The old wooden sign reading “Blackthorn Lake House” still hung crookedly from the rusted iron post at the end of the long gravel driveway, half-hidden by overgrown ivy. Joey’s truck rattled over the familiar potholes as the two men drove in silence for the last stretch. It was late May, the air thick with the scent of pine, damp earth, and blooming wildflowers. Duncan stared out the passenger window, one elbow resting on the door, his expression unreadable.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Joey finally said, breaking the quiet. “Coming back here after all these years.”
Duncan nodded slowly. “Fifteen years. I still remember the last summer we spent here like it was yesterday. Mum cried for weeks after we left. She couldn’t even look at the place again.”
The house emerged from the trees like a ghost from their childhood. A large, two-story Victorian-style lakeside retreat with dark timber framing, wide verandas, and tall windows that once let in endless summer light. Now the paint was faded and peeling, the shutters on the upper floor hung at odd angles, and moss clung to the roof tiles. The garden had gone wild tall grass swaying in the breeze, rose bushes grown into chaotic thickets, and the old wooden dock stretching out over the dark water of the lake like a skeletal finger.
They parked and stepped out. The evening air was cool, carrying the gentle lapping of water against the shore. Crickets had already begun their nightly chorus.
“Still standing, at least,” Joey muttered, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder. “Your mum never sold it?”
“Couldn’t bring herself to. It’s been in the family since my great-grandfather built it. After Uncle Richard disappeared… she just locked the doors and paid someone to check on it once a year.”
They climbed the creaky porch steps. Duncan pulled out an old key that still somehow worked. The heavy oak door groaned open, releasing a rush of stale, dusty air that smelled of aged wood, old books, and faint traces of pipe tobacco that somehow never fully faded.
Inside, time had frozen. The furniture was still draped in white sheets like ghosts. Duncan pulled one off the big leather sofa in the living room, sending a cloud of dust dancing in the golden evening light filtering through the windows.
“Jesus,” Joey laughed softly, running his fingers along the carved mantelpiece. “Look at this. We used to race Matchbox cars right here. You always cheated.”
“I did not,” Duncan protested with a grin. “You just sucked at it.”
They spent the next hour exploring the ground floor together, beers in hand. Every room triggered another memory. The kitchen where they’d made disastrous pancake experiments. The hallway where they’d slid down the banister until Duncan’s mother caught them. The study lined with dark oak shelves still filled with Uncle Richard’s old travel books, maps, and strange artifacts from every corner of the world.
Eventually they made their way upstairs, footsteps echoing on the worn hardwood. The door to the attic was at the end of the corridor, half-hidden behind a tall cabinet. Duncan hesitated for a moment before opening it. Narrow stairs led up into darkness. He flicked on the old light switch. A single bare bulb hummed to life, casting long shadows across the vast, cluttered space.
The attic was exactly as they remembered it low rafters, trunks stacked high, old furniture covered in sheets, and shelves upon shelves of Uncle Richard’s souvenirs. Brass instruments, carved wooden masks, colorful textiles, strange coins, and glass bottles from distant lands.
They sat on an old Persian rug in the middle of the floor, legs stretched out, cracking open fresh beers.
“God, we were so sure we’d end up like him,” Joey said quietly, gesturing at the collection around them. “Traveling the world. No ties. Pure freedom.”
Duncan took a long sip. “Yeah. Remember how we’d play explorers up here? You’d put on that old turban and declare yourself Sultan Joey the Magnificent. I was always your loyal adventurer sidekick.”
Joey chuckled. “We swore we’d never settle down. No mortgages, no office jobs, no responsibilities. Just passports full of stamps and stories worth telling.”
A comfortable silence fell for a moment before Duncan’s voice grew heavier. “Instead, I’m turning thirty in two days with a wedding planned, a promotion that feels more like a cage, and a spare tire I can’t get rid of no matter how many times I join a gym. Kelly’s great, but… sometimes I wonder what the hell happened to us.”
Joey stared at the floor. “Tell me about it. Cynthia’s seven months pregnant. I love her. I really do. But I’m still pouring pints at The Crown six nights a week. No degree, no prospects, just scraping by. We were supposed to be different, Duncan. We had stars in our eyes.”
They talked for a long time about the girls, the jobs, the quiet disappointment that had crept into their lives like fog over the lake. The conversation eventually drifted back to Uncle Richard.
“You know… I still think about him,” Duncan said, voice low. “Mum never talks about it. The official story was that he just… vanished. Packed a bag one night in late August and was gone. No note. No body. The police investigated for months but found nothing. Some people thought he ran off with a woman. Others said suicide. But we both know that wasn’t him.”
Joey nodded slowly. “He was the happiest person I’ve ever met. Always laughing, always planning the next trip. Remember that scar on his arm he said came from a camel bite in Morocco? Or the way he’d tell stories about getting lost in the souks of Marrakech? Who would have thought this would be his last trip…”
Duncan stood up and walked over to a particular shelf. He picked up a small, ornate oil lamp made of aged brass with intricate oriental patterns sitting on a dusty box. It looked remarkably clean compared to everything else in the attic.
"This was his favorite piece,” Duncan murmured. “He told us once that it was special. Said it had… history.” He turned it over in his hands. “Funny. After he disappeared, Mum wanted everything cleared out, but she couldn’t touch this room. Said it felt like he was still here.”
What Duncan didn’t know what no one in the family had ever known was the truth. Uncle Richard had indeed found this lamp years earlier during one of his travels. He had become its master. He had made his wishes. And when the Genie had finished granting them in his own cruel, creative way, Richard had been transformed and rewritten into a new life far from this one. The Genie had neatly erased him from this world, leaving only mystery and grief behind. The lamp had returned here, waiting patiently for the next pair of dreamers.
Joey stood up and joined him, taking the lamp gently. “Crazy to think we used to rub this thing as kids, hoping a genie would pop out and take us on adventures.” He rubbed his thumb across the surface absentmindedly while continuing to speak. “Imagine if it actually worked. We could fix everything. Get our old bodies back. Have the careers we should have had. Live the life we always talked about.”
He tossed the lamp lightly to Duncan. “Your turn to make a wish, birthday boy.”
Duncan caught it with a laugh and rubbed it as well, playing along. “Yeah, sure. Three wishes to turn our boring lives into something legendary.”
The moment his fingers completed the second rub, the lamp began to vibrate.
At first it was subtle a faint tremor. Then it grew stronger. Duncan frowned. “Joey… it’s getting warm.”
Joey stepped closer. “What do you mean warm? Let me see…”
Suddenly the brass grew scalding hot. Duncan cried out in shock and pain. “Fuck! It’s burning me!” He tried to drop it, but for a terrifying second his fingers seemed stuck to the metal. Joey grabbed at it instinctively to help, and searing pain shot through both their palms.
They finally managed to fling the lamp to the floor. It clattered loudly against the wooden boards. Both men staggered back, clutching their hands. Their palms were bright red, already blistering, the skin looking raw and angry. The pain was intense, throbbing in time with their racing heartbeats.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell was that?!” Joey gasped; teeth gritted. Tears of pain pricked at the corners of his eyes. “It felt like molten iron!”
