Alright. I’ve seen a lot of requests about turning cocky guys into twinks — totally fair. But I’d like to ask for the opposite, or almost that.
My favorite stories of yours are the ones where some poor guy is in the wrong place at the wrong time and ends up becoming a cocky bastard (Gridirion Brew, Make Sense, Gone Fishing).
So how about a story about a needy twink looking for a cocky, dominant top… and a poor, recently engaged guy — studious, respectfull, devoted to his beautiful fiancée, — who crosses paths with the wrong person at the wrong time.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy,” Adam slowly shut the door to his best man's room. “Drink some water before you pass out this time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” somebody groaned from inside. “You’re about to be someone’s husband and still sound like my mom.”
Adam shook his head, smiling as he headed toward the elevators. His bachelor party had turned into exactly what he expected: too much drinking, too much yelling, and the people he loved most acting like complete idiots together... He’d loved every second of it.
“Wouldn’t trade those idiots for anything,” Adam muttered as he stepped into the elevator, scrolling through reels Claire had sent him.
The doors had barely started closing before hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.
“Wait! Hold it!”
“Got you.” Adam stuck his arm out automatically.
“Oh, thank god,” the stranger breathed, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw Adam. “You seriously just saved my evening. I was starting to think I’d have to go upstairs alone.”
Adam laughed awkwardly, “I think you might’ve misunderstood something, I’m not looking for…”
“Shhhhh.” The guy stepped closer. “That’s okay. You’re gonna make me feel really fucking good tonight, stud.”
Adam blinked. “What?”
“Name's Nico,” he said lazily. “Don’t ruin this for me.”
Before Adam could answer, Nico leaned forward and kissed him. Adam's hands came up to shove him away, but he froze.
“I… sorry, I think you got the wrong...”
Then Adam looked at him again, words catching in his throat. His eyes dropped to Nico’s ass in those tight black jeans.
"You like?"
“Oh...” Adam swallowed hard. “No, I... I shouldn’t…” His thoughts raced. “I’m not into guys. I’m getting married…”
“Oh fuck…” Adam panted suddenly as his hand grabbed a fistful of Nico’s ass.
Nico smiled instantly. “There you go.”
Nico's hands slipped beneath Adam’s shirt, cool palms dragging over his stomach and chest before squeezing a growing pec. Adam’s breath caught instantly, the kiss turning rougher before he even realized it.
“Mmm… fuck,” Nico sighed against his mouth.
Adam groaned, fingers kneading the firm curve of Nico’s ass, while rough stubble grew along his jaw with every slow squeeze.
“You’re really into this now.”
“No… Nico, I can’t…” Adam broke away, face flushed, hands still on Nico's ass. “Jesus Christ… I’m getting married…”
“Shhhh.” Nico smirked, sliding his hands up Adam's shirt and through the hair spreading across his chest, “Oh my god,” Nico breathed. “You feel so fucking good already.”
“Fuck…” Adam gripped his ass harder as nails scratched down his back. “I need dis…” The words hit his ears wrong. “No… what de hell...?”
"Follow me, big guy."
And he did. The second the elevator doors opened, Adam followed. Right to Nico's room. The guilt twisted hard through his stomach.
“Claire...” Adam shuddered. “Can never know... about dis… fuck… she can’t…”
"Oh she never will." Nico giggled and pulled Adam into his hotel room.
Clothes were quickly discarded and Adam groaned as Nico's smooth bare skin pressed against his increasingly bulkier, hairier, and sweatier form.
“Fuck…” Nico’s hands slid over the thickening muscle in Adam’s arms, “I needed a man like you tonight.” He buried his face against Adam’s increasingly hairier pit and inhaled. “Mmm… you smell incredible.”
With a grunt, he shoved Nico against a wall, hand wrapping around his bare ass. Warm skin flexed beneath his palm, impossibly soft without the denim in the way... smooth, firm, and perfect in a way Adam had never thought about another man's ass before.
“Oh fuck…” Adam groaned shakily against Nico’s throat. “Ya Allah… you're drivin' me crazy…”
Nico smiled lazily while grinding up against him. “Mmm. Been thinking about you fucking me since the elevator…”
The words hit Adam hard and Claire’s face flashed through his mind again... Unaware her fiancé was naked in a hotel room with another man. The guilt swelled, but Adam still shoved Nico onto the mattress.
“Yeah…” Adam breathed heavily. “You... like dis? You want dis?" Adam climbed over him, their eyes locking as dark brown rings spread slowly through Adam’s blue irises.
“Fuck…” Nico's hands slid across Adam’s sweaty, hairier pecs, “That’s it… come here, big guy…”
Nico shifted and rolled onto his front, raising his bare ass against Adam's throbbing cock. Adam’s breathing turned ragged, stomach twisting hard. He wasn't this kind of man... He was Claire's dependable fiancé. Her best friend. Her future husband... Not the man currently grinding his cheating cock against another man’s ass.
“Fuck…” Adam tightened his grip on Nico’s hips. “Dis isn’t me… 'uqsim, hadha lays 'ana." Adam froze... that language... he didn't...
"Huh? Wh... fuck... Wh-what did you say?" Nico smirked and looked over his shoulder, "Oh fuck..."
Adam felt it before he saw it. His cock throbbed and grew to a size beyond anything Adam ever possessed. His cock head emerging from a sheath of foreskin he knew shouldn't be there.
"Dere is no way..." He whispered, "It's so..." He moaned as he grew another inch, cock now pressing against Nico's tight entrance.
"Please... I need it." Nico begged, "It's all I need tonight."
Adam gasped suddenly as his pecs filled with muscle. And as they did, his new chest hairs suddenly curled longer and darkened toward black against his heavier muscle.
“Fuck…” Claire used to fall asleep with her head against his lean chest. But these heavier pecs were damp with sweat and dark curling hair now, nothing like the body she loved. “Ya Allah… look at dis… it just keeps gettin’ thicker…”
“Mmm…” Nico moaned, glancing back at him.
“Oh fuck… what’s dat smell?” Adam grimaced.
“That's… you big guy."
“Mustaheel…” Adam muttered, lifting an arm and grimacing at the thick musk clinging to his sweat-soaked, matted pit hair, “Y-you like dis…?”
"Fuck… yeah. Smell like a real man… mmm, so fucking hot…" Nico whimpered.
Adam shuddered hard at the words. Claire used to steal his hoodies because they smelled clean and comforting. She would’ve recoiled from this heavy masculine musk pouring off him now.
"You're perfect..." Nico groaned, pressing his ass against Adam's erection, "Just... fuck me already."
“Wallah…” Adam nearly obliged, but Claire’s smile flashed suddenly through his mind, "What de fuck is wrong wit me?”
He dragged a shaking hand through his hair, catching on something unfamiliar along his cheek. He touched his jaw again instinctively and recoiled. Stubble. Thick, perfect stubble. He'd always joke about never being able to grow a real beard. Claire always told him she loved his clean-shaven look.
"How de fuck....?" He watched as dark hair thickened across swelling forearms and olive blotches crept slowly over pale skin, "Wallah?"
The mirror caught him briefly and he froze. Damp blond hair darkened toward black while brown swallowed the blue in his eyes. Those eyes Claire adored. The hair she loved threading through her fingers.
"I... I want you inside me..." Nico moaned, "J-just..."
Adam looked down and back to the mirror. The man staring back at him still carried traces of Adam in places, but not enough. Not enough for his friends or best man to recognize him. Barely enough for Claire. Even his own mother would hesitate… And panic rose in his chest. He just wanted to go back downstairs, back to his friends, back to the man Claire loved, back to being Adam again. Because right now, Adam didn’t feel like Adam anymore.
He grunted suddenly before he could even process that thought. His cock leaked as a low groan vibrated deep through his chest before he could stop it.
“Ya Allah…” His rough hands spread Nico’s ass cheeks. “You’re gonna take all dis for me, yeah?” The words hadn’t felt chosen. Neither had the smug grin slowly pulling across his face while his heavier body settled more naturally over Nico.
“Mmm… there you are...” Nico whispered softly, sounding relieved.
He couldn't hold back any longer. With a guttural growl, he buried his cock deep into Nico's ass. The twink let out a choked cry, back arching sharply as he was impaled.
Thrust.
Dense muscle any gym bro would be proud of settled over him in all the right places. Stronger hands pinned Nico down instinctively while his pace roughened.
“Fuck… ya Allah…” He stared down at himself breathlessly. “Bro… look at dese… fuck… Havin’ a body like dis feels so fuckin' good…”
“Mmm… trust me...” Nico whimpered. “Feels even better underneath you.”
Thrust.
Warm olive swallowed the last pale traces across his skin while heavy musk and cheap cologne clung permanently to his body.
“Mmm… such a slut... for my scent.” He grunted.
“Fuck…” Nico whimpered. “I wanna bury my face in your pits so bad…”
Thrust.
The last traces of his old facial features disappeared forever behind the thick beard, dark brown eyes, and a permanent cocky grin devoid of his usual warmth.
“Mmm… dat’s right,” He smirked when Nico stared up at him breathlessly. “Keep lookin’ at me like dat while I fuck you…”
Thrust.
“Wh-what’s your name, big guy…?”
“Kareem,” he answered immediately.
“Mhmm… that name...is... always popular…”
“Den scream it for me."
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.
Kareem slapped Nico's jiggling ass, “Mmm… dat’s right, habibi… take it,” he groaned smugly, "Fuck... Dis hole was... made for my... fat Arab cock... wasn't it?"
Thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust...
Kareem grunted, pace quickening. The engagement ring felt uncomfortable around his swollen finger, so he instinctively pulled it off and tossed it somewhere in the room.
“Mmm… fuckin' slut…” Kareem groaned, "Ya Allah… look at dis… all dis fuckin’ muscle… you fuckin' love it.” He slowed down, "You want me to finish?" He teased, "Want Kareem to fill you?"
"Pl-please..." Nico moaned into the mattress, "Kareem... oh fuck!"
"Ya Allah… you needed dis dick so bad.” Hands squeezing Nico’s hip harder. “Slut gets one real Arab guy smellin’ like dis on top of him and forgets his own name…”
Kareem buried himself deep inside Nico's ass, followed by a guttural roar as his cock erupted, flooding Nico's insides with thick, hot seed.
"Take it all, bitch... fuckin' take it!" he growled, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.
As the last pulses subsided, Kareem collapsed forward, his sweaty chest pressing against Nico. His softening cock still inside Nico. And Kareem's eyes closed.
-------------------
He woke slowly beneath tangled sheets, groaning as dense muscle shifted across his chest and arms. He scratched at the dark hair on his chest, his nose twitching at the scent of sweat, cologne... of him. For a few moments, he stared at his body, processing the sight.
“Ya Allah…” Kareem smirked to himself, “Dat twink ain’t ever recoverin’ from me…”
“Oh, you’re awake.” Nico glanced up from his phone. “Yeah... you're one of my best works yet...”
“What da fuck does dat mean?”
“Nothing.” Nico shrugged casually. “Anyway, you should leave... like now.” The words landed and the larger man froze.
Kareem blinked, sitting up slowly. “W-wait…” Uncertainty cracked faintly through the swagger for the first time. “Where do I go? What should I...?”
“Always the same questions.” Nico smirked, unable to recall the number of times he'd heard them, “I dunno. There’s a gym down the street? Download Grindr? Yeah... You’re hot. Someone’ll take you in.”
“Dat’s it?”
“I don’t really care.”
------------
Kareem stared in the mirror of a public restroom, wresting with the sense that he was supposed to be somewhere else doing something important. But without a phone, wallet, or anything else, he was lost.
But then he caught him. Some twink washing his hands, staring at him. And Kareem knew that look. The lust... A cocky grin spread across Kareem’s face.
“Mmm… you keep lookin’ at me like dat, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’.”
The guy flushed immediately. “S-sorry, I just…”
Kareem smiled lazily. Cute. Nervous. Kareem would have him wrapped around his finger easily.
“Mmm… yeah. You’ll do just fine for now, habibi. You got a place nearby or what?”
The old wooden sign reading “Blackthorn Lake House” still hung crookedly from the rusted iron post at the end of the long gravel driveway, half-hidden by overgrown ivy. Joey’s truck rattled over the familiar potholes as the two men drove in silence for the last stretch. It was late May, the air thick with the scent of pine, damp earth, and blooming wildflowers. Duncan stared out the passenger window, one elbow resting on the door, his expression unreadable.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Joey finally said, breaking the quiet. “Coming back here after all these years.”
Duncan nodded slowly. “Fifteen years. I still remember the last summer we spent here like it was yesterday. Mum cried for weeks after we left. She couldn’t even look at the place again.”
The house emerged from the trees like a ghost from their childhood. A large, two-story Victorian-style lakeside retreat with dark timber framing, wide verandas, and tall windows that once let in endless summer light. Now the paint was faded and peeling, the shutters on the upper floor hung at odd angles, and moss clung to the roof tiles. The garden had gone wild tall grass swaying in the breeze, rose bushes grown into chaotic thickets, and the old wooden dock stretching out over the dark water of the lake like a skeletal finger.
They parked and stepped out. The evening air was cool, carrying the gentle lapping of water against the shore. Crickets had already begun their nightly chorus.
“Still standing, at least,” Joey muttered, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder. “Your mum never sold it?”
“Couldn’t bring herself to. It’s been in the family since my great-grandfather built it. After Uncle Richard disappeared… she just locked the doors and paid someone to check on it once a year.”
They climbed the creaky porch steps. Duncan pulled out an old key that still somehow worked. The heavy oak door groaned open, releasing a rush of stale, dusty air that smelled of aged wood, old books, and faint traces of pipe tobacco that somehow never fully faded.
