#racial tf

[misctf]

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…”

“Mhm.” Nico stepped closer again. “Go ahead, baby.”

“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!" Nico moaned, "Kar... Kareem... oh fuck... please..."

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?”

[next-gen-men]

Can you transform me into a muscular, hairy, dominant man, where I'm being changed without my consent and without realizing it at first?

When you got the notification that a package had arrived at your door, you were confused by the sleek black box sitting right outside your place. You didn’t remember ordering anything, and unlike most cardboard deliveries, this one had an expensive design. You carefully brought the strange package inside and opened it. Inside was a black-and-gold envelope resting atop a few expensive items. You knew it wasn’t something you would have ordered, but the address on the box was yours.

Picking up the envelope, you ripped open the flap and pulled out a black card with gold lettering. There was a scent to the note, almost as if it were lightly spritzed with some cologne or perfume. The note didn’t offer much explanation, either about what this box was for or why it was sent to you.

From Your Secret Admirer. A Self-Improvement Box.

On the back was a scribbled phone number, clearly handwritten by whoever sent the strange gift to you. You tried calling it a few times, but whoever was on the other end didn’t seem to bother picking up. Texting the number yielded no response either, and you were left stumped about what to do with the surprise gift sitting on your kitchen table. Before you could decide anything, you looked more closely at the items inside. There seemed to be a bottle of cologne, a dark liquid glimmering back at you inside the glass. There was also a sleek signet ring, although you weren’t exactly someone who really bothered dressing up or wearing jewelry. And finally, perhaps the most expensive of the three items: a smartwatch. It looked quite minimalistic in design, like one of those fitness watches you would see on a fitness influencer or athlete to track their physical progress. And while it was tempting, you still weren’t exactly convinced that this box was meant for you.

You sighed as you picked up the smartwatch, admiring its fancy design. The metal felt cool and smooth, and for a moment, you entertained the idea of having something like it. Even if you weren’t going to use the items from the strange gift box, it didn’t hurt to imagine what it would be like. Slipping the smartwatch over your wrist, you found yourself enjoying its weight. It might have been great in another life, but right now it didn’t fit your personal aesthetic.

As you moved to remove it, you were surprised to find the device properly latched to your wrist. You grunted as you tried to pull off the new piece of techwear, but it didn’t budge. The strap stayed tight; it wasn’t uncomfortable, but the watch wouldn’t move, no matter how hard you tried. Resigning yourself to the gift, you sighed and left it alone. Not wanting to deal with the weirdness, you closed the box and set it aside, hoping to forget about it. Whoever sent it clearly meant it for someone else, and it was best not to touch another item that wasn’t meant for you.

The rest of your day went by uneventfully. You had a few errands to run, but thankfully, you still had the whole weekend before work. As you went about your tasks, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that you were more energized and invigorated. By the time you got home, you felt an extra bounce in your step, like you could run a mile or two. Glancing down at your new smartwatch, your eyes widened at the tracked steps. You certainly got a lot done today, and the light whiff of sweat from your pits told you as much. Once home, the change felt even harder to ignore.

Making your way to the shower, you found it a bit more difficult to pull off your clothes. Maybe it was the sweat making them stick to your skin, but you couldn’t help twisting and turning your shoulders as you tugged your shirt off. Leaving your clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor, you cast a quick glance at your naked body in the mirror. There were glimpses of definition there, and flexing your biceps showed off some nice peaks. You didn’t pay much attention to it, though, just posing as if it were natural. The last thought you had was that your gym workouts were really starting to show, even though you had forgotten it had been some time since you had even set foot in a gym.

It had been some of the most restful sleep you had ever had that night. The shower was soothing, and you practically dreamed of the slippery sensation of soap bubbles sliding down your back. When you blinked open your eyes, the first thing you noticed was that you seemed much lower than normal. Swinging your thick legs off the side, your large feet thumped along the floor. It seemed that your bed frame had broken again, but this was a common occurrence for you. You struggled to find something that could hold all of your muscular weight. For now, you would have to leave the indented mattress on the floor until you figured out something else. You sighed as you stood to your towering height, ducking your head under the doorframe out of habit. From there, you headed toward the bathroom.

Lumbering toward the bathroom, you raised your hands to scratch and rub at your meaty pecs. It was always a welcome sight to wake up and see such a delicious view each morning, with the valley between your pecs leading down to a chiseled set of abs. Of course, cutting and bulking routines were practically second nature at this point, as your physique was something you put your whole life and soul into. You positioned yourself in front of the mirror once more, your naked body on full display. Sleeping naked was really the only comfortable way for you to get good rest now. Clothes always felt restrictive, particularly when they did very little to conceal your hefty, sizeable bulge. A stray hand slid down to fondle your swaying cock as you admired your physique. It had become a bit of a morning routine, with your admiration for the hard work you put into your body.