Duncan was breathing hard, staring at the lamp on the floor. Thick purple smoke had begun to leak from its spout, swirling unnaturally, rising and twisting in deliberate patterns. The air in the attic grew heavy, charged, as if the temperature itself had shifted.
The smoke thickened, coalescing, taking shape.
A tall, powerfully muscled figure began to form bronzed skin, bare chest, sheer blue silk pants. The Genie’s eyes opened, glowing faintly, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face.
The two friends stood frozen, pain and terror mixing as they stared at the impossible being now standing before them in the dusty attic.
The Genie tilted his head slightly, regarding their burned hands with mock sympathy. He raised one finger as if to say “wait,” and the purple smoke around him stirred again.
Then, very slowly, he began to move toward them.
The Genie stood before them in the dimly lit attic, towering and impossibly real. He was easily six and a half feet tall, with broad, powerfully sculpted shoulders and a chest that looked carved from warm bronze. His skin glowed with a healthy, sun-kissed tone. The only clothing, he wore was a pair of sheer blue silk pants that hung low on his narrow hips, the fabric so thin it revealed the heavy outline of his cock and balls with every subtle shift of his body. A faint, exotic scent of sandalwood, spice, and something electric filled the air.
Joey and Duncan pressed back against an old trunk, hearts hammering. Their burned hands throbbed with fierce pain.
“This isn’t real,” Joey whispered, voice shaking. “This can’t be real. Duncan, tell me this is some kind of fucked-up hallucination.”
Duncan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the being. “If it is, we’re both having it.”
The Genie’s lips curved into a slow, amused smile. His eyes a deep, piercing amber studied them with predatory interest. “Fear not, Masters. I mean you no immediate harm.” His voice was rich, cultured, with a faint accent that seemed to shift between languages. “You rubbed the lamp together. You freed me together. Therefore, you share three wishes. No more. No less.”
He took one graceful step forward. Joey flinched.
“Stay back!” Duncan shouted, cradling his blistered right hand against his chest. The pain was excruciating, like someone had pressed a hot iron into his palm. Blisters were already forming. Joey’s hand looked just as bad.
The Genie tilted his head, clearly enjoying their terror. “Such small injuries… and yet you tremble. How fragile humans are.” He raised his right hand slowly, deliberately, fingers spread. Purple smoke began to drift lazily from his fingertips. “Allow me to demonstrate my sincerity.”
Joey’s breathing quickened. “Don’t touch us! We don’t want anything from you!”
But the Genie ignored him. The smoke drifted toward them like living tendrils. Duncan tried to scramble backward but hit the trunk. The smoke gently coiled around both men’s injured hands without touching their skin. A strange warmth not burning this time, but soothing, almost silky enveloped their palms.
“Oh God…” Duncan breathed.
At first, nothing visible happened. The pain remained sharp. Then, very slowly, the Genie closed his eyes as if concentrating. The smoke pulsed. A tingling sensation spread across Duncan’s palm, like thousands of tiny needles dancing just beneath the surface. The redness began to fade from the edges inward. Blisters that had started to rise flattened gradually. The raw, angry skin lightened from crimson to pink, then to healthy flesh. The deep throbbing eased into a gentle itch, then disappeared entirely.
Duncan stared, wide-eyed, as he flexed his fingers. No pain. No mark. Nothing.
Joey’s healing was even slower, more theatrical. The Genie clearly wanted them to feel every second. Joey watched in horrified fascination as the blisters on his hand shrank, popped without fluid, and the skin knitted itself back together. The process took nearly a full minute. When it was done, both men’s hands looked completely untouched, as if the burns had never happened.
The Genie lowered his hand. The purple smoke dissolved. “Better?” he asked, voice dripping with mock politeness.
Duncan examined his palm under the attic bulb, turning it over and over. “How… how did you do that?”
“I am a Genie. Healing is among the simplest of arts.” He smiled again, but the expression never reached his eyes. Those eyes held centuries of cruel entertainment. “Now. You have three wishes. I suggest you use them thoughtfully. Many before you have regretted hasty words.”
Joey swallowed hard. His mind was racing. Part of him still screamed that this was impossible a prank, a dream, gas leak, anything. But the healed hands were undeniable. The being in front of them was undeniable.
He looked at Duncan. “We should just leave. Run. This thing is dangerous.”
Duncan hesitated, breathing heavily. “And if it’s real? If we actually have three wishes?” His voice dropped. “Joey… we’ve been talking all night about how we fucked up our lives. This could be our only chance.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Fear and desperate hope warred on both their faces.
“Fine,” Joey said finally, voice hoarse. “But we think carefully. No rushing. We discuss every wish.”
The Genie crossed his powerful arms over his broad chest and waited, clearly entertained by their mortal panic.
Duncan spoke first, choosing his words with care. “Before we wish anything… what are the limits? Can we wish for anything?”
“Almost anything,” the Genie replied smoothly. “I cannot raise the dead in their original form. I cannot force genuine love where none exists. And I cannot undo wishes already granted. Everything else…” He spread his hands. “Is negotiable.”
Joey ran a hand through his hair, thinking hard. “Okay. Okay. We need to be smart.”
They sat down again on the old Persian rug, keeping distance from the Genie. For nearly twenty minutes they talked in low, urgent voices, weighing possibilities while the Genie watched silently, his smirk never fading.
Duncan went deep into his regrets. “I’ve put on nearly thirty pounds since university. I feel old. Slow. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a guy who gave up. If I could just have my twenty-year-old body back lean, strong, full of energy that alone would change everything. I could actually enjoy life again instead of feeling like I’m already declining at twenty-nine.”
Joey nodded slowly. “I get it. For me… it’s the wasted potential. I dropped out after first year. If I’d stuck with it, gotten my degree in finance like I planned… I could’ve given Cynthia and the baby a real future. Instead, I’m pouring beers and worrying about rent. I wish I had actually succeeded. That I’d become someone.”
They kept talking, circling the same fears. What if the wishes backfired? What if the Genie twisted them? They tried to add safeguards, but every condition they imagined felt clumsy.
Eventually Duncan stood up, lamp in hand. His voice was steady despite the fear in his eyes.
“I wish I had the body I had at twenty.”
The Genie’s amber eyes flashed with dark delight. He bowed his head slightly.
“As you wish.”
A faint pulse of energy passed through the attic, but no visible change occurred yet. Duncan exhaled shakily. “It… it didn’t do anything.”
“It will,” the Genie said softly. “When all three wishes are spoken.”
Joey took the lamp next. His hands were trembling. He thought of Cynthia, of the baby on the way, of all the nights he lay awake wondering how he’d provide. His voice cracked slightly.
“I wish I had gotten my degree and made something of myself.”
“As you wish,” the Genie repeated, the same hungry smile playing on his lips.