Inside, time had frozen. The furniture was still draped in white sheets like ghosts. Duncan pulled one off the big leather sofa in the living room, sending a cloud of dust dancing in the golden evening light filtering through the windows.
“Jesus,” Joey laughed softly, running his fingers along the carved mantelpiece. “Look at this. We used to race Matchbox cars right here. You always cheated.”
“I did not,” Duncan protested with a grin. “You just sucked at it.”
They spent the next hour exploring the ground floor together, beers in hand. Every room triggered another memory. The kitchen where they’d made disastrous pancake experiments. The hallway where they’d slid down the banister until Duncan’s mother caught them. The study lined with dark oak shelves still filled with Uncle Richard’s old travel books, maps, and strange artifacts from every corner of the world.
Eventually they made their way upstairs, footsteps echoing on the worn hardwood. The door to the attic was at the end of the corridor, half-hidden behind a tall cabinet. Duncan hesitated for a moment before opening it. Narrow stairs led up into darkness. He flicked on the old light switch. A single bare bulb hummed to life, casting long shadows across the vast, cluttered space.
The attic was exactly as they remembered it low rafters, trunks stacked high, old furniture covered in sheets, and shelves upon shelves of Uncle Richard’s souvenirs. Brass instruments, carved wooden masks, colorful textiles, strange coins, and glass bottles from distant lands.
They sat on an old Persian rug in the middle of the floor, legs stretched out, cracking open fresh beers.
“God, we were so sure we’d end up like him,” Joey said quietly, gesturing at the collection around them. “Traveling the world. No ties. Pure freedom.”
Duncan took a long sip. “Yeah. Remember how we’d play explorers up here? You’d put on that old turban and declare yourself Sultan Joey the Magnificent. I was always your loyal adventurer sidekick.”
Joey chuckled. “We swore we’d never settle down. No mortgages, no office jobs, no responsibilities. Just passports full of stamps and stories worth telling.”
A comfortable silence fell for a moment before Duncan’s voice grew heavier. “Instead, I’m turning thirty in two days with a wedding planned, a promotion that feels more like a cage, and a spare tire I can’t get rid of no matter how many times I join a gym. Kelly’s great, but… sometimes I wonder what the hell happened to us.”
Joey stared at the floor. “Tell me about it. Cynthia’s seven months pregnant. I love her. I really do. But I’m still pouring pints at The Crown six nights a week. No degree, no prospects, just scraping by. We were supposed to be different, Duncan. We had stars in our eyes.”
They talked for a long time about the girls, the jobs, the quiet disappointment that had crept into their lives like fog over the lake. The conversation eventually drifted back to Uncle Richard.
“You know… I still think about him,” Duncan said, voice low. “Mum never talks about it. The official story was that he just… vanished. Packed a bag one night in late August and was gone. No note. No body. The police investigated for months but found nothing. Some people thought he ran off with a woman. Others said suicide. But we both know that wasn’t him.”
Joey nodded slowly. “He was the happiest person I’ve ever met. Always laughing, always planning the next trip. Remember that scar on his arm he said came from a camel bite in Morocco? Or the way he’d tell stories about getting lost in the souks of Marrakech? Who would have thought this would be his last trip…”
Duncan stood up and walked over to a particular shelf. He picked up a small, ornate oil lamp made of aged brass with intricate oriental patterns sitting on a dusty box. It looked remarkably clean compared to everything else in the attic.
"This was his favorite piece,” Duncan murmured. “He told us once that it was special. Said it had… history.” He turned it over in his hands. “Funny. After he disappeared, Mum wanted everything cleared out, but she couldn’t touch this room. Said it felt like he was still here.”
What Duncan didn’t know what no one in the family had ever known was the truth. Uncle Richard had indeed found this lamp years earlier during one of his travels. He had become its master. He had made his wishes. And when the Genie had finished granting them in his own cruel, creative way, Richard had been transformed and rewritten into a new life far from this one. The Genie had neatly erased him from this world, leaving only mystery and grief behind. The lamp had returned here, waiting patiently for the next pair of dreamers.
Joey stood up and joined him, taking the lamp gently. “Crazy to think we used to rub this thing as kids, hoping a genie would pop out and take us on adventures.” He rubbed his thumb across the surface absentmindedly while continuing to speak. “Imagine if it actually worked. We could fix everything. Get our old bodies back. Have the careers we should have had. Live the life we always talked about.”
He tossed the lamp lightly to Duncan. “Your turn to make a wish, birthday boy.”
Duncan caught it with a laugh and rubbed it as well, playing along. “Yeah, sure. Three wishes to turn our boring lives into something legendary.”
The moment his fingers completed the second rub, the lamp began to vibrate.
At first it was subtle a faint tremor. Then it grew stronger. Duncan frowned. “Joey… it’s getting warm.”
Joey stepped closer. “What do you mean warm? Let me see…”
Suddenly the brass grew scalding hot. Duncan cried out in shock and pain. “Fuck! It’s burning me!” He tried to drop it, but for a terrifying second his fingers seemed stuck to the metal. Joey grabbed at it instinctively to help, and searing pain shot through both their palms.
They finally managed to fling the lamp to the floor. It clattered loudly against the wooden boards. Both men staggered back, clutching their hands. Their palms were bright red, already blistering, the skin looking raw and angry. The pain was intense, throbbing in time with their racing heartbeats.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell was that?!” Joey gasped; teeth gritted. Tears of pain pricked at the corners of his eyes. “It felt like molten iron!”
Duncan was breathing hard, staring at the lamp on the floor. Thick purple smoke had begun to leak from its spout, swirling unnaturally, rising and twisting in deliberate patterns. The air in the attic grew heavy, charged, as if the temperature itself had shifted.
The smoke thickened, coalescing, taking shape.
A tall, powerfully muscled figure began to form bronzed skin, bare chest, sheer blue silk pants. The Genie’s eyes opened, glowing faintly, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face.
The two friends stood frozen, pain and terror mixing as they stared at the impossible being now standing before them in the dusty attic.
The Genie tilted his head slightly, regarding their burned hands with mock sympathy. He raised one finger as if to say “wait,” and the purple smoke around him stirred again.
Then, very slowly, he began to move toward them.
The Genie stood before them in the dimly lit attic, towering and impossibly real. He was easily six and a half feet tall, with broad, powerfully sculpted shoulders and a chest that looked carved from warm bronze. His skin glowed with a healthy, sun-kissed tone. The only clothing, he wore was a pair of sheer blue silk pants that hung low on his narrow hips, the fabric so thin it revealed the heavy outline of his cock and balls with every subtle shift of his body. A faint, exotic scent of sandalwood, spice, and something electric filled the air.
Joey and Duncan pressed back against an old trunk, hearts hammering. Their burned hands throbbed with fierce pain.
“This isn’t real,” Joey whispered, voice shaking. “This can’t be real. Duncan, tell me this is some kind of fucked-up hallucination.”
Duncan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the being. “If it is, we’re both having it.”
The Genie’s lips curved into a slow, amused smile. His eyes a deep, piercing amber studied them with predatory interest. “Fear not, Masters. I mean you no immediate harm.” His voice was rich, cultured, with a faint accent that seemed to shift between languages. “You rubbed the lamp together. You freed me together. Therefore, you share three wishes. No more. No less.”
He took one graceful step forward. Joey flinched.
“Stay back!” Duncan shouted, cradling his blistered right hand against his chest. The pain was excruciating, like someone had pressed a hot iron into his palm. Blisters were already forming. Joey’s hand looked just as bad.
The Genie tilted his head, clearly enjoying their terror. “Such small injuries… and yet you tremble. How fragile humans are.” He raised his right hand slowly, deliberately, fingers spread. Purple smoke began to drift lazily from his fingertips. “Allow me to demonstrate my sincerity.”
Joey’s breathing quickened. “Don’t touch us! We don’t want anything from you!”
But the Genie ignored him. The smoke drifted toward them like living tendrils. Duncan tried to scramble backward but hit the trunk. The smoke gently coiled around both men’s injured hands without touching their skin. A strange warmth not burning this time, but soothing, almost silky enveloped their palms.
“Oh God…” Duncan breathed.
At first, nothing visible happened. The pain remained sharp. Then, very slowly, the Genie closed his eyes as if concentrating. The smoke pulsed. A tingling sensation spread across Duncan’s palm, like thousands of tiny needles dancing just beneath the surface. The redness began to fade from the edges inward. Blisters that had started to rise flattened gradually. The raw, angry skin lightened from crimson to pink, then to healthy flesh. The deep throbbing eased into a gentle itch, then disappeared entirely.
Duncan stared, wide-eyed, as he flexed his fingers. No pain. No mark. Nothing.
Joey’s healing was even slower, more theatrical. The Genie clearly wanted them to feel every second. Joey watched in horrified fascination as the blisters on his hand shrank, popped without fluid, and the skin knitted itself back together. The process took nearly a full minute. When it was done, both men’s hands looked completely untouched, as if the burns had never happened.
The Genie lowered his hand. The purple smoke dissolved. “Better?” he asked, voice dripping with mock politeness.
Duncan examined his palm under the attic bulb, turning it over and over. “How… how did you do that?”
“I am a Genie. Healing is among the simplest of arts.” He smiled again, but the expression never reached his eyes. Those eyes held centuries of cruel entertainment. “Now. You have three wishes. I suggest you use them thoughtfully. Many before you have regretted hasty words.”
Joey swallowed hard. His mind was racing. Part of him still screamed that this was impossible a prank, a dream, gas leak, anything. But the healed hands were undeniable. The being in front of them was undeniable.
He looked at Duncan. “We should just leave. Run. This thing is dangerous.”
Duncan hesitated, breathing heavily. “And if it’s real? If we actually have three wishes?” His voice dropped. “Joey… we’ve been talking all night about how we fucked up our lives. This could be our only chance.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Fear and desperate hope warred on both their faces.
“Fine,” Joey said finally, voice hoarse. “But we think carefully. No rushing. We discuss every wish.”
The Genie crossed his powerful arms over his broad chest and waited, clearly entertained by their mortal panic.
Duncan spoke first, choosing his words with care. “Before we wish anything… what are the limits? Can we wish for anything?”
“Almost anything,” the Genie replied smoothly. “I cannot raise the dead in their original form. I cannot force genuine love where none exists. And I cannot undo wishes already granted. Everything else…” He spread his hands. “Is negotiable.”
Joey ran a hand through his hair, thinking hard. “Okay. Okay. We need to be smart.”
They sat down again on the old Persian rug, keeping distance from the Genie. For nearly twenty minutes they talked in low, urgent voices, weighing possibilities while the Genie watched silently, his smirk never fading.
Duncan went deep into his regrets. “I’ve put on nearly thirty pounds since university. I feel old. Slow. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a guy who gave up. If I could just have my twenty-year-old body back lean, strong, full of energy that alone would change everything. I could actually enjoy life again instead of feeling like I’m already declining at twenty-nine.”
Joey nodded slowly. “I get it. For me… it’s the wasted potential. I dropped out after first year. If I’d stuck with it, gotten my degree in finance like I planned… I could’ve given Cynthia and the baby a real future. Instead, I’m pouring beers and worrying about rent. I wish I had actually succeeded. That I’d become someone.”
They kept talking, circling the same fears. What if the wishes backfired? What if the Genie twisted them? They tried to add safeguards, but every condition they imagined felt clumsy.
Eventually Duncan stood up, lamp in hand. His voice was steady despite the fear in his eyes.
“I wish I had the body I had at twenty.”
The Genie’s amber eyes flashed with dark delight. He bowed his head slightly.
“As you wish.”
A faint pulse of energy passed through the attic, but no visible change occurred yet. Duncan exhaled shakily. “It… it didn’t do anything.”
“It will,” the Genie said softly. “When all three wishes are spoken.”
Joey took the lamp next. His hands were trembling. He thought of Cynthia, of the baby on the way, of all the nights he lay awake wondering how he’d provide. His voice cracked slightly.
“I wish I had gotten my degree and made something of myself.”
“As you wish,” the Genie repeated, the same hungry smile playing on his lips.
Another subtle pulse. Joey felt a strange flutter in his chest but pushed it down. He handed the lamp back to Duncan.
They stood shoulder to shoulder now, holding the lamp together. The weight of the moment pressed down on them. This was their last wish the one that had to count.
Duncan spoke carefully. “We’ve spent our whole lives dreaming about this. Travel. Adventure. Real excitement. No more boring routines. No more feeling like we settled.”
Joey finished the thought, voice firm despite his fear. “We wish for the exciting life full of travel and adventure we were always meant to have.”
The Genie was silent for several heartbeats. His smile slowly widened into something predatory and ancient. For the first time, both men felt a chill run down their spines, as if they had just stepped off a cliff.
“As you wish,” the Genie finally purred, each word dripping with satisfaction.
He raised his hand dramatically.
The air in the attic grew thick with purple smoke and electric tension. A low humming filled their ears. Both Joey and Duncan felt a strange warmth bloom in the center of their chests pleasant at first, then rapidly intensifying.
They looked at each other, eyes wide with a mixture of apprehension and exhilarating hope. For a short moment, they felt like they were on the edge of the greatest adventure of their lives. They had found the long-lost spark that animated their hearts and days.
In front of them, the genie was standing straight, a malicious smile covered his tanned cheeks and with a sweet movement of his wrist and fingers, he snaped.
Purple smoke exploded outward like a living storm, choking them in thick, electric heat. Joey gasped in surprise first shortly followed by an intense sensation of discomfort followed by pain as the agony ripped into his legs.
“AHHHHHHH THE FUCK IS THAT!!! IT HURTS! MAKE IT STOP!” His thighs and calves shattered and swelled violently, bones lengthening with wet cracking sounds while powerful new muscle tore through his flesh. He collapsed to his knees as his feet followed, toes breaking and stretching, arches rising painfully as his shoes split apart.
