Transformation blog, focused on creating stories and pictures on the topic of gay transformation into donkeys, pigs, bulls, bears, age progression, daddy transformation...
Chad only bought the costume because it was the last thing left in the shop that wasn’t for kids that might fit him: a black leather vest, heavy wrist cuffs, mirrored aviators, two little rings, a thick chain necklace, and a sealed cigar tucked into the pocket like a joke.
He was twenty-two, constantly anxious about fitting in, nervous about the costume party his friends were dragging him to, and the whole outfit felt ridiculous in his hands. The old shopkeeper only smiled when Chad asked if there was anything less intense. “That one chooses men who need to grow into it,” he said cryptically.
“Ok - whatever. I guess I can just say I’m a biker.” Chad replied rolling his eyes.
Chad popped by his apartment to throw on the costume, making sure to leave an undershirt on beneath the leather for modesty. As soon as he slid in the vest, Chad’s brain started to feel a little foggy - he looked himself over and thought maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. He put the chain around his neck and pocketed the glasses, rings, cigar and leather cuffs for later.
By the time Chad reached the party, the vest had begun to work its magic. While completely oblivious, slowly it began to tighten around him. His shoulders broadened first, then his chest pressed outward, hair spreading across it. His face burned beneath the sunglasses as his jaw thickened and a heavy blond mustache began to push across his upper lip. His pants tightened as his thighs plumped with new muscle. His cock began to twitch in his boxers as it thickened and lengthened.
After a few beers, Chad got his first real compliment on the costume. “Nice mustache,” someone said, laughing approvingly as they passed him in the hallway.
Chad froze and snapped out of his trance. He didn’t remember the costume coming with a mustache. Slowly, he touched his upper lip and felt coarse hair bristling beneath his fingers, snapping into place as if it had been waiting for him to notice. He gave the new mustache a small, disbelieving tug. It didn’t shift. It was real. His stomach dropped, and he muttered something about needing the bathroom before pushing through the crowd.
The main-floor bathroom had a line, so Chad hurried downstairs into the quieter basement, following the faint sound of pipes and party music muffled through the ceiling. He found a mirror in a room with gym equipment at the end of a narrow hall. The room was dim, unfinished, and cold around the edges, with a cracked mirror above an old sink. When he looked up, his changes were intensifying.
He grabbed the sink with both hands as his shoulders broadened beneath the leather vest. His black undershirt stretched tight across a chest that felt heavier, older, and unfamiliar. Panicking, he pulled the shirt up and off, needing to see what had happened to him. In the mirror, coarse hair spread across his changed chest while his stomach softened into the solid, confident belly of a man who no longer worried about looking young.
As his face morphed into an older man, and the changes began to slow, Chad felt two sharp pinches in his nipples as they were pierced - holes appearing out of nowhere. As if by instinct he placed the two rings into the new piercings. He gave them a little tug - feeling a jolt move through his body. The leather cuffs fit perfectly now on his wrists. The chain settled against him as if it had always belonged there.
Then he remembered the cigar in his hand. He didn’t know why he brought it to his mouth, only that the gesture felt natural, almost practiced. He lit it and gave a deep inhale - smoke filling and warming his older lungs as if he had smoked a thousand other cigars.
In the mirror, Chad no longer saw a nervous younger guy in a borrowed costume. He saw a broad, mustached man in leather, calm eyes hidden behind aviators, the cigar angled between his teeth with easy authority.
His mind fogged again and he unzipped his pants and pulled out his larger dick and balls, propping them against his jeans. He began to jerk his dick with one hand while smoking his cigar with the other. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth long enough to give his reflection a little knowing smirk - happy with what he saw.
He put the cigar back in his mouth, leaned back to give himself more leverage on his dick and continued to jerk off in the basement gym with the buzz of the party upstairs in his ears - and the chance of being found only increasing how turned on he felt. He put the cigar back in his mouth and began tweaking his new and improved sensitive nipples.
Even his voice had changed when he whispered, “Oh - that’s good” to his reflection. “Daddy likes these changes. I can’t believe I was nervous about coming to the party! I’m the hottest guy here by far.”
After playing with his nipples until his cock and balls started to ache for attention, he reached one hand back down to his dick and gave it a firm flick before spitting on his hand and jerking his cock hard and fast while deeply inhaling his cigar and tweaking one nipple then the other.
It wasn’t long before he came - shooting load after load of cum onto the basement gym floor. After letting the afterglow wash over him, he put his cock and balls back into his jeans and returned to the party - chest bare except for the leather vest and pierced nipples, cigar still lit.
Outside, his friends didn’t recognize him at first. They looked past him, then back again, confused by the width of his shoulders, the heavy mustache, the leather vest that now seemed less like a costume than a uniform. Men stepped aside as he moved through the party, drawn by the weight of him, the confidence, the faint smell of leather and cigar smoke.
Chad waited for the panic to return, but it never did. The costume had not trapped him exactly. It had found something in him, pulled it forward, and given it shape. He lifted the cigar from his mouth and caught his reflection in the dark window across the room: older, broader, mustached, impossible to ignore.
Someone beside him blinked and said, uncertainly, “Chad?”
For a second, he almost corrected them - that name no longer felt like it fit - then the mustache lifted with his smile “Yeah,” he said, his voice deeper now, calm and sure. “It’s me.”
Chad only bought the costume because it was the last thing left in the shop that wasn’t for kids that might fit him: a black leather vest, heavy wrist cuffs, mirrored aviators, two little rings, a thick chain necklace, and a sealed cigar tucked into the pocket like a joke.
He was twenty-two, constantly anxious about fitting in, nervous about the costume party his friends were dragging him to, and the whole outfit felt ridiculous in his hands. The old shopkeeper only smiled when Chad asked if there was anything less intense. “That one chooses men who need to grow into it,” he said cryptically.
“Ok - whatever. I guess I can just say I’m a biker.” Chad replied rolling his eyes.
Chad popped by his apartment to throw on the costume, making sure to leave an undershirt on beneath the leather for modesty. As soon as he slid in the vest, Chad’s brain started to feel a little foggy - he looked himself over and thought maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. He put the chain around his neck and pocketed the glasses, rings, cigar and leather cuffs for later.
By the time Chad reached the party, the vest had begun to work its magic. While completely oblivious, slowly it began to tighten around him. His shoulders broadened first, then his chest pressed outward, hair spreading across it. His face burned beneath the sunglasses as his jaw thickened and a heavy blond mustache began to push across his upper lip. His pants tightened as his thighs plumped with new muscle. His cock began to twitch in his boxers as it thickened and lengthened.
After a few beers, Chad got his first real compliment on the costume. “Nice mustache,” someone said, laughing approvingly as they passed him in the hallway.
Chad froze and snapped out of his trance. He didn’t remember the costume coming with a mustache. Slowly, he touched his upper lip and felt coarse hair bristling beneath his fingers, snapping into place as if it had been waiting for him to notice. He gave the new mustache a small, disbelieving tug. It didn’t shift. It was real. His stomach dropped, and he muttered something about needing the bathroom before pushing through the crowd.
The main-floor bathroom had a line, so Chad hurried downstairs into the quieter basement, following the faint sound of pipes and party music muffled through the ceiling. He found a mirror in a room with gym equipment at the end of a narrow hall. The room was dim, unfinished, and cold around the edges, with a cracked mirror above an old sink. When he looked up, his changes were intensifying.
He grabbed the sink with both hands as his shoulders broadened beneath the leather vest. His black undershirt stretched tight across a chest that felt heavier, older, and unfamiliar. Panicking, he pulled the shirt up and off, needing to see what had happened to him. In the mirror, coarse hair spread across his changed chest while his stomach softened into the solid, confident belly of a man who no longer worried about looking young.
As his face morphed into an older man, and the changes began to slow, Chad felt two sharp pinches in his nipples as they were pierced - holes appearing out of nowhere. As if by instinct he placed the two rings into the new piercings. He gave them a little tug - feeling a jolt move through his body. The leather cuffs fit perfectly now on his wrists. The chain settled against him as if it had always belonged there.
Then he remembered the cigar in his hand. He didn’t know why he brought it to his mouth, only that the gesture felt natural, almost practiced. He lit it and gave a deep inhale - smoke filling and warming his older lungs as if he had smoked a thousand other cigars.
In the mirror, Chad no longer saw a nervous younger guy in a borrowed costume. He saw a broad, mustached man in leather, calm eyes hidden behind aviators, the cigar angled between his teeth with easy authority.
His mind fogged again and he unzipped his pants and pulled out his larger dick and balls, propping them against his jeans. He began to jerk his dick with one hand while smoking his cigar with the other. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth long enough to give his reflection a little knowing smirk - happy with what he saw.
He put the cigar back in his mouth, leaned back to give himself more leverage on his dick and continued to jerk off in the basement gym with the buzz of the party upstairs in his ears - and the chance of being found only increasing how turned on he felt. He put the cigar back in his mouth and began tweaking his new and improved sensitive nipples.
Even his voice had changed when he whispered, “Oh - that’s good” to his reflection. “Daddy likes these changes. I can’t believe I was nervous about coming to the party! I’m the hottest guy here by far.”
After playing with his nipples until his cock and balls started to ache for attention, he reached one hand back down to his dick and gave it a firm flick before spitting on his hand and jerking his cock hard and fast while deeply inhaling his cigar and tweaking one nipple then the other.
It wasn’t long before he came - shooting load after load of cum onto the basement gym floor. After letting the afterglow wash over him, he put his cock and balls back into his jeans and returned to the party - chest bare except for the leather vest and pierced nipples, cigar still lit.
Outside, his friends didn’t recognize him at first. They looked past him, then back again, confused by the width of his shoulders, the heavy mustache, the leather vest that now seemed less like a costume than a uniform. Men stepped aside as he moved through the party, drawn by the weight of him, the confidence, the faint smell of leather and cigar smoke.
Chad waited for the panic to return, but it never did. The costume had not trapped him exactly. It had found something in him, pulled it forward, and given it shape. He lifted the cigar from his mouth and caught his reflection in the dark window across the room: older, broader, mustached, impossible to ignore.
Someone beside him blinked and said, uncertainly, “Chad?”
For a second, he almost corrected them - that name no longer felt like it fit - then the mustache lifted with his smile “Yeah,” he said, his voice deeper now, calm and sure. “It’s me.”
