#top tf

[fredwkong]

Top 3341

“Welcome to the cave, bro,” said Top 3341, gesturing you into his home gym with one perfect, tattooed arm.

He had been so perfectly flirty on the apps, but now that you were in his presence, there was an artificial quality to his perfection. His smirk at the perfect angle as he flexed perfectly, his perfect torpedo cock without a hint of a curve visible in his tights as he posed for you, both your cocks growing as a sheen of sweat oiled his muscles. Still, you were gagging for his cock, and so grateful he’d messaged you, an average Black sub bottom without a single visible ab to compete with his eight.

He seduced you perfectly, guiding you through a flirtatious workout and slowly removing more of your clothes, worshipping your body attentively if a bit stiffly. “Good form, bro,” he told you as you bench pressed, his uncannily massive bulge filling your view as its sweaty musk filled your nostrils.

The scent was just as perfect as him, and soon your head was fuzzy and your limbs were shaky from the combination of arousal and heavy lifting. It took you a few minutes to realise that, instead of finishing your hip thrust set, you had your face buried in Top 3341’s tights, sucking his balls right through the sheer fabric.

“Think you’re ready for the main event, bro,” he said, picking you up easily and laying you on your back on a bench.

“Wh-what’s your name?” you slurred as he slid the tights down his massive striated legs and let that monster cock free.

“I told you bro,” the man lined his cock up with your ass, “I’m Top 3341. You’re about to be Top 3342.”

Your muscles were too spent to let you flinch away as the man speared you, but you felt no pain. Even your confusion at his absurd statement melted away as tingling pleasure seemed to emanate through your whole body from his cock.

“But I’m a bottom,” you moaned, writhing as the cock withdrew and then bottomed out again. Somehow, the word “bottom” felt strange in your mouth, like a foreign language. What did it even mean?

Every nerve in your body seemed to be in overdrive as Top 3341 began to piston in and out of your ass. Your vision whited out as your leg muscles spasmed, growing in fits and starts from your thighs down to your feet. The skin and hair lightened to perfectly match Top 3341’s torso as you wrapped your lengthened legs around him, pulling his perfect cock deeper inside you with your newfound strength.

“You sure you’re a bottom, bro?” the top asked, his voice just as relaxed and cocky as when he demonstrated a lift. He grabbed your little cock, which usually stayed soft when you bottomed. “This guy seems to be getting pretty excited.”

You screamed in pleasure as you felt your cock grow in his hand, rocketing to steel hardness and then continuing to pulse and grow. The dark foreskin retracted as the pale pink head outgrew it, and the shaft became a perfect arch, with a torpedo bulge in the middle just like Top 3341’s. As the top began to stroke it, you felt your ass become strangely numb despite his continued pounding. Instead, sparks of pleasure began to emanate from your perfect cock.

“Oh f-fuck bro,” you gasped, the “bro” slipping out unintentionally but feeling so right on your lips. “What are you doin’ to my big top cock?”

“You’re joinin’ the brotherhood, bro.” Top 3341 continued to rhythmically pound your ass, but the sensation felt distant and unimportant compared to the barest twitch of his hand around your cock. “What did you say you were again?”

“I’m a b-“ The word slipped out of your mind. It wasn’t an important word. It was a word that didn’t describe your perfection or the hive’s perfection, and that made it unimportant. You ran your hands, growing thick and callused, across your lightly tanned abs and over your thick pecs.

“Dom top, bro,” you purred, your ragged gasps smoothing out as you felt your neck expand and your voice dropped. You and Top 3341 stared into each other’s eyes, both breathing easily and smiling with eerie perfection, as your jawline, nose, and brows grew to match his.

Your hair bounced slightly from your brother’s fucking as it uncurled and styled itself into a perfect quiff. You grinned as your brain sorted itself into perfect mechanical order, just like every other drone in the Top hive. Your previous life, with all its morals and experiences, was drowned in endorphins and walled off as you made more efficient use of your processing power.

With a slight shudder, Top 3341’s cock stiffened even more and began to unload cum into your ass. You smiled deliriously as your designation locked in and saved, allowing you to shoot a massive, creamy load all over your perfect, glistening pecs. You were Top 3342, and you and your brother were ready for another workout before finding some more—what was the word? B-something?—to assimilate.

Thanks to @idesofrevolution for the inspo pic.

If this got you horny, consider putting some spare change in my Ko-fi cup so I can write even more hot stories.

[corruptiontfs]

I’ve always been a really nice good respectful gay guy but lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like if I was more of a big criminal type guy instead.

You check into the downtown hotel after a long, exhausting drive. Some business conference you were forced to attend. As the polite, respectful gay guy you’ve always been, you smile at the front desk clerk, thank her profusely, and head up to your standard room with your neat suitcase and laptop bag. You’ve spent your whole life being good: helping others, never breaking rules, keeping your hookups safe and vanilla. But that nagging fantasy has followed you here. What if you were the complete opposite? A big, intimidating criminal who travels from city to city for shady “business” instead of conference rooms?

