#unwilling

[what-are-the-ethics-of-this]

nnS 音速モーモン - ￥3000　③

[swapsrus]

My Body, His Mistake

Will and James had been best friends since high school. They were both good-looking, but James had always been the more rugged, adventurous one. So when James suggested they swap bodies for the big lake house party that night “just for fun,” Will, curious and a little tipsy already, agreed. They used the strange antique ring James had found. One flash later, Will was staring out of James’s taller, broader body, while James grinned with Will’s leaner, prettier face.

“Fuck, dude. You feel good,” James said in Will’s voice, running his new hands over his chest. “Let’s go fuck shit up.”

The party was wild. They agreed to swap back at midnight.

But James got drunk. Really drunk.

Will spent the first few hours enjoying himself, getting attention from girls and guys alike. But as the night went on, James stopped replying to his texts. Will started to panic. He spent the rest of the night tracking down his own body. He finally found it at 3 a.m., sitting on the back porch, looking dazed.

Will’s slim, athletic, curly-haired body looked completely out of place. He was shirtless, sweat glistening on the lean muscle, but his posture was slouched, one hand resting on his flat stomach like he couldn’t believe what he was feeling. His eyes were glassy and confused as he stared down at the tight abs and smooth chest that definitely didn’t belong to him.

Will, still in James’s bod, froze. “James… what’s goin on? It’s been hours and I hadn’t heard from you! We were supposed to swap back at midnight! Where have you been?”

Will’s handsome face looked up at him and slurred, “Kid… what the fuck is this? I was just at the bar down the street drinkin with the boys… now I’m… Jesus, this body is so young… so…tight.” Will’s body ran its hands slowly over the lean chest, squeezing the pecs, then down the abs, clearly mesmerized. His new cock was half-hard in Will’s shorts, twitching visibly.

Will’s stomach dropped.

“I got no clue who James is,” he continued with a filthy chuckle. The old man in Will’s body just laughed drunkenly, still groping himself. “Some blonde kid ran up to me at the bar talkin about “swappin”… said it was a game. Then he actually swapped again and left me like this. Ran off with my 57 year old construction worker bod and left me… well… left me in this!” He chuckled again.

He flexed one of Will’s arms experimentally, then bounced the pecs, letting out a low, filthy groan at how responsive the athletic frame was.

Will stood there in horror as the old stranger continued exploring his stolen body, touching, squeezing, and shamelessly adjusting the growing bulge in his shorts right there on the porch. His perfect, lean, hard-earned body was now occupied by some random old fat man.

Will stepped closer, a desperation to his tone that sounds weird coming from James’s usually cocky voice. “Well you see uh… that’s actually my body… James here-” He motions to his current body, “He’s my best mate and we thought it’d be fun to swap bodies for the night and now well.. we’re here!”

The old man, now in Will’s drunken form, stared blankly at Will, almost as if he wasn’t listening.

“So uh… can we swap? I want my body back…”

The old man stood up, his sweaty torso glistening in the moonlight, “Hell no, kid. This body is fucking incredible.”

He stood up, still shirtless, and ran his hands down Will’s torso again, squeezing the pecs, tracing every ridge of the abs, then sliding lower to grope the front of the shorts where a clear bulge was forming.

“I was a fat old bastard drinking at the bar… and now I’m this? Tight, young, and hung? Nah. I’m keeping it.”

Will’s heart sank. “We can swap back. The ring-”

“The blond kid who put me in here took the ring with him when he swapped with me,” the old man interrupted, still shamelessly touching and exploring Will’s body. He flexed one arm, then bounced the pecs, letting out a low moan at how good it felt. “Even if we had it, I wouldn’t use it. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

There was no way back. Will was permanently stuck in his best friend’s body.

And the random old stranger was keeping his.

The old man smirked with Will’s charming smile, adjusted the growing bulge in the shorts, and patted his new flat stomach.

“Better get used to it, kid. I plan on putting this tight little body to very good use.”

With that, he walked back into the party with a swagger that looked unfamiliar on Will’s usually more timid body.

———

A few days later, Will’s phone buzzed while he was still trying to adjust to life in James’s bigger body.

It was a text from his old phone number.