'Warning. Due to increased cases of Bearfluenza in the area, it is recommended that you cover up your face and genitalia when swimming. The virus can spread rapidly through shallow water, and is extremely contagious. Swim at your own risk."
"Whatever." James scoffed at the sign. "Just a bunch of bullshit to sell you a vaccine."
He pushed past the sign and entered the change room. He enjoyed stripping down in front of the fat older men that frequented the public pool, because being fit wasn't enough for him, he had to show off the merchandise. Of course, these men could never have him, that was the fun of the game.
The sun glistened off his skin as he walked out towards the pool. It was still early in the summer, and he needed to bolster his tan. He walked past a group of men on the way to the shallow end of the pool and gave them a wink alongside his charming smile. Usually he could see their dicks perk up under their tight speedos, but this time they ignored him.
It's not like he cared, he simply turned up his nose and walked away. He dropped off his towel and dunked his feet in the refreshing water. He usually found it too cold to go past his waist, couldn't risk shrinking the merchandise, but today the temperature felt just right.
He slid into the water and breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes closed as he leaned back and relaxed, but his relaxation was short lived. The group of old men he had walked past started laughing.
"Is something funny?" James sneered.
"Yeah, you took one look at us and now you just can't contain yourself." The men joked.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You're showin' off full mast at the public pool!"
James looked down and was shocked to see that his dick was rock hard, pressing against his swim shorts.
"What the hell?"
He tried tucking it into the drawstring of his shorts, but it popped back out. He scrambled, trying to push his dick down to hide it under the surface of the water. Then, all of a sudden, a stream of water shot up his dick, as if there was a pump sucking the water into his body. As the water entered his body, his stomach started to swell, quickly turning into a rock solid ball belly.
James groaned in pain, holding his distended stomach. He almost couldn't believe the sight of his perfectly round belly. Even though he couldn't still feel it, he couldn't see his boner anymore, he couldn't even see his feet.
He struggled to hoist himself out of the pool as water sloshed around inside him. He couldn't even raise his head as he reached to gather his things.
"Oh pretty boys not so confident without his abs." One of the men called. "C'mon, don't be shy. Show us that belly." Another joked.
James started walking towards the exit, but something had changed. He couldn't hear the water sloshing in his stomach anymore. He stopped and grabbed his stomach, becoming horrified when his hand sunk into the soft fat padding his stomach. It was no longer just a bloat caused by water, it was a full fledged gut that jiggled every time he moved.
He took another step, and his belly swelled once again, then another step and it grew further. With every attempt to get closer to the exit, his gut grew until it was sagging under its own weight.
James fell to the floor, unable to hold the immense weight of his gut any longer. And as he held himself up with his hands, he watched them grow. His hands grew and his fingers thickened as thick hairs covered them. And like a virus, it spread up his arms. His muscle definition disappeared under a layer of fat and a forest of thick hairs. His solid pecs followed suit, growing into hairy man tits that compliment his immense gut, which has unsurprisingly grown a thick pelt of hair.
His swim shorts tighten around his waist as his perky ass expanded into two meaty globes. His thighs thickened and his feet grew 5 sizes larger, snapping through his flimsy flip flops.
With the increased strength of his thicker legs, James managed to crawl towards the pool just in time to watch face change in the waters reflection. His sharp jawline melts into a soft double chin that is quickly covered by a messy grey beard. His perfect skin folds and wrinkles, his nose and ears grow, and his hairline recedes halfway back his scalp, aging him 30 years in the span of seconds.
"Let me help you up." A kind voice echoes above James' head.
He looks up to see a man, not to dissimilar from himself, holding out his hand. His belly cast a shadow that covered James' entire body, and his rock hard cock was pressed against the bottom of his gut, just like James.
"Bearfluenza's a bitch this time of year. Looks like you've got a pretty serious case, but at least you've kept most of your hair." The man explained. "I got it last year, never recovered."
"What's Bearfluenza?" James asked in a gruff voice.
"Oh you've got a lot to learn mi'boy. Come, let me introduce you to some friends. The name's Ken by the way."
"I see you're back." One of the men said.
"You turned quite nice for a pretty boy." Another chirped as he licked his lips.
"Now be nice boys, this is James." Ken said. "Now James, if there's one thing you need to know about this virus, other than the obvious, is that you'll be hornier than ever knew was possible. But you can't go around fuckin' anyone you like, cuz that's how it spreads. So that's what the boys are for, if you know what I mean?"
"Yea..." James muttered as his brain tried to make sense of his situation.
"Good. Now I've been holding it in all morning, so why don't I bring you over to the showers and show you how big guys like us do it." Ken said as he dragged James away.
So I’ve been taking a tour of a dairy farm today and the tour guide’s been eyeing me weirdly. Even stranger, I still haven’t seen any cows. They keep promising me I’ll meet them soon… Any idea what’s up with that?
Such a precarious situation. Perhaps the crumpled papers you found can give you some context:
Entry 1
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here.
The last thing I remember is the end of the farm tour. The guide... that guy with the small, mean eyes... said I was special. He said I was going to get a "behind-the-scenes" look. Then, I think I blacked out. I woke up in this room and I've been here ever since... Banging on the walls for hours, screaming for someone to let me out, but the workers just walk past. There are two of them standing right outside the door right now, talking like nothings wrong. It's making me sick.
One of them finally brought me a bowl of this thick, white sludge. I didn’t want to drink it, but I’m so thirsty, and my throat feels like it’s full of sawdust. It tasted weird... bland and chalky.
Fuck.
Why am I here? What do they want? Why won't the talk to me? If I can just keep my head clear, maybe I can find a way to break the lock when they come back to feed me.
I have to stay focused. I can’t let them see how scared I actually am.
Entry 2
I didn’t sleep at all last night. Every time I started to drift off, I heard that low, rumbling sound from down the hall... like a hum, or maybe someone grunting. It didn't sound human. I kept pressing my back against the wall, trying to stay as far from the door as possible.
I... I thought I was having a heart attack today. My chest feels... weird. There's this dull, throbbing ache right under my skin. Maybe its from how I was laying? Anxiety? Fuck... it just feels so heavy and sore. My nipples too... they feel sensitive. Whenever my shirt rubs against them, it sends this sharp, stinging sensation through my whole torso. It doesn't hurt, but it's definitely noticeable. It’s probably just irritation from the fabric; I’m probably just making it a bigger deal than it is because I’m so stressed out.
The workers came by again this morning. They didn't say a word, just slid another bowl of that sludge through the slot. I really tried not to drink it, but I’m starving, and my stomach feels like it’s eating itself. It went down so easily, almost like my body was craving it.
I checked the walls again. Still nothing. No windows, no cracks, no way to climb out. I tried to ask one of the workers what's going on, but he ignore me. Doesn't look like they'll be of any help.
Entry 3
My chest feels heavy. Really heavy. It’s not just a dull ache anymore... it’s like the muscle is actually pushing against the skin, stretching it tight. When I looked down this morning, it definitely looked swollen. Puffy and sore. I pressed on it to see and fuck it hurt so much I had to stop. Just this horrible achiness. I haven't touch it since.
I heard them talking today. The workers. They stopped right outside my room, acting like I wasn't even there.
"The new one is coming along fast," one of them said. "Look at the tissue development. He's going to be one of the best producers we've seen all season."
"Producer." That’s what they called me. What does that even mean? I wanted to scream at them, to ask what they were doing to me, but my voice just died in my throat. They didn't even acknowledge that I was listening; they just acted like I was some kind of animal they were grading.
I’m so scared. I keep trying to think clearly, trying to plan a way out, but my mind feels… fuzzy. Like I’m moving through water. I just want to go home. Please, I just want to wake up in my own bed.
Entry 4
They came in today. Three of them. I tried to back away, to scramble into the corner, but there’s nowhere to go in this steel box. They didn’t even argue. They just grabbed my clothes... my shirt, my pants... and tore them off like. I’ve been completely naked since. I’m trying to huddle up, knees to my chest, trying to cover myself with my arms, but my chest is so sensitive now that even the air in this room feels like it's stinging me. Every time I breathe, my nipples ache, like they're being pulled or pinched.
It’s humiliating. I just want to hide, but they keep staring.
Then, they brought the sludge. They didn't even put it in a bowl this time. One of them just threw it at me. It splashed all over my chest and arms. It’s so thick, so sticky. I was so disgusted at first, but I couldn't help it. I started licking it off my arm, and it… it tasted so good. I couldn't stop. I even licked it off the floor when it dripped down.
When I looked up, they were watching me, and they seemed so satisfied. Like I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing. I noticed my arms while I was licking the stuff off. There’s hair growing, thick and dark, more than there was a day ago. Why is this happening to me? My head feels so heavy, like I can’t quite think straight, but I keep wanting more of that drink. I hate it, but I’m so hungry.
Entry 5
There's something wrong with my body. I woke up this morning to find my chest wet. I thought maybe I had spilled some of that sludge in my sleep, but then I felt it. A slow, warm trickling down my chest. It was coming from my nipples. They were leaking, a thin, white fluid that was matting into all this new, dark hair that’s sprouted across my chest.
Before I could even wrap my head around it, they came. They just dragged me out of the room. I felt so small, so exposed, as they marched me down the hallway.
They strapped me into a machine. It had these cold, metal cups that suctioned right onto my chest. I tried to fight them, I really did, but my muscles felt sluggish, heavy, and weak. When the machine turned on, a pulse of electricity or suction... I don’t know what it was... shot through me.
It was an overwhelming, jolting kind of pleasure. I arched my back, my breath hitching as the machine squeezed and pulled at me, forcing the white fluid out. I felt helpless, exposed, and utterly humiliated, but I couldn't stop the moan that ripped out of my throat. I heard the workers talking, their voices echoing off the tile walls.
"Look at that output."
"The volume is already exceeding the previous batch. He’s a natural."
"Customers are gonna love his milk."
"See how his pecs are already hardening? He’s going to be a prime producer. Keep the vacuum pressure steady, we don't want to over-tax the tissue this early."
They talked about me like I was a piece of equipment being calibrated. I just hung there, my head lolling back, completely unable to do anything but take the sensation. When they finally detached the cups, I felt lighter, like the heavy pressure that had been building for days had been drained away. I felt… relieved.