Another subtle pulse. Joey felt a strange flutter in his chest but pushed it down. He handed the lamp back to Duncan.
They stood shoulder to shoulder now, holding the lamp together. The weight of the moment pressed down on them. This was their last wish the one that had to count.
Duncan spoke carefully. “We’ve spent our whole lives dreaming about this. Travel. Adventure. Real excitement. No more boring routines. No more feeling like we settled.”
Joey finished the thought, voice firm despite his fear. “We wish for the exciting life full of travel and adventure we were always meant to have.”
The Genie was silent for several heartbeats. His smile slowly widened into something predatory and ancient. For the first time, both men felt a chill run down their spines, as if they had just stepped off a cliff.
“As you wish,” the Genie finally purred, each word dripping with satisfaction.
He raised his hand dramatically.
The air in the attic grew thick with purple smoke and electric tension. A low humming filled their ears. Both Joey and Duncan felt a strange warmth bloom in the center of their chests pleasant at first, then rapidly intensifying.
They looked at each other, eyes wide with a mixture of apprehension and exhilarating hope. For a short moment, they felt like they were on the edge of the greatest adventure of their lives. They had found the long-lost spark that animated their hearts and days.
In front of them, the genie was standing straight, a malicious smile covered his tanned cheeks and with a sweet movement of his wrist and fingers, he snaped.
Purple smoke exploded outward like a living storm, choking them in thick, electric heat. Joey gasped in surprise first shortly followed by an intense sensation of discomfort followed by pain as the agony ripped into his legs.
“AHHHHHHH THE FUCK IS THAT!!! IT HURTS! MAKE IT STOP!” His thighs and calves shattered and swelled violently, bones lengthening with wet cracking sounds while powerful new muscle tore through his flesh. He collapsed to his knees as his feet followed, toes breaking and stretching, arches rising painfully as his shoes split apart.
Joey tried to look around with the hope to see his friend ready to help him or the genie about to snap his fingers again to cancel this clearly bad outcome of their wishes but he saw nothing, only purple glittery smoke bocking everything from his view.
“HELP ME!” He screamed one more time with the hope of finding help but he only heard a villainous laugh back in return echoing through the smoke and mist and coming back to his ears.
What has been granted cannot be taken back, master…
Duncan roared in terror as well. In the blink of an eye, the attic was gone and now all he could see was purple smoke all around him. He could still feel the wooden floor under his shoes but he couldn’t even see it.
“Joey! Joey, are you alright? Where are you?! JOEY!!” he creamed for his friend feeling the anxiety skyrocketing through his veins. “JOE… AAAAHHHHHH!!” his sentence was cut short as he felt a rush of heat followed by pain of breaking bones crashing through his legs.
Joey could feel his legs ballooned next, muscles exploding with brutal force far beyond anything from his youth.
The Genie hovered closer, smiling with dark amusement. “Begging already? How precious. This is only the beginning, Masters…” his voice echoing to both of them through the smoke.
The burning surged upward. Both men gasped and screamed as their chests expanded with sickening pops. Ribs widened, pectorals ballooning into thick, heavy slabs of muscle that stretched their skin painfully tight. “It’s breaking me apart!” Duncan howled. “Please… make it stop!”
Coarse dark hair erupted in their armpits as fresh sweat glands activated, flooding the attic with a thick, pungent masculine musk, heavy testosterone and raw male sweat. A dense treasure trail raced up from their groins, spreading across their newly carved abs and fanning over their swollen pecs.
Joey whimpered brokenly, “I can’t… I can’t breathe… please…” as he was feeling his overheating body starting to shut down and his vision blurring darkly because of his restarting nervous system and rearranging organs.
Duncan was crying and screaming in pain as he could feel his limbs starting to spasm on their own, muscles activating by forced electric signal sent by his brain drowning in a cocktail of hormones. He could feel his heart beat in each of his cells and could hear the sound of his pumping heart. Duncan was starting to dissociate when he heard the genie snap his fingers one more time. Out of nowhere, he felt his senses coming back to him as he heard the genie talk directly in his brain.
“We don’t want you to miss the best part of the show, do we?”
Out of nowhere, Duncan felt blood coursing through his body in one central position as he could feel his cock straining his jeans and getting trapped against his muscled and hairy thighs.
His cock surged forward with vicious intensity, thickening and lengthening into a massive uncut cock and with one more spasm from his un-controlling body and pumping heart, his cock contracted and torn apart his fly as he felt it slap hard against his hard rock forming abs. in the blink of an eye, it started to feel active and soon he could feel precum pumping out of his urethra and slushing all around his hairy abs.
Joey could feel changes happening to him as well. He was screaming in pain and fear as he could feel his cock straining against what was left of his Calvin Klein underwear. He could feel his heart beat in his hardening cock head as he could feel his foreskin starting to tighten around it because of the pression caused by his blood system. He could feel his nuts pulling lower and lower as sperm started to be product in huge proportions. His cock head was starting to look downward because of its weight and now was permanently bent down and slightly on the left side because of his left ball which were bigger than the right one.
“Please…. Stop, thi… iis” Joey said as he could feel his throat starting to heat up shortly followed by his chin and whole face. His features twisted in agony as his jaw sharpened, cheekbones rose, and his eyes tilted.
“HHAAAAaaAaaAaaaAAaaa… UUUHHHHhhhhHHHhH “screamed Joey as his voice cracked and shattered mid-scream, shifting into a younger, melodic tone thick with a heavy Arabic accent.
“MAkE iT stoP!!” Joey screamed one more time as his voice settled for a younger one.
Duncan’s own face hardened into something rugged and commanding, heavy stubble exploding across his jaw while a thick mustache appeared above his upper lip.
“What is happening?!” he screamed as his voice dropped into a deep, authoritative baritone.
“You two already sound way more in character!” said the genie to himself as he could see the possibilities opening for both of his masters in front of his eyes, appearing and disappearing in the purple mist.
Joey was still crying in fear and pain, his knees still on the ground when he felt the heat coming back.
“GOD NO, NOT AGAIN… PLEASE!!” the heat continued to climb and hike all around his tightened skin, leaving behind a rich golden-bronze hue, turning his skin into smooth coffee-toned perfection while Duncan’s deepened into a reddish sun-bronzed, powerful athletic glow.
Joey was crying as he could see his transformed and tanned hands in front of him, no sound coming out of his mouth because even the sound of his voice was terrifying to him now.
Creeping behind him, he heard the low baritone voice of the genie once again and felt chills running up his elongated spine.
“Something is missing… I don’t see your character fully… But what is it…” the genie continued as Joey turned around trying to face him and thinking that maybe if he did, he would be able to beg him face to face to turn him back but when he did, he saw nothing except the purple void.
“Found it!” he heard once again coming in front of him.
Joey’s eyes opened wide as he saw the genie materialized in front of him and with the flick of his wrists, he felt his torn clothes disintegrate into glitter that swirled in the mist.
Joey was hoping to see the kind face he saw when the genie first appeared to them but all he saw was the manly face wearing a vicious smile.