You set your bag down, unbutton your dress shirt, and step into the bathroom to splash water on your face. Staring into the mirror, you mutter under your breath, “Just once… I wish I knew what it felt like to be that guy instead.”

The mirror ripples and swirls at your words.

A wave of heat slams into you like lightning. Your body convulses as the transformation rips through every inch of you. Your shoulders crack and widen dramatically, ripping the seams of your crisp dress shirt. Muscle explodes across your frame: biceps swelling into thick, veiny boulders, chest barreling outward into heavy, powerful pecs, and your abs carving deep into an armored eight-pack. Your height shoots up to 6’5”, legs thickening into tree-trunk thighs that shred your slacks. Your ass becomes two rock-hard globes built for power, hole tightened once more as you’ll never bottom again.

Your face hardens: jaw turning chiseled and brutal, nose slightly crooked like it’s been broken in fights over the years, eyes narrowing into a predatory stare. Dark stubble erupts across your cheeks while tattoos bloom everywhere in every design imaginable: gang insignias across your chest, prison teardrops, snakes, guns, and filthy explicit designs running down your abs toward your groin.

Your cock surges violently, thickening into a fat, heavy 10-inch monster that tents and then rips through your underwear. It throbs with new, aggressive need. You’ve never felt hornier and it feels so good.

The old respectful you doesn’t even get the chance to scream before that voice is drowned in pure corruption. Memories flood in: smuggling runs across state lines, breaking kneecaps for unpaid debts, running underground fight rings, moving guns and product, and leaving a trail of broken men and emptied safes behind you. Politeness? Gone. Guilt? Laughable. You grin at your new reflection, a menacing, tattooed beast in tattered business clothes, and your voice comes out as a deep, gravelly snarl as you flex your new muscles: “Fuck yeah. This is me now.”

You rip off the remains of your old outfit and pull on the new clothes that have somehow appeared in your suitcase: tight black tank top stretched obscenely over your massive chest and tattoos, leather jacket, heavy boots, and thick gold chains. You’re no longer here for any conference. That’s for dweebs and losers. You’re in town for “business.”

The corruption hits harder with every passing minute. You leave the room and head down to the hotel bar. The place is full of traveling businessmen. You spot a clean-cut guy around your old age sitting alone. Probably another polite professional. Your new instincts immediately kick in. You loom over him, your massive frame casting a shadow, and growl, “You’re coming with me.”

He tries to protest, but one look at your cold, criminal eyes and the way your biceps flex makes him fold. You drag him upstairs to your room, kick the door shut, and shove him to his knees. “Suck it, bitch.” He obeys, gagging on your thick criminal cock as you skull-fuck him without mercy, one hand gripping his hair like a handle. You call him names, tell him exactly how many guys you’ve ruined on the road, how many stores you’ve knocked over, how many rivals you’ve put in the hospital or the grave. When you finally cum, you flood his throat and make him thank you for it.

But you’re just getting started.

That same night you “work.” You intimidate the hotel manager into giving you the master keycard after cracking your knuckles loudly in his office. You rob several high class suites: wallets, watches, cash, even a briefcase full of documents you plan to sell later. When one guy catches you in the act, you beat him down effortlessly with your new strength, leaving him bruised and terrified on the floor while you laugh. The rush feels incredible. Every crime makes you hard again, throbbing for another hole to fill.

By morning you’ve completely changed. You check out of the hotel under a fake name, sliding the terrified clerk a wad of stolen cash as a “tip” with a wink that promises violence if he talks. Your car in the lot has changed too. Instead of your basic rental car, a blacked-out muscle car with illegal plates and a hidden compartment in the trunk already stocked with product.

You drive out of the city onto the highway, heading to the next town for more “business.” Protection money to collect. Drugs to move. Ass to wreck. No more Mr. Nice Guy for you. No more respect for the weak. Just raw power, easy money, and filthy dominance.

You light a cigar that you stole, one hand on the wheel and the other palming your thick cock through your jeans, and you smile as police sirens echo in the distance.

The morning is just getting started.

[bull-dieseld]

~~New Years Gym Member~~

[fredwkong]

That guy just gave up being big, bald, and hairy? I don't care if people mistake me for straight, I'd do anything to have those traits for myself! Can you transfer them to me before it's too late?

Thanks for your special Swapcation booking with FWK Vacations! These swaps are so good, you’ll forget you ever lived a different life.

You wake up with a snort, confused for an instant at the mask covering your face. What’s this whole contraption? As you blink the sleep out of your eyes, you remember your sleep apnoea machine. Fuck, it hasn’t startled you awake like that in years.

With practiced hands, you extricate yourself from the mask and tube, grabbing your phone to check the date. Sunday, so the cigar shop’s closed. You reach over to the far side of your bedside table, grabbing your half-finished cigar from last night and lighting it to take a few puffs while you convince yourself to get out of bed.

You have a text from your personal trainer, a young stud you dom and use as an ashtray some weeknights, about your session later. At your age, getting in good workouts and managing your cardio is important. Still, that’s not until the afternoon.