But it didn't last. By the time they dragged me back to my room and tossed me inside, I could already feel the throb starting again. The pressure is coming back, deeper and faster than before. I’m scared. I’m so, so scared, but I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt when they forced it out of me. What is happening to my head?
Entry 6
They moved me. I am in the big pen now. I thought it was just me, but... I was pushed into a giant room with the others.
God. God. What are they?
I am hiding in the corner. I don't want them to see me. I want to be small. But I am not small anymore. My chest is huge. It feels tight, stretched, like it’s going to pop. And the others… they are monsters. Men, but they aren't men. They're huge... hairy... They're just standing there, or crawling on the floor, drooling. One of them, he has these massive, sagging pecs, and he’s just… groping them. Pulling at them. Grunting.
I’m horrified. I tried to back away, but another one came over. He looked at me with these empty, glassy eyes. He reached out with thick, calloused fingers and poked at my chest. I screamed, but he just grunted and drooled on my shoulder. It was warm. Disgusting.
I heard the workers on the catwalk above.
"The herd is agitated," one says.
"They’re just getting used to the new producer," the other one laughs. "He looks frightened. Good. The adrenaline spike always makes the first week of production more potent."
"Look at him," they say, laughing. "He’s trying to stay human. It’s cute."
But I am a person. I am...
Why are they touching me? Why is it so hot in here? Why do I want to grunt back at them? My hands are shaking so bad I can hardly hold this pen. I need to get out. I need to get out now before I start acting like them. I don't want to be like them. I don't.
Entry 7
Everything feels so slow. My head... heavy. Like thick mud.
Machine again today. Dragged off. Everything is loud and bright. The workers are talking, talking, talking... words don't make sense. Sounds like noise. Just noise. They want the stuff. They always want the stuff.
The machine was hard. Fast. Pulled so much out. I felt... empty. But the good kind of empty. Back in the pen, it started again. Fast. Leaking down my chest. It’s sticky. Everything is sticky. My chest, my cock... So big...
Another one came over. A big one. He saw me leaking. He didn't look at my face, just my chest. He started pressing. Hard. Hands all over, kneading, squeezing. It hurt a little, but... it felt right. Helped me get more out.
I started helping him, too. Pressing into him. His chest is so big, so full. So hairy. His nipples taste... so good... We just sat there. Grunting.
Why am I doing this? I don't know. The pressure in my chest is better now. Just want to sit. Feel pecs... Just want to be close...
Entry 8
head hurt so bad. to much thort. chest is so big now. hevy. look down and just see pecs. hair everywhere thick and black.
the sweet drink come today. i lick it from floor. want more. allways want more.
the other ones touch me. grabed my meat. squeezeing. i leak and leak. i grunt at them. they grunt back. we just stand close. warm. it feel gud.
workers on wall laugh. make noised. i dont look up. dont care.
chest full again already. aching. hot. just want the hands to squeeze. want it out...
Entry 9
the big ones here now. hands all over... squeeze hard. pullin at my meat. i pull back. gruntin. mouth open. droolin on the floor.
big cock... he pushes inside me. squeeze my pecs. so much pleasure. so much ache. push. squeeze. empty out.
don't want to think. head quiet. just heat. just pressure. just hunger.
big hands. wet skin. thick heavy pecs. need to be squeezed.
need to leak.
more.
more.
more.
....................
Your hands tremble so violently that the paper crinkles, your fingers slick with the same sweet residue that still clings to your lips. You barely register the cramped, steel-walled pen they just tossed you into. Too busy trying to make sense of what you just read. Too distracted by the throbbing, achy pressure of your increasingly heavier pecs, where thick, dark hairs are already beginning to sprout and itch against your sensitive, stretching skin.
You glance back down at the scrawled note in your grip, but you're already having a hard time rereading the words.
A grunt breaks you out of your increasingly slower train of thought, and you look up to see one of them. His massive, hair-matted, leaking pecs blocking your view. His chest heaving with each guttural breath. His glassy eyes lock onto your chest. And as his calloused hand reaches out for your swollen, aching pecs, you don't recoil. You can't.
The room quickly fills with your own mindless, gutteral grunts.
You finally landed the cute twink who worked at your local coffee shop. It had taken months of flirting. In addition to a bit of an inside job by one of your recent twink conversions, your approach entailed wearing outfits that gradually exposed more and more of your older, muscular, extremely hairy body. At first he had only see your bearded face and maybe the black hair all over the back of your fingers and hands as you would take your coffee from him, purposefully brushing your larger, thick fingers along his. A few months later, and sick of the perpetual blue balls he was causing you, you showed up wearing a very snug, fitted t-shirt and shorts, muscle and fur on full display. The second he saw you he was visibly stunned, unable to focus on anything or speak. You passed him a piece of paper with your number, saying “time to make this happen,” and left without getting a coffee. He texted 20 minutes later. You replied that you weren’t looking for something quick, that you wanted him to spend the entire upcoming 3-day weekend at your place so you could “get to know him better.” It took him a few minutes, but you knew his lust would override any lingering concerns in the back of his mind. He liked your message, and you locked him in. He came to your place at 10am Friday morning as instructed. Given your overly swollen balls and your plans for the next 3 days, you decided that instead of the usual hypnotic manipulation, you should be upfront with this twink. You told him that your sperm would cause substantial changes to his body, a masculinization of untold proportions, and he would leave looking very different than he does now. He smiled, said that it sounded hot, clearly thinking he was going along with some fantasy. He became a little more serious when you had him sign a waiver and took a before picture. The next 3 days were some of the most intense you have had in a while. After breaking in his tight virgin hole, you battered it again and again with raw breedings every hour. By the second day, his little hole had gaped wipe open, matching the exact size of your enormous breeder cock. Of course the changes had started with the very first load, but you resisted taking any pictures until Sunday evening. As he stood in the same position as the before pic, you felt a pang of guilt for what you did to him. He would spend the next days and weeks convincing friends, family, and co-workers that it’s really him, making up some story for why he looks so different, knowing that he can’t tell them what changed him was an older hairy man’s sperm repeatedly shot deep inside of him. You flipped back and forth between the before and after pic, studying the excessive fur now coating his body, the thick mustache and beard, and of course the very advanced male pattern baldness. But you got over the momentary guilt, taking pleasure in knowing that his perfectly reshaped hole would be ready and willing to take your raw load any time you need to breed a hairy bottom pig.
Welcome to Superbear After Dark! A spinoff blog with stories set in the Superbear universe for mature audiences. Please be advised that this story is meant for ages 18+, is NSFW and contains explicit sexual acts.
Many thanks to @everettman for helping with editing this story!
Enjoy!
The apartment held onto the day's heat. Above them the ceiling fan turned in slow, creaking circles, pushing around the smell of cold takeout and old couch cushions. Nico sat cross-legged at his end of the sofa, phone lit in his hands. Colin was stretched out beside him in a washed-out henley, eyes half shut after a double shift.
"Okay, so this is either genius or a virus," Nico said, thumbing through the screen. He'd finally cancelled Prowlr after the last price hike and gone looking for a way around it. What he'd found was a cracked build somebody had reuploaded, Prowlr+, the plus sign doing a lot of heavy lifting for something this janky. "Found a whole tab that shouldn't be here. 'Body Editor.'"
Colin cracked one eye. "That a euphemism?"
"No idea." The tab wanted a photo before it would do anything. Nico assumed it was a bit, some prank feature bolted on by whoever had ripped the app apart. He didn't say that part out loud. He angled the phone toward Colin instead, silently snapping a picture.
The screen filled with sliders. Countless rows labelled for parts of the body, and under that, a second set for things beyond the physical. Nico scrolled past the ones he didn't want to think about and stopped on the one marked "chest". He moved it up, barely, more to see what the thing would do rather than out of any belief it would have an effect.
Then it hit: a sudden flush of heat bloomed across Colin's chest, deep and insistent, as if liquid fire pooled beneath the skin. His breath caught, turning into a low, involuntary moan that surprised himself. His muscles tightened and swelled just enough to strain the fabric of his shirt. The change was subtle yet unmistakable: pecs rounding out with new heft and definition. A light dusting of hair prickled into view where smooth skin had been, the sensation sent a shiver of unexpected pleasure through him.
"Nico." His hand had already gone to his chest, pressed flat against the new weight. "what the hell did you do?!" The words came out rougher than intended, laced with a mix of panic and something else he couldn’t name. The fabric stretched taut, buttons straining at the new contours of his pecs.
"I don't know." Nico's thumb jerked on the slider, dragging it back down. The changes began to reverse. Colin’s swollen pecs slowly deflated, but the relief was short-lived. When Nico tried to nudge the slider a little further to settle it, the app glitched — sending a fresh surge of growth through Colin’s shoulders and upper chest instead. Each correction only made things worse, the henley riding up off his stomach as a button gave way with a small tick of thread. His nipples pressing firmly against the straining fabric as his chest expanded outward again. Nico yelled, "I'm trying to fix it, hang on, I'm trying—"
Colin’s initial fear sharpened into demand as his chest pushed forward another visible inch, the seams of his henley creaking under the strain. “Give me answers—now. What is this thing?” His voice had dropped an octave, steadier, as his fingers closed around the phone and pulled it from Nico’s grip. Fascination edged in, replacing the tremor in his hands; the sliders glowed invitingly, and for the first time Colin didn’t look away from his own reflection in the dark screen. A quiet thrill stirred low in his gut, the kind that made him wonder what else those impossible controls might unlock if he dared to explore them himself.
Colin’s thumb brushed the screen almost unconsciously, selecting the cluster labeled “Secondary Traits.” The moment he tapped it, the app seemed to unlock a cascade of connected options. A low rumble built in his throat as the changes hit all at once—his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated through his chest. “Fuck… that feels…” The words trailed into a deep, involuntary grunt as coarse dark hair sprouted across his forearms and the backs of his hands, thickening rapidly. At the same time, his jaw prickled and itched fiercely; stubble exploded into a full, wiry beard that framed his face, the sudden weight of it making every breath feel heavier and more deliberate. Heat pooled low in his belly, arousal stirring as the new growth rasped against the hem of his shirt.