The genie opened his hands and Joey could feel pressure building in his dick.
“What are you doing?” He asked shaking in fear of what was about to happen.
“Please tell me, what are you do… AAAAHHHHHHH” The genie reached down and roughly seized Joey’s foreskin still covering the head of his enlarged new cock. Joey’s eyes widened in pure panic.
“No! No no no… IT’S GONNA BREAK, STOOOOO!!!” he screamed.
Duncan stared in horror and fear as he could hear the deep accented voice of someone echoing back to him, slightly muted by the mist hugging his modified body. He could feel his body continuing to spasm on its own without him having any control on it. He could feel his dick exhaling drops of precum with every heart beat, smashed against his hairy abs and leaking along his muscled thighs.
The Genie turned his back to Joey and smiled as he saw Duncan was still lost in the haze of his hormones and sensations while continuing to tear on Joey’s foreskin.
“I’m begging you… Please… Stop teari…”
SCRATCH
With one flick of his wrist, the genie torn out the foreskin as it detached in a snapping motion, releasing Joey’s cock that flopped back down against his legs, pointing downwards. His cock head now fully uncovered and extremely sensitive as he could feel the particles of purple dust touching his extremely sensitive skin. Joey was crying in fear as he realized the pain was completely gone.in fact, in a couple of second, all sensations were gone. It felt like his nerves had been numbed by years of frictions and movements against his now hardened cock head. He looked down and realize a neatly crafted scar was circling the base of his cock head.
He tilted his head back up to the genie as he watched the genie looking with a smile at the palm of his hand.
“Why have you done that… What have you done to me…” Joey continued to ask in a febrile voice.
The genie didn’t even look at him. He just continued to smile as he grabbed back his thick veiny cock in the palm of his left hand.
The Genie held the twitching piece of foreskin in his palm, exhaled a stream of purple smoke over it. The piece of foreskin started to levitate and rotate faster and faster in the palm of the genie. Joey could start to feel like his cock head was getting jerked off even though no one was touching it. The faster the foreskin went, the more he felt he was on the edge of cumming.
Joey tilted his head back up with almost out of breath as he could feel the orgasm rushing to him and his mouth barely open to let his breathing flow out.
The genie was looking at him and with a quick movement, he closes his hand on the foreskin.
Joey could feel pressure building in his groin as it felt like he was getting jerked off faster and faster.
Then as he was about to cum, his eyes starting to revolve inside his skull, the genie opened his hand again and all the sensations were gone, leaving Joey out of breath on the edge of orgasm.
In the palm of his hand, the foreskin was gone, reformed as a shiny golden loop earing with a blue sapphire on it.
Joey didn’t understand any of what happened, his brain still trying to function properly as it still was lacking oxygen from the forced edging session.
“What was that… what have you… done… Where is it…” Joey asked out of breath but the genie never answered, he just snapped his fingers and suddenly the golden foreskin earing disappeared in shimmer. Instantly, Joey felt a pressure building on his left lobe as he could feel it heating up with a pinching sensation.
joey was left flabbergasted, not understanding any of what just happened and what happened to his foreskin. He tried to look around, maybe catching his reflection in a shiny surface or something, but he didn’t see any of it. All he could feel was the cold wind on his numb cock head and the sensation of something dangling from his ear.
The Genie laughed softly, stroking his own massive erection. “I knew something was missing, master… now you look exactly like you should have, ready for your next big adventure.”
The genie took a step back and snapped his fingers one more time. Both Duncan and Joey felt like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders and like they could breathe again for the first time since the mist invaded their lungs.
As the two men collapsed, gasping and twitching in their new bodies, their old clothes finished to dissolve away. They stood there naked and, on the ground, as they could see the mist starting to fall to the ground and with them changing the dusty attic into a new room. Something with white industrial lights handing from the rooves. Then tiles started to appear on the walls soon followed by the ancient wooden cabinets turned into metallic lockers covered with stickers and grim.
as the mist finally reach their heads, new clothes started to shimmer into existence around their transformed bodies. A tight pair of black sport shorts for Duncan and a fitted V collar T-shirt with a black baseball hat. Then a pair of well used white trainers and high sport socks appeared on his bigger feet.
On Joey, a white jockstrap appeared on his body, forcing his cock to look downwards again, now fully entrapped inside the cotton prison and almost nudging against his own ass hole. The pouch being extremely prominent. Then a pair of tight-fitting black soccer shoes appeared on his tanned musky feet as socks finished to materialized against his legs climbing up to his knees.
The Genie kept lazily stroking his enormous, throbbing cock, veins pulsing under his bronze fingers as he watched the two broken men on the floor. His smile widened with sadistic pleasure.
“Look at you both… already so pretty in your new skins.” He then grabbed Joey by his thick, dark hair and yanked his head forward. “Open up, stud. Time to taste your new reality.”
Joey tried to pull away, eyes wide with terror. “No! Please don’… I’m not… I won’t…!” But the Genie’s grip was iron. He slapped his heavy, leaking cock against Joey’s plump new lips, smearing sticky precum across them.
“That’s it… fight me. I love when masters start to realize I am the one holding the cards.” The Genie laughed, low and cruel, then forced the thick head past Joey’s resisting lips and deep into his mouth. Joey gagged violently, eyes watering as the massive shaft stretched his throat. The Genie held his head in place and began thrusting with slow, deliberate strokes, fucking his face with relish.
“Mmmph! Mmmghh!” Joey’s muffled screams vibrated around the Genie’s cock. Tears streamed down his bronzed cheeks as he choked and drooled.
The Genie groaned in pleasure and taunted him between thrusts. “Yes… just like that. Suck it, stud. This is what your exciting new life tastes like. Keep crying… I love how your throat squeezes when you panic.” He laughed again, deep and mocking, pushing even deeper until Joey’s nose pressed against his hairy musky shimmering pubes.
After several long, brutal minutes of face-fucking, the Genie’s balls tightened. “Here it comes, boy. Drink every drop like the good little whore you’ve always been.”
With a loud, satisfied roar, the Genie came hard. Thick, glowing ropes of purple-tinged cum flooded Joey’s mouth and throat. Joey thrashed, desperately trying to pull back, but the Genie held him firm while laughing in pure pleasure. “Swallow it all. That’s it… good boy.” Joey continued to resist, gasping for air as he could feel cum rushing directly in his stomach. A weird feeling invading his throat and mouth as it felt like his tongue was numbing a bit.
After a couple of minutes frozen like that, the Genie slowly pull his still rock-hard cock free with a wet pop. Joey immediately tried to scream for help and gasping for air.
“Air, I need air…. Huuuuuuuuuu. I couldn’t breathe…” But the words that came out were completely different: “هواء، أحتاج إلى هواء... هووووو ...!”
His eyes widened in pure panic. He clutched his throat, trying again. “What the fuck?! Why can’t I speak English?! WHAT THE FUCK!!” Only fluent, desperate Arabic poured out: “يا إلهي! لماذا لا أستطيع التحدث بالإنجليزية؟! يا إلهي!”.