Joey tried to look around with the hope to see his friend ready to help him or the genie about to snap his fingers again to cancel this clearly bad outcome of their wishes but he saw nothing, only purple glittery smoke bocking everything from his view.
“HELP ME!” He screamed one more time with the hope of finding help but he only heard a villainous laugh back in return echoing through the smoke and mist and coming back to his ears.
What has been granted cannot be taken back, master…
Duncan roared in terror as well. In the blink of an eye, the attic was gone and now all he could see was purple smoke all around him. He could still feel the wooden floor under his shoes but he couldn’t even see it.
“Joey! Joey, are you alright? Where are you?! JOEY!!” he creamed for his friend feeling the anxiety skyrocketing through his veins. “JOE… AAAAHHHHHH!!” his sentence was cut short as he felt a rush of heat followed by pain of breaking bones crashing through his legs.
Joey could feel his legs ballooned next, muscles exploding with brutal force far beyond anything from his youth.
The Genie hovered closer, smiling with dark amusement. “Begging already? How precious. This is only the beginning, Masters…” his voice echoing to both of them through the smoke.
The burning surged upward. Both men gasped and screamed as their chests expanded with sickening pops. Ribs widened, pectorals ballooning into thick, heavy slabs of muscle that stretched their skin painfully tight. “It’s breaking me apart!” Duncan howled. “Please… make it stop!”
Coarse dark hair erupted in their armpits as fresh sweat glands activated, flooding the attic with a thick, pungent masculine musk, heavy testosterone and raw male sweat. A dense treasure trail raced up from their groins, spreading across their newly carved abs and fanning over their swollen pecs.
Joey whimpered brokenly, “I can’t… I can’t breathe… please…” as he was feeling his overheating body starting to shut down and his vision blurring darkly because of his restarting nervous system and rearranging organs.
Duncan was crying and screaming in pain as he could feel his limbs starting to spasm on their own, muscles activating by forced electric signal sent by his brain drowning in a cocktail of hormones. He could feel his heart beat in each of his cells and could hear the sound of his pumping heart. Duncan was starting to dissociate when he heard the genie snap his fingers one more time. Out of nowhere, he felt his senses coming back to him as he heard the genie talk directly in his brain.
“We don’t want you to miss the best part of the show, do we?”
Out of nowhere, Duncan felt blood coursing through his body in one central position as he could feel his cock straining his jeans and getting trapped against his muscled and hairy thighs.
His cock surged forward with vicious intensity, thickening and lengthening into a massive uncut cock and with one more spasm from his un-controlling body and pumping heart, his cock contracted and torn apart his fly as he felt it slap hard against his hard rock forming abs. in the blink of an eye, it started to feel active and soon he could feel precum pumping out of his urethra and slushing all around his hairy abs.
Joey could feel changes happening to him as well. He was screaming in pain and fear as he could feel his cock straining against what was left of his Calvin Klein underwear. He could feel his heart beat in his hardening cock head as he could feel his foreskin starting to tighten around it because of the pression caused by his blood system. He could feel his nuts pulling lower and lower as sperm started to be product in huge proportions. His cock head was starting to look downward because of its weight and now was permanently bent down and slightly on the left side because of his left ball which were bigger than the right one.
“Please…. Stop, thi… iis” Joey said as he could feel his throat starting to heat up shortly followed by his chin and whole face. His features twisted in agony as his jaw sharpened, cheekbones rose, and his eyes tilted.
“HHAAAAaaAaaAaaaAAaaa… UUUHHHHhhhhHHHhH “screamed Joey as his voice cracked and shattered mid-scream, shifting into a younger, melodic tone thick with a heavy Arabic accent.
“MAkE iT stoP!!” Joey screamed one more time as his voice settled for a younger one.
Duncan’s own face hardened into something rugged and commanding, heavy stubble exploding across his jaw while a thick mustache appeared above his upper lip.
“What is happening?!” he screamed as his voice dropped into a deep, authoritative baritone.
“You two already sound way more in character!” said the genie to himself as he could see the possibilities opening for both of his masters in front of his eyes, appearing and disappearing in the purple mist.
Joey was still crying in fear and pain, his knees still on the ground when he felt the heat coming back.
“GOD NO, NOT AGAIN… PLEASE!!” the heat continued to climb and hike all around his tightened skin, leaving behind a rich golden-bronze hue, turning his skin into smooth coffee-toned perfection while Duncan’s deepened into a reddish sun-bronzed, powerful athletic glow.
Joey was crying as he could see his transformed and tanned hands in front of him, no sound coming out of his mouth because even the sound of his voice was terrifying to him now.
Creeping behind him, he heard the low baritone voice of the genie once again and felt chills running up his elongated spine.
“Something is missing… I don’t see your character fully… But what is it…” the genie continued as Joey turned around trying to face him and thinking that maybe if he did, he would be able to beg him face to face to turn him back but when he did, he saw nothing except the purple void.
“Found it!” he heard once again coming in front of him.
Joey’s eyes opened wide as he saw the genie materialized in front of him and with the flick of his wrists, he felt his torn clothes disintegrate into glitter that swirled in the mist.
Joey was hoping to see the kind face he saw when the genie first appeared to them but all he saw was the manly face wearing a vicious smile.
The genie opened his hands and Joey could feel pressure building in his dick.
“What are you doing?” He asked shaking in fear of what was about to happen.
“Please tell me, what are you do… AAAAHHHHHHH” The genie reached down and roughly seized Joey’s foreskin still covering the head of his enlarged new cock. Joey’s eyes widened in pure panic.
“No! No no no… IT’S GONNA BREAK, STOOOOO!!!” he screamed.
Duncan stared in horror and fear as he could hear the deep accented voice of someone echoing back to him, slightly muted by the mist hugging his modified body. He could feel his body continuing to spasm on its own without him having any control on it. He could feel his dick exhaling drops of precum with every heart beat, smashed against his hairy abs and leaking along his muscled thighs.
The Genie turned his back to Joey and smiled as he saw Duncan was still lost in the haze of his hormones and sensations while continuing to tear on Joey’s foreskin.
“I’m begging you… Please… Stop teari…”
SCRATCH
With one flick of his wrist, the genie torn out the foreskin as it detached in a snapping motion, releasing Joey’s cock that flopped back down against his legs, pointing downwards. His cock head now fully uncovered and extremely sensitive as he could feel the particles of purple dust touching his extremely sensitive skin. Joey was crying in fear as he realized the pain was completely gone.in fact, in a couple of second, all sensations were gone. It felt like his nerves had been numbed by years of frictions and movements against his now hardened cock head. He looked down and realize a neatly crafted scar was circling the base of his cock head.
He tilted his head back up to the genie as he watched the genie looking with a smile at the palm of his hand.
“Why have you done that… What have you done to me…” Joey continued to ask in a febrile voice.
The genie didn’t even look at him. He just continued to smile as he grabbed back his thick veiny cock in the palm of his left hand.
The Genie held the twitching piece of foreskin in his palm, exhaled a stream of purple smoke over it. The piece of foreskin started to levitate and rotate faster and faster in the palm of the genie. Joey could start to feel like his cock head was getting jerked off even though no one was touching it. The faster the foreskin went, the more he felt he was on the edge of cumming.
Joey tilted his head back up with almost out of breath as he could feel the orgasm rushing to him and his mouth barely open to let his breathing flow out.
The genie was looking at him and with a quick movement, he closes his hand on the foreskin.
Joey could feel pressure building in his groin as it felt like he was getting jerked off faster and faster.
Then as he was about to cum, his eyes starting to revolve inside his skull, the genie opened his hand again and all the sensations were gone, leaving Joey out of breath on the edge of orgasm.
In the palm of his hand, the foreskin was gone, reformed as a shiny golden loop earing with a blue sapphire on it.
Joey didn’t understand any of what happened, his brain still trying to function properly as it still was lacking oxygen from the forced edging session.
“What was that… what have you… done… Where is it…” Joey asked out of breath but the genie never answered, he just snapped his fingers and suddenly the golden foreskin earing disappeared in shimmer. Instantly, Joey felt a pressure building on his left lobe as he could feel it heating up with a pinching sensation.
joey was left flabbergasted, not understanding any of what just happened and what happened to his foreskin. He tried to look around, maybe catching his reflection in a shiny surface or something, but he didn’t see any of it. All he could feel was the cold wind on his numb cock head and the sensation of something dangling from his ear.
The Genie laughed softly, stroking his own massive erection. “I knew something was missing, master… now you look exactly like you should have, ready for your next big adventure.”
The genie took a step back and snapped his fingers one more time. Both Duncan and Joey felt like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders and like they could breathe again for the first time since the mist invaded their lungs.
As the two men collapsed, gasping and twitching in their new bodies, their old clothes finished to dissolve away. They stood there naked and, on the ground, as they could see the mist starting to fall to the ground and with them changing the dusty attic into a new room. Something with white industrial lights handing from the rooves. Then tiles started to appear on the walls soon followed by the ancient wooden cabinets turned into metallic lockers covered with stickers and grim.
as the mist finally reach their heads, new clothes started to shimmer into existence around their transformed bodies. A tight pair of black sport shorts for Duncan and a fitted V collar T-shirt with a black baseball hat. Then a pair of well used white trainers and high sport socks appeared on his bigger feet.
On Joey, a white jockstrap appeared on his body, forcing his cock to look downwards again, now fully entrapped inside the cotton prison and almost nudging against his own ass hole. The pouch being extremely prominent. Then a pair of tight-fitting black soccer shoes appeared on his tanned musky feet as socks finished to materialized against his legs climbing up to his knees.
The Genie kept lazily stroking his enormous, throbbing cock, veins pulsing under his bronze fingers as he watched the two broken men on the floor. His smile widened with sadistic pleasure.
“Look at you both… already so pretty in your new skins.” He then grabbed Joey by his thick, dark hair and yanked his head forward. “Open up, stud. Time to taste your new reality.”
Joey tried to pull away, eyes wide with terror. “No! Please don’… I’m not… I won’t…!” But the Genie’s grip was iron. He slapped his heavy, leaking cock against Joey’s plump new lips, smearing sticky precum across them.
“That’s it… fight me. I love when masters start to realize I am the one holding the cards.” The Genie laughed, low and cruel, then forced the thick head past Joey’s resisting lips and deep into his mouth. Joey gagged violently, eyes watering as the massive shaft stretched his throat. The Genie held his head in place and began thrusting with slow, deliberate strokes, fucking his face with relish.
“Mmmph! Mmmghh!” Joey’s muffled screams vibrated around the Genie’s cock. Tears streamed down his bronzed cheeks as he choked and drooled.
The Genie groaned in pleasure and taunted him between thrusts. “Yes… just like that. Suck it, stud. This is what your exciting new life tastes like. Keep crying… I love how your throat squeezes when you panic.” He laughed again, deep and mocking, pushing even deeper until Joey’s nose pressed against his hairy musky shimmering pubes.
After several long, brutal minutes of face-fucking, the Genie’s balls tightened. “Here it comes, boy. Drink every drop like the good little whore you’ve always been.”
With a loud, satisfied roar, the Genie came hard. Thick, glowing ropes of purple-tinged cum flooded Joey’s mouth and throat. Joey thrashed, desperately trying to pull back, but the Genie held him firm while laughing in pure pleasure. “Swallow it all. That’s it… good boy.” Joey continued to resist, gasping for air as he could feel cum rushing directly in his stomach. A weird feeling invading his throat and mouth as it felt like his tongue was numbing a bit.
After a couple of minutes frozen like that, the Genie slowly pull his still rock-hard cock free with a wet pop. Joey immediately tried to scream for help and gasping for air.
“Air, I need air…. Huuuuuuuuuu. I couldn’t breathe…” But the words that came out were completely different: “هواء، أحتاج إلى هواء... هووووو ...!”
His eyes widened in pure panic. He clutched his throat, trying again. “What the fuck?! Why can’t I speak English?! WHAT THE FUCK!!” Only fluent, desperate Arabic poured out: “يا إلهي! لماذا لا أستطيع التحدث بالإنجليزية؟! يا إلهي!”.
No matter how hard he tried, English was completely gone. He kept repeating frantic Arabic pleas, voice cracking with rising hysteria.
“أرجوك… أعدوني! أنا لا أريد هذا!” (Please… change me back! I don’t want this!)
Duncan stared in the distance, his head still spinning and still feeling dizzy from the smoke leaving his older lungs, taking more time to regain his senses.
“Joey? Are you ok? Where are you, where are we?! What happened to us...”
The Genie turned away from Joey’s sobbing of incomprehension. He took a look at Duncan and with a happy smile of work well done, he snapped his fingers.
Duncan suddenly gasped, clutching his head as memories began flashing violently before his eyes. Kelly smiling at him on their first date suddenly appeared clearly in front of his eyes, he felt like reliving this moment in the smallest detail but as his lips left her, he opened his eyes only to realize Kelly was now burning from his memories as in her place stood a very muscled Latino athlete looking at him with eyes full of admiration and hungriness. He couldn’t understand what happened or why that happened, suddenly he blinked and he was no longer on a bench in the park but instead in his living room with his computer on his laps, Kelly hugging him as they were planning their honeymoon, the house they wanted to buy, lazy Sunday mornings together… One by one they ignited and disintegrated. In their place, new memories flooded in with brutal clarity: the thrill of sneaking young athletes into hotel rooms during tournaments, the wet sound of tight asses stretching around his thick cock, the addictive taste of sweat and submission, the roar of stadium crowds mixed with moans in locker room showers.
“No… no, stop!” Duncan screamed, voice breaking.