Nico’s breath caught, guilt twisting through the heat flooding his own jeans. He couldn’t look away. Colin’s shoulders broadened in a slow, powerful surge, fabric tearing at the seams while muscle packed on in thick slabs. Colin moaned openly now, a guttural sound that sent a shiver down Nico’s spine. His roommate’s chest swelled further as a firm, rounded belly pushed out against the straining buttons. The phone’s glow lit Colin’s face, highlighting the new beard’s dark bristles and the hungry glint in his eyes. Nico’s fingers twitched at his sides, caught between wanting to snatch the device back and the shameful pull to watch more. He ached to see those powerful hands, now furred and veined, explore the body the app was reshaping.
A fresh wave rippled through Colin’s torso; his thighs thickening to match the broadening frame. A soft yet solid gut rose that he instinctively rubbed with one palm, the touch drawing another low groan. The room smelled sharper now, muskier, laced with sweat and something primal. Nico swallowed hard, arousal warring with the growing sense that he’d unleashed something irreversible, yet he stayed rooted, pulse hammering as Colin’s gaze lifted to meet his.
Colin’s eyes locked onto Nico’s with a deep hunger. The screen moved on its own, Colin's thumb nowhere near: the sexuality profile tab glowed and slid the marker firmly toward “men” with an audible click. Despite Colin’s sudden, shaky attempt to drag it back; A deep, frightened groan escaped him. His cock hardened visibly beneath his straining pants, thick and insistent. The new beard brushing Colin's lips as his nostrils flared with the scent of Nico’s arousal. “Nico… fuck, I can’t—” Colin rumbled, voice thick with equal parts fear and raw need. The phone slipped from his fingers to the floor as his massive, furred hand reached out to grip Nico’s wrist, pulling him closer while the other hand palmed the heavy bulge between his thighs. “You want this, don’t you?” Nico’s heart pounded, his own erection straining against his jeans as terror twisted with undeniable heat, the air thick with musk and the electric crackle of something unfolding between them.
Colin’s grip tightened around Nico’s wrist, no longer hesitant but commanding, yanking him forward until their bodies collided chest to chest. The new mass of him a wall of heat and fur, his beard scraping roughly against Nico’s cheek as he leaned in, inhaling deep. “You started this,” Colin growled, voice dropping into a gravelly timbre that vibrated through Nico’s bones. His free hand slid down, thick fingers palming the straining bulge in his own pants before cupping Nico’s ass with possessive force, squeezing hard enough to make Nico gasp. The air between them grew heavier, laced with the sharp, earthy tang of Colin’s sweat—musky and primal, like damp pine and raw male need—that seemed to cling to Nico’s skin on contact.
A low growl escaped Colin as he pressed closer, his cock now fully rigid and throbbing against Nico’s thigh, the thick shaft pulsing with each beat of his heart. Sweat beaded along his brow and trickled down the dense pelt covering his chest, soaking into the fabric of his shirt until it clung transparently to every swollen muscle. “Smell that?” he murmured, assertive now, his tone laced with a daddy’s knowing edge that brooked no argument. He dragged Nico’s face deliberately into the crook of his neck, forcing him to breathe in the addictive haze. Nico’s head spun, the scent hitting like a drug—salty, masculine, and overpowering—making his own cock twitch and leak precome into his jeans. The fear in his gut twisted into something hotter, needier, as Colin’s sweat transferred to his lips, tasting of salt and raw power.
Colin’s hand moved with slow control, unbuttoning his own pants to free the heavy length of his cock, veined and flushed dark, the head already glistening. He guided Nico’s hand to it, wrapping those smaller fingers around the girth that had thickened beyond recognition, the skin hot and slick with that same musky sweat. “This is what you get for playing with things you don’t understand”, he said, voice steady and dominant, his hips rolling in a single, firm thrust that slid the shaft through Nico’s fist. The scent intensified from the motion, filling the room like an invisible fog that made Nico’s knees weaken and his mouth water. Colin’s free hand roamed upward, fingers threading into Nico’s hair to hold him in place while his other palm pressed against Nico’s chest, as if testing the boundaries of what his new influence could reshape.
The app on the forgotten phone pulsed once more, its interface flickering with options that Colin now accepted without hesitation—sliders for musk potency sliding higher, a new toggle for “addictive essence” and “transformative hormones” clicking into place. Colin’s eyes darkened with recognition, a slow, predatory smile curving his lips as the changes settled into his body. Sweat poured more freely now, carrying an invisible charge that made Nico’s skin tingle wherever it touched, hinting at deeper alterations yet to come. “You’ll crave this,” Colin rumbled, pressing his sweat-slicked palm to Nico’s neck, letting the essence seep in. Nico moaned despite himself, the heat spreading through his veins like lava, his own body responding with an erection that ached painfully hard.
Colin pushed Nico back onto the couch with effortless strength, looming over him. He grabbed the torn remnants of his own henley and ripped it the rest of the way off, revealing the full expanse of his transformed torso—broad, heavily furred, with dark nipples standing erect amid the dense pelt. With a rough tug he then yanked Nico’s shirt up and over his head, shoving his jeans and underwear down his thighs in one impatient motion and freeing Nico’s aching cock.
Colin let out a low, amused chuckle as he wrapped one thick, furred hand around Nico’s shaft and gave it a slow, deliberate stroke. “Look at you,” he rumbled, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Already this fucking hard for me. Guess you like what you started after all.”
He straddled Nico’s hips, grinding the heavy weight of his balls and cock against the smaller man’s stomach, the wet drag of precome smearing across bare skin. His own arousal surged visibly, thick cock twitching and leaking steadily as the musky aroma thickened in the air. He shifted upward, straddling Nico’s chest and looming over his face. “Open,” Colin commanded.
The blunt head of his cock was enormous — far too thick for Nico’s mouth. Nico hesitated, eyes widening, but as soon as the first bead of precum touched his lips and tongue, a hot, tingling wave spread through his mouth and throat. His jaw slackened, his throat relaxed and adjusted, making room for the massive girth as Colin pushed forward with a satisfied groan. Nico’s throat stretched around the transformed cock, eyes watering, while Colin’s hands pinned his shoulders, radiating that daddy energy—protective yet utterly controlling, every thrust deliberate and deep.
With each bob of Nico’s head, Colin’s dominance grew, his free hand reaching down to stroke Nico’s own cock, fingers squeezing the shaft in time with his hips. The power to transform others thrummed beneath his skin like a living thing, the sweat on his palms now carrying the potential to rewrite flesh and desire alike. Nico’s body arched beneath him, caught in the haze of musk and need, his moans muffled around the thick cock filling his mouth. Colin’s appetite showed no signs of easing, hips rolling with building force, sweat dripping onto Nico’s chest to mark him further, binding them in this irreversible shift toward something feral and shared.
Colin’s thick cock pulsed against Nico’s tongue, the veined shaft stretching his lips wide as the larger man thrust deeper, precome steadily coating the back of his throat with each slow grind. Nico’s hands gripped Colin’s hairy thighs, fingers sinking into the dense fur matted with sweat, while the musky scent from Colin’s heavy balls pressed against his chin flooded his senses, making his own neglected cock throb painfully.
The app screen on the floor suddenly glowed brighter. From the corner of his eye, Nico caught the stark warning: “Permanence Lock engaged… Original profile irretrievable. Confirm to overwrite…”
His eyes widened in panic. He made a desperate, muffled sound around the massive cock filling his mouth and tried to pull back, but Colin’s hand tightened sharply in his hair, holding him firmly in place for two more deep thrusts.
Colin noticed where Nico’s gaze kept flicking. A sharp, amused chuckle rumbled out of him. “Trying to warn me?” He kept his cock buried deep for another moment, savoring the helpless fluttering of Nico’s throat, before finally pulling free with a slick, messy glide.
“Colin, don’t—” Nico gasped, voice hoarse and broken.
But it was too late. With a low growl and a predatory grin, Colin reached down and tapped the confirmation without hesitation. The phone vibrated as the changes locked in.
A deep churn rolled through Colin’s balls, the heavy orbs tightening and swelling as if drawing every trace of his old, soft self inward, compressing it into a molten core of raw need. His already massive cock jerked harder in front of Nico’s face, the enlarged head flaring darker and more sensitive, every ridge and vein standing out as blood surged through the throbbing length. Sweat poured from his chest in rivulets, soaking the fur between his pecs and dripping onto Nico’s face, each droplet carrying that addictive, transformative charge that made Nico moan desperately.
Colin’s hips rocked forward with growing urgency, his heavy balls brushing against Nico’s chin as arousal built to a breaking point. His prostate clenched hard and his cockhead leaked a steady stream of thick precome that dripped onto Nico’s lips and tongue. Then, with a primal growl, Colin wrapped his fist around the base of his shaft and began stroking.
With a primal roar that shook the room, Colin’s climax erupted. His cock swelled to its absolute limit, the thick shaft jerking upward hard against his belly as the first powerful jets blasted out. The orgasm tore through him like nothing he had ever known. His entire body locked rigid, muscles flexing under the dense pelt of hair, as rope after thick rope of hot seed surged from his cock. Most of it splattered across his own broad, furred torso — coating his pecs, dark nipples, and rounded belly in heavy white streaks that mingled with the sweat dripping down his body.
Pulse after pulse continued to erupt, some of the powerful geysers arcing high before raining down onto Nico’s face, lips, and chest. The cum was warm and copious, marking the final erasure of Colin’s former self in a haze of shuddering pleasure and raw masculine release.
As the final tremors faded from his massive frame, Colin slumped back against the couch, chest heaving, his furred torso glistening with sweat and streaked with his own thick seed. The app on the floor pulsed once more, confirming the permanence lock with a soft chime before flashing a new alert: organic transmission enabled. His gaze, now steady and commanding, locked onto Nico with an intensity that sent a shiver through the smaller man’s core. The air was thick with the mingled scents of musk and release. Still-hard and heavy, Colin’s cock hung just above Nico’s face, a final thick bead of cum welling at the tip. A low, satisfied rumble built in his throat as he slid one hairy hand possessively to the back of Nico’s neck and pulled him closer, guiding the slick head back to his roommate’s lips. The screen brightened with one last message: Compatible subject detected: Nico. The transformation’s heat radiated outward, promising to claim his roommate next.