A soft beep from your smartwatch reminded you of the brunch you were getting later with some friends. Grateful for such a convenient device, you rarely took the watch off. It felt like second nature to have it on you. As you washed up and prepared for the day, you reached over to grab some cologne to spray on. Your hands found an unfamiliar bottle, practically unopened, with the amount of black liquid still inside. Before you even had a chance to register what was happening, you applied a few quick spritzes to your chest and neck. The smell was rich, dark, and musky, like bergamot mixed with leather. Your eyes widened as your brain began to register the bottle in your hand. It came from that strange box you found yesterday, though you didn’t remember taking it out and setting it in your bathroom.

Your brows furrowed at the strange mystery, but the beeping alarm from your smartwatch quickly interrupted you. You didn’t have time to think about that now; you’d have to deal with it when you got back home. Hurrying out of the bathroom, you turned to the side to let your boulder-sized shoulders and wide back through without bumping the frame. Throwing together a quick, easy streetwear outfit, you took a moment to admire how the clothes clung to your skin. The shirt was almost a crop top, so small, and you could practically see the seams starting to rip. One simple bicep flex and it would burst into a flutter of tattered fabric. Ignoring your intrusive thoughts, you hurried out the door, leaving behind a deliciously thick scent.

Meeting up with your friends was always enjoyable, and you were glad that everyone had enough free time to grab a meal together and catch up. Today seemed a bit off, though, as more than one person kept complimenting the way you took care of your facial hair or how nice a tan you had. You weren’t really sure why they were so hung up about that. Your skin was a rich caramel tone, covered with a healthy dusting of coarse, dark hair. When you first met your friends, you had told them about your summers in Pakistan visiting family. The facial and body hair was an absolute must for you; there was no way you were ever shaving it off, especially when it was part of your manly, masculine appeal. While people kept pointing out the obvious, you noticed how one of your friends seemed particularly infatuated with your scent. He made small comments about how nice your watch looked or how the new cologne really suited you. His attention made the whole outing feel more charged.

He hadn’t been someone you had noticed before, really, but even you couldn’t deny the way his eyes lingered on the dark hair peeking out from under your shirt sleeve, leaving very little to the imagination with the growing sweat stain under your pits. The summer sun wasn’t exactly kind to your darker complexion as you all sat outside, and you could feel the top of your head grow warm under the rays. But a quick wipe on your forehead with the back of your hand, and you were back to catching up with your friends about what they had been up to. By then, the moment had settled into the afternoon.

Brunch ended rather uneventfully, with a few promises to meet up again soon. Your smaller friend seemed to linger back to give you a hug goodbye, and you couldn’t help but notice how his head seemed to slip up between your pecs comfortably, like a missing puzzle piece finding where it belonged. You offered him a strong, hearty squeeze, making sure to press his slim frame up against all your heat. The other man squeaked in surprise at the feeling of your flexed muscles pressed up against his backside, and he scurried away just as frantically as he appeared. Shaking your head in amusement, you scratched at your hairy chest as you made your way back home. It was finally time to just kick back and relax.

With nothing else planned for the day, you began peeling off the sweaty clothes and tossed them to the side for you to deal with later. Flopping down on the couch naked, you could still catch a whiff of the dark cologne you sprayed on this morning. Mixed in with your natural musk, the scent was actually quite overwhelming. The spiced scents flooded through your nostrils, and your eyes rolled back at the rather intense smell that rattled your brain. Dazed in the moment, your head lolled to the side to stare out at your coffee table.

There, perched upon the glass, was that simple black box. Before, you didn’t want a single thing to do with it. You hadn’t even had time to look into who it might actually belong to. But now, there seemed to be this strange pull that enticed you closer. It was like your body was moving on autopilot, with you, a passenger, watching a movie. As you pulled back the box lid, you saw the note with the phone number lying inside next to a signet ring. Pulling out both objects, you felt a sensation in your chest that made you focus more on the ring.

It was a simple, golden band with a nicely designed crest on top. It certainly looked expensive, which fit your style perfectly. Without much thought for anything else, you slipped it onto your pinky. The new piece of jewelry made things begin to click into place, like a fog of confusion lifting from your mind. In that moment, you knew that this was who you were meant to be. A beefed-up, hairy, hunk of a man that was in control of everything in his life. All the decisions, the guidance, the permission granting… it lingered in the back of your throat like a cough. Dominance never felt like a personality trait or a role you had to fill. It was just who you were as a person, and people loved you for it.