No matter how hard he tried, English was completely gone. He kept repeating frantic Arabic pleas, voice cracking with rising hysteria.
“أرجوك… أعدوني! أنا لا أريد هذا!” (Please… change me back! I don’t want this!)
Duncan stared in the distance, his head still spinning and still feeling dizzy from the smoke leaving his older lungs, taking more time to regain his senses.
“Joey? Are you ok? Where are you, where are we?! What happened to us...”
The Genie turned away from Joey’s sobbing of incomprehension. He took a look at Duncan and with a happy smile of work well done, he snapped his fingers.
Duncan suddenly gasped, clutching his head as memories began flashing violently before his eyes. Kelly smiling at him on their first date suddenly appeared clearly in front of his eyes, he felt like reliving this moment in the smallest detail but as his lips left her, he opened his eyes only to realize Kelly was now burning from his memories as in her place stood a very muscled Latino athlete looking at him with eyes full of admiration and hungriness. He couldn’t understand what happened or why that happened, suddenly he blinked and he was no longer on a bench in the park but instead in his living room with his computer on his laps, Kelly hugging him as they were planning their honeymoon, the house they wanted to buy, lazy Sunday mornings together… One by one they ignited and disintegrated. In their place, new memories flooded in with brutal clarity: the thrill of sneaking young athletes into hotel rooms during tournaments, the wet sound of tight asses stretching around his thick cock, the addictive taste of sweat and submission, the roar of stadium crowds mixed with moans in locker room showers.
“No… no, stop!” Duncan screamed, voice breaking.
“Kelly! Stop that please… KELLY!! I … I… Get out of my head! That’s not me… I’m not… I want to marry her… I love her… I… love her? Fuck… I love… her tight… No that’s not me, STOP IT!!! I love… his… ass? I LOVE FUCKING ASS!! NO Please… don’t…. do this…. Kelly… I love…” He fell to his knees as more of his old life was ripped away. The memory of proposing to Kelly burned to nothing and was replaced by the image of him balls-deep in a muscular exchange student after a late training session. Every time he tried to cling to who he was, another piece turned to ash. His personality was shifting, getting confidence, dominance, and an insatiable hunger for male bodies overwriting his old shy, settled nature.
“Please… I don’t want this… I’m Duncan, I’m not…” His resistance grew weaker as the new identity took root. Suddenly a new memory appeared in flashing color in front of his eyes, a new name appeared and engraved itself in his brain. Noah. He is Noah, he has always been and always will be. He is the coach, Noah. The traveler. The predator who lived for the next tight hole and the next victory.
The Genie watched with dark delight, lazily stroking himself again. “Welcome in your new life, master Duncan.”
The man who used to be Duncan, now fully Noah, stepped up as his manly hands caressed his hairy pecs, a dominant smile appearing on his cheeks as he took his first step into his new life, his cock rock hard and pressing against the front of his shorts, leaving nothing to imagination. He took another step and suddenly Joey heard the Snap echoing again. Suddenly, he felt his body starting to levitate from the wet musky tiled floor to the seat of a wooden bench that had seen thousands of athletic asses through the years.
Joey tried to resist but his body was completely immobilizing by the purple magic controlling and positioning him, his legs then were positioned up, giving free access to his tight hole.
Joey tried once again to scream for help but was still in incapacity to talk anything else then Arabic. He heard the genie laugh as he saw Duncan getting closer and closer to him, positioning himself between Joey’s forcibly spread legs.
His thick, veiny uncut cock throbbed angrily, already drooling precum onto the boy’s smooth, tight hole. Joey’s heart hammered in terror.
“Duncan, please don’t do this. We are friend, remember about Kelly. No don’t please, DON’T!!” he begged in fluent Arabic, voice shaking.
“أرجوك... هذا ليس أنت! أنا جوي! توقف!!!” (Please… this isn’t you! It's me, I’m Joey! Stop!).
Noah didn’t understand a word. He just grinned, spat on his cock, and pressed the fat, leaking head against Joey’s virgin entrance. With one brutal thrust, he forced half his massive length inside. Joey screamed, back arching off the bench as his hole was violently stretched open.
“AAAAAH! ألم! أرجوك توقف! إنه يؤلمني!” (It hurts! Please stop! It hurts so much!). Noah groaned in pleasure and kept pushing deeper, inch by thick inch, until his heavy balls rested against Joey’s ass. “Fuck… so goddamn tight. This Moroccan bitch was made for cock.”
Joey’s eyes rolled back as Noah started fucking him with long, powerful strokes, each one slamming harder than the last. The wet, obscene sound of skin slapping skin filled the locker room. Joey’s heavy circumcised cock bounced uselessly against his abs, leaking despite his horror.
Suddenly, Joey noticed movement above them. The Genie hovered near the ceiling, lazily stroking his own enormous cock and watching with cruel delight. Their eyes met. The Genie smirked, raised his hand, and snapped his fingers.
In that instant, the Genie’s form disappeared in shimmer. Then Joey saw from the corner of his eyes the air near the lockers next to the door starting to move and agitate. He then saw the genie’s silhouette appear and stated to melt and shrink, transforming into a tall, muscular young athlete with short black hair and a cocky grin. At the same moment, the locker room door swung open.
Captain Josh and four of his teammates walked in, already half-hard in their shorts thanks to the very intensive training and the overdose of testosterone and horniness running through their veins.
The newly-transformed Genie simply stepped forward and joined them, laughing with them all like he had always been a part of the group. No one else noticed anything strange and then even started to laugh back and talk like they truly know each other from years of practices and friendship.
“Coach! you already started without us?” Josh laughed loudly. “Look at Ahmed. Little slut can’t even wait.”
The players quickly stripped, tossing their clothes aside. Thick, hard cocks sprang free. Joey tried to plead with them, eyes wide with panic.
“أرجوكم، أتوسل إليكم، يجب أن تساعدوني. أنا لست أحمد، أنا جوي، لدي حبيبة وسأرزق بطفل قريبًا. أريد العودة إلى بيتي، ساعدوني، أرجوكم!!” (Please I’m begging you, you have to help me. I am not this Ahmed, I am Joey, I have a girlfriend and soon a baby boy. I want to go back home, Help me, please!!!).
The players just chuckled, not understanding a single word that came out of Joey’s mouth. One of them then took a step forward, his thick veiny cock in hand as he lazily jerked off. Joey opened tilted his head only to realize it was the genie now in the jock’s body.
“أرجوك لا تفعل ذلك، لا أريد هذه الحياة، لم أتمنَّ ذلك... مممم ...” (Please don’t do that, I don’t want this life, I didn’t wish for that… mmMMMmmGGgMGgggGG) Joey couldn’t even finish his words as the genie grabbed Joey by the hair and shoved his thick cock straight into the boy’s pleading mouth, cutting off his words. “Shut the fuck up with that Arabic shit,” he laughed. “Good little cumdump doesn’t need to talk.”