Yeah, no, don't download bootleg apps… okay, look, I drank a coffee a stranger left on my porch and grew a beard you could lose a bus in, so maybe I'm not the guy for public safety announcements. But at least pretend to read the terms of service, cubs! - Superbear 🐻🌈
My boyfriend has been really insecure in the bedroom recently, even though he's doing a good job. I also know he likes big, hairy, mature men, so any chance you could make me into a gentle daddy dom so I can tell him what a good job he's doing?
Hmhm, that sounds like something I could do alright! Always here to help people feel their love for daddies.
You knew your boyfriend would be having a long day at work, so it was the perfect time to prepare him a nice little lovey-dovey evening, a candle lit dinner with some nice music in the background. Although you didn't really know how to cook beyond the basics, you knew you wanted to go further for him.
Going to the window to get some fresh air, dreaming about how much you loved your boyfriend, you looked up at the night sky. The stars were shining especially bright tonight. And suddenly, a shooting star passed. You didn't know if it was really there or if you imagined it, but a second passing soon after confirmed it. And hey, not believing in magic doesn't prevent one from wishing, eh?
After throwing together a hasardous wish, you decided it was finally time to start preparing dinner. You didn't really know what to cook yet, but maybe you could just figure something out on the spot.
As you opened the fridge, looking for inspiration, your eyes drifted to one of the beers you had in store. You never really liked it — they were mostly here for your boyfriend or for whenever you two invited people over — but tonight, the idea of drinking one felt particularly refreshing. Maybe it finally grew on you, you thought without asking too many questions. You grabbed one and cracked it open, sipping it before getting to work, feeling energised as ever.
However, that newly developed taste for beer would not remain the only new thing for long — not that you would ever realise it, of course. Something else occur as your opened a cabinet and noticed a jar on the top shelf. Now, you weren't exactly short, but you weren't the tallest person around either. But as you tried to reach it, you found yourself struggling less and less to reach it. At some point, you even wondered how you, a 6'5" something giant, ever struggled with such a reach.
But of course, jars were a pain in the butt to open sometimes, and this one was no exception. So what did your now tall body do? Grow muscles, of course! Even for a task as mundane as opening a jar, your entire body went into overdrive. You could feel your muscles getting pumped, just like after a workout. Because you work out regularly, right? Right. Your chest rose with every breath, without falling back as down as it started. Heck, you even bounced them a bit, proud of the results of such dedication. But such flexing didn't go without consequences: with loud rips and tears, you quickly found yourself standing amidst shreds of your former outfit. Well, those clothes were too small for you anyway, it was hopeless to try them on.
Even though you were busy cooking with your stove on, being naked like that might get you cold, as confirmed by the quick breeze brushing past. But don't worry; quickly enough, a wave of warmth rushed over you, every single square centimetre of your skin itching in an oddly pleasurable way. It started small, only a few timid hairs between your massive pecs, but soon enough your entire torso, front and back, ended up covered in soft, silky hair. You could even feel it creep up higher and higher, up to your neck, until it reached your chin. Rubbing it dreamily, you felt your chin soon sprout a short trimmed beard.
Despite your reveries and admiration of your own body, you found yourself done with the cooking already. Good job! Now that you were done with it, your eyes drifted around, and you noticed the beer that you had first started but never even finished. With a smirk, though, that was a job quickly done: the bottle looked small in your large, manly hand, and downing it only took a gulp.
It wasn't much, but you felt a burp start to accumulate within your stomach and throat. And as you let it out, a wave of pleasure so intense that it made you moan a little washed over you. With it, you couldn't notice it, but your coat of body hair lightened in colour, going from your former deep brown to a salt and pepper, your beard quickly following. Even your hairline went along, receding ever so slightly, leaving some room for fresh new wrinkles.
Gosh, you were so hard right now. You couldn't wait for your man to finally get home, you'd be sure to give him more than just a good dinner.
Agent Fisher reports on his roommate's transformative descent into being a father figure straight from a 90's sitcom as he tries to pretend he's not into it.
Dad and Bear Tf's are always some of my favorites to write and this one is no different! Took the flavor but not the style of a certain foundation! Enjoy this daddification from the POV of a desperate agent who has failed his station and by the end suffers the same transformative consequences. -Occam
This is a report from Special Agent Fisher on a previously unidentified anomalous artifact. Delivered to my apartment while I was away on an expedition, a VHS tape labeled Dad’s Den was opened and watched by my friend and roommate who, unaware he should resist, succumbed to its effects and in time was replaced by what can only be described as a stereotypical dad. As if he were straight out of the video tape he couldn’t help but watch.
Given I was on foundation business during the encounter and have already suffered through the loss of my dear friend Clayton, I would request leniency. I submit this thorough report of the VHS tapes effects as evidence and when guaranteed both my personal safety and continued employment I will deliver both the video footage and the anomalous artifact in question.
I understand how this will be perceived but know I only hold the foundation’s best interests at heart. This is simply not my fault and I refuse to be demoted due to a situation out of my hands that I have already suffered beyond measure from. If anything I deserve a promotion for resisting the tape’s allure and effects, though at present I simply want guaranteed and continued safety for Clayton and myself.
Please read the following account of what I have dubbed AA-0646: ‘The Fatherly Film’ before coming to any decisions.
Consummate professional that I am, my installed cameras were able to capture Clayton’s entire encounter with the anomaly. Delivered in a box addressed to my true name, Clayton was none the wiser. Under the impression that I worked for the Parks service, my roommate was entirely unguarded when he decided to just open the box. Perhaps this is a failing of your protocol regarding cohabitants but I digress.
As soon as the package was in his hands there began an audio static in the recording. Isolating it I am able to confirm it was the sound of a laugh track, like you might find on the very same schlocky sitcom that is now in my friend’s hands. At this unfortunate point it is my professional opinion that it is already too late for my poor roommate. Proof of this is the dusty VHS player that appeared under our tv when he tore open the box.
When he moves to the television Clayton inserts the tape into a VHS player we didn’t have moments ago before flopping onto the couch. Then the true effects begin as Clayton is completely lost to the screen. Hardly moving for hours as the tape plays far longer than any cassette could possibly last, Clayton doesn’t blink as dated jokes and shoddy sets beam into his mind with no end.
Previously my roommate could hardly go half an hour without pulling out his phone to aimlessly scroll. When I’d at last convinced him to watch Fellowship of the Ring with me I had to constantly get on his ass for getting distracted by notifications and summarily doomscrolling. I’d be annoyed at him suddenly finding attention span to spare for this drivel were I not distraught by what happens in the following days.
After about six hours of this, Clayton finally starts to doze off. Eyes that were locked on the screen despite their ever-present glaze flutter shut before closing altogether. At the very same time the screen turns off. Overnight little of note occurs. Head lolling back against the couch, the sound of his heavy breathing can barely be caught on my cameras.
Every so often his mouth hanging open twitches into a grin as hands resting on his stomach scratch aimlessly. It feels safe to say this is when true biological changes begin. Never one to grow stubble by the time daylight arrives there is some darker fuzz surrounding his mouth and scattered across his jawline.
When he at last awakens, decidedly earlier than I’ve seen the perpetual night owl ever rise on his own, his arms twitch and rise as his mouth opens to audibly yawn. The quiet cracking sounds of his arms stretching as some heft is revealed on his waistline is covered by the shockingly loud sound of him yawning.
At this point I had hoped he was free from the tape as when he stands there’s a clear look of confusion on his face. Clayton clearly recognized something wrong was happening. If only I was there. Wandering into the kitchen, Clayton appears to grab a pizza from the fridge and return to the living room. There he removes his shirt and tosses it onto the floor before doing some very noisy stretching.
Body bared it’s suddenly obvious that even without actively watching the tape that he has continued to change. Clayton was always complaining about his inability to grow any body hair, whining that it makes him feel like less of a man. Clearly this desire is being preyed upon as a treasure trail suddenly begins to crawl up his already slightly heavier stomach.
Even more apparent is the generous spread that has begun to prickle across his thin chest as it too starts to grow, having been freed from the shirt he slept in. Returning to the couch and sinking back into the same position he slept in, the new weight on his upper body settles in a manner I personally would describe as more attractive heavier.
Thoughtlessly he reaches for the remote and puts his new favorite show back on. Entranced once more, now that his whole chest is out it’s clear that Clayton is visibly growing. Frequently his fingers scratch his chest as each twitchy grin from what he’s watching shoots a few new strands of hair to scatter across his developing pecs.
So too does a small but wide treasure trail begin inching upwards, onto his belly as the distracted man just eats and laughs at jokes he must have heard half a dozen times by now. A few times he raises an arm behind his head to reveal the most drastic hair growth thus far.
The action takes a tad more effort than I’d expect, surely due to the new mass on his bulking arms, or perhaps he’s already growing less flexible. At any rate, there is an unmistakable bush of hair hiding under his arms. Slightly shiny on the film, the strands look to almost be as long as those on his head. It’s quite, well, distracting.
While I remain physically and mentally unaffected from my briefest of encounters with Clayton, something about his scent has left my mind foggy if I focus too much on his pheromones, if that is the correct word. It was quite overwhelming, I- let’s just say it’s fortunate that such an esteemed employee encountered this brutish bear of a dad, this anomaly that is. Keep this in mind as you continue to read, I’m a perfect employee. You can’t just replace me.
Moving on, on day two his changes accelerate. Though it took all night for his first few patches of body hair to bloom, now that he’s mindlessly watching Dad’s Den again they are flourishing. In one episode his chest is wholly overtaken by thick chest hair. By the next it connects with his paltry treasure trail before that too expands to cover his still bulking stomach.
And as he continues changing he laughs all the more. Wide smile on his face as his lips are tickled with stubble, Clayton rubs his stomach as each guffaw is louder than the last. Ruffling the dense coverage on his stomach, his hands can’t help but reach under his waistline for a scratch or two.
Doing so a distinctly different glazed look overtakes his eyes. Still smiling blankly, Clayton’s head lolls back as he kicks off his pants to expose legs that have grown their own garden of fur as they’ve been hidden from sight. When at last the jeans fall to the floor his feet bounce back a few sizes larger as the coat atop them is just as thick as that on his calves and thighs.
Hand still seemingly magnetized to his tangled bush and apparently needy cock, the expression on his face shifts to one of desperation. Leaning back so far I can barely make out him biting his lips as some spit trickles into his beard. Core twitching as the bulge in his pants grows heavier, and heavier I-
Apologies. Again.