“Kelly! Stop that please… KELLY!! I … I… Get out of my head! That’s not me… I’m not… I want to marry her… I love her… I… love her? Fuck… I love… her tight… No that’s not me, STOP IT!!! I love… his… ass? I LOVE FUCKING ASS!! NO Please… don’t…. do this…. Kelly… I love…” He fell to his knees as more of his old life was ripped away. The memory of proposing to Kelly burned to nothing and was replaced by the image of him balls-deep in a muscular exchange student after a late training session. Every time he tried to cling to who he was, another piece turned to ash. His personality was shifting, getting confidence, dominance, and an insatiable hunger for male bodies overwriting his old shy, settled nature.
“Please… I don’t want this… I’m Duncan, I’m not…” His resistance grew weaker as the new identity took root. Suddenly a new memory appeared in flashing color in front of his eyes, a new name appeared and engraved itself in his brain. Noah. He is Noah, he has always been and always will be. He is the coach, Noah. The traveler. The predator who lived for the next tight hole and the next victory.
The Genie watched with dark delight, lazily stroking himself again. “Welcome in your new life, master Duncan.”
The man who used to be Duncan, now fully Noah, stepped up as his manly hands caressed his hairy pecs, a dominant smile appearing on his cheeks as he took his first step into his new life, his cock rock hard and pressing against the front of his shorts, leaving nothing to imagination. He took another step and suddenly Joey heard the Snap echoing again. Suddenly, he felt his body starting to levitate from the wet musky tiled floor to the seat of a wooden bench that had seen thousands of athletic asses through the years.
Joey tried to resist but his body was completely immobilizing by the purple magic controlling and positioning him, his legs then were positioned up, giving free access to his tight hole.
Joey tried once again to scream for help but was still in incapacity to talk anything else then Arabic. He heard the genie laugh as he saw Duncan getting closer and closer to him, positioning himself between Joey’s forcibly spread legs.
His thick, veiny uncut cock throbbed angrily, already drooling precum onto the boy’s smooth, tight hole. Joey’s heart hammered in terror.
“Duncan, please don’t do this. We are friend, remember about Kelly. No don’t please, DON’T!!” he begged in fluent Arabic, voice shaking.
“أرجوك... هذا ليس أنت! أنا جوي! توقف!!!” (Please… this isn’t you! It's me, I’m Joey! Stop!).
Noah didn’t understand a word. He just grinned, spat on his cock, and pressed the fat, leaking head against Joey’s virgin entrance. With one brutal thrust, he forced half his massive length inside. Joey screamed, back arching off the bench as his hole was violently stretched open.
“AAAAAH! ألم! أرجوك توقف! إنه يؤلمني!” (It hurts! Please stop! It hurts so much!). Noah groaned in pleasure and kept pushing deeper, inch by thick inch, until his heavy balls rested against Joey’s ass. “Fuck… so goddamn tight. This Moroccan bitch was made for cock.”
Joey’s eyes rolled back as Noah started fucking him with long, powerful strokes, each one slamming harder than the last. The wet, obscene sound of skin slapping skin filled the locker room. Joey’s heavy circumcised cock bounced uselessly against his abs, leaking despite his horror.
Suddenly, Joey noticed movement above them. The Genie hovered near the ceiling, lazily stroking his own enormous cock and watching with cruel delight. Their eyes met. The Genie smirked, raised his hand, and snapped his fingers.
In that instant, the Genie’s form disappeared in shimmer. Then Joey saw from the corner of his eyes the air near the lockers next to the door starting to move and agitate. He then saw the genie’s silhouette appear and stated to melt and shrink, transforming into a tall, muscular young athlete with short black hair and a cocky grin. At the same moment, the locker room door swung open.
Captain Josh and four of his teammates walked in, already half-hard in their shorts thanks to the very intensive training and the overdose of testosterone and horniness running through their veins.
The newly-transformed Genie simply stepped forward and joined them, laughing with them all like he had always been a part of the group. No one else noticed anything strange and then even started to laugh back and talk like they truly know each other from years of practices and friendship.
“Coach! you already started without us?” Josh laughed loudly. “Look at Ahmed. Little slut can’t even wait.”
The players quickly stripped, tossing their clothes aside. Thick, hard cocks sprang free. Joey tried to plead with them, eyes wide with panic.
“أرجوكم، أتوسل إليكم، يجب أن تساعدوني. أنا لست أحمد، أنا جوي، لدي حبيبة وسأرزق بطفل قريبًا. أريد العودة إلى بيتي، ساعدوني، أرجوكم!!” (Please I’m begging you, you have to help me. I am not this Ahmed, I am Joey, I have a girlfriend and soon a baby boy. I want to go back home, Help me, please!!!).
The players just chuckled, not understanding a single word that came out of Joey’s mouth. One of them then took a step forward, his thick veiny cock in hand as he lazily jerked off. Joey opened tilted his head only to realize it was the genie now in the jock’s body.
“أرجوك لا تفعل ذلك، لا أريد هذه الحياة، لم أتمنَّ ذلك... مممم ...” (Please don’t do that, I don’t want this life, I didn’t wish for that… mmMMMmmGGgMGgggGG) Joey couldn’t even finish his words as the genie grabbed Joey by the hair and shoved his thick cock straight into the boy’s pleading mouth, cutting off his words. “Shut the fuck up with that Arabic shit,” he laughed. “Good little cumdump doesn’t need to talk.”
Everyone roared with laughter as they surrounded him. “Let’s go guys, we have a tanned bitch to fuck!” Josh mocked while lining up his cock at Joey’s already-stuffed hole alongside Noah’s.
“Maybe you’ll start to pick some words up after taking so much American cream!”.
They descended on him without mercy. Noah and Josh double-penetrated his ass, stretching him brutally wide while two others took turns fucking his throat once the genie was done with him. Hands roamed over his sweat-slicked bronze body, slapping his ass, pinching his nipples, and constantly tugging on the golden earring. Every pull sent humiliating jolts of forced pleasure through his cock.
“Fucking perfect exchange student,” one player grunted as he hammered into Joey’s throat. “Came all the way from Morocco just to be our team bitch.”
“Bet his family would be so proud seeing him like this,” another laughed. “He truly lives his American dream!”
Joey could only sob and gag around the cocks in his mouth, tears streaming down his face. “مممغhhh— أرجوكم… أنا لست مثل هذا… أريد Cynthia… أريد طفلي…” (Please… I’m not like this… I want Cynthia… I want my baby…). None of them could understand him and they didn’t care. They just kept using him harder, rotating positions, filling every hole, painting his bronzed skin with sweat and spit.
After what felt like an eternity of relentless pounding, the Genie still wearing the jock identity saw that Joey was on the edge of losing himself, his cock played with like a joystick by the one currently fucking him. He felt like he was on the edge but never close enough so he could be forced to cum.
The genie then grabbed the athlete that was hard fucking Joey by the shoulders and tapped his scapula as he asked for him to give him the space so he could finish inside the bitch.
The athlete laughs and then took his cock out of Joey’s opened ass.
“أرجوك... لا أستطيع فعل ذلك بعد الآن... أرجوك...” (Please… I can’t do …that, anymore… Please…).
Once again, Joey was cut short as the genie got his mouth closer to his ear and murmured.
“I hope you’ll enjoy your new life, Master!” Suddenly, he grabbed the earing between his calloused fingers and Joey felt like someone was directly playing with his cockhead and whole length. It felt like he was getting jerked off by the most delicate hand ever, it felt like he was getting sucked by the warmest mouth. His breath started to path faster and faster as he we slowly losing his sight, invaded by a pure feeling of pleasure. In front of his blurring vision, the genie smiled as he started to fuck him faster and faster, enjoying the view of Joey slowly losing his grip on reality and falling into dissociation.
With one more thrust of his cock deep against Joey’s prostate and a pinch of the hearing, the genie came hard and deep inside Joey’s welcoming hole, and as he did, Joey felt the orgasm finally rushing past the point of no return as he could feel his length starting to contract and in an instant, starting to release the only trace of his Britannic DNA.
A devastating orgasm ripped through him. His circumcised cock exploded hands-free, shooting thick ropes of cum across his own chest and abs while every muscle in his body spasmed around the cocks buried inside him.
In that exact moment, his mind shattered and reformed.
Memories burned away in purple fire: the old house at Blackthorn Lake… the summers with Duncan… proposing to Cynthia… the ultrasound pictures of their unborn baby boy… nights at the bar dreaming of travel… all of it turned to ash. New memories flooded in to replace them, a sun-drenched childhood in Morocco, arriving in Huston at 21 as an exchange student, struggling with English, quickly discovering he was gay and addicted to getting fucked and used like the sextoy he truly was. The endless locker room sessions, the hotel rooms during away games, the thrill of being passed around by the team. He was Ahmed now. A 21-year-old power bottom who lived for cock, especially Coach Noah’s and his teammates’. English was hard for him, but his body spoke fluently.
When the orgasm finally faded, Ahmed blinked slowly, a slutty, satisfied grin spreading across his cum-covered face.
“Coach Noah…” he moaned in heavily accented English; voice hoarse but eager. “المزيد... مارس الجنس معي بقوة أكبر، من فضلك...”.
The players laughed and kept going, knowing their favorite cumdump was ready for another round.
Coach Noah was waiting behind them, his arms crossed as he felt his cock jump in anticipation knowing he would require a private session with Ahmed later on in his office. Only Ahmed and him.
In the months that followed, Noah and Ahmed lived the exciting life full of travel and adventure they had wished for so desperately in that dusty attic.
They flew from city to city, country to country, following the demanding schedule of international university tournaments. New hotels every week. New locker rooms. New opponents, and new teammates, eager to celebrate victories deep into the night.
Noah’s powerful 6’3” body, thick with muscle and commanding presence, was everything Duncan had once dreamed of and more. He thrived as the dominant, respected coach who lived for the game… and for bending young athletes over whenever the mood struck him.
Ahmed, the 21-year-old Moroccan exchange student, had become the star attacking midfielder everyone wanted. He had gotten his degree in the form of a sports scholarship and was well on his way to making something of himself and his life, at least on the pitch and in the bedroom. His bronzed, athletic body and eager, talented hole made him the team’s favorite power bottom. He barely spoke English, but he didn’t need to. His body communicated perfectly.
Every night after training or matches, Ahmed found himself exactly where he now belonged: legs spread wide, moaning sluttily in Arabic and broken English as Coach Noah and the boys took turns wrecking him. The golden earring made from his former foreskin remained his most sensitive spot, one playful tug and he would cum hands-free, shaking and begging for more like the perfect cumdump he had become.
All that remained were sun-soaked memories of Morocco, the thrill of arriving in Huston, and the addictive rush of being passed around by his coach and teammates. He was happier than he had ever been, a gay, cock-hungry 21-year-old who lived for the next load and the next victory.
The wishes had been granted and they would finally live the lives they craved for.
They no longer remembered Cynthia and Kelly.
They no longer remembered the baby and their bored lives.
They no longer remembered Duncan, Joey, the attic, or the terrified man they used to be.
High above, safely tucked away in the ornate brass lamp that now rested on Coach Noah’s office desk, the Genie leaned back in his lamp with a contented sigh. Once known as Uncle Richard many decades ago, he had learned this lesson the hard way himself after wishing for a life full of magical adventures and being able to help people while having a long and joyful life full of pleasure and happy moments. Now he made sure others learned it too, slowly, thoroughly, and without mercy, one wish at the time.
I hope you’re having an amazing day! This is the story you guys voted for, with a little twist from my side. I had a blast writing it, and I think this one might be one of my all-time favorites to this day.
Thank you so much to everybody who voted in the poll, and thank you so much to @bremenmask for sending me this ask. I really appreciated it, and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
This story officially marks my first step into my thirties, and I hope they’ll be just as good as the previous decade. I want to thank all the friends I’ve made along this journey, and I can’t wait to meet new ones.
To everybody who has sent me kind messages, please know that even if I don’t reply to all of you, I read everything, and I love interacting with you as much as possible. So please continue to send me messages if you want to talk about ideas or simply if you feel lonely :)
A huge thank you as well to @mystrangetfs for his very useful help in brainstorming and putting this story together, especially for helping me create and find the pictures.
I can’t wait to hear your feedback, and I hope you’ll appreciate this story as much as I do.
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...
Hey, I am a scrawny white guy stuck in the middle of Midwest America. It is really cold right now. What I wouldn't trade to be somewhere warm and sunny. Maybe be another ethnicity
Shivering as you slid deeper underneath the covers, you let out a soft sigh as you felt the cold air nip at your toes. While you were used to cold, frosty winters, this season seemed particularly brutal. Even with the heaters turned on, you could only toss and turn underneath the covers in some desperate attempt to warm yourself enough so you could fall asleep. But sleep didn’t seem like it was coming for you any time soon, and you weren’t exactly eager to pass the time counting sheep.
Reaching over towards your nightstand, you picked up the VR headset your friend lent you for the weekend. He was originally planning to return it to the manufacturer, citing a weird electrical problem and glitchiness that was messing up his gaming experience. But since you didn’t have your own VR set, he offered to let you play with his for the weekend. Your friend had been raving about this new RPG where you could customize your own avatar and build up a fictional person for yourself. The game boasted of being a fully immersive experience, to the point that users could control themselves without even moving in real life. It was the perfect thing for you to play while you huddled under your blankets to stay warm. According to your friend, there was a weird glitch making the game “unplayable,” but there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the device itself.
As you slipped on the virtual headset, you selected the game to load up. The icon art seemed really simple and silly, showcasing a crudely drawn picture of a sunny day, a palm beach, and some ocean waves. The game was listed as Spring Break! A Vacation Getaway, with a tagline that promised to “whisk you away to paradise!” Snorting a bit to yourself at the basic premise, you tapped through to set up an avatar. Unfortunately, it seemed as though there was no option to customize your own avatar, as each character was uniquely linked to a device. The option for a new game or a new character was greyed out, and there was no other option but the avatar your friend had already built for themselves.