Twiddling the note between your fingers, you flipped the piece of paper over to read the hand-scribbled number on the back. In that moment, you remember why that number seemed so familiar to you. A small, knowing smirk formed on your lips as you grabbed your phone off the coffee table. It seemed there was a rather naughty, needy boy who needed to understand what his role was in your new dynamic. He would have to become reacquainted with the new you, given that he did so all on his own, without your permission. You turned on your phone camera, taking a picture of your naked body. Making sure to include your heavy set of balls, hairy chest, and half-chubbed cock, you texted over the photo to the person who sent over the box. It was ridiculous that he even thought you needed self-improvement. You were perfect the way you were, like a god who decided to walk amongst the mere mortals.

get over here, boy. it seems you’ve done something without my permission again. you’ll have to earn my forgiveness.

The reply came back fired back just as quickly, a simple “Yes, Sir,” giving you all the confirmation you needed. It made no difference. If he didn’t come, it was his loss. And if he did, you would show him the fruits of his labors. Until then, you reclined on the couch and made yourself comfortable. It was going to be a long and eventful rest of the day.

[infinitebodies-tf]

Users are expected to read the “New You” Body Swapping App before signing up.

Of course a happy accident for 55 year old Dale is about to let him experience life from a much bigger perspective!

Time to get on those apps the kids are talking about so he can test out his new package!

[octuscle]

GymMatch

Richard stood in the subway, exhausted. It had been a brutal day, and it was late. He leaned against the door, consumed by one single wish: home, something in the microwave, the couch, bed. Damn, he thought.

Before this job, he had been the picture of athleticism. In college, he had been a celebrated linebacker. But the shift from a Midwestern college to an East Coast ad agency was taking its toll. His muscles were vanishing. A small layer of fat was starting to form around his waist. For now, only he noticed—but it wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

Richard pulled out his phone and searched for a gym, ideally somewhere between his office in Hell’s Kitchen and his apartment up in Manhattan Valley.

Then a pop-up appeared:

“Yo, bro! Looking for the ultimate gym? Trust GymMatch! We find the gym that fits you… and make sure you fit the gym.”

Weird tagline, Richard thought. But it was basically exactly what he was looking for. He clicked the link.

A map appeared, dozens of gyms marked. Then filters started popping up. First, simple things: hours, zip code, number of members… all logical. He filled them in.

“Apply intermediate results?”

Whatever that meant. Sure! Richard hit enter.

The number of gyms on the map shrank. And at the same time, his muscles swelled like balloons. His crisp office shirt morphed into a microfiber T-shirt, the sleeves stretching to near-breaking over his biceps.

Now came the stranger questions: age range, education level of the members. Odd. Richard didn’t come to chat. Some college bros wouldn’t be bad—young rather than old, dumb rather than intellectual.

“Apply intermediate results?”

Richard wondered how many more questions this thing would ask. He wasn’t here to write a thesis. He wanted his muscles on fire. The internship sucked. Damn, he needed his YouTube fitness channel to blow up. He was never cut out for a desk job.

Next came the easy stuff: supplements, training hours per day. Hell yeah, he took anything that pushed his gains. He trained 24/7 if necessary. He was a machine. He lived for the gym. He lived in the gym.

“Apply intermediate results?”

One gym remained. His gym. It had shaped him—but he had left his mark on it, too. He had started as Richard. Then he became “Dick.” And now… D-Stack. He couldn’t even remember how he got the nickname.

A message popped up from Big T, probably on his way to the gym:

Big T: Yo, yo! We takin’ this gym hostage tonight, bro! 💀💪🏾 Who even tryna lift when we in the spot? D-Stack: Haha, nah bruv, they scared as hell. Me n’ you bout ta turn this shit into a fuckin’ warzone, chest first, ya feel me? 🔥💥 Big T: Facts, bro! Heavy bench, flys, pump so sick it gon’ make these weak ass mofos cry. Tee’s ‘boutta snap off our arms. 😂💪🏾 D-Stack: Bro, I been waitin’ for this. Dips n’ skull crushers gon’ make our guns look like fuckin’ cannons, straight up artillery. 💀💣 Big T: Hell yeah! Den we hit shoulders, push presses, make them delts sit like they own the gym. Mad kings, bro. 👑😤 D-Stack: Madman! But listen, we pacing ourselves, can’t go all out or we collapse like bitches. Pull-ups n’ rows tomorrow, bi’s too. 🫡 Big T: Tru dat, bro. Gotta keep ‘em guessing, leave every wannabe beast shook in our wake. 💪🏾💥 D-Stack: Pre-workout popped, tunes maxed, we gon’ make this gym our fuckin’ playground. Every set, pure domination. 🎶🔥 Big T: Bruv, I’m tellin’ ya, apocalypse level pump tonight. 6 o’clock, full-on monster mode. Ain’t no stoppin’ us. 💀💪🏾 D-Stack: Bet, fam! We gon’ leave these mofos on the floor prayin’ they ain’t next. Gym? Conquered. Let’s fuckin’ get ittt! 👊🏾🔥

Big T had once been Timothy. D-Stack vaguely remembered it was Big T who had first christened him “D-Stack.” Best bro ever. In the best gym ever.