After Clayton tuckers himself out, he falls asleep in exactly the same position he has still yet to move from. One sullied hand stuffed in his pants, the other behind his head allowing his sweaty pit to aerate our living room. It’s unclear what precisely launches the next wave of changes but it is at this point that our home begins to change.
Something of a neat-freak before he began watching, it’s increasingly clear his cleanliness will not survive the change. Morphing into a man almost proud of his filth, the pizza box falls to the floor next to a hamper of clothes that have clearly already been worn more than once. His cozy antique love seat gives way to a gaudy la-z boy recliner as our once quaint living room shifts irreparably into a dad cave.
That night, in between snores that rise to a degree loud enough to almost shake my camera, Clayton also begins murmuring in his sleep. It quickly becomes clear to me that he’s telling jokes. Repeating lines from the show. I don’t make an effort to listen to them of course, they’re always almost annoyingly bad. Here’s a recording of him for an example:
Ah well that’s a pretty good one no? Suppose I could include a few more. If you’re interested? Men-toes. Heh. I uhm- Back to it, of course.
In sleep he continues laughing at each and every one of these jokes he dreams up or retrieves from Dad’s Den. And with each reverberation of struggled snores and raucous guffaws he bloats all the larger, and ages all the sightlier. By midnight his coat has grown enough to cover him like a proper pelt.
The sweaty bush in his pits connects with the blanket of even coverage painted from his neckline to his pubes. Perpetual stubble that now decorates his face is slightly speckled white as it reaches upward to connect with messy hair that is beginning to thin. Meaty muscle continues to pack on just as fast as the mouth-watering heft growing on his gut.
The next day he awakes before sunrise. Launching into a massive stretch and not yawning so much as yelling, his back cracks wider as he moans at the feeling of relief. Scratching his heavier ass to reveal a few lengthy curls decorating his backside, Clayton meanders into the kitchen. His footsteps fall like flippers as our apartment’s new wood panelling creaks under his weight.
Jokes about rising and grinding and what a brew-tiful morning it is resound in the kitchen accompanied by giggling crackling deeper. Until now his voice had maintained at least a familiar tone but with each pun to nobody it’s like his voicebox is aging as his resting tone sinks deeper and deeper. And credit where it’s due I do find myself enjoying his puns more and more.
When the morning sun does stream into the den, Clayton returns with a black cup of coffee. I’d be surprised he’s able to stomach it given his preference for incredibly sweet lattes, but the grand reveal of his new fatherly form is far too stunning to describe anything else. Uhm, scientifically speaking.
Resting his massive feet on our coffee table, Clayton leans back and starts downing his dark roast as the television just starts up without him even needing to lift a finger. Now mouthing along to the dad’s dialogue as if he were voicing it himself it’s clear my roommate is more Dad than his old self.
Crow’s feet etch into his eyes as smile lines trail down his cheeks, hidden his thick stubble. It’s difficult for me to tear my eyes away from his masculine form. I didn’t even notice at first that the dad- that Clayton had changed into a jock, but as his much larger dick twitches under the tight fabric. As his toes curl and the arches of his feet crack wider. As his bulky biceps bulge larger with each raise of the steaming dark cup, streaking into his beard before he wipes it with his rough hand fuck shit
Clearly there are some hazards involved with watching this process but I can guarantee that there is nothing memetic or mind-altering besides watching the tape itself. Which I have taken care to completely block from my recordings. You’re welcome again.
Back to it the changes in our apartment have similarly accelerated, where we once had posters and framed art there now exist bizarre family portraits. Clayton with some college aged offspring though from the best I can tell there isn’t a single one with a wife. Perhaps related to the plot of the show? Perhaps because my roommate’s gay. Not to sound like a broken record but if you want any further of my hypotheses you know what to do.
Skipping ahead, I’d figured that his changes would have slowed since to my eye his dilfy form had reached its apex, but I was quickly proven wrong. Today as his hairline continues to thin and his body hair continues to thicken, his body starts to truly bulk. I’d heard of dad strength but it’s almost ridiculous watching him grow heavier and stronger.
Eyes almost rolling back into his head Clayton’s stomach finally grows into a proper dad bod as heavy pecs hang atop it, bloating themselves into the perfect canvas for his thick curls. Beside the growing barrel of a torso rest arms increasingly patterned with throbbing veins and twitching with strength.
His forearms are covered with the type of hair you’d balk at in person. I could hardly believe it when I did see them in person, they’re like a second layer of skin lifted almost an inch off the arms, so thick at points you can barely see the veiny, muscled guns beneath. To say nothing of the very same curls trailing up his massive biceps. How they twitch with the slightest movement of his sausage fingers. How they grow larger as he continues watching the show. As he continues watching. As-
Ugh god this report is giving me such a headache.
Over the following day it seems the anomaly starts skipping and fading away on the, much larger, TV. Clayton doesn’t seem to react though, he continues just mouthing the lines to himself as he goes about the house. Grunting with every movement like a man decades older than he should be, my new fatherly roommate ambles about with a toolbox I swear he’s never lugged out before as he goes about any chores that don’t involve tidying up.
Slight baldspot on his increasingly speckled head and thick hair crawling up his ass from tacky cargo shorts, it’s at some point this day which I’d say the artifact has finished its dirty work. As Clayton interacts with confusion to whatever aspects of his old self remain they rapidly adjust to fit his new life.
Everything in his wardrobe lengthens more than a few sizes before morphing and restylizing to lose even the slightest amount of fashionability. The man oozes practicality as much as he does raw masculine sex appeal. Soon there’s not a trace of our old home, even my bedroom seems to have been corrupted into that of a son who’s gone off to college.
I’ve yet to do an investigation as to the nature of his apparent new family but should I be allowed to once more use the agency’s resources. And, to prove I’m acting in good faith, there is one remaining object from his past, a photo of the two of us together which is now an image of myself and him in his current form. It was this I found him looking at when I at last returned from my mission.
He set it down softly when I entered and leaned against the wall. Obviously I instantly knew something terrible had happened. I tried to convince him to drop everything and come to the lab but he wouldn’t listen. I- he just kept saying these stupid, stupid jokes. Obviously I know now what happened but even then I felt like I was talking with a character rather than a person. Rather than my roommate.
But I couldn’t really look away. The way his weight shifted as he moved, the musk that filled the whole place- I know I said watching his transformation wasn’t mind affecting but being in his presence very well could be. Even now I find myself craving that scent. God he was so fucking-
I digress. As soon as I found myself starting to enjoy the shitty jokes he kept firing off, I shook out of it and realized Clayton’s expression shifted from when I first entered. At first he looked blankly at myself before his eyes softened as if he seemed to recognize me. Not as his friend or roommate though, no. Instead he said his kiddos had been telling him about a coach that was moving in next door.
I’d be lying if I said this didn’t suddenly give me dry mouth and butterflies in my stomach. But I acted quickly and according to protocol. I immediately left and retrieved my security footage remotely after sealing our apartment for Clayton’s safety and the safety of anyone who might accidentally stumble into our place.
Returning later with the proper physical and psychological protection, I retrieved the anomalous artefact in question and Clayton. At present myself, the artifact, and Clayton are in my safehouse unknown to the agency where we will remain until I am guaranteed continued employment. After retrieval the only further effect was changing my prius into a station wagon. Which doesn’t bother me for some reason or another.
Apologies again for the underhanded tactics but I know at least one supervisor who attained his position acting similarly during that banana protein shake disaster. Time is of the essence so the quicker you approve my demands the quicker we can get this contained.
Yours. Agent Fisher
AGENT FISHER: DEMOTED
One day after receiving Agent Subject Fisher’s missal he was found, reprimanded, and retrieved for further testing. AA-0646 victim “Clayton”, furthermore named AA-0646-A, was taken in for questioning and, as Fisher described, his previous identity and mind have been subsumed by this new dad persona.
Agent: Do you recall your life before you were a father?
Clayton: Awh gee there it’s just been so long y’know? I’m not one for dwelling on the past. My kiddos always used to whine and winge like you wouldn’t believe! Ohh but before I settled down I did think about being a historian, matter of fact!
Agent: Really? Well-
Clayton: Course, there’s no future in that! Hah hah hah! Heh.
Agent: Mmhm I see.
When Fisher came up in questioning, AA-0646-A went glassy in the eyes and produced a second variant of AA-0646 from his robe, distinct from the original; this version is decorated with a garish title sticker labelling “Coach Next Door”. Lou over in processing is confident the tape is porn but as the Agency demands, we must discover everything about this Anomalous Artifact, and there is no better test lab rat than our newest Subject Fisher.
While AA-0646-A allegedly changed over the course of a few days, Fisher’s changes were far hastier. Perhaps exacerbated through his frequent and ill advised contact and borderline obsession with AA-0646-A.
As Fisher suggested Agents have neglected to observe what the program actually consists of, but given the subject’s excitement it seems to be somewhere between outright porn and a classic sitcom. After the first viewing, the subject has begun to exhibit increased muscle mass and hair growth.
When momentarily prevented from viewing AA-0646, the subject began to grow frantic before being assuaged by the suggestion of physical exercise. Following this subject’s mass began to increase with even more haste. Subject continued to exercise even after AA-0646 was returned, more so when it began to play once more.
On the second loop the subject grew in height and body hair began to accelerate to a degree agents describe as ‘above average’. While his upper body develops pecs and biceps, his jaw sharpens as it too is overtaken with stubble that befits his new self.
Agents tell me the subject at this point appears to be an ‘otter’. I neglect to follow up. From the images delivered however it is clear the subject is no longer the Fisher we knew and tolerated. Almost nude in the test room, subject’s malfitting underpants are stained and filled with a notable bulge.
Finally, on watch three, much like on subject AA-0646-A’s Day three, the transformation accelerates to totally excise whatever remains of the subject within. Muscle mass still rising, it is soon displaced by fat that befits an ex-jock, clearly the coach next door in question.
Body hair has accelerated from ‘above-average’ to ‘extreme’ and the messy stubble on his face has begun to be speckled with a few white hairs. Subject’s surely thinning hairline is covered by a cheap sweat-stained baseball cap allegedly not given to him by Agents, nor were the jock strap, whistle, or tube socks.