You tweak a hairy nipple and watch your big daddy cock wake up a bit in the greying forest of your pubes. You have plenty of time to invite a boy over and make him your bitch. You fucking love how they go crazy for a hairy masc daddy blowing smoke in their face before he fucks them.

Cigar clenched between your teeth, you stroke your cock idly with one hand and thumb through dozens of messages from slutty twinks with the other. Maybe you can take one out to the sports bar with you tonight, and shock some of those prudes who come to the shop with how much of a big, manly, hairy faggot you are.

Enjoy your vacation!

Want to go on vacation? Submit an ask!

[fredwkong]

I'm about to get married to my sexy Latino fiance, but I've recently learned that he's been seeing his ex behind my back. I'm the whitest, nerdiest, skinniest, most vanilla guy he's ever dated, so I think that's why he's getting cold feet. Do you think sending me on one of your mysterious vacations might help me dispel any doubts with him? Maybe a drop of machismo is all I need...

Thanks for your booking with FWK Vacations. Are you ready for the macho vacation of your life?

You wake up because your nose fills with a totally rancid, musky stench. For just an instant, you’re totally disgusted, and then you remember that’s just the smell of your armpits and balls after you sleep. You sweat so much that after just eight hours you’re overwhelmingly smelly.

You shift, and there’s a moan somewhere around your crotch level. You open your eyes and look down to see a bubble-butted Latino twink between your legs. Who is… that?

“Mi vida?” The door opens, and your fiancé enters, carrying a huge tray of bandeja paisa, the perfect breakfast for a manly Colombian stud like you. He looks so cute in his slutty little bikini, you think, stroking your beard.

That’s right, the twink between your legs is your bitch boy, your fiancé’s ex. How could you forget? He saw how manly you were and basically begged you to enslave him. You nudge him with one of your huge, smelly feet, and he jerks awake, fondling your big bull balls. Just like you trained him, he starts tongue-washing your balls while your fiancé lowers himself onto your leaking Latino cock. It’s the perfect way to enjoy your breakfast.

Enjoy your vacation!

Want to go on vacation? Book via my ask box!

[fredwkong]

Musk Dom

The bottom’s profile said “Tops only. Must dom.” Since your profile said, truthfully, that you were vers, you assumed that was the end of it. No messages, you would go on with your life with the memory of this hot twink’s pics in the back of your mind.

So you were more than a bit surprised when you got a message from him. He flirted sweetly, a rarity on Grindr, and pretty soon you found yourself catching the bus to his place.

“Hey, I’m vers and I don’t dom, by the way,” you texted him as you waited for a transfer.

“Don’t worry about that, handsome,” the bottom texted back.

It was so flattering you didn’t think twice about it. You were slender and not too tall, so most gay guys didn’t really give you a second look. The idea that this bottom was breaking his own no-vers, no-switch rule for your average looks was tantalizing.

When he guided you into his bedroom, the first thing that hit you was the smell. The room reeked of unwashed feet and smelly shoes. Looking around, you found the source. The bottom had a pile of sneakers in the corner, all of different sizes, brands, and levels of wear.

Trying not to cough, you said, “So, you like feet?”

The bottom gave a tinkly little laugh. “You could say that, stud.” He sat you down on the bed, and then paused. “You get to know my collection while I clean out, Sir.” He gave your hand a squeeze and, before you could protest, he closed the door behind him.

The smell of the shoes quickly filled your own awareness. With the door closed, it seemed to become increasingly intense. You felt the musky, stale stench fogging up your brain, making it hard to think. You fell back on the mattress, gasping.

You heard the door open, and the bottom came back in. “Perfect,” he said. “You’ll make a great dom for me tonight.” You heard him rummaging through the smelly shoe pile.

“B-but I’m not a dom,” you gasped. Somehow, that felt wrong to say. Didn’t little twinks like this boy deserve to be put in their place? The smell filled up that spot in your mind. Of course they did, they deserved to have a real man show them how inferior they were.

The bottom approached with a pair of crusty used sneakers from the pile. “Just let go of all those useless smart thoughts and you’ll be so much happier,” he giggled, sliding the first shoe onto your socked foot.

At close range, the thick stench of the shoes filled up your mind even faster. That was… your smell, right? This inferior twink was putting your shoes on you, as was his place. You struggled to hold onto your previous personality, your versatility and romantic side, but it sank beneath the musky fog of your foot stink before you could grasp it.

As the bottom slid the second shoe onto your other foot, your resistance started to collapse. Yeah, with your little body, you might not look to most people like a dom top, but the cloud of foot musk and your cheesy cock stink could get any man on all fours in front of you. The last of your complex thoughts dissolved as the bottom tied your laces. All you were worried about now was the next ass you were going to breed.

Before the bottom could move, you surged to your feet and pinned him down with the sole of your sneaker, the interior squelching pleasantly with your sweat. “You like that?” you growled at the bottom as he mewled pathetically under your foot. “You like that you made me like this?”

“Yes, Sir,” the bottom gasped.

“Disgusting. You had to make your own dom.” You lifted up your foot. “Get on the bed. I’m going to dump a load in your pathetic ass before I go find a real sub.”