[anothermaletfwriter]

Papaya Problems

(My take on this personal favorite story )

Leo stared at the wrapped artisan bath bomb his Vietnamese girlfriend had gifted him. He could never beat the gay allegations, from his twink build to bright blue eyes, dirty blonde hair that smelled of sea salt spray and soft pale skin that was the envy of others. His extensive skincare routine and love of fruity and sweet scents didn’t help either. But he didn’t mind the allegations as he and his wonderful girlfriend, Vivian, knew it had no basis besides superficial stereotypes. For Vivian, it was one of her favorite aspects about him.

The bath bomb was specially crafted from a secret combination of scents and aromas. No added dyes or preservatives. All perfect for his sensitive skin. Vivian had bought a crate’s worth of them on her 3 week excursion to Vietnam earlier in the month. She apologized to Leo for not knowing the exact names. She still had difficulty mastering the tonal sounds of Vietnamese, let alone being able to read the alphabet. From her own clunky comprehension,  its name was “Kiss of Papaya.”

Leo started the bath. Soft steam filling the room. He took off his headphones, the rush of hot water covering his ears. 

A voice at the door shattered the internal serenity. His friend, Jake, opened the door slightly, his blonde hair peeking through, “Bro we’re about to hop in the jacuzzi. Kyle’s got the drinks and inflatable cooler ready.”

“I’m taking a bubble bath first. Vivian got me this,” Leo smiled, holding up the unwrapped bath bomb. It felt like Styrofoam in his hands, seemingly malleable.  Its patterns of vibrant pink and oranges weaving into each other as spirals.

“You’d rather take a princess bath with that gay tennis ball? Some days I feel like you’re actually gay.”

“I’m not. The only thing that determines if I’m gay is if I like men, not my skincare or self care routines. As far as I’ve known, I only like women and I don’t expect that to change. Besides, Vivian’s out for errands and will join us in the jacuzzi later.”

“Pfft. Just hop in once you’re done. We’ll be playing silent Marco Polo.” 

The door shut. Warm water rose to a few inches before overfilling. The ceiling lights shimmered and refracted on the surface like the sun. The warm steam massaged his bare body once he undressed entirely. Once in the water, the bath bomb fizzled out into orange, pink and green foams like soda. He slid slowly into the warm fruity waters. His head felt blank as he closed his eyes. 

The sting of chlorinated Papaya water woke him up. He shot up from the tub, foamy water splashing on the floor. It smelled of papaya and mango, which were now familiar to him. His nose and mouth stung residually from the aromas. His skin was much tanner with an undertone of amber. He figured it was from the lighting. Yet his skin did not wrinkle as it usually did from prolonged water contact. He continued to inspect the rest of his bare body, now much bulkier in frame. His butterfly tattoo migrated from his torso to the right shoulder. No longer a butterfly, it was a geometric pattern with an additional two thick red lines wrapped around his right wrist. He finished his inspection in the mirror. His dirty blonde hair was freshly cut in ink black and straight. His physique had bulked, turning him into a bonafide Asian hunk. He flexed his darker arms and took a selfie. 

He thought of how hard he was going to pound Vivian and pulled up a bikini photo of her. Yet, he couldn’t get hard. No matter how hard he thought or motioned, it stayed flaccid. His member only grew with a quick glance of an Asian twink in the background. Well fuck, the allegations were true now. 

He dried and dressed himself in bare essentials, finding the crate of different bath bombs at the corner. Now being able to read Vietnamese, it had a big disclaimer: Men who used the bath bomb would become gay, regardless of their previous sexuality. There were bath bombs of other colors and scents in the crate, some of them would turn the user Filipino and others into Korean. 

Kyle rested in the jacuzzi. The blue lights illuminated their pale bodies. He complained of how long Leo was taking with the bath bombs. He was shocked to see the Asian hunk instead of the white twink he had spoken to earlier. 

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Leo. The bath bombs turned me into this muscular Asian hunk.”

“That’s sick, bro. Vivian’s gonna love that.”

“Actually I broke up with her a minute over text before I got here.”

“You fumbled a baddie, dude. Why?

“Because I’m into dudes now,” Leo snarled, inching the crate of bath bombs closer to the edge of the bubbling jacuzzi. “Especially like the future Asian guys you are all going to be,” To the shock of Kyle and the rest of the group, the bath bombs dropped into the water, unleashing a potpourri of aromas. 