You sighed as you selected the premade option, letting the game load in. The pitch-black loading screen was quickly replaced by a blindingly bright light, to the point where you had to squint your own eyes to shut out the glaringly white visuals. As your eyes adjusted to the sudden change, you found yourself staring at a completely different image from your normal, scrawny self. The avatar in the bathroom was far bulkier and broader than you, and its tanned skin indicated hours spent basking in the warm sun. You gaped at the model your friend made, bringing a hand up to rub and squeeze at one of the pecs jutting out underneath your shirt. Just the mere act of brushing up against the fabric felt so real, to the point where you could almost feel a mountain of muscle underneath your massive paws, even if this was all fake.
It was certainly stimulating enough for your own cock to twitch a little in excitement, and you began to flex and pose with your friend’s avatar in the mirror. If you couldn’t make up something for yourself, this was certainly the next best option. You couldn’t help but marvel at how immersive the experience really was, and you didn’t even have to leave the warm comforts of your bed to enjoy this beefy body. Of course, there was a rather devious thought that slipped into your head as you marveled at the man’s muscles. With games like this, they often censor the most private and explicit parts. But since it was only you in the privacy of your own room, there were plenty of questions that you simply had to answer for yourself.
Peeling back the tight clothing off your beefy body, you grunted as you took in the view of your new frame. Even without fully undressing, you could feel the absolute weight and heft that was with your new body. You cheekily brought up one hand to grope and squeeze at your pecs, and the extra sensitivity from your new body made you inadvertently moan. You had to take in all the aspects of your new body, and you unzipped the slacks to see what else you were working with.
You savored the sight of the rather hefty and sizeable bulge that was causing your underwear to hang low from your body. Even without a full arousal, you could practically see the outline of your extra thick cock pressed up against the cloth. The girthier size made you naturally reach down in excitement, and your fingers also cupped the heavy balls tucked into the undergarments. Fondling your new family jewels only informed you of all that extra potent and virile seed that was practically begging for a release. Your friend must have made this avatar’s libido high, if that was even a customizable option, given how much this body seemed to ache for release.
Fishing out your virtual cock, you eagerly began to touch and stroke yourself. Even the mere sensation of your fingers touching it felt so real, and you shuddered in anticipation of what the climactic finish would look like. Soft grunts slipped out of your lips as waves of pleasure reverberated out from the headset towards your own body. You found yourself mimicking the avatar’s actions, palming your own arousal to the same rhythm. You had no idea how this game was causing you to feel such stimulations, but you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to care. It was simply too addicting, watching the beefy, naked man in the mirror rub one out. Droplets of precum began to drip from the swinging pole between those meaty thighs, and you made the avatar use it as lube to stimulate its own erection.
Suddenly, your immersion was quickly interrupted by a pixelated message window popping up in front of your view. While you were still able to see through the translucent virtual message, you growled in mild annoyance at the message blocking your moment of personal desires. It didn’t stop you from continuing to tug and stroke away at your virtual self, though, but the message was quite unclear in what it was suggesting.
Upload incomplete. Halted progress at 62%. Stimulation resuming the upload…
This must have been the glitch that your friend mentioned, which was clearly obstructing the best parts of the virtual experience. Whatever was going on with the loading bar was certainly progressing with each passing moment as you drew closer to a climax. At this point, you didn’t even care what was going on. You were far too invested in savoring every last bit of this beefy, muscular hunk of an avatar. The whole body was practically thrumming with sensitivity, and your hips bucked upwards into your hands as you found yourself nearing an orgasmic bliss. Both you and the avatar seemed to sync up in movements now, although you weren’t exactly focused on the game’s unique and clever technical design. Instead, your pants began to grow louder as you watched the beast of a man begin to unravel in the mirror. Staring down at your juicy body in the game, you watched as the heaving pecs bounced and jiggled with each stroke. The thick, veiny biceps bulged as you flexed while stroking that swinging baton of a cock.
And suddenly, you found your hips bucking upwards as thick ropes of cum spurted out from your cock. The avatar’s load seemed to be far more in volume than yours, but no less explosive. You shuddered as both bodies jolted and twitched with each spurt out of you. It was satisfying in a way that was simply too hard to explain, and your eyes could only roll back from the immense pleasure. But at the peak of the climax, a sparking electric shock zapped your temple, and a flash of pain caused your vision to go completely white. You had a fleeting thought, almost wondering if you had gone and truly broken your friend’s game. But suddenly, some text began to focus into view as the white light faded away.
Upload completed. Progress at 100%. Loading into a new reality.
As you slowly came down from that orgasmic high, you couldn’t help but groan a bit in mild embarrassment at your rather lewd and sexual exploration of this avatar. The clarity was starting to hit your head, and you couldn’t help but chuckle lowly at your actions. However, the deep, rumbling bass in your voice caused you to furrow your brows in confusion. You didn’t always have such a dominant-sounding voice, did you? Bringing up one of your thick hands to rub at your Adam’s apple, your eyes began to widen in surprise as you found the avatar’s body mimicking every action that you were doing. Of course, you had been guiding and controlling it before, but something felt far too real now.
Shuddering at the almost uncanny feeling you were getting, you raised your meaty hands up to pull off the virtual headset device. However, your fingers only brushed at the sides of your face, and you stared back at your body in the mirror. There wasn’t anything there to take off. In fact, with the headset on, the bathroom you were in felt very real. You could feel the warm, tropical air rubbing against your skin, the cool breeze of the air conditioner blowing on your broad back, and the cold sensation of the tile under your bare feet. Stumbling away from the mirror, you quickly moved out of the room, flinging the door open to reveal a rather lavish and extravagant master bedroom.
A quick stumble about the place quickly revealed that you were standing in what appeared to be the top of a penthouse. Your confusion was only coupled by how real everything felt to the touch: the doors, the windows, the view. If this game was still boasting of an immersive experience, they had really gone all out. But there was a sinking feeling behind your heaving pecs as you jogged about the place, as you began to realize that there wasn’t a clear indication on how to quit out of the game if you couldn’t pull off the headset. And in the slight moment of realization as you ambled back into the bathroom, a new virtual message popped into view.
Biophysical assets loaded in. Uploading cognitive assets…
Before you even had the chance to read through the text on the loading bar, there was a sharp and searing pain in your head. Your temple throbbed with a heavy, beating pulse, as if you could hear your own pounding heartbeat. Even in such a strong and muscular body, you couldn’t help but stumble forward, clasping onto the countertop with a loud grunt. Your eyes squeezed shut from the needling sensation, as though something was burrowing into your skull. Through your teary eyes, you could just make out a new loading bar beginning to fill with progress.
And with a rather audible pop and crackle inside your head, a flood of new memories began to rush in. It was like a torrent of information, with a force so strong that it began to wash away whatever information you had about yourself. Memories of yourself growing up in the American Midwest were replaced by memories of your hometown in Vietnam. In fact, as far as you could remember, you had never been to America as a kid. It wasn’t until you started pursuing your career in mixed martial arts that you began competing over there. It had always been a goal of yours to make a name for yourself, and with all this growing fame and popularity going to your head, it made sense that you had such a large and lavish penthouse all to yourself to call home.
You grunted as your confused and pained expression began to shift into something more cocky and hot-headed. Your hairy eyebrows knit together as you gave a rather loud and audible growl, bringing your arms up to flex your muscles. There was some part of you that had this weird idea that you were some skimpy, scrawny white nerd. But there was no way people would mistake “The Beast” for skimpy and scrawny. You shook your grizzled head, bringing a hand up to rub at your scruff. You were probably thinking of some fan of yours who had flown out from America to watch one of your fights. With all those eager twinks lining themselves up for you in the locker room after you bested your opponents, it was hard to keep track of their faces. None of them ever seemed to complain anyway; you always made sure they left with quivering legs and holes filled to the brim with your potent seed.
Smirking at yourself in the mirror once more as you caught a whiff of your musk, you could feel your head begin to clear up that mental fog. You flexed your back and rolled out your shoulders, only reaching back to squeeze and rub at some of your sore muscles. Perhaps you just went a little too hard with your morning workout. It was easy for a jock like you to get lost in the sauce when you lifted weights. Everything came so easily for you there. Outside of that, you let your managers handle the rest of the logistics in your life. There wasn’t any other room in your head to think of complicated shit; you were built to fuck and fight.
The soft ping of the loading bar completing its upload made you blink in confusion. You didn’t get why there was some weird floating text before your eyes. Blinking your eyes seemed to do the trick, though, and the virtual bar disappeared in a shimmer of pixels. All you could remember was the final line of text.
Enjoy your spring break paradise!
You shrugged your broad shoulders as you picked up your phone, seeing a few texts from your coaches asking if they were gonna see you later. Tapping your fat thumbs along the screen, you managed to work out a semi-coherent reply. There was no way they’d think you’d miss a gym session. It seemed like both you and the bros didn’t get enough sleep last night with all the weird shit that was going on. You figured you could swing by the massage parlor before you had your second lifting session of the day. It was practically a ritual for you at this point, since you had practically done this your whole life.
Mason hadn’t slept since the second night. The weight of his brother’s disappearance clung to his chest.
No calls.
No texts.
And worse, no answers. Tyler had shown him the damn ring, all trembling hands and wide eyes, the night he went missing. He Said he was going to propose after his shift at the shop.
But he never came home.
Now Mason was standing in the same foyer where he imagined his brother had stood two nights earlier. inside the clean, stale-smelling home of Mr. Dyer, the girlfriend’s father. Mason had to come to ask if his brother had stopped by. The man was calm.
So calm. He offered coffee.
"Boys leave town all the time," Mr. Dyer said, sipping his cup. "Maybe he got cold feet, he seemed the type if you know what I mean."
Mason’s stomach twisted. "That’s not him."
He pretended to use the bathroom but really he was searching. He crept down the hallway, cracking open any door just to glance inside. He paused at the office room.
A wall of tapes. VHS tapes. Dozens. All lined up on old oak shelves. Mason squinted. Those things looked prehistoric, who used VHS anymore?
Handwritten labels. Male names. One near the bottom looked fresh...
Mason took a sharp breath in.
TYLER, black Sharpie scrawled across white tape spine. A photo was taped beside it, slightly askew: a shirtless Latino man in a club, getting grinded on. The man looked familiar
almost like...
Mason’s hands started to shake.
****
That night, Mason broke into the house.
It was too easy. He had noticed the back window didn't have a lock when Mr Dreyer had seen him off.
Heart thudding. He sprinted straight to the office, popped open the cabinet under the shelf, and yanked out the chunky silver VHS player. He shoved in the tape labeled TYLER, pressed play, and dropped to his knees in front of the screen sitting low to the floor.
Snow. Static. Then the tape kicked on.
It flickered,
then opened on a pounding club scene—low lighting, writhing bodies, synthy Brazilian funk thumping against the camera mic. The crowd parted slightly and then...
Tyler
Tyler appeared, mid-frame, Glitching into existance,
standing like he’d just been dropped from the sky. Same hoodie. Same confused face.
"HELLO?!" Tyler screamed up at the ceiling, looking terrified. "I DON’T KNOW WHERE I AM! LET ME OUT! PLEASE - MR. DYER - PLEASE!"
A voice sounded through the speakers, smooth, Calm, Cruel.
"You should’ve stayed away from my daughter, Tyler."
Mason watched confused. The crowd didn’t notice. The bodies kept moving, bathed in pink and purple light, sweat glistening on bare torsos, Groping and grinding. Mr Dyer Spoke again,
"I always mess up this next part—hang on…"
Tyler flinched. His body convulsed slightly, flickering with the VHS. Mason watched, jaw clenched tight, stomach turning with a strange cocktail of dread and disbelief.
glitch
The change was instant.
His skin tone deepened, a radiant bronze overtaking pale peach.
Glitch,
His arms bulged, thick biceps rounding out with a sudden pump of
meat.
GLITCH,
His shoulders broadened, pecs heaving out, nipples pushing against his hoodie, until the fabric shimmered and melted away into a sheer mesh tank top that clung to his glistening chest.
Tyler gasped, staggering. "W-what’s happening—?"
"You’ll look better like this," said Mr. Dyer’s voice, "You'll match the set."
The Screen Flickered,
His legs thickened with a visible rush of mass. Muscle piled onto his thighs, ass ballooning into a dancer’s dream. round, high, juicy. The waistband of his jeans shredded away, replaced by skimpy white club shorts so tight you could see the pulse of his cock through the fabric. His calves flexed with each stumble, now carved from stone.
The screen flickered into static for a moment.
Mason watched in frozen horror as his brother’s jaw sharpened, lips plumped, eyes darkened with smudged kohl liner, hair tightening into a slick, stylish fade. Tyler screamed again, but the voice cracked, pitch dropping, accent thickening.
"Por favor—o que—o que está acontecendo?!"
His voice rolled with flavor now, every word wrapped in those perfect lips
"Final adjustment," Mr. Dyer said.
Tyler’s face twisted, then relaxed.
A flicker of pleasure twitched through him. His hips began to sway with the music. His moans turned low, drawn out, thirsty.
He blinked slow. His hands slid over his own glistening pecs, fingers tweaking his nipples, tracing the sweat between his abs. And then he was dancing
pressed against a thick stranger, grinding with perfect rhythm, head tilted back in ecstasy.
The camera panned in slow, capturing every bead of sweat trailing down his neck. His hard-on throbbed against his partner’s thigh, shameless and twitching.
The tape rolled. Mason stared, mouth dry, heart pounding.
What the hell had he just watched? some sort of SICK Porn Mr. Dyers was funding? He must have Tyler locked up somewhere, doing awful things to him! He had to get this tape back to the police, then maybe -
click.