Given AA-646’s ability to generate matter and shape reality Doctor Marquez suggests subjects AA-646-A and AA-646-B, that is ‘Fisher’, be quarantined and their respective instances of AA-646, sealed away from them. The idea is broached with A and B and surprisingly they are amenable, as long as they are quarantined with access together.
This request is deemed acceptable and the Agency will see fit to keep the affected subjects under constant supervision. Though, given the agent’s best guesses as to what is to occur between the pair it remains unclear what intelligence will be gathered. Still, knowledge above all else. We shall see to it that someone decidedly lustless shall oversee the continued research on instances of AA-646.
While Special Agent Fisher’s prior demands may be neglected, at the very least he and Clayton, that is 646-A and 646-B, shall have their needs met by the agency and each other.
Recommended follow up: Agents are to remind cohabitants letter of the federal law to not open mail addressed to others. Agents are to exercise caution around VHS and other vintage recordings. Furthermore any Agents with daddy issues or kinks are to avoid Block 600A until further notice.
So I’ve been taking a tour of a dairy farm today and the tour guide’s been eyeing me weirdly. Even stranger, I still haven’t seen any cows. They keep promising me I’ll meet them soon… Any idea what’s up with that?
Such a precarious situation. Perhaps the crumpled papers you found can give you some context:
Entry 1
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here.
The last thing I remember is the end of the farm tour. The guide... that guy with the small, mean eyes... said I was special. He said I was going to get a "behind-the-scenes" look. Then, I think I blacked out. I woke up in this room and I've been here ever since... Banging on the walls for hours, screaming for someone to let me out, but the workers just walk past. There are two of them standing right outside the door right now, talking like nothings wrong. It's making me sick.
One of them finally brought me a bowl of this thick, white sludge. I didn’t want to drink it, but I’m so thirsty, and my throat feels like it’s full of sawdust. It tasted weird... bland and chalky.
Fuck.
Why am I here? What do they want? Why won't the talk to me? If I can just keep my head clear, maybe I can find a way to break the lock when they come back to feed me.
I have to stay focused. I can’t let them see how scared I actually am.
Entry 2
I didn’t sleep at all last night. Every time I started to drift off, I heard that low, rumbling sound from down the hall... like a hum, or maybe someone grunting. It didn't sound human. I kept pressing my back against the wall, trying to stay as far from the door as possible.
I... I thought I was having a heart attack today. My chest feels... weird. There's this dull, throbbing ache right under my skin. Maybe its from how I was laying? Anxiety? Fuck... it just feels so heavy and sore. My nipples too... they feel sensitive. Whenever my shirt rubs against them, it sends this sharp, stinging sensation through my whole torso. It doesn't hurt, but it's definitely noticeable. It’s probably just irritation from the fabric; I’m probably just making it a bigger deal than it is because I’m so stressed out.
The workers came by again this morning. They didn't say a word, just slid another bowl of that sludge through the slot. I really tried not to drink it, but I’m starving, and my stomach feels like it’s eating itself. It went down so easily, almost like my body was craving it.
I checked the walls again. Still nothing. No windows, no cracks, no way to climb out. I tried to ask one of the workers what's going on, but he ignore me. Doesn't look like they'll be of any help.
Entry 3
My chest feels heavy. Really heavy. It’s not just a dull ache anymore... it’s like the muscle is actually pushing against the skin, stretching it tight. When I looked down this morning, it definitely looked swollen. Puffy and sore. I pressed on it to see and fuck it hurt so much I had to stop. Just this horrible achiness. I haven't touch it since.
I heard them talking today. The workers. They stopped right outside my room, acting like I wasn't even there.
"The new one is coming along fast," one of them said. "Look at the tissue development. He's going to be one of the best producers we've seen all season."
"Producer." That’s what they called me. What does that even mean? I wanted to scream at them, to ask what they were doing to me, but my voice just died in my throat. They didn't even acknowledge that I was listening; they just acted like I was some kind of animal they were grading.
I’m so scared. I keep trying to think clearly, trying to plan a way out, but my mind feels… fuzzy. Like I’m moving through water. I just want to go home. Please, I just want to wake up in my own bed.
Entry 4
They came in today. Three of them. I tried to back away, to scramble into the corner, but there’s nowhere to go in this steel box. They didn’t even argue. They just grabbed my clothes... my shirt, my pants... and tore them off like. I’ve been completely naked since. I’m trying to huddle up, knees to my chest, trying to cover myself with my arms, but my chest is so sensitive now that even the air in this room feels like it's stinging me. Every time I breathe, my nipples ache, like they're being pulled or pinched.
It’s humiliating. I just want to hide, but they keep staring.
Then, they brought the sludge. They didn't even put it in a bowl this time. One of them just threw it at me. It splashed all over my chest and arms. It’s so thick, so sticky. I was so disgusted at first, but I couldn't help it. I started licking it off my arm, and it… it tasted so good. I couldn't stop. I even licked it off the floor when it dripped down.
When I looked up, they were watching me, and they seemed so satisfied. Like I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing. I noticed my arms while I was licking the stuff off. There’s hair growing, thick and dark, more than there was a day ago. Why is this happening to me? My head feels so heavy, like I can’t quite think straight, but I keep wanting more of that drink. I hate it, but I’m so hungry.
Entry 5
There's something wrong with my body. I woke up this morning to find my chest wet. I thought maybe I had spilled some of that sludge in my sleep, but then I felt it. A slow, warm trickling down my chest. It was coming from my nipples. They were leaking, a thin, white fluid that was matting into all this new, dark hair that’s sprouted across my chest.
Before I could even wrap my head around it, they came. They just dragged me out of the room. I felt so small, so exposed, as they marched me down the hallway.
They strapped me into a machine. It had these cold, metal cups that suctioned right onto my chest. I tried to fight them, I really did, but my muscles felt sluggish, heavy, and weak. When the machine turned on, a pulse of electricity or suction... I don’t know what it was... shot through me.
It was an overwhelming, jolting kind of pleasure. I arched my back, my breath hitching as the machine squeezed and pulled at me, forcing the white fluid out. I felt helpless, exposed, and utterly humiliated, but I couldn't stop the moan that ripped out of my throat. I heard the workers talking, their voices echoing off the tile walls.
"Look at that output."
"The volume is already exceeding the previous batch. He’s a natural."
"Customers are gonna love his milk."
"See how his pecs are already hardening? He’s going to be a prime producer. Keep the vacuum pressure steady, we don't want to over-tax the tissue this early."
They talked about me like I was a piece of equipment being calibrated. I just hung there, my head lolling back, completely unable to do anything but take the sensation. When they finally detached the cups, I felt lighter, like the heavy pressure that had been building for days had been drained away. I felt… relieved.
But it didn't last. By the time they dragged me back to my room and tossed me inside, I could already feel the throb starting again. The pressure is coming back, deeper and faster than before. I’m scared. I’m so, so scared, but I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt when they forced it out of me. What is happening to my head?
Entry 6
They moved me. I am in the big pen now. I thought it was just me, but... I was pushed into a giant room with the others.
God. God. What are they?
I am hiding in the corner. I don't want them to see me. I want to be small. But I am not small anymore. My chest is huge. It feels tight, stretched, like it’s going to pop. And the others… they are monsters. Men, but they aren't men. They're huge... hairy... They're just standing there, or crawling on the floor, drooling. One of them, he has these massive, sagging pecs, and he’s just… groping them. Pulling at them. Grunting.
I’m horrified. I tried to back away, but another one came over. He looked at me with these empty, glassy eyes. He reached out with thick, calloused fingers and poked at my chest. I screamed, but he just grunted and drooled on my shoulder. It was warm. Disgusting.
I heard the workers on the catwalk above.
"The herd is agitated," one says.
"They’re just getting used to the new producer," the other one laughs. "He looks frightened. Good. The adrenaline spike always makes the first week of production more potent."
"Look at him," they say, laughing. "He’s trying to stay human. It’s cute."
But I am a person. I am...
Why are they touching me? Why is it so hot in here? Why do I want to grunt back at them? My hands are shaking so bad I can hardly hold this pen. I need to get out. I need to get out now before I start acting like them. I don't want to be like them. I don't.
Entry 7
Everything feels so slow. My head... heavy. Like thick mud.
Machine again today. Dragged off. Everything is loud and bright. The workers are talking, talking, talking... words don't make sense. Sounds like noise. Just noise. They want the stuff. They always want the stuff.
The machine was hard. Fast. Pulled so much out. I felt... empty. But the good kind of empty. Back in the pen, it started again. Fast. Leaking down my chest. It’s sticky. Everything is sticky. My chest, my cock... So big...
Another one came over. A big one. He saw me leaking. He didn't look at my face, just my chest. He started pressing. Hard. Hands all over, kneading, squeezing. It hurt a little, but... it felt right. Helped me get more out.
I started helping him, too. Pressing into him. His chest is so big, so full. So hairy. His nipples taste... so good... We just sat there. Grunting.
Why am I doing this? I don't know. The pressure in my chest is better now. Just want to sit. Feel pecs... Just want to be close...
Entry 8
head hurt so bad. to much thort. chest is so big now. hevy. look down and just see pecs. hair everywhere thick and black.
the sweet drink come today. i lick it from floor. want more. allways want more.
the other ones touch me. grabed my meat. squeezeing. i leak and leak. i grunt at them. they grunt back. we just stand close. warm. it feel gud.
workers on wall laugh. make noised. i dont look up. dont care.
chest full again already. aching. hot. just want the hands to squeeze. want it out...
Entry 9
the big ones here now. hands all over... squeeze hard. pullin at my meat. i pull back. gruntin. mouth open. droolin on the floor.
big cock... he pushes inside me. squeeze my pecs. so much pleasure. so much ache. push. squeeze. empty out.
don't want to think. head quiet. just heat. just pressure. just hunger.
big hands. wet skin. thick heavy pecs. need to be squeezed.
need to leak.
more.
more.
more.
....................
Your hands tremble so violently that the paper crinkles, your fingers slick with the same sweet residue that still clings to your lips. You barely register the cramped, steel-walled pen they just tossed you into. Too busy trying to make sense of what you just read. Too distracted by the throbbing, achy pressure of your increasingly heavier pecs, where thick, dark hairs are already beginning to sprout and itch against your sensitive, stretching skin.