When Vivian came to collect her things, she watched the Asian hunks make out and fuck each other by the side of the jacuzzi. Her heart was broken and at that point, Leo was unrecognizable. She tried to drown out the endless moans and gay club music with the same headphones she had gifted Leo. If she had known Vietnamese even a little bit better, things would have gone differently. A little comprehension goes a long way.

[merryy3dbhsjsk]

The Island

The humid air clung to their skin like a second layer of clothing as the small boat nosed against the island’s wooden dock. Jonathan, the self-appointed leader of the group, lifted himself up from the wet humid stickiness of the wooden bench. looking into lush, breathing wilderness that rose before them with excitement. On either side of him were his best friends, Daniel and Matthew, both bright-eyed college students, excited but nervous. The three of them had been planning to take a gap year to “find themselves” as they put it, and now they were here—an unmarked island far off the coast of Central America, the start of their world traveling adventures. 

They carried supplies in waterproof packs, some local money they had traded their American dollars for and a determination to explore the “unknown”. Jonathan especially felt the elation of seeing someplace new. He believed his whole life had been steering him here. Daniel, on the other hand, was more interested in trying to save the locals than adventure, he even had brought Bibles translated into the language of the native tribe. and Matthew was tagging along partly for the experience and partly because he didn’t want to be left behind.

The island greeted them with green silence, broken only by birdsong and the drone of insects. As their boat drifted away, leaving them for a month with only their supplies and the company of people they had never met. The air stirred faintly, though no wind came from the ocean. The three young men didn’t notice that the jungle had gone quiet, listening it seemed like. 

The boys found the village after two hours of trudging through thick undergrowth. Huts built from palm and wood curved around an open space where smoke drifted lazily from a firepit. Children stopped their games to stare at the pale, sweating newcomers. Soon, adults emerged: tall, bronzed men with broad shoulders, women with hair braided and adorned with flowers, all barefoot, all staring in silence.

Daniel smiled awkwardly. “Hey. Uh… hello?”

To their surprise, one of the men responded in broken Spanish. “You… come… visitors?”

Relief flooded Jonathan. “Yes. We came to know about this place. We come to help.”

The man only nodded and gestured them forward. “Come. You… stay.”

That first night, the three sat by the fire while food was brought, fish roasted over coals, fruits cut open to reveal red and golden insides, roots mashed into something thick and starchy. The villagers ate with their hands, laughing and talking in language the foreigners didn’t understand. They ate carefully, watching. Danial tried to speak of God, of Christ’s sacrifice, but his words were clumsy in translation. The villagers listened politely but with bemusement. When one old man finally spoke, all he said was: “We have all gods needed here. Strong gods. The island gives us all.”

The villagers laughed and the conversation moved on. Danial bristled. But the other two, however, felt their stomach warm with the food and their hearts light with laughter, and smiled in spite of their friend’s annoyance.

Days passed into weeks. The three learned the local custom slowly. But the people remained patient yet unmoved in their foreign ways. The boys found themselves being taught how to weave palm leaves, how to spear fish in clear pools, and how to move silently in the jungle. Johnathan embraced it first, eager to prove himself. Matthew followed, charmed by the village girls(and boys) who giggled when he stumbled over their language. Even Danial, though stern at first, felt something loosening inside him as he watched the men wrestle in the sand, their bodies shining with sweat, or as he joined a nighttime dance where flames lit painted faces and voices rose in hypnotic chants.

The island’s worship was everywhere: in the way the people thanked the river before drinking, bowed their heads to the ocean before swimming, and touched the bark of certain trees reverently. They spoke of gods not as distant figures but as present forces: the River Mother, the Sky Father, the Fire Brother, things the boys had never heard of until now.

Danial argued with them, quoting scripture, but even as he did, he felt his words ring hollow. At night, he dreamed of water wrapping around his body, not cold but alive, stroking him, pulling him deeper.

The month came quickly. On the morning the boat was supposed to return, Jonathan, Daniel, and Matthew stood at the river’s edge. None of them wanted to leave.

“It doesn’t feel right,” Matthew said quietly, digging his bare toes into the earth. “Back there… everything feels so so so. . . compared to this, Here, I feel alive.”

Daniel nodded fiercely. “I don’t wanna go back to school, to stupid classes and dorm rooms. I wanna stay here. With them. With this.”

Jonathan looked at the empty waterway, trembling. He should rebuke them. He should demand they leave, head to the next stop on their adventure . But instead he whispered, “What if we asked? What if the gods… let us stay?”

The words startled him, but they felt right. The villagers had spoken often of how the gods sometimes claimed outsiders, drawing them into the island forever. It was said that if you begged earnestly, the island would answer.