Attached were several new photos: his own lean, curly-haired body on the tennis court at dusk, shirtless, sweaty, and smiling. In one shot he was flexing with the racket in hand. The other, a cute little pose, clearly trying to look good for whoever was behind the camera.. Will didn’t want to know who it was.

The message read:

“Bro you would not believe how much fun I’m having in this body 😂 I figure you used to be gay but man, these tennis girls keep checking me out. Thanks for the upgrade man, I’m keeping this one.”

Will stared at the photos of his former self, now permanently occupied by that random old man who clearly had no intention of giving it back, and felt a deep, sinking humiliation settle in his chest.

His perfect body was gone forever.

And somewhere out there, the real James was still happily jumping from body to body, completely unaware of the mess he’d left behind.

[furlenil]

I wanna take my fakeboy boyfriend and tie "him" to my bed Put headphones on "him" and force "him" to listen to detrans hypno audio with a dildo deep inside "him" After each hour, I'll ask "him" how "he's" doing And if "he" doesn't respond to his deadname and new pronouns, I keep the hypno going for another hour She'll have to give in to being our good girl eventually, right?

[vorare-phile]

Preds who eat other preds

Preds who like the fight and the struggle that their "prey" give them

Preds who make other preds question whther they want to eat them or be eaten by them

Preds who tease their "prey" by pointing out how much they seem to enjoy thr thought of being eaten despite being a pred

Preds who settle down with their hard fought meal struggling away inside

Just

Preds who eat other preds

[hooter-n-company]

A two-part birthday gift for @twistedtummies2, and a continuation of THIS piece I made for him a few years ago, starring my big boi Bubba and TT2's dimension-hopping 'sona Rochak. Lil' fella is a personal chef, beloved pet, AND delicious snack rolled into one, and the ol' swamp beast thinks he's a keeper!

Lucky for the timid little man, Bubba's first stomach is more of a storage pouch, so aside from the claustrophobic environment and some strong muscular contractions, Rochak's got nothing to worry about... ...Unless he gets squeezed into the second chamber below, but the big boi wouldn't do that to him...probably...Bubba likes to keep him guessing. XP

Of course, Bubba's having a grand ol' time, lounging lazily while he savors a tasty treat and a good smoke. Rochak's not the most filling meal he's ever had, but he hits the spot regardless! Only time will tell when the big beast decides to let him go…

[yourcarnevoreuspal]

I love when Prey beg~

Whimpering to stop, don't eat them~ Yet there's nothing they can do to keep themselves from becoming a meal~

They can claw and scrape at the ground with all their might, and though it may slow my progress... They'll still end up curled into my stomach~

And they continue pleading in there, too? Crying as digestive fluids lap at them and the walls squeeze down on them~

Maybe their struggles are strong enough to cause a bit of discomfort or damage to the pred, but ultimately they can't escape~ their attempts only serving to please the pred, trick their brain into thinking they're a larger meal than they are as they stretch out their prison~

Don't worry, I'm not much of a casual pred, I'll savor every moment of devouring you ♡

@celestial-corvids-blog

[hypnomcfox]

Meet The Neighbors For Guys’ Nights

Chapter 3: The Disappearance of Mason Mays

In true Kyle fashion, he’s a big wuss. He’s known that his whole life, he’s an emo guy who looks hard to approach and then he hits you with anti-social anxiety disorder and before you can recover from that uppercut he hits you with with the gut punch to reveal that he’s a big pussy when it comes to authority. 

Back when Kyle dicknotized Mason Mays—his flexing tightey-whitie clad coat rack of now two years, there was an investigation regarding the young man’s disappearance. The case came out unsolved much to the dismay of the Mays family, though that may be mislabeled since he wasn’t exactly someone people missed. Mason was homophobic. A short tempered, prejudiced young man who happened to be Kyle’s coworker at Boba and Poke in the Obscura Outlet. This was back when Kyle was still newly moved in to the town of Rat Hill. Kyle had come out to his workplace and to his surprise they were supportive, except for Mason Mays, who Kyle didn’t know at the time was plotting.

Later that night, Kyle was in his shower. Nothing unusual until he heard his restroom door open. He knew he was in trouble now, he lives alone. Before he could even think of calling the police, a hand reached thought the end of the shower curtain and pulled them open. Revealing himself to Kyle was Mason Mays, a face full of anger and prejudice. In his hands was a gun which he definitely would’ve used had he not seen a nude Kyle. His pupils moved to Kyle’s penis without even thinking about it, and then they never left. 