Everyone roared with laughter as they surrounded him. “Let’s go guys, we have a tanned bitch to fuck!” Josh mocked while lining up his cock at Joey’s already-stuffed hole alongside Noah’s.
“Maybe you’ll start to pick some words up after taking so much American cream!”.
They descended on him without mercy. Noah and Josh double-penetrated his ass, stretching him brutally wide while two others took turns fucking his throat once the genie was done with him. Hands roamed over his sweat-slicked bronze body, slapping his ass, pinching his nipples, and constantly tugging on the golden earring. Every pull sent humiliating jolts of forced pleasure through his cock.
“Fucking perfect exchange student,” one player grunted as he hammered into Joey’s throat. “Came all the way from Morocco just to be our team bitch.”
“Bet his family would be so proud seeing him like this,” another laughed. “He truly lives his American dream!”
Joey could only sob and gag around the cocks in his mouth, tears streaming down his face. “مممغhhh— أرجوكم… أنا لست مثل هذا… أريد Cynthia… أريد طفلي…” (Please… I’m not like this… I want Cynthia… I want my baby…). None of them could understand him and they didn’t care. They just kept using him harder, rotating positions, filling every hole, painting his bronzed skin with sweat and spit.
After what felt like an eternity of relentless pounding, the Genie still wearing the jock identity saw that Joey was on the edge of losing himself, his cock played with like a joystick by the one currently fucking him. He felt like he was on the edge but never close enough so he could be forced to cum.
The genie then grabbed the athlete that was hard fucking Joey by the shoulders and tapped his scapula as he asked for him to give him the space so he could finish inside the bitch.
The athlete laughs and then took his cock out of Joey’s opened ass.
“أرجوك... لا أستطيع فعل ذلك بعد الآن... أرجوك...” (Please… I can’t do …that, anymore… Please…).
Once again, Joey was cut short as the genie got his mouth closer to his ear and murmured.
“I hope you’ll enjoy your new life, Master!” Suddenly, he grabbed the earing between his calloused fingers and Joey felt like someone was directly playing with his cockhead and whole length. It felt like he was getting jerked off by the most delicate hand ever, it felt like he was getting sucked by the warmest mouth. His breath started to path faster and faster as he we slowly losing his sight, invaded by a pure feeling of pleasure. In front of his blurring vision, the genie smiled as he started to fuck him faster and faster, enjoying the view of Joey slowly losing his grip on reality and falling into dissociation.
With one more thrust of his cock deep against Joey’s prostate and a pinch of the hearing, the genie came hard and deep inside Joey’s welcoming hole, and as he did, Joey felt the orgasm finally rushing past the point of no return as he could feel his length starting to contract and in an instant, starting to release the only trace of his Britannic DNA.
A devastating orgasm ripped through him. His circumcised cock exploded hands-free, shooting thick ropes of cum across his own chest and abs while every muscle in his body spasmed around the cocks buried inside him.
In that exact moment, his mind shattered and reformed.
Memories burned away in purple fire: the old house at Blackthorn Lake… the summers with Duncan… proposing to Cynthia… the ultrasound pictures of their unborn baby boy… nights at the bar dreaming of travel… all of it turned to ash. New memories flooded in to replace them, a sun-drenched childhood in Morocco, arriving in Huston at 21 as an exchange student, struggling with English, quickly discovering he was gay and addicted to getting fucked and used like the sextoy he truly was. The endless locker room sessions, the hotel rooms during away games, the thrill of being passed around by the team. He was Ahmed now. A 21-year-old power bottom who lived for cock, especially Coach Noah’s and his teammates’. English was hard for him, but his body spoke fluently.
When the orgasm finally faded, Ahmed blinked slowly, a slutty, satisfied grin spreading across his cum-covered face.
“Coach Noah…” he moaned in heavily accented English; voice hoarse but eager. “المزيد... مارس الجنس معي بقوة أكبر، من فضلك...”.
The players laughed and kept going, knowing their favorite cumdump was ready for another round.
Coach Noah was waiting behind them, his arms crossed as he felt his cock jump in anticipation knowing he would require a private session with Ahmed later on in his office. Only Ahmed and him.
In the months that followed, Noah and Ahmed lived the exciting life full of travel and adventure they had wished for so desperately in that dusty attic.
They flew from city to city, country to country, following the demanding schedule of international university tournaments. New hotels every week. New locker rooms. New opponents, and new teammates, eager to celebrate victories deep into the night.
Noah’s powerful 6’3” body, thick with muscle and commanding presence, was everything Duncan had once dreamed of and more. He thrived as the dominant, respected coach who lived for the game… and for bending young athletes over whenever the mood struck him.
Ahmed, the 21-year-old Moroccan exchange student, had become the star attacking midfielder everyone wanted. He had gotten his degree in the form of a sports scholarship and was well on his way to making something of himself and his life, at least on the pitch and in the bedroom. His bronzed, athletic body and eager, talented hole made him the team’s favorite power bottom. He barely spoke English, but he didn’t need to. His body communicated perfectly.
Every night after training or matches, Ahmed found himself exactly where he now belonged: legs spread wide, moaning sluttily in Arabic and broken English as Coach Noah and the boys took turns wrecking him. The golden earring made from his former foreskin remained his most sensitive spot, one playful tug and he would cum hands-free, shaking and begging for more like the perfect cumdump he had become.
All that remained were sun-soaked memories of Morocco, the thrill of arriving in Huston, and the addictive rush of being passed around by his coach and teammates. He was happier than he had ever been, a gay, cock-hungry 21-year-old who lived for the next load and the next victory.
The wishes had been granted and they would finally live the lives they craved for.
They no longer remembered Cynthia and Kelly.
They no longer remembered the baby and their bored lives.
They no longer remembered Duncan, Joey, the attic, or the terrified man they used to be.
High above, safely tucked away in the ornate brass lamp that now rested on Coach Noah’s office desk, the Genie leaned back in his lamp with a contented sigh. Once known as Uncle Richard many decades ago, he had learned this lesson the hard way himself after wishing for a life full of magical adventures and being able to help people while having a long and joyful life full of pleasure and happy moments. Now he made sure others learned it too, slowly, thoroughly, and without mercy, one wish at the time.
I hope you’re having an amazing day! This is the story you guys voted for, with a little twist from my side. I had a blast writing it, and I think this one might be one of my all-time favorites to this day.
Thank you so much to everybody who voted in the poll, and thank you so much to @bremenmask for sending me this ask. I really appreciated it, and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
This story officially marks my first step into my thirties, and I hope they’ll be just as good as the previous decade. I want to thank all the friends I’ve made along this journey, and I can’t wait to meet new ones.
To everybody who has sent me kind messages, please know that even if I don’t reply to all of you, I read everything, and I love interacting with you as much as possible. So please continue to send me messages if you want to talk about ideas or simply if you feel lonely :)
A huge thank you as well to @mystrangetfs for his very useful help in brainstorming and putting this story together, especially for helping me create and find the pictures.