So the three knelt by the riverbank, heads bowed, voices trembling. “River Mother… Sky Father… we beg you. Let us remain. Make us yours.”

The jungle hushed. The water rippled though no wind stirred it, and then, in what only could be a sign from the gods. The water glowed warmly blue, the boy stared and knew what they must do. 

Jonathan swallowed hard. “We have to… go in.”

Daniel was already pulling off his shirt. “Then let’s do it.”

Naked, they waded into the river. At first it was just cool water lapping their thighs, their waists. Then it felt thicker, grew almost viscous, curling around them like hands. Matthew gasped as something stroked his calf, his hip. Jonathan felt a pressure kneading his chest, his arms, as if unseen fingers molded him. Daniel laughed breathlessly. “It’s touching me—oh Gods—it feels—”

Jonathan tried to say something, but his voice was shaking. His body writhed with pleasure as the water caressed him like a lover “It’s. . .Ugh.”

The water surged, lifting them, cradling them like infants. They moaned as warmth seeped into their muscles, softening, reshaping, strengthening. Their hair grew thicker, darker, curling in the humidity. Skin deepened to sun-bronzed hues, the red burns gone. Their bodies stretched lean and powerful, muscles carved by the river itself.

Danial’s cross slipped from his neck, sinking. He didn’t reach for it.

When at last the current stilled and released them, the three staggered to the shore, dripping, laughing, trembling with the aftershocks of transformation. They looked at one another and froze.

Their faces were no longer the pale, narrow ones of American tourists. They were young men of the island now: strong jaws shaded with stubble, wild hair clinging in wet curls, eyes dark and bright. Their bodies gleamed, sculpted by the river’s embrace.

Daniel whooped and threw his arms around the others. “Look at us! Look—we’re… we’re. . .” He trailed off as his thought of being changed vanished as soon as it came, their memories of collage, life in the US, and their plans of traveling the world fell away.

Matthew touched his face, his chest, disbelief melting into familiar confidence. “I… I look good. . . As always”

Jonathan should have been horrified. Instead he felt joy so sharp it bordered on pain. He felt… free. “The gods have given us a gift,” he whispered, although he couldn’t recall whatnot that gift was exactly. “We are perfect tribesmen, what could be a greater gift them to live in a place so hollowed”

From the village came the sound of drums. People emerged, smiling as though they had been waiting. Hands reached out to welcome the three boys back. The villagers chanted words Jonathan now understood perfectly, though he had never learned them: “Brothers. Sons of the River. Chosen.”

Jonathan, Daniel, and Matthew laughed with them, voices carrying into the thick green air. That evening, the three sat together by the fire after their coming of age ceremonies. their wet hair clinging to their shoulders, their bronzed skin glowing in the flames. They no longer thought of themselves as anything but tribesmen. 

And when the boat returned the next morning, searching for them, it found no trace. 

(This one was a fun write, really like the idea of a place you just can’t help but stay. . .forever! Obviously this isn’t rooted in any sort of actual religion or culture, it’s really up to your interpretation. Please don’t take it to seriously, hope you enjoyed!)

[idesofrevolution]

One of the football jocks gave me a strange secret Santa present. It was one of the highschool jearseys and a pair of football cleats?? When he gave them to me he was drenched in sweat , dropping wet, and smelled strongly,

What's even stranger is I think he gave me his own cleats and jersey? Or he tried them on? BC both items smelled like him, maybe he was short on time?

I've neglected to do anything about them, as they just lay in my dorm still in the box, but for some reason, I can't get the picture of that sweaty, stinky muscular man out of my head

You stare at the box as you angrily stomp down the road. How did he know? Did he know? There’s no way he could have seen, unless some passerby saw and told him… which wasn’t entirely outside of the realm of possibility. Either way, you are not amused. If anything this “white elephant gift” seems more like a threat than anything else. So as you arrive at the athletic dorm, you get to Jabari’s door and start pounding away.

“Jabari! Open the door.” You hear the loud music pause, and hear the football players heavy footfalls approaching. As the door swings open, you’re met with Jabari’s smug, unimpressed expression. Standing shirtless in the doorway with a joint out of his mouth.

“The fuck do you want?” He spits out at you before looking at the giant box in your hands, shitty wrapping paper barely clinging to it. He smirks. “What, bro? You didn’t like your present?” He opens the door, inviting you in.

“No. I didn’t fucking like the present.” You look around the hallway, slinking into Jabari’s room unseen. The disastrously messy room stank of weed and the familiar stink that wafts from the box in your arms. You open the box, hit with somehow still wet funk pouring from the cardboard vessel. Dumping the contents onto the floor, you grimace at the sight of the stinking cleats, practice Jersey, and cumstained cheesy jockstrap sitting on the carpet. “This supposed to be funny?” Jabari leans against the counter, crossing his socked size 15 feet and staring at you with a knowing look.