The light flicked on.
Mr. Dyer stood in the doorway, an old camera in his hand. It didn’t look like any Mason had ever seen
A black chrome body, red lens, a high pitched whine being emitted. The air around it shimmered like heat off pavement.
"Don’t worry," Mr. Dyer said, voice calm. "You’ll get to see him again."
Mason barely got a "Wait, please-" out before the flash went off.
*****
The club slammed into existence around him.
Sweat. Lights. Bass. Heat. Skin. The smell.
Mason stumbled, gasping, His body was on fire.
HIs vision glitched like hed seen on the VHS tape.
Flicker,
He shirtless now, his jeans already stitched into something obscenely tight.
The air clung to him, every inch of skin instantly slicked with oil and desire. Tyler’s voice cut through the noise:
"Bem-vindo, mano... tava sentindo sua falta."
Mason turned and there he was
HIs Brother,
Tyler. But not anymore
Radiant and sweaty, pecs bouncing to the rhythm, cock outlined through paper-thin white mesh.
"No...no....Tyler, snap out of it!"
GLITCH
But his own voice was changing now. Thicker. Heavier. Words slurring. His thighs swelled, veins surfacing. His ass bloomed, stretching the tiny shorts he hadn't even noticed forming around his hips. Sweat dripped from his hair, down his chest and back.
His abs popped, each one a brick glistening with sweat, torso flexing with each ragged breath.
"F-Fuck, no - please I can’t..."
But it felt so good.
His cock throbbed in the fabric, already wet at the tip. His new skin shimmered bronze, He could smell his own musk.
The former Tyler pulled him into a slow grind.
Their sweat-slicked bodies met, pecs colliding, arms wrapping. Mason’s breath hitched as his hips began to move on their own, grinding back. His moan escaped deep, His tongue curling before he even knew what he was saying.
"Porra... me sinto quente pra caralho..."
FLICKER
The last of his mind tilted.
The club roared.
"Vamos dançar, irmãozinho," Tyler whispered against his ear, grinding harder, tongue tracing Mason’s neck.
Mason smiled, lips parted, cock hard and twitching in his shorts.
They danced. They kissed. They moaned. The beat drowned out everything else.
And just like that, the tape kept playing.
Forever.
NOW PLAYING: “TYLER & MASON"
[DO NOT REMOVE FROM SHELF]
PRIVATE COLLECTION ~ M. DYER
"Diversity hire?" He shakes his head. "I'm Irish but I don't think being Irish counts as a diversity hire. I'm not even gay!"
Hugh, manager of Gay Paradise Resort and Lounge, is a white guy who's picking his teeth with a toothpick. He rolls his eyes.
"Look," he reaches into his desk and places a Speedo on top of it. Davis can only assume this is his uniform. "It's not that bad. You just go around in your Speedo and look good. The sun will get to you, give you a nice tan. You look a little pale."
Davis ignores the comment. He takes his uniform for the day and heads to the locker rooms to change. He really needs the money. He feels guilty at the fact that he, a straight white man, is going to be parading around a queer-centered, majority POC staffed resort, but the job market is shit. He grabs the neon yellow Speedo and sees, to his dismay, a giant Colombian flag emblazoned on the front. Hugh steps into the locker room as Davis slides the Speedo over his crotch and ass. It's roomy in both departments which is supremely embarrassing.
Hugh motions for Davis to follow him. "Your name is Danilo. D-A-N-I-L-O. And you're from Bogotá. Got it?"
"Isn't this, I don't know, a little fucked up?"
Hugh's face is unreadable. "You'll get used to it."
They walk for a few minutes and emerge from the locker room and out onto the poolside. The water is so blue it looks fake. The loungers have crisp, white upholstery. Every guy hanging out is ridiculously good looking, buff or toned from regular workouts. It's like he's stumbled onto a White Lotus set.
He does see a lot of diversity out on the pool, a few white servers and loungers but mostly Black, Thai, Japanese, Indian, Native American, and Latine. He's impressed by the mix of body types as well. Chubby, muscular, a mix of both or scrawny like Davis. He feels a little more comfortable but not entirely at ease. He feels weird. A butterfly sensation in his stomach like he's nervous about something. Tingling rippling through him that doesn't feel bad just off.
Chill out dude.
"Have fun out there," Hugh says. "You know where to find me if you need anything."
Hugh is gone for all of five seconds before a handsome Thai boy in a thong - that does nothing to support his thick bulge - hands him a drink and points to a guy saying, "This is for him. Welcome aboard newbie!"
Davis smiles and walks the drink over to the guy. He's wearing sunglasses and a blue thong. He's quite literally the biggest man Davis has ever seen, stacked with so much muscle it's a wonder he's able to apply his sunscreen. The man's bulge is lewd and Davis tries not to make a face.
He takes the drink and says, "Gracias, hon," with one of the deepest voices Davis has ever heard.
Davis sort of stands there, unsure of what to do. That fluttery feeling builds in his stomach as he finds himself staring at the man's chest. Abs, arms, bulge. It reminds him of whenever he sees a hot chick, like he's drinking in the man's features.
"Need something?" the bodybuilder asks, not unkindly.
Davis blushes and scurries away like a startled bunny.
Calm the fuck down.
The Thai waiter gives him a glass of water. "It's okay to be nervous, it's your first day. Relax and enjoy the sun!" He smiles so sympathetically and sweetly it kind of makes Davis's heart squeeze.
After taking several deep breaths and chugging the water, he settles pretty easily into a rhythm. Serving drinks and food and occasionally turning around and bending over seductively to pick up something he drops. He hopes he doesn't look too stiff or awkward but he just imagines he's one of his exes, making sure the guy can see his non-existent tits. He only really trips up when he has to say his name is Danilo and not Davis. But he kind of sort of gets the hang of it enough to not awkwardly pause before saying it. It takes him a bit longer to actually respond to the name consistently.
The fluttery feeling only intensifies through his shift as the sun beams on him no matter how much shade he tries getting, afraid his pasty skin is going to get burned. And also trying to avoid the bodybuilder's gaze from beyond his Ray-Bans, which only makes this nervous giddiness worse.
He's happy when he notices that his skin is seemingly tanning instead of burning and a few men make a comment on it. One of the Black servers - Jeremiah - tells him it looks nice.
But still he feels off. Starting with his ass.
It feels sore for some reason. A pleasant ache radiating from both cheeks. Davis absently rubs his cheeks when he's not moving between loungers to try and soothe it. He tries to do it as discreetly as possible because he's still not totally comfortable with these men ogling him so openly. The ache intensifies and it feels like his skin is really sensitive, like he's more aware of the Speedo's fabric. He grits his teeth as he serves drinks as his ass begins to feel...bloated? Like there's gas built up in both cheeks. His breath hitches as he feels his ass, his pancake ass, wobbling behind him. He catches his reflection in one of the many windows peering out into the pool area and sees that his ass is indeed bigger.
Much bigger. And - brown?
His ass is fat and juicy, squeezing against the Speedo in a way that it most certainly didn't do earlier. Touching it reveals it's mostly muscle so it's perky, firm and sitting high up on his thighs. The increased weight leaves his mouth hanging open as he feels that the cheek he's fondling is getting ... softer. It feels like ice cream is being churned in his ass as it surges forward again, this time making him moan in both surprise and also because it felt kind of ... good. A few servers glance his way but nobody seems to be paying much attention to him.
His dormant prostate tingles oddly just as his asshole puckers against the fabric of the Speedo being sucked between his fattening, tanning ass. He can feel it swelling, fattening up. It feels so good it's taking him everything in his power not to moan. His cock twitches absently and he turns even redder, certain he looks like a fucking tomato now. Every step makes his ass jiggle tantalizingly, like he's a stripper putting on a show. It gets even worse when he feels that pleasant warmth spreading to his thighs. He can feel that pleasurable churning sensation deep in the bones and muscle, gritting his teeth as the bronze color spreads from his still thickening ass and down his legs. The previous twigs slowly start inflating. Fat but mostly dense muscle bloating and stretching his now officially thick legs, which also begin jiggling alongside his dump truck.
"Hey," Jeremiah says. "That guy is signaling to you."
Davis blinks and sees the bodybuilder coyly pretending to be sunning. He can feel the man's stare from his periphery as he gasps, his thighs now touching each other and squeezing his balls in between. His ass heaves, nearly swallowing the tightening speedo as it reaches genuine bubble butt territory. Sticking out at least an extra foot behind him, stretch marks adorning the sensitive, hairless skin as fat and muscle stuff themselves into his ass. He sees himself in the reflection of the doors and shudders, seeing his thighs still pulsing and feeling the pleasure make his hard cock start to drip as a few more pounds of cakey muscle flood his thighs. The Colombian flag on the front distended and dampening.
"You alright, man?" Jeremiah asks, one eyebrow raises.
"Si, yes. Soy bueno."
Davis tries to act natural, ignoring the fact that he spoke Spanish. Basic Spanish 101 but Spanish nonetheless.
"I just feel weird."
He shudders as he unconsciously rubs his thighs together, making his cock and balls brush against the Speedo. His cock oozes out a thick glob of pre. He sees the dark color race down to his calves and he clenches his mouth shut as tightly as possible to prevent the slutty moan from escaping his lips. There's no way that's a normal tan. It's too rich, too deeply set in his skin to be anything but a totally new skin color washing down his body. With each drip of pre, his reddish hair begins darkening, the ginger stubble standing out more against his tanning skin as he clenches his thighs tight, so tight in fact that he fears the head of his cock is going to slip out the waistband as his calves inflate and thicken, the power in his new legs undeniable as he steadies himself against the bar.
"Aw," Jeremiah says, "don't worry newbie. You'll get used to it."
The handsome Black man blows him a kiss and Davilo's gasp nearly makes him choke. He straightens himself, breathing heavily, a bright numbness settling over his brain. His powerful legs propel him over to the bodybuilder, the sun warming his sensitive skin and making his nipples harden. He's so turned on and has no idea why. Why is his stomach fluttering as he's looking at this guy's bulge, his flexing muscles, god those perfect pecs, and wait was it that smell?
"So, Danilo," the bodybuilder's buttery voice makes his legs shake. The color races down his shins, the muscles growing and strengthening as his hips widen slightly, making his ass jiggle. He tries staring at the man's eyes behind his sunglasses but he keeps finding himself looking at the man's bulge. "Where are you from?"
"Indi, uh, Bogotá," he says, and the pronunciation is so perfect it makes him blink with surprise. But not as surprising as this fog thickens over his brain, the bulk of it hormones because of how horny he's feeling, but also, this emptiness as he tries picturing his childhood home, the cornfields he said he would never see again and instead, he sees rushing water and hears people rapidly speaking Spanish, and the sights and sounds of Bogotá being ramming themselves into his brain piece by piece.
He whimpers as his feet start to shrink.
"Are all men there as beautiful as you are?"
He literally cannot hold back the noises he's making as his feet begin collapsing, sliding across the concrete. He angles his body away from the man, only to realize he's showing the man his fat ass and the rest of the guests and employees his erection. But no matter, he's more concerned by his big, pale feet shrinking and contracting. His size 11 soles slimming and becoming a bit more soft, moisturized, the nails clipped and trimmed neatly as his toes shrink and his feet pull in. The lost mass slides up his legs and lands in his thighs, a little bit blooming his ass even further as he hears the bodybuilder growl hungrily behind him. He risks a peek over his shoulder as he sees the man's monster of a cock rising in his skimpy swimwear.
"Such a nice ass."
Davilo whimpers as the man licks his lips. Then he blinks. That can't be what the man said. It didn't sound like English, it sounded like -
"¿Cómo conseguiste un culo tan bonito?"
His brain burns as images of him working out at the gym flood his mind. More pre spitting from his cock as his feet settle into a size 9. Images of him squatting and doing hip thrusts, dedicating entire days to working out his ass and thighs to make sure his lower body was even. Thick and juicy. Strong enough to hold him steady whenever he straddled one of his girlfriend's strap-ons and let them fuck him hard.
He grits his teeth. No, that's not right. It can't be right.
"Something's, uh, something's muy malo."
The man's face is unreadable beneath the growing lust. Davilo's thighs itch as dark hair carpets them. He runs a hand through his dark hair and shakes his head, his entire lower body jiggling. Including his cock and balls. He glances down and sees a dark bush of pubes growing, some of them spilling over the top as his cock throbs harder, more incessant. His nostrils flare as he picks up on a scent that he was only dimly aware of.
Until now.
A scent that makes his asshole clench in anticipation.
That smell of a locker room after a group of guys just gone done working out. It's some dude's armpit. It's him sneaking glances at the guys as they changed, his body buzzing with horniness as his exes begin fading away, their features dimming into nothingness as he takes greedier huffs.
It's coming from the bodybuilder.
In fact, it seems to come from him in waves. Waves that make Davilo's cock throb hungrily as more blood than he thought possible lands in his crotch.
"What's wrong, baby?" the man asks. "Who does Christian have to fight?" He says this coyly, in rumbling Spanish, grabbing at his crotch and it makes Davilo's body shudder with horniness.
Davilo's 5-inch cock stretches across the Speedo, thickening and growing longer. The once sagging flag stretching taut around his constantly leaking cock, the sensitivity making his toes curl and bringing his knees together. His eyes just might roll into the back of his head as it feels like he's being jerked off as his foreskin regrows, sliding delicately across his soaking wet cock that gushes pre like it's trying to evacuate his balls. Balls that are hairier, start drooping lower, swelling to accommodate his more sensitive prostate and enlarging cock. The once 5-inch member grows to 7 girthy inches, the head spasming and slipping out the waistband of his speedo, now struggling to keep up with his oversexed lower body.