I can’t wait to hear your feedback, and I hope you’ll appreciate this story as much as I do.
In search of a distraction Griffin condemns his best friend to a life of horny abandon. Will he be able to avoid following suit?
Horny gay man wishes his best friend wasn't straight, shame he's turning into a hairy hunk about it. Hope you enjoy -Occam
Perhaps it’s unfair to judge Griffin. Inundated with spam and meaningless nonsense just like everyone else in the modern world, how was he supposed to know the dusty old tome wasn’t just the ancient form of an email begging for your social security number. Not that he even put this much thought into the thing when he picked it up.
As his hands graced the strange ancient book’s cover, he was struck with a sensation akin to vertigo, and yet he began turning pages anyway. Haphazardly flipping through the unnamed book, apathetic to the frailty of ancient papyrus, Griffin’s attention catches on a page that’s almost entirely blank.
The single line of text upon it glimmers, at first indecipherable, when Griffin blinks it appears in the Latin before finally shifting into modern English. ‘Would that you could change any piece of the world, what will of yours shall be enacted?’ Ignoring the off-putting, almost alien phrasing, Griffin can’t help but let his mind wander, and quicker than he’d like to admit it lands on Alfred.
Griff’s best friend since high school, the man who made him realize he’s gay, the first man to shoot him down. They laugh about it now, but in the back of Griffin’s mind he can’t help but yearn yet for how things could have been, were Alfred not straight. Were he just a slightly different man.
The idea is certainly on his mind when offhandedly murmurs under his breath, “wouldn’t hate if Alfred just chilled out and sucked some dick…” The lights in the bookstore flicker and for a moment the book in his hands burns with the heat of a roaring fire. Caught doubly off-guard, he drops the burning book immediately before scrambling away.
Assuming the stupid book must’ve been set here as a prank or something, Griffin grimaces at being made to look like a fool and quickly stows it back on the shelf. It’s slammed shut and jammed back before he can notice a clear depiction of Alfred being etched onto the once barren page. Turning away and storming out of the stop empty handed as that sketch slowly begins to change.
Unaware of what he has wrought, when Alfred texts him out of the blue he thinks nothing of it. Why should he? They’re best friends after all ‘Heyyy Griff :P mind if I come over l8r to game for a bit?’ Shrugging, he certainly doesn’t have any plans and now that he doesn’t have a new book to read why not have Alf over, ‘ya sure’
‘Tight tight tight b there in 10’
Having just hopped in his car himself, Griffin suddenly steps on the gas to try and beat Alfred to his home. Probably won’t have time to clean or set anything up, but such trifles will be the least of Griffin’s concerns when at last the wish-affected Alfred crosses his threshold.
Almost as soon as he steps through his door does he hear a knock behind. Jumping from the sound, he wonders how Alfred snuck up without him noticing. To be so close behind Griffin surely should have passed him on the way in? Shaking off suspicion, or whatever bizarre sensation that keeps prickling the back of his neck, Griffin goes to welcome in his best friend.
Imagine his surprise when he finds his usually clean cut best friend standing at his door shirtless, slightly unkempt treasure trail and sweaty upper body bared to the world. Eyes widening in shock, Griffin wordlessly steps back to allow Afred enter, all the while trying to find exactly what he wants to say. Only then does he notice Afred clearly staring at him in turn, his own expression one of need.
Uncharacteristically, Alfred pulls him into a tight hug, rubbing his sweaty body into Griffin’s shirt, almost deliberately trying to get his tee to smell like him. “Heyy buddy~ Hope I didn’t keep ya waiting for too long. I ran right over as soon as you said I could haha!”
Griffin laughs along uncomfortably before concern for his friend finally takes center stage. He’s doing his best to ignore the heat of Alfred’s body pressing into his own, given of course that he’s always trying to not think about his friend’s body at all. This time though he can’t wash away the certainty filling him that the arms on his back feel stronger than they should be. “Are you alright dude? I’ve never really seen you out in public shirtless before?”
Still grasping Griffin, Alfred’s body goes stiff and his eyes blank as something within him knows the words to be true. But it’s not like he’s changed? This is who he is, who he always has been. After shaking off the stupor, he pats Griffin on the back hard before pulling him in even tighter and sneaking a sniff of his hair. “What are you talking about dude, if I’m doing a morning run the shirt’s coming off haha!”
Hearing Alfred take a deep inhale with his face pressed into his neck, Griffin finally puts two and two together and pushes out of Afred’s tense grasp. Finally freed, ignoring the clear impression of his best friend’s sweaty pecs on his shirt, Griffin’s eyes are drawn to inky movement on the man’s arm, just like he saw in the tome.
Jaw clenched as he realizes that impossibly, he did this. Griffin tries to keep his cool as he asks about the tattoo, “Woah hey, Alf? When did you get a tattoo?” Looking down at his own arm, Alfred tilts his head, clearly not remembering it himself before he just bolts up like he had an idea and shakes his head, “Man you’re really forgetful today huh buddy? Or awww, wait, are you just worried about me?”
Over the years Griffin and Alfred have playfully flirted thousands of times, but now there lies an unmistakable charge behind the man’s words. A flicker behind his eyes as he steps closer to Griffin. Alfred’s hand surreptitiously reaches to grab at his crotch as he closes the distance, the tattoo that only recently covered his arm seeps into his skin as he swaggers closer, breathily grunting with each step.
“Y’know Griff… I’ve always wanted to do this…”
No he hasn’t, he knows he hasn’t. But as Griffin’s gaze trails up his more defined abs and still glistening pecs to find Alfred biting his lip, it’s a true effort to not simply give into his desires. “No- No, something isn’t right Alfred! I- You can’t-” He continues edging closer, his cock clearly throbbing in his firm grip.
As Griffin retreats away from Alfred, his expression grows almost frantic with need. His voice resounds raspier as he whines, still palming his bulge, “Griffinnn~ C’mon~ You know you want it! What’s so wrong about getting some relief, chasing your desires…”
Physically turning away from Alfred as he feels his own cock clearly straining his underwear, Griffin struggles to think of any next steps that don’t involve someone getting down on their knees. Much of his blood flowing south, the solution he produces is an obviously foolish one. Clearly controlled by Id alone. He’ll just ask more of it. Try and overwhelm the power clearly beyond his control.
His voice quivers from fear and lust as he tries his best to sound unaffected, “I don’t know Griffin? I guess I just usually only sleep with guys who are a little bigger?” His nose scrunches as he immediately knows this was a stupid gambit. When his cock pulses at the idea he slams his fist into his forehead for following his lusts rather than sense.
Hearing a grunt behind him, he turns to see a sneer on Alfred’s face. Ink returns to flourish across his form, and in its wake Alfred begins to bulk larger. Grunting through clenched teeth in a voice deepening with the growth of his neck, Alfred chokes out, “Need to be more… For- Griffin…”
Mouth agog, Griffin can’t believe what he’s seeing as a man he’s always more than thirsted for somehow becomes even more appealing. The sly, sleek body of a runner that he arrived in immediately almost doubles in size. Bulky arms bulge larger from shoulders that twitch wider by the second. Clear cockiness replaces the air of flirty confidence he had walked in with.