“It was funny to me, bro. Had to trade names a few times before I got yours. I thought you’d like em.” He took another drag of the joint, blowing a puff of smoke in your face. You angrily swipe the cloud away, standing your ground.

“I don’t fucking like them. So I’m returning them.” You turn to leave, but before you so much as take a step, you feel Jabari’s calloused hand firmly gripping your shoulder.

“Nah, man. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He pushes you to your knees with little effort, right in front of the cleats. “The way I hear it, you really into this shit. Mine in particular gets you off.” Your face so close the cleats, you can’t stop yourself from breathing in that heavy stench. If he’d ever washed them, it was certainly years ago. “I got eyes everywhere, bruh.” You struggle against his grip.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but…” Jabari pushes your head forward even more, the tip of your nose slowly approaching the off white fabric of the cleat.

“Nah, man. I know what you do after every practice. You think you’re slick comin round and huffin my sneaks outside that door, huh? I thought you’d like a lil piece of me at home.” He presses your face firmly into the cleat, enough that you feel the damp grimy insole on your skin. “We don’t need some fuckin foot freak up in here jackin it to our smell while we chillin inside.”

You hold your breath as long as you can but you can only hold out so long. Your lungs spasm, and you take in a full whiff of Jabari’s foot funk. The sweat and grime of endless games and even more practices, all percolating and coagulating into one atomic bomb of stink. He’s right- your clandestine nightly activities must have been noticed despite your carefulness. He gives you a moment of respite as he releases his grip on your head, allowing you to pull your face out of the smelly cavern. You stare with insurmountable embarrassment at the cleats before you.

They sit there, inundated in the jock studs sweat. In a quieter, lonely moment alone, you’d be far more comfortable burying your nose into them. But with Jabari looming above you with a scowl on his face, so full of disdain and contempt… caught red handed, you feel nothing but shame.

“Strip. Now.” You feel your face flush pale white. Your breath gets caught in your throat, rendering you barely able to speak much more than at a whisper.

“Jabari… listen. I won’t do it again.” You try to turn to face him, only to get his socked foot pressed firmly onto the side of your face, pushing it right back toward the cleats. The smell is so fresh in the damp black socks, it has a different feel to it. The cleats, the trainers, they’ve been marinating for years in that stink. This is the source, and it’s so much better than you could have ever imagined.

“I said fucking strip, bruh.” You feel his meaty fingers grasp ahold of the fabric of your shirt, and with a single movement he tears it in two. “I’m tired as fuck of all y’all freaks huffin my straps and kicks when I’m not looking. Fantasizing bout me railin your dumbass. That ain’t consent, bro.” He rips your shoes and socks off your feet, tearing your shorts off as you sit there mortified.

“I wasn’t thinking! I’m sorry! You won’t have to see me again, I’ll leave you alone and you’ll forget I even exist!” Jabari puts his sweaty foot right onto your back, pushing you down to the ground, reminding you very clearly who it is that is in charge.

“Yeah you right. I’m not gonna see your ass again- I won’t even remember you. Now, put it on.” You twist your head one more time to look at him, just for him to plant that foot on your face, pushing it right back toward the cleats, jersey, and jockstrap. “All of it, bitch. Quick.” He claps his hands loudly, and you instinctively grasp the jersey, slipping it over your shoulders and letting it drape like curtains over your smaller frame. It hangs from your shoulders, almost pooling at your knees as you kneel.

“Come on, Jabari. This shit is weird as fuck. Just let me go home I won’t bother yo…” You’re unable to finish your sentence as he shoves his sweaty socks into your mouth, silencing you quickly as he holds the jockstrap in front of your face. You stifle your urge to sniff it, one last act of defiance before he slips the damp jock up your legs. You shudder at the warm wetness that surrounds your groin, the fetid taste of Jabari’s socks filling your mouth, groaning in euphoric anticipation for whatever he has planned for you. You feel the dank cleats being shoved onto your feet, the squish of his sweat and foot grime pressing onto your soles before they’re tightened and the grime surrounds your entire foot.

“There you go, bruh. It’s your fantasy right? Bein like Jabari, smellin’ like Jabari, lookin’ like Jabari…” His hand wraps around your neck, as he drags you toward his closet. He opens the door, his clothes getting pushed out of the way as your body starts to shiver and quake. “Imma let you marinate for a while, bruh. Let you take it in.” With relative ease, you’re tossed into his dark, cramped closet as he smugly scowls at you. Slowly, he shuts the closet door, plunging you into complete darkness, surrounded only by the stench of Jabari’s sweat and the ever increasing pulsations under your skin.