I need to - to g - sal de aquí. Ay dios mío! Something's me esta pasando.
He rips his gaze away from the man's hot body. He can't prevent the moan from slipping out his throat as the color spreads up to his torso, his thin, reedy stomach clenching in the world's most orgasmic cramp as thick abs force their way out. A few people stare but none with shock as he doubles over, hobbling as he can feel the muscle and fat building up in his core. The strength of it is undeniable as his waist thickens. More workouts stuffing themselves into his memory, his knowledge of coding and his time in college falling out of his mind, converting into testosterone rich soup as his balls pulse, sending it to his still thickening abs. Sweat drips down his forehead as he moans like he's being fucked. His abs thickening and widening, not many are visible beneath the thin layer of fat but he can feel them. He can feel the strength in his body multiplying as the sun begins setting.
Wait.
Oh no.
His spine contracts painlessly, in fact, it makes his still growing cock spasm harder, ejecting a thin trickle of actual cum. It burns, but it feels so good. He loses a few inches in height, no longer needing a 6 in front of it as the displaced mass surges through his body, landing in his ass that he can't believe can get bigger. Landing in his thighs, his calves. Surging into abs as he tries standing and is disoriented by how much lower he is to the ground, his body compressing as the color travels upwards, spreading thick dark hair up his abs and in the center of his chest, nipples hard and prepared for the first surges of mass to land behind them and begin blooming his flat chest into being.
Hugh. ¿Dónde está Hugh?
He shoots straight up as he feels a hand on his back. The musk hitting him right in the head and making him woozy, swaying on his feet.
"Everything okay, Danilito?"
Da - nilo feels his chest bloat and expand. His pink nipples darkening and becoming thick, sensitive nubs on his chest. Muscles tear and regrow bigger, covered quickly with a layer of fat that leaves his pecs large and jiggly, the skin stretching and oh so sensitive. Chest flies and bench presses erase the last few advanced courses he has in his memory, as well as any complicated intelligence, his brain becoming slower and denser. The giddiness returns tenfoldz wracking his body so hard he sways and leans against Christian's muscled arm, whimpering and whining as his cock tenses so hard he thinks he's going to cum. His bloated cock crests to eight inches as he feels every callous on Christian's palm as he traces down his back towards the bulbous curve of his ass, Danilo clenching his teeth as his girlfriends begin morphing in his brain. Their strap-ons becoming their actual cocks as their bodies inflate and expand into the muscle gods that he loves servicing, his throat loosening and becoming eager to take dick as his chest cleavage grows more pronounced.
When Christian's hands crest his ass, the sun sets fully into the horizon. His big, brown, beautiful cock surges harder and snaps the waistband. Danilo gasps in horror, a sticky puddle of pre forming at his feet as his cock constantly leaks.
He's keenly aware of how far his cock sticks out now, the thick bush of pubes. The balls which are so weighty, so heavy and filled with cum. He's aware of the fat curve of his ass as Christian perches his sunglasses on his head and whistles in admiration. His ass is so fat, so juicy. His hole tickling from the sudden exposure to the air. He smells something else, beneath the heady liquor of Christian's musk.
It's his own.
Not as powerful as Christian's, but more pronounced than his own musk was in his old body. It's the smell of a guy who works out regularly but not enough to get to the massive size Christian is. Enough to make his scent pronounced, there.
He shivers as the hair blossoms across his jugs, his shoulders widening and becoming denser. Back muscles inflating slowly but surely to make sure his tits are well balanced.
"Do you need to go lie down?"
The way Christian says lie down makes his cock literally seize, like there's a strong hand gripping it. Trying to milk it for all its worth. He's not sure how much more of this he can take. This constant edging, this denial of his orgasm.
But if he cums would that mean - ?
"Let's go up to my room, eh?"
His eyes dart wildly in fear. Jeremiah is beaming at him, giving him a thumbs-up. No, no, can't he see that his body is warping, changing right in front of him? Can't he see his jiggling ass and his cock swaying rigidly in front of him? Can't he see that he's nearly drooling, on the verge of tears, because he needs to cum so bad but he can't? Can't he see that the horniness he's feeling feels almost supernatural, like there's no way a person is supposed to function like this? Can't he see his tits surge forward as the skin color fully envelops his face and torso, his dark beard thickening and tickling pleasurably as he knows that the beard is eclipsing his sharpening jaw, his fattening, thickening, succulent pink lips, his eyes darkening into a deep brown and filled with lust and not much else as all of his knowledge is drained into the final dregs of growth that his chest requires, the nipples so hard and apparent that he might cum if he touches them?
Why is he still walking forward? Why does it have to feel so fucking good?
In the lobby, the elevator doors taunt him.
"P - p - por favor! Por favor, papi. I - I need ayuda."
His broad shoulders tan and darken, his ears pushing close to his face. Head shaving itself into a stylish cut. He sees his reflection and is shocked to see how hot he is. How handsome he's become, cock slinging webs of pre everywhere as he waddles to the elevator, Christian's hand right on his ass in a protective gesture.
Christian squeezes one fatty cheek and Danilo squeals.
"We can talk to Hugh," Christian says, a little concern in his voice.
Danilo's biceps inflate gradually. The muscles thickening and fattening. His biceps are strong and defined but nothing like Christian's boulders. These are vanity muscles. Muscles that he works out to keep himself toned and sexy, keep his body built for pleasure rather than aesthetics. Bicep curls and shoulder raises and lat exercises pop whatever brain cells and resistance he has left and drain them straight to his tight, swollen balls and out his dripping cock, the rest landing in his thickening biceps. Small tattoos mark themselves across his shoulder and both biceps. He clutches onto Christian's body for dear life. He's so close. So agonizingly close.
"Por favor! Papi. I'm going to cum!"
"No cumming in my lobby," Hugh says. He stands there dressed in a red velvet smoker's jacket with a toothpick in his mouth. "And talk to me about what? Something wrong, Danilo?"
Danilo's biceps finish their growth. The peaked muscle brushing against a nipple and making him jolt, burying his face in Christian's neck. In his old body, he'd be at eye level with the man. Now, he's barely at his shoulder, needing to get on his tiptoes to even get close to the musk pouring out of his pits. He's salivating at the thought of Christian's fat cock, the concentrated musk beneath his swimwear.
"I - I."
His mind spins like a film reel as his forearms thicken, whatever else that he can barely remember flooding into his palms and thickening fingers. His strong forearms sprout the same dark hair, his nails expertly manicured and hands perfect for gripping cocks. His own and others. He knows, dimly, in his soupy mind that if he gets into this elevator and goes to Christian's room and lets this man fuck him, he will lose himself. He feels his body filling out some more, shoulders and back widening. Abs thickening. Pecs becoming more defined. His balls pulsating urgently in warning, cock dripping and superseding all critical thought.
The elevator gets closer.
When was the last time he felt this good? This amount of sickening pleasure? His brain is on fire from how good everything is, feeling himself drain away. If he gets on, he'll feel like this forever. All this hot pleasure. All this sexiness. This growing confidence and vanity in his appearance. He checks himself out in the elevator doors, still clutching onto Christian as his cock brushes against Christian's muscled thigh.
"I'm fine, soy bueno, Señor Hugh."
He swallows in a brief flash of panic as the doors open.
"Okay," Hugh says, "just checking. Have fun ya horndog."
Christian steps on first. Danilo stands there, shaking in the lobby in both horny anticipation and mild fear.
Esto es todo. No going back.
His cock leads the way as he steps into the elevator. Once the doors shut, Christian wastes no time kissing him. Maybe it's the acceptance. Maybe it's the fact that his cock can't take anymore. Maybe it's just that the release is too fucking close for him to hold it back. Once Christian squeezes his ass roughly, his finger dangerously close to Danilo's sensitive hole, Danilo cums so violently he collapses in Christian's strong arms. Rope after rope of thick cum fires out of his cock and paints one of the walls. His cock constantly tenses and fires as Christian rubs his back and mumbles Spanish dirty talk in his ear. With each mind-shattering orgasm, any reservations, any evidence that Danilo was ever Davis, is reduced to boiling hot, sticky cum that drips down the wall and onto the floor.
"Lo - lo siento papi, I -"
Christian shushes him. "I think you've got some more in you," he says. "I'll make sure we get all of it."
His cock finally finishes and he stands on weak legs, hungrily kissing Christian. The strength of his body is delicious. The way he knows that his ass will be able to take anything that comes his way makes him even hornier. Forget being some boring IT guy.
By the following week, Danilo moves through Paradise as if he's always been there. When his ass needs filling (which is about three times a day), Jeremiah will take him in the staff room and Danilo's whorish moans make Jeremiah come harder than he's had in his tenure at the place. Especially not in his old body, that pasty white librarian that wouldn't hold a candle to the jock he's become.
He swims laps in the pool, showing off his powerful legs and loving the way his speedos cling to him when wet. He's a little too dumb to handle orders, forgetting them too easily and often just ogling the men who ordered them. He's lately just taken to being the resident eye candy, affectionate to the point of making out with his equally horny coworkers whenever he's on shift.
Not that anyone minds.
Especially.
He breeches the surface and smells his Papi before he even sees him, on his lounger. Rubbing suntan lotion on his mountainous pecs. He clenches his thighs in an attempt to will his boner down before he swims over to the stairs. Can't have the water make him cum before Papi can get a taste. He steps out of the water, his muscles dripping seductively.
"Ah, there he is."
Papi smiles as Danilo walks towards him, his body jiggling in all the right places, before sliding on top of him and hungrily making out with him.
Hugh said something silly about going back and Danilo just shook his head in confusion. Go back to what? He's got all he needs right here. And he can feel one of the things he needs rising to full attention, nearly breaking the swimsuit Papi is wearing before wedging neatly between his beautiful ass.
Struggling streamers Sherman and Law are lured onto the Chinese platform New Fortune. Boasting interactivity through polls, neither can halt the changes brought upon them as their new audiences mold them to be the perfect footholds for the brand to spread.
Another streaming based TF, Sherman refines into New Fortune's wholesome fitness streamer in Zhou Meng while Law becomes his brash little brother Liang. Hope you enjoy! -Occam
How is any content creator supposed to rise above the noise these days. This is the dilemma Sherman faces tonight after a long session streaming with his friend Lawrence, as he does most nights. Poring over his meagre metrics, Sherman aimlessly wonders what he’s doing wrong. Is he just unlikeable? Does he need a gimmick?
The reasons for his halted progress towards true popularity are as countless as the fellow streamers sitting in the same boat, hovering around a few hundred viewers. Tonight perhaps his curse may be lifted. Just before logging off from this particularly slow session of streaming, Sherman gets an IM in a language he can’t understand, at first he assumes Japanese, plugging it into a translator he discovers it to actually be Mandarin.
Sure it’s some scam or taunting message, he sighs and reads it anyway only to perk up at its content. “嘿，菜鸟。如果你想吸引观众，就去 New Fortune——中国的观众更多，这还用说吗？Hey noob- If you want an audience hop on New Fortune. Way more viewers in China duhhh”
My god- why didn’t he think of that! Running the math in his head, Sherman’s sure the idea’s foolproof. If he can get a couple hundred viewers on Twitch, well- that’s gotta be at least a few thousand in a country so much larger than the US, right?
Refusing to workshop the idea any further, Sherman starts looking into making an account on the site. Replying to his apparently Chinese viewer, after writing “哈哈哈” an inordinate amount of times, the audience member offers to do most of the heavy lifting on porting his channel over sending him a link to instead learn about streaming on the site.
What he learns only leads him to see more dollar signs. The primary activity on New Fortune seems to be having the audience vote on what you’re going to do, which in turn incentivizes viewers to get their friends to tune in and bolster their voting bloc. Combined with the platform's efforts to get more creators from abroad to use their site, Sherman can’t find a downside to the switchover, perhaps unsurprising given how little he’s looking for one.
Within the week Sherman’s got an entirely new, far more expensive setup. Crossing his arms as he eyes the scarlet red backdrop with metallic golden highlights Sherman can’t help but feel this whole thing is a little appropriative. But his concerns are met with encouragement from New Fortune and his increasingly Chinese audience.
His usual fans trepidatiously ask about the increasing prevalence of hanzi in chat which leads Sherman to at last mention his planned switch over. At first all the Sher-heads out there are antsy as he was, but after he pitches the platform using talking points delivered to him straight from New Fortune, they too see the appeal in having more sway in the content Sherman produces.
Then at last the day of his switchover arrives, he begins streaming on Twitch as a large countdown shines on screen. 3, 2, 1. His viewer count starts skyrocketing. Boggling at the numbers, he assumes that New Fortune must be inflating the metrics as a show of strength for their platform, but he doesn’t care. He’ll be getting paid regardless. And on that note, time for the first vote.
“Mods, you ready to see what we’re doing today?” It was only then that the happy-go-lucky streamer realized he left his mod team behind with Twitch. Chat now monitored by whomever his mystery messenger, or his in at New Fortune HQ trawled together, Sherman can only watch as a poll he had absolutely no input in pops up on the stream.
Instantly his thousands of new viewers pile in on a result he’s yet to translate. His audience similarly fills the chat with ?’s barely perceptible between the mandarin filling the comms like a tidal flow. Before he even has a chance to translate the poll’s options, voting closes with option one overwhelmingly winning. Annoyed at not knowing anything about this poll he awaits a DM explaining what’s next.
无上装直播 - 72%
第一人称射击游戏 - 3%
吃播 - 20%
卡拉OK - 5%
Balking at the truly indecipherable characters, he’s thankfully dm’d the translated options by the mod and is further gobsmacked at the options presented. In what world would he ever do a karaoke or mukbang stream!? And why the fuck did they both finish above his tried and true FPS content? Rolling his eyes at the three options in far last, he then sees that stream shirtless one and he sits in shock.
