himself slowly, grunting low, and then blew a thick rope of cum straight into the jug.
"Jake... what the fuck?" you whispered.
He turned, not even surprised. A cocky grin spread across his face. His body looked huge under the fridge light - deep bronze skin, heavy pecs covered in dark hair, full beard framing his jaw, cock still dripping. It's like he'd doubled in size since he'd got back from the trip.
"About time you saw habibi."
His voice had a thick accent you'd never noticed before.
"Been doing this every night since I got back. Nasl Sheikh straight from the source.... You've all been getting a little taste for two weeks now."
Your stomach dropped. "What did you do to them?" you demanded, stepping closer even though your head was still pounding. "Mike, Ryan, Tyler... All the guys are acting weird. What the fuck did you do?"
Jake laughed, deep and easy. He set the jug down and looked you dead in the eye.
"You've all been drinking my milk every day for two weeks. Cereal. Shakes. Coffee. What do you not understand bitch?"
"That's not p-possible. Turn them back-"
Your voice died as Jake reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his dark brown stare.
Your skin had this warm bronze glow now - not the pale white you were used to seeing. Your chest looked fuller, hairier. Your hair seemed darker, messier. You hadn't noticed any of it. Not really. The headaches, the endless jerking off, the way everything felt... off. You'd been too busy watching the other guys to notice the changes in yourself. But now you could see it. You were changing too. You were becoming one of them.
"The nasl is already in you too" Jake said softly, stepping closer so his musky scent washed over you.
"That's why the headaches every morning. That's why your old fag porn doesn't work as well any more. You think I didn't know you liked men? You were always a little different, a little weaker than the rest of us. Most boys around here fooled around a bit. But you? It was so obvious. That soft white-boy brain of yours is melting nice and slow too. Gonna make you a real man. A straight breeder. Just like you should have been from the start."
Your heart hammered. You wanted to argue, but your cock was throbbing harder than ever, leaking down your thigh.
Jake poured you a full glass from the jug.
"Drink."
You stared at the thick white liquid for a long second. Then you took it. Drank it down in one greedy go and...
Better. You felt so much better already.
The thick, salty-creamy liquid slid down your throat and settled heavy in your gut like it belonged there. Your skin started tingling hard, your muscles felt warm and swollen, and your cock - already half-hard - surged to full mast, throbbing painfully against your boxers and leaking like a faucet.
"Fuck..."
Jake grinned wide, that smug look never leaving his face.
"Good. You will be my wingman from now on, brother. You want to be a REAL man after all, don't you?"
You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. You wanted to say no, to refuse, to fight back, but you couldn't. Your mind was too focused on the aching pain coming from your boner. You needed to unload fast.
"Keep drinking my seed every day and you'll be a REAL man in no time. Strong. Dumb. Ready to breed. Make sure the other bros drink their fill too." He gave your aching bulge a light tap. "Now go take care of that. You're dismissed."
You didn't answer. You just turned around and stumbled back upstairs with your legs shaking. You barely made it to your room before you ripped your boxers down and started furiously jerking your cock. A video with a twink was still open on your phone. You went right back to it, stroking hard, imagining sliding into that tight hole and breeding it deep. It still worked... but something felt different now. Your brain kept twisting the fantasy. What if that tight little hole wasn't an ass? What if it was a pussy? Wet, warm, gripping you different. The thought made your dick throb so hard it hurt.
You switched tabs fast, searching for "twink with pussy" and suddenly you were watching trans male porn - boys with tight little pussies getting fucked. It felt wrong... but your hand wouldn't stop moving. You pictured yourself pounding one of them, stretching that pussy wide, flooding it until cum leaked out. You came so hard you saw stars, thick ropes painting your abs while you moaned like a bitch in heat.
...
The rest of your week turned into a slow, sweaty, horny haze.
Your stubble came in thicker and darker every morning, no matter how many times you shaved. At the gym your shirts felt tighter across the chest, your arms and thighs filling out faster than they ever had. Sweat poured off you in buckets, and your pits smelled horribly, the same nasty musk the other guys were starting to carry. Your cock felt heavier in your hand every time you jerked off - each time longer, thicker, with less foreskin, and more sensitive than ever before.
You kept drinking the milk anyway - you had to - every single day.
By the end of the week the trans stuff started feeling a little flat on your cock. Your brain kept pushing further. The trans dudes turned into real girls in your head - thick thighs, bouncing tits, dripping wet pussies begging to be bred. You swapped to straight porn almost unconsciously, stroking to it, imagining yourself slamming balls-deep into some curvy bitch, pumping her full of Arab seed until it leaked out.
You tried to fight it at first, but it was useless. Your white-boy brain was already mush from all the Nasl Sheikh you consumed. Your brain felt slower, fuzzier, happier just thinking about lifting, praying, and breeding. It felt so good to be a breeder - to imagine yourself as the alpha male, the one that could make bellies swell and babies come out. You could feel your balls tightening just thinking about it - thinking about spreading your virile musky seed, breeding more cocky alpha studs like you.
The headaches stopped after that. Not because the nasl had worn off - fuck no. It was because your skull had finally finished reshaping itself. Your brain felt lighter now, smoother, like all the old complicated shit had been melted down and poured out through your cock. The last scraps of your old self burned away completely. No more confusion. No more hiding who you really were. Just pure, simple, alpha need flooding your slower, happier brain.
You rolled out of bed and caught your reflection in the mirror on the way to the bathroom. The guy staring back wasn't the soft white frat bro who'd made that first nervous phone call weeks ago. Your chest was a solid slab of muscle covered in a dense rug of black hair that trailed down over abs you could actually see now, disappearing into a treasure trail that led straight to the fat, circumcised Arab cock between your thighs. It was thicker than your wrist even soft, the head already glistening with a bead of pre. Your balls were bigger too, hanging low and full, churning out the same potent seed that had turned every single one of your bros.
Downstairs the kitchen smelled like home.
"Morning, brother" Jake - or Khalid as he called himself now - said with his now deep and accented voice.
Mahmoud (Mike) grabbed the jug, gave it a shake, and poured everyone a tall glass. You took yours without thinking and drank deep - three long, greedy gulps of warm, salty, ultra-thick homemade Nasl Sheikh. It slid down your throat like it belonged there, settling heavy in your gut and spreading heat through every vein. Your cock surged to full hardness instantly, slapping up against your abs with a wet smack.
You set the glass down, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and let out a low, satisfied groan that came out half in Arabic.
"Wallahi... feels fucking perfect, bros."
The rest of the house was the same now. Every single frat brother - bigger, darker, hairier, dumber, and hornier. The common areas smelled like musk, sweat, and fresh cum. The fridge was stocked with the group's nightly nasl every single night. Nobody questioned it any more. Nobody wanted to go back. Why would they? This felt right. Strong. Simple. Masculine.
You were Yusuf now - a loud, dumb, hairy, straight Arab alpha. Big muscles, big balls, big ego. Obsessed with lifting, praying, and breeding every tight pussy you could find.
"Enough standing around like pussies", you barked at the other bros. "We're going out tonight. I want fresh pussy. I'm breeding at least three tonight and I don't give a fuck who they are. Any bitch that looks at me is getting her womb flooded."
Your brothers roared in approval, raising their fists while their cocks twitched at what you just said. The old soft white boy who made that scared phone call weeks ago was dead after leaking out of your musky cock.
This was your life now, and it felt fucking perfect. Who knows what would happen next...