You reflect on what brought you here, all the times you’d snuck down the hall to bury your face in the cleats that now grace your feet. *Crack*

You reflect on the fantasies in your head of him jacking you off with those thick hands. *Squelch*

You reflect on the taste of those smelly socks stuffed into your mouth, unable to bring yourself to remove them. *Sluuuuuuuuuurp*

You close your eyes, imagining the world in which your fantasies came alive. Kicking back with him, slurping on his musky cock, not as a lil bitch but as his equal. *Whoooooosh*

You can feel the pain in your arms, your legs, your chest and groin… that ache of athleticism, that need to grow, that desire to dominate, that pride of strength and of virility instilled into you. *CREAAAAAAAAAK*

You shudder, feeling your growing bulge start to leak into Jabari’s jockstrap, imagining his sweat, his spunk, his smell all flowing into you. Inundating you, entering you, reshaping you in his image. “Unhhhhhhh” you groan, your voice deep and bellowing. *BOOOM*

Pressure grows throughout your body, you feel more and more cramped in the small confines of the closet, your thoughts growing hazy and confused, time seemingly floating by at a crawl. Then, amongst the cavalcade of aches, groans, and obscene sounds echoing in the dark; you begin to fade into the void yourself. The darkness overtakes you, and all you have left is the sounds of stretching and inflation ringing in your ears. *SNAPP*

———

Jabari looks down at his watch, paid for by some horny old man begging to worship his pits, and smirks. He takes his time getting up off the couch, leaving the Ravens game blaring on his tv. His massive soles slap against the tile floor, as he pushes the door to his bedroom open. To his surprise, the door to the closet is slid all the way open, the interior only full of his clothes. He smirks as his gaze slowly turns to the corner of the room, and there before his mirror, crouching low on muscled thighs and meaty feet is you taking some smutty selfies in his dirty mirror.

“Damn, bruh. You lookin pumped as fuck. Feeling like yourself again?” his voice is softer, like an older brother speaking to his younger brother. You turn your head, grinning your pearly whites while scratching your manicured chinstrap. Standing up, your eyes gaze directly into his, now of equal height and build.

“Yeah, bro. I don’t know what got into me.” You strut up to him, donned in only his jockstrap, now dripping with your thick and potent seed. Your hand collides with his, your biceps bulging beneath your mocha skin. “Feelin a lil pent up though, man. Think you could help a bro out?” You slip your calloused hand down the jockstrap, letting your massive python plop out of the fabric and hang halfway down your thigh. Your balls still dripping in sweat, half yours, half Jabari’s. He nods, his supple lips curling even further into a wicked smile as he wraps his fingers around your shaft. Time to blow off some steam before the game is over- besides, you have practice in the morning. Maybe some bedtime with bro is just what the doctor ordered.

If you liked this story, here’s my tip jar! Let me know what you think!

[rubberdisguise]

| RONALDOTIFICATION |

In a small Tennessee town, a 17-year-old named Jamal woke up with a strange sensation. He felt a bulge between his thighs—something unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Intrigued, he slipped his hand into his boxers and was surprised not to recognize the shape of his genitals. "What's going on?" he whispered as he got up to look in the mirror. He was startled by his new voice, which was deeper than before.

He was surprised being a black man seeing his completely white hands pushed him to get up to check his appearance.

His reflection came as a shock: it wasn't him anymore. He had a clean-shaven face, short hair, and the muscular physique of Cristiano Ronaldo. "Wow, this is crazy!" he exclaimed, admiring every detail of his new body. He began to explore his new contours, his firm muscles, and the sensation of his new anatomy. A growing curiosity took hold of him, and he decided to touch himself more intimately.

Jamal closed his eyes, savoring every new sensation. His hands explored his body with an intensity he had never known. He felt a rising heat—an arousal he had never been able to experience in his teenage body. "It's incredible," he whispered as he continued to caress himself. Every movement was a discovery; every shiver, a new experience.

The idea of feeling Ronaldo’s hand on his penis the excitement only went up again, he also put a finger in his anus something he would never have thought being a straight man he felt Cristiano’s tight hole it was like discovering his sexuality for the first time.

Semen began to surge through his urethra, culminating in a massive jet erupting from his new penis. "Oh my God, that feels so good," he moaned, feeling his body shudder. He lay back on the bed, exhausted but incredibly satisfied. He used a finger to scoop up a warm, sticky glob of semen he had accidentally sprayed onto his chest—now slick with fluid and sweat—and licked it off. "I never thought I could feel something like this," he whispered with a smile. "My sperm is so tasty..." 💦 🥵

Jamal knew his life was about to change. He now possessed the body of one of the world's greatest athletes, with capabilities and sensations he would never have dared to dream of. "I'm going to make the most of it," he told himself as he stood up, ready to face this new reality with a smile.