You glance back down at the scrawled note in your grip, but you're already having a hard time rereading the words.
A grunt breaks you out of your increasingly slower train of thought, and you look up to see one of them. His massive, hair-matted, leaking pecs blocking your view. His chest heaving with each guttural breath. His glassy eyes lock onto your chest. And as his calloused hand reaches out for your swollen, aching pecs, you don't recoil. You can't.
The room quickly fills with your own mindless, gutteral grunts.
The sound of Erik's motorcycle echoed across the vast fields of the nearby farm as he drove past the open fence gate. He swung his bike to the side, grinding it to a halt and sending a cloud of dirt into the air. His boots clicked along the stone pathway as he approached the farmhouse. A sense of nostalgia had overcome him as he stepped across the creaky wooden porch, he had filmed in an old farmhouse like this before, it really brought him back.
The thought quickly left Erik's mind when he approached the front door, he was here on a mission. He turned the knob and let himself into the stranger's house. Breaking and entering would normally be more nerve wracking, but Erik had scouted this place for a while now. No one was home, the father always left on the weekends, spending his time in hotel rooms with a rotating door of women. The son, well the son was the reason Erik was here in the first place. The young man had been sneaking out to local gay bars while his father was gone, but didn't normally interact with anyone, preferring to watch from the sidelines. Erik had come to change that.
He wandered around the foreign house, eventually stumbling upon the son's room. He scoured every inch of the room, looking for something specific. He emptied drawers and examined every shelf in the room, it was only when checked under the bed did he find what he was looking for. A 2002 Colt Mens Calendar, a few years old by this point but still a classic.
Carl Hardwick, what a legend Erik thought.
He admired the cover for a moment before the sound of footsteps on the front porch distracted him. Erik grinned as he exited the bedroom. He walked back to the living room, close to the front door, and leaned against a door frame while watching the young man take off his boots.
It took a moment for the man to notice Erik watching him, but when he finally noticed, he froze like a statue.
"Don't be scared, son." Erik said in a gruff voice. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
"Who are you?" The young man asked. "What do you want!?" He blurted before Erik could even respond.
"I've come to help you out." Erik grinned.
The man slowly started moving to the door and reached for a shot gun on the wall.
"That won't be necessary, boy." Erik commanded. "Recognize this?" He said holding up the calendar.
"That's not what it looks like." The young man panicked. "It's... It's..."
"It's alright, son." Erik comforted him as he approached the young man. "You're 22 and still hiding from your father, still hiding from who you really are. I can change that."
"Wha-"
The young man couldn't even finish his sentence before Erik grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. The man seemed shocked at first, but quickly relaxed and leaned in for the kiss, wrapping his arms around Erik's waist.
As Erik pulled away, he could already see the changes taking hold of the man. His clean shaven face had grown a thick black mustache right above his lip. Erik grinned as the young man's face aged into his forties, growing a five o'clock shadow over his chiseled face.
The man seemed to notice the changes happening to his body when his plaid button up started to tighten around his growing body. His sleeves strained around his thick biceps as his hands doubled in size, matching his manly look. His chest rose into two meaty pecs and his shoulders broadened to match, creating rippled muscles along his upper back.
He let out a moan in a deep gruff voice as his legs filled out the empty space in his jeans. His ass perked up, causing his crack to show right above the waistline while a large bulge formed in his crotch that quickly snaked into his pant leg.
The man bit his lip as he watched the transformation occur in the mirror. He grinned and licked the sweat off of his bushy mustache. As his buttons started to strain against his hunky body, he unbuttoned each one, revealing the forest of hair covering every inch of his mountainous muscles.
Erik watched his lips quiver as he witnessed his muscles rising like bread right in front of his eyes. He rubbed his man hands through the dense pelt of hair that covered his weathered skin, making the bulge in his pants grow larger by the second.
Now that he was distracted by his own body, the world began to shift around him, just like it had for Erik. His cowboy hat morphed into a leather cap, erasing any memories of being a cowboy from the man's mind. Meanwhile his hairline receded and his five o'clock shadow grew into an untamed beard, complimenting his more mature look.
His jeans disappeared, leaving him in nothing but a small leather jockstrap, just barely big enough to contain his manhood. At the same time, his body continued to grow. His six pack swelled into a small muscle gut and his arms surpassed Erik's in size. Also, now unrestricted by clothing, his ass expanded even further, becoming two meaty globes that clapped when he walked.
Finally, black leather boots formed around his massive feet as the room around him began to change. His once familiar home quickly transformed into a lively bar, where men of all types flocked around him.
"We love you Carl!" A man in the crowd shouted.
Carl, now fully aware of his surroundings, smiled as men stuffed bills into his jockstrap.
He loved the attention, it felt... natural. He was about to give them the performance of a lifetime.
- Current Day -
The roar of the crowd is muffled as Erik walks out of the bar. The morning sun scorches his eyes as he steps out on the hot summer day. He leans against the wall and takes a deep breath of fresh air, something he hasn't gotten since the sun set the night before. He rubs his finger along his neck, feeling the soreness where hickies cover his skin.
Erik couldn't help but smile. What used to be a lonely town with a dying gay scene now had a bustling night club filled with men straight out of a Colt Mens Calendar. All thanks to him.
It's been a great night, but Erik calls it for the day, figuring he should get some sleep before doing it all again the next night.
He stumbles over to the nearby gas station, where he parked his bike the night before. She's a couple years past her prime, but she's still kicking. But just as he's about to drive off, he notices something strange. It's a Colt Mens magazine on the ground. He picks it up, or at least what's left of it. Most of the pages are ripped out, left as shreds blowing away in the wind.
"Pete." Erik says as he runs his finger down the cover page, licking the sweat of his mustache.
"Disgusting, ain't it?"
Erik looks up to see another man filling up his motorcycle.
"It's a real shame those queers are allowed to walk 'round these streets like there ain't nothin' wrong about 'em." The man continues. "Can't even tell most of 'em apart no more. They blend in with real men like us."
"Yeah..." Erik says in a somber tone.
"You be careful now." The man says as he gets on his bike. "Never know when one of them might be face to face with ya."
"Thanks for letting me know." Erik responds as he approaches the man. "I'll let you know something."
"What's that?" The man asks.
Erik gets close up to the man, close enough to feel the man's breath on his skin.
"You're looking at one... Right... Now."
Erik grins before pulling the man in for a kiss. He makes sure to get tongue and all, tasting the cigars and whiskey on his tongue. The man quickly pulls away, giving the most disgusted glare Erik has ever seen.
"You're gonna regret tha-" The man stops dead in his tracks.
"Gonna regret what?" Erik teases him.
The man looks down at himself as his body begins to change. His beer gut starts to melt away until a six pack emerges under the fat. His man tits solidify, becoming tough slabs of meat as his weak arms swell to match his sculpted body.
"What... Are... You..." The man tries to say as his gravelly voice becomes buttery smooth.
His legs grow more defined and his flabby ass perks up, propping himself up further on his bike. And his fat pad disappears, allowing his growing cock to show off its full glory.
The man's face begins to twitch before his facial features start to regain some youth. His wrinkly skin becomes plump and smooth as his wiry body hairs become neat and well trimmed, forming a short beard over his sharp jawline. And dark hairs start to grow all over his balding head, leaving him looking decades younger than he had moments earlier.
Pete watches as his ratty oversized clothes disappear, leaving only a few leather bands around his arms, and a baseball cap with COLT written in bold. He looks back at Erik and nods.
"See ya around Erik."
"Nice catching up, Pete." Erik smiles as Pete rides off on his bike.
"Freeze!" A shaky voice yells from behind Erik.
He turns to see a cop pointing a gun at him.
"What did you do to him!?" The cop yells.
Erik puts his hands up. "Woah, you must be mistaken officer, I was just catching up with an old friend." He chuckles. "That's not illegal, is it?"
"I... I saw you..." The newbie officer stutters.
"You saw me what?" Erik asks as he slowly steps closer to the cop.
"You... Changed him..." The cops eyes widen.
"I made him better." Erik continues to step closer to the officer.
The officer looks deep in thought, so Erik takes his shot. He charges the cop, knocking the gun out of his hand and pinning him to the wall. Erik towers over him as he holds the man's skrawny arms against the wall of the gas station.
"Change me!" The cop says.
"What?" Erik asks, genuinely confused.
"Whatever you did to him, I want you to do it to me."
"Why?"
"Nobody takes me seriously." The cop looks up at Erik. "I want to be strong like you, confident like you."
"It's not that simple. I need someone as a template." Erik admits.
"Make me the man of your dreams. No template."
Erik thinks for a moment. It just might work. While still pinning the man to the wall, Erik leans in for a kiss. He starts to imagine the perfect man in his arms, just the thought makes him hard.
Erik opens his eyes to see the cop has already begun to grow. His uniform tightens around his growing biceps and swelling pecs as the buttons pop off one by one. His uniform falls to the ground in shreds, showing off leather straps around his chest while a thick pelt of hair covers nearly every inch of his body.
Erik smiles as he awaits his perfect man, but his patience wears thin. As the cops face starts to age, Erik throats off his clothes and leans in for another kiss. The bristles of the cops new beard tickle his lips as they lock.
He pins the cop with his face against the wall, and pulls out his dick.
"You're under arrest." He smiles as he forces the cop to the ground.
The cop continues to grow, outgrowing Erik with thick arms, a bloated belly, and a perky ass.
"Don't try to resist." Erik climbs on top of the cop.
The cop gasps as Erik penetrates him, and with every thrust, he grows. His biceps swell and his dick nearly doubles in size, all while he ages into his forties, growing wrinkles on his forehead and grey hairs behind his receding hairline.
He moans in a gruff voice as Erik speeds up, thrusting all his weight on him. Erik grunts louder and louder until he releases his seed into the cop, bloating his muscle gut even more.
Erik rises to his feet, only now realizing the cop is sporting a leather vest and tight leather pants. He helps the cop to his feet, watching as the man now towers over him.
"I think you rearranged my organs." The cop laughs.
"It's nothing compared to what I'm gonna do to you when we get home." Erik grabs him by the hand and drags him to his motorcycle.
"I want you to do unspeakable things to me tonight."
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