Mason’s forehead was straining with effort to look away, to complete his job. He growled, “What the hell faggot? I can’t look away!” He started to tear up. This was the second time Kyle’s dicknosis was used in anger, and in both cases the person who got dicknotized started to cry. Grayson, his first, and now Mason.

Kyle saw the tears and the gun, but also an opportunity. He saw Mason in a state he could only have dreamed of. He had total control, an absolute authority over the man who wanted to kill him just seconds ago. “Mason,” Kyle started, “put the gun down.”

Mason’s hand trembled as he lowered the weapon, his face a mask of conflict. His eyes, still locked on Kyle’s crotch, were wide with a terror that was slowly being replaced by something else—a dawning, placid acceptance.

“Fuck,” Kyle said, his voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the pounding of his own heart. “Now, I want you to strip. Everything off.”

Mason’s fingers fumbled with his belt, his movements clumsy and needy. His clothes fell to the wet bathroom floor with a fwump. He stood there, naked and vulnerable, his body a stark contrast to Kyle’s. Where Kyle was slender and pale, Mason was solid and muscular, a product of hours spent at the gym he’d often bragged about at work.

“Now,” Kyle continued, his mind racing with possibilities, “I want you to go into my bedroom. Stand against the far wall. The one with the window. Don’t move from that spot.”

Mason tore his gaze finally and turned and walked out of the bathroom, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. As Mason walked away, Kyle could hear his complaints and questioning growing ever distant until they were emitting from Kyle’s bedroom.

Kyle had to reassure himself it was safe to take a breath to let himself relax. He plopped down into the bathtub, hurting his back slightly with a loud thump. Having his life threatened by someone he knew brought Kyle back traumatic memories with his dad. He sat there in the empty tub, naked and wet, thinking about how his dad’s hateful words had hurt him more than a gun could.

He was a coward. He had always been a coward. He ran away from his problems, from his family, from himself. But here, in this house, in this town, he had found a way to fight back. A way to turn the tables on the people who hurt him. It wasn't heroic. It wasn't noble. It was cruel, and manipulative, and it felt better than anything he had ever felt before.

He stood up, water dripping from his body, and reached for a towel. As he dried himself off, he could hear Mason in the bedroom, a low, guttural sound emanating from the other room. Kyle wasn’t as thorough as he was with his ex-boyfriend, Grayson Pike, so Mason was still himself albeit doing whatever Kyle told him in the bathroom. Back then in high school, Kyle had dicknotized the jock in the locker rooms to be so in love with Kyle that he’d break up with his girlfriend later that day and start dating Kyle. It worked for a couple months but then Kyle got caught being gay by his dad and that was a crime worse than murder according to his dad, though it could’ve also been the fact that Kyle attempted to dicknotize his dad after the homophobic storm. He’d found out that day that his dicknosis doesn’t work on his own family, a truly awkward conversation ensued. 

Kyle wrapped a towel around his waist and trepidatiously walked to his bedroom. He was greeted by the sight of Mason standing with his back to the wall by the window, clad in nothing but his underwear, a pair of tightey-whities, and regret. Kyle could tell the man wasn’t regretting his actions, he was regretful because of the paranormal situation he now ended up in. 

Mason’s face turned red as Kyle entered,. He barked, “What are you doing to me, faggot? I swear, you’re dead when I break free of whatever the fuck you’ve done to me!” Despite the anger in his voice, Mason was still just a wall ornament for Kyle’s bedroom. Kyle walked over to Mason and put a hand on the man’s muscular chest. Kyle could feel the man’s heart racing, the muscles twitching beneath his skin. It was a strange kind of power, holding a life in his hands, the power to rewrite a man's very being.

“You’re not going to break free, Mason,” Kyle said, his voice low and steady. “You’re going to stay right here. Against this wall. Forever.”

Mason’s eyes widened in horror. “Forever? You can’t be serious.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking with me,” Kyle said. “You came into my house. You threatened me with a gun. You tried to kill me. Now, you’re going to pay the price. You’re going to be my coat rack. You’ll stand here, against this wall, and you’ll hold my coats. You’ll flex your muscles and you’ll keep your dick hard. And you’ll like it. Because that’s all you are now. A coat rack. An object. A thing.”