Does- does he have to do that? As he sits there, shirt on, the chat begins erupting with irritation he can grasp without even needing to speak the language. Even his favorite chatter from Twitch, BostonBro69, calls him out for pussyfooting, “Bruh- Chat’s spoken ditch the tee??? R u a bitch?”
Gritting his teeth, knowing his body is nothing to be proud of in the slightest he struggles to take the shirt off over his headphones before tossing them to his chair and trying again. “You guys better be tipping, ain’t doing this shit for free.”
At first mocking Sherman as he reveals himself to just be wearing boxers, the chat goes wild as he begins to raise the shirt over his waist. Expecting to feel the usual chill of his streamer’s den, Sherm’s shocked as each new inch of flesh exposed heats up. Brow furrowed underneath his rising shirt, he doesn’t see as his body begins to firm up.
The streamer’s slightly pudgy stomach rapidly tightens into a thin, maintained waist, cum gutters carving into the sides of his waist as muscle thickens across his chest astride two clearly visible pecs. Catching his reflection in his onstream cam, Sherman’s mouth falls open in shock as he traces the newly defined muscle in shock, feeling his clearly heavier arms twitch with biceps as he does.
“What the..?” Eyes flickering to chat, Sherman starts to question how this is possible, it can’t be a filter can it? He sees it with his real eyes? Before he can continue, one of his mods sends him something to read aloud in Mandarin, ‘like what you see?’ Forcing a smirk on his face he does his best to read it, “Ne zooeyhan, nee swo con, uh- dào de ma?”
So focussed on giving it his best go, Sherman is oblivious to his curly hair slightly straightening, darkening from its shoddy blonde into an indisputable brown. Flattening across his forehead as he throws his headphones back on. Blinking hard as his pronunciation gets shockingly better as he continues reading, his chat goes crazy as his sea-green eyes appear to darken into a hazel- or no, a light brown? It’s quite difficult to make out through the screen after all.
Chat going apeshit at the new eyecandy, Sherman smirks and figures he can’t not throw out a flex. Doing so he exposes his small bush of pit hair as it almost seems to straighten, darkening similarly to the hair on his head as he bathes in the praise he can’t quite understand. BostonGuy69 shoots a message in support, “Lookin killerrrr bruh didnt know u had it in u lul”
From then on Zherman has an absolute blast streaming on New Fortune, surely whatever effect causing him not to question his impossible transformation is heightening his enjoyment for the platform. Throughout his gaming session there are a few more votes, while after an hour or so he usually dips from FPS’s to play some brainless trendy games, it’s as if his audience is trying to push him away from gaming altogether.
As much as his usual fans try to get him to get him back to his usual MO, the new audience on New Fortune start to prune his gamer era away. Even when his old crew miraculously win a vote to get him back in a shooter, Zherman struggles to remain interested, eyes flickering back to chat, squinting as he swears he almost understands what his non-American audience is saying.
“That was fun guys, but I should probably get started on my gym sesh. Zaijannn~ Huh?” As soon as he says goodbye, not noticing he did so in Mandarin, Zherman sees a poll he didn’t call for pops up. For a second he swears he understands what the characters mean before shaking that idea out of his head. It’s just because he just mentioned working out, yeah
锻炼直播 - 98% (Workout Stream)
注销 - 2% (Log Off)
In the end his ‘guess’ was indeed confirmed however as he sees his audience has an obvious interest in watching him sweat. Well- who is he to disappoint. Smirking coquettishly, Zherman saunters over to the pull up bar in his room and starts going at it.
With every repetition, the streamer’s gains increase at a shocking rate and his brown hair darkens even further. Surely waving it off as sweat, in reality it is anything but as it thins and straightens even further into a coal black that he offhandedly brushes into a middle part.
Counting with each rep, he laughs as he sees his chat do the same. In between heavy breaths, he squints to make out anything substantial bits he might be missing. Doing so his eyes finish darkening from their honey brown into a chocolate almost indistinguishable from his pupils. Onyx eyes slightly obscured by the fold appearing above them as he wipes sweat from his forehead.
“Eugh- One last set crew. Let’s go!” Feeling his thicker arms strain on the pullup bar he now realizes he’s never had before now, Zhorman starts counting out his final rep, “One, Two, Three, F- Four, Wǔ, liù, qī, bā, ugh… Shen- what?” Eyes glazing over, the almost seamless transition between languages begins to sink in as Zhorman feels the weight of unfathomable change begins to sink in.
“Need to- I need t’sleep.” Stumbling to his bed, the streamer falls face first onto the mattress as the stream continues on without him. Not like he had any say in the votes, they continue on as his snores are barely picked up by the mic. Every aspect of his appearance is picked over. He is made tanner. Smoother. Sharper. Snores resound from his chest with deeper timbre as he’s made the perfect emblem of masculinity.
The should-be stubble growing on his face sheers away as he snores, heavier pecs rising while whatever body hair clung to his bronzed skin besides his pits fades away. Unseen from the lens of his audience as morning wood throbs in his shorts his foreskin reclaims the head of his cock as it demands he masturbate the second he is free from the stream. Such time is far from the present however.
When Zhou Man eventually awakes he finds himself a totally new man, “Ni Hao- eh? Hey, my fans! Still here, èn?” Watching the chat fly past as he stirs away and does his morning stretches to show off his clearly more defined body, Zhou Man doesn’t realize at all he’s focussing more on the Chinese viewers than the American viewers chatting even more infrequently. His face brightens when he sees his favorite viewer in chat, GuiyangGe69, “嘿兄弟，今天去健身房吗 Heyyy bruh, hitting up the gym today?”
Man laughs as he nods and flexes before settling into a more respectable temper, “当然，朋友，早晨一定要从正确的方式开始！Of course, gotta get the morning started right, friend!” With that he grabs his tripod and starts off to his favorite haunt, chatting up his audience in mandarin more fluent by the second. As time passes he starts disregarding the English chatters all together, leading them to try and translate their messages to make any headway towards getting his attention.”
Morning routine well underway, a vote begins under his notice that he instantly understands. Not translating that is, as it’s in his native tongue. 炫耀 or 羞怯 Show off or Shy. Cocky smile on his face he knows how this vote will go and starts adjusting his behavior without a second thought.
炫耀 - 98%
羞怯 - 2%
All these people are here to see him and nothing else. Zhou Ming is not in the market of disappointing his fans. Sitting on the bench he throws out a flex and quiets a grunt as he feels his thick biceps bulge even larger. Shooting a graceful smile towards the camera, his life as he knows it flashes before his eyes as it readjusts. he’s an immigrant to America as an ambassador to New Fortune. Here to inspire other content creators to make the switch and get their gains, physically and otherwise.
When his profile picture at last adjusts to show his new, true self he can’t believe how good he looks. Playful and domineering all at once. Meng knows he’s the perfect man to lure other streamers into their new selves. Into their new success.
Sitting there at the gym on his phone, oblivious to the attention he’s getting IRL. Meng notices a message from one of his best friends and a fellow streamer, Lawrence. Law’s been with him from the start, the perfect content creator buddy and his go to duo- only? Meng swears he’s never been on Twitch and he knows Law’s certainly never been on New Fortune?
After a moment Meng shakes out of his confusion and does what instinctually comes to him. He starts up a vote, already knowing what the result is to be. Should he call up Lawrence and do a group stream. Smirking, he knows the second Law sees his success that his best friend won’t have a thought on his mind besides following his best bro’s example. And so it begins.
Meng finds Law doing an IRL stream just wandering the park, accepting his friend’s call as he always would, the wide smile on Lawrence’s face quickly falls as he obviously doesn’t recognize Meng. “Dude, who are- Is this some kinda bit Sherm?” Tilting his head as he hears the name, dissonance arises once more within Meng. No matter though, not like he can’t speak English. “Law, it’s me Meng? Do you want to come meet me at the gym?”
It takes everything in Law to not burst out laughing, the Zhou Meng he knows wouldn’t be caught dead in the gym. The Zhou Meng he knows- uh. His eyes flicker to the stream, is that his friend’s name? What else would it be? It’s- “You should start a poll Law. They’re very good for views.”
He knows something’s wrong, he knows he shouldn’t listen. But Meng is a bigger streamer than him right? And his best friend. He wouldn’t steer him wrong. Looking towards the chat, Law’s eyes are drawn to sporadic messages in what seems to be Chinese. Their frequency only increases as the poll in Meng’s chat appears.
Having tested the waters with Meng, whatever forces that be are eager to accelerate their little experiment as they move on to Lawrence. So easy it was to make the gamer a role model, now it’s time to make the ever-cordial Lawrence into an arrogant goon. To point, the audiences are asked who Lawrence is to Zhou Meng:
周亮, 兄弟 - 56%(Zhou Liang, Brother)
劳伦斯, 最好的朋友 - 1%(Lawrence, Best Friend)
沉亮, 男朋友 - 43% (Shen Liang, Boyfriend)
Results streaming in, Lawng can hardly believe what he’s seeing. Doesn’t really understand what must be the hypothetical presented? Is this a quiz? Scratching his head, Lawng pauses for a beat as his fingers seem to be trailing easier than they should be through his afro. Or no- he doesn’t have an afro, his curls are wayyy looser than that.
Shaking his hair, his indeed looser curls spill down his neck, tickling as they fall he grins. Lawng’s eyes then fall upon his hand as he swears it’s well, paler? Trailing up the arm with phone outstretched he can’t shake the uncanny feeling that his skin is not nearly as tan, as dark as it should be
Rubbing his face in shock, the stubble on Lawng’s face is thinner and straighter than it once was. Cheeks that were once patterned with tight strands are barren as he feels a tightness in his eyes. Were he not a consummate professional he’d drop the phone and in the stream as he knows something is up. He’d never of course, his best- his brother’d trained him to be a better streamer than that.
Right. His brother, for a second he thought Meng was just a friend, bizarre? Attention firmly back to the stream as his skin continues to pale, Liawng sees his older brother smiling as he waits at the gym. “Oh! Zāogāo! Shoot, I’ll head right over bro!” As he pockets the phone, he can’t help but be slightly annoyed at his older brother, doesn’t he know Liawng was in the middle of something?
The stream continues on as Liawng opts to sprint to his brother’s location, all the while he continues to change. He grows 更强, stronger. 体积更大, bulkier. 更大胆, bolder. All in relation to his kinder gēgē. By the time he’s arrived he’s worked up more of a pump than Meng garnered in his morning workout thus far, a fact he’s more than happy to rub in as he poses in the gym’s entry way.
Flexing at his reflection, Liang’s mind softens as every bone within his body begins to cry out. Demanding he assert dominance, on his fans, everyone around him, on his annoying gēgē. With every performative, grunting flex he continues to change, pecs bulking out larger as he pumps them while he continues to pale and grow wider.
When Meng eventually takes a break from chatting up his viewers, giving and getting tips from them as he proves himself to be something of a mentor to everyone on the platform, he saunters up to his cocky little brother as he finishes becoming who New Fortune desires him to be. Skin cresting into that of a slightly tanner East Asian. His hair finishes its journey to be just as straight and black as Meng’s. Doing provocative dances and posing, he makes it clear that he is altogether a different man to the streamer who brought him onto the platform.
Meeting face to face for the first time in their new forms yet again on their joint streams. The changes in the brothers cement themselves as they become broad, muscular streamers of entirely different sorts. Watching as his xiǎo dìdi peacocks and flexes enough to strain a tank top he bought to barely fit, Meng settles into his more refined and polished body.
Eldest of the pair and clearly creating content catered to a gentler audience, Zhou Meng feels his still impossibly built body tighten into that of a model. Memories of training to be as poised and polished as one can be, Meng knows he is the true face of New Fortune in the states and he is going to make it the eminent streaming platform in the country. In the world
Quite the opposite, Zhou Liang only thinks of himself. Smirking as he hears his gēgē approaching, something within him clicks as he flexes and prepares to pounce. Flexing in the mirror as his pecs bloat even heavier, arms bulging with thick almost throbbing veins, Liang does a poor job of hiding his attentions from his approaching brother.
Laughing as he predicted his brother's assault, Meng puts up little fight as Liang tries to wrestle him into a headlock. “放弃吧，老哥！Give up bro!” Liang shouts as his audience encourages capitulation. English speakers find themselves suddenly quite the minority in chat, although they’re not quite overrun so much as changed themselves.
Calculating the audiences in both chats as he allows Liang a few moments to gloat, Meng watches as the few remaining english messages in chat begin to speckle with hanzi. Tapping his xiǎo dìdi’s muscular arms, proud at how the bestial arms rival the size of his head, Meng straightens his hair and pats his lunkhead little brother on the back.
Briefly chastising him for setting a bad example for the fans, he sets up his tripod next to Liang’s as the less refined man continues to try and big dog his big bro. Guffawing as he flexes, Liang shouts in fluent mandarin that Meng’s going soft with age before a stray memory tries to break through, the name Lawrence surfaces enough to silence him for a moment. And then it is gone, and there is only Zhou Liang.
Ready to move on, thoroughly molded into the perfect streamer New Fortune intended he be, Meng takes advantage of Liang’s pause and turns to the cameras, as if an earpiece suggested him to. Flawlessly switching between Mandarin and English as to ensure his message is heard by all Meng addresses both of their audiences,
“感谢您一一直以来对 New Fortune 的支持！Thank you all for enjoying New Fortune so far! 我们即将举办一一场盛大的活动，希望您能参加！We’ve got quite the event coming up and hope you’ll be able to join us! 我迫不及待地想让全世界看看新财富会带来什么。I can’t wait for all the world to see what New Fortune has in store.” And with that, Liang and Meng continue on with their streams, New Fortune’s first streamers in America. Though as their audiences spread word it’s clear they will not be the last.