He felt a surge of something dark and exhilarating. It was the same feeling he'd had with Grayson. The feeling of being in control, of being the one with the power. It was a feeling he knew he could get used to.

Mason yelled back, “To hell I will. I’m not part of your gay shit! Let me go!”

Kyle rebutted, “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” With a shit-eating grin, Kyle dropped his towel. He looked at Mason and said, “You’ll like being a coat rack. You’ll love it. It’s the only thing that makes you feel whole.”

Mason’s resistance disappeared. The anger in his eyes faded, replaced by a placid, glassy stare. The tension in his shoulders relaxed, his muscles no longer fighting against the invisible force that held him in place. Kyle watched the transformation, a slow, creeping process that was as fascinating as it was terrifying. Mason’s personality, his memories, his sense of self—it was all being rewritten, overwritten by Kyle’s will. It was a violation, a desecration of everything Mason was, but it was also a work of art, a masterpiece of manipulation.

“Good,” Kyle said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Now, flex. Show me what you’ve got.”

Mason’s muscles tensed, his biceps bulging, his chest puffing out. He was a statue of a man, a perfect, immobile object, forever frozen in a pose of masculine strength.

“You’ll stand there,” Kyle continued, his voice low and hypnotic. “Forever. You’ll only think of yourself as a coat rack. You won’t think about your family, or your friends, or your job. You won’t think about anything except being a coat rack. And you’ll keep your dick hard. All the time. Because that’s what coat racks do.”

Mason’s dick, already semi-erect from the initial shock of the dicknosis, grew to its full length, straining against the thin fabric of his tightey-whities. It was a strange, surreal sight—a man, a living, breathing man, turning into a living inanimate object, his body a testament to Kyle’s power.

Kyle stood back and admired his work, watching as Mason’s mind crumbled. Mason was still there, somewhere deep inside, but his personality, his memories, his sense of self—they were all being erased, replaced by a single, all-consuming thought: I am a coat rack. The tears in his eyes had stopped, replaced by a vacant, placid stare. He was no longer a threat. He was no longer a person. He was a thing. Kyle’s thing. Mason’s body remained flexed, a monument to Kyle’s will. The tears that had streamed down his face had dried, leaving faint tracks on his cheeks. His eyes, once full of hate and fear, were now empty, glassy pools, reflecting the moonlight from the window.

Kyle walked over to the closet and pulled out a black leather jacket he rarely wore. He draped it over Mason’s outstretched arm, the weight of the leather settling onto Mason’s bicep. The sight of it, the sheer, audacious reality of it, sent a jolt of electricity through Kyle. He had done it. He had turned a man into an object.

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Mason to his new existence. He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, his hand shaking slightly. The adrenaline was still coursing through him, a potent cocktail of fear and triumph. He looked at his reflection in the kitchen window, his face pale and ghostly in the dim light. Who was he? What was he becoming?

The questions hung in the air, unanswered. He didn’t have the answers. All he had was the power, the raw, intoxicating power to bend others to his will. And that was enough for now.

He walked back to his bedroom, his steps slow and deliberate. He looked at Mason, at the man who was now a coat rack, and felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. He had created something new, something that was uniquely his.

A couple days later, Kyle received a visit from two police officers, both investigating the unexplained disappearance of a Mason Mays in town. They wanted to look inside and investigate, and Kyle, folding immediately with any form of authority, dicknotized the officers to make sure they wouldn’t report their findings. He made them believe Kyle was forgettable and nothing to look into. 

Mason Mays is a cold case, and that’s Kyle’s doing. It was self defense, but Kyle won’t deny he got carried away, and now that he’s sat on it for so long, he's become used to the feeling of guilt. What was new was the good feelings he got from dicknotizing others. From dicknotizing Wolf Jacobs, Walter Henderson, and Cole Smith. And soon, he’ll get everyone who’s here at tonight’s guys’ night. Those who remained normal are Chase Adams and Dominic, and they won’t be normal much longer. Kyle controls the majority now, should something go south then there’s always a plan B now.

[what-are-the-ethics-of-this]

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