Watching as his powerful arms rise into a flex, revealing hairy pits Griffin didn’t even know he was into, Alfred’s arms throb larger with every second spent posing. The spellcaster’s mouth dries up as he imagines how those burly biceps would manhandle him, as he can almost feel their strength, their burning heat on his back, pulling him close.
Need panging in his chest as he desperately craves being held against Alfred’s pecs as they bloom into proper, corded muscle. Seeing stubble streaking across the ever-clean man’s jaw he can almost feel it scratching against his lips as what feels like a memory of making out begins to seep into his mind.
“Griffy~ Little Alfred doesn’t know how much longer he can take all this conversastion… Balls are getting awful blue…”
Hearing the beast of a man’s croaky voice maintain the unmistakable lilt of his boyf- best friend’s playful tone drives him up a wall. Watching as the ink once more fades into his skin as his wider hands reach to free a bulge seemingly larger than Griffin’s head, he’s left with an almost overpowering need to fall in front of Alfred. After all, the man’s ongoing growth, and new lust for Griffin is nothing more than his own desires made manifest.
The guilt at doing this is exactly why he is able, for perhaps the final time, to deny the unfathomably alluring man’s approach. “Wait, just wait, Alfred. You’re straight, right?! Remember, you- we. We tried! Just, I want you just like you were!”
“No, no you don’t!” His whole form twitches larger unevenly as the words tear from his throat. Thick thighs strain his shorts as one arm bulges larger before the other follows. Stretching his neck as he reaches back to massage the straining traps, Alfred grunts as something within him struggles to understand Griffin’s refusal to engage with his desires. “You want this!? Am I not enough, shall I become even more!? I need you.”
Falling to his knees with a heavy thud, Griffin almost gives in as he sees the heavy package bounce out of his waistband, dripping pre onto the floor as Alfred continues to whine wordlessly, more lust than man. The aura of his sweaty musk finally reaches the opposite side of the room where Griff had been putting up his meagre resistance, and at last he realizes he needs the man to leave if he’s to fix this.
“Okay.”
Alfred lights up, his iron rod of a cock bobbing in the air as his stubbled smile widens. Bounding to his new full height, he closes the distance to Griffin’s side in two strides of his long hairy legs. Leaning down to kiss the man with a tongue that wants nothing more to explore Griffin’s mouth, he is instead met with a finger. “But, I’ll need a while to prepare. Wanna make sure everything’s perfect for the first time, y’know.”
Whining like a dog, Alfred stamps his feet and turns away, hips almost rutting into the air at being edged like this. “MMMm fuck! Jesus fine! Whatever!” Staring at his wide back, seeing individual muscle groups bulge and flex as he pouts, Griffin’s hitherto ability to resist the man begins to wane. Alfred’s words echo in his head as he makes one final retreat, is it so wrong to chase one’s desires?
“Just give me half an hour ba- dude,”
As soon as he stomps out of the apartment, Griffin frantically begins research on the tome he found. Given his best queries are along the lines of ‘magic book transform man’ the best he finds are little more than fetish stories scattered across the internet. Kicking himself for not even taking a picture of the strange book, he miraculously stumbles across a long abandoned forum describing a situation shockingly similar to his own.
Unfortunately for the original poster, all replies seem to be at his expense. ‘R u sure ur not just misremembering ur best friend lmao’ ‘this thread is for casting spells not fanfic dipshit’ ‘g bacck to ur fetish sight perv’ Seeing the clock tick onward, Griffin starts to scheme an escape through his bathroom window before he stumbles across the sole helpful commenter. ‘Maybe check old photos of you two? Idk- feel like magic n tech don’t usually play nice?’
The poster didn’t reply to this but Griffin doesn’t care, it’s the only idea he has. Alfred will have to believe him! If he just shows him a picture of how he was that’ll surely break the spell. Or perhaps it would have been.
As Griffin’s attention falls to his cameral roll, it seems whatever grim wish-fulfilling powers that be are precisely one step ahead. Tapping onwards, he sees the ichorous dark ink seeping in from the edges of his screen. Desperately racing against something faster than light as his phone heats up in his hands, he watches as once innocuous images of his best friend warp and shift.
Just as he witnessed in reality, still images of his best friend are rapidly superimposed with the new horny beast he has become. Group photos part as the man takes up far more space. Outfits strain against his heavy pecs as ink comes and goes, ever-morphing Alfred into the perfect man for Griffin. Whether he wants that or not.
In no time at all every candid or commemorative photo of the Alfred he once knew is changed into a thirst trap. A photo sent to him to show off his gains, to sate his needs, to get him ready for the real thing coming sooner than he could hope. As he watches his history with his best friend slowly spiral down the drain as swirling ink struggles to convince him this is the true visage of his lover, he feels some cold resolve finally triumph over his lusts.
He was foolish, tricked, but he will not allow himself to benefit from the man he loved being erased. When he hears the front door open once more and more pressingly, when he smells the man’s heavy musk approaching, he steels himself.
Alfred calls out as he approaches Griffin’s bedroom, “Ready babe? Cooked up some pit stink for ya, I know how much you love it when I work up a sweat.” Every word is even deeper, somehow loaded with lust in a way that makes Griffin start sweating.
Almost kicking open the bedroom door, Alfred enters pit forward, as promised. Faced with a cock literally made for him, Griffin’s mind washes over with an existential need to let the adonis have his way with him. But in the end, despite every fraying nerve within him vibrating with lust, with desire, even as he’s physically pulled close to a man nothing less than perfect for himself; Even as his hands rest against heaving pecs trickling with sweat, he resists.
“We’re going to figure this out Alfred, I’m sorry for what I did to you.”
The room vibrates and lights flicker just as they did when he unwittingly cast that spell. At the same time, Alfred groans in irritation, “Ugggghh! God, I didn’t want to have to do this. But I actually made a quick trip while you were douching or whatever. Dunno what it was but something was pulling me. And unlike someone I know when it’s best to just follow your urges.”
Griffin knows exactly what Alfred’s about to produce before he does so, and when his eyes once more fall upon the book, he realizes it doesn’t matter if he resists or not. With no input from Alfred, the book opens to the exact same page as earlier, only now it holds not only the image of the stud before him, but a reflection of himself.
Lines readjust on the page as Alfred’s will begins to enact itself upon the world, just as Griffin’s did not an hour ago. As his representation on papyrus grows and changes, so too does his form outside the book. Looking down at his shaking hands he sees the very same ink that danced across Alfred and corrupted his phone work its way across him. Trailing up veins throbbing thicker and ballooning his arms into thick biceps, he feels his resistance begin to shatter.
It’s made all the easier as the thick paint decorating and contorting his body into something nearing perfection feels immeasurably good. Groaning as it encircles his crotch and paints new forests of hair into his pits and on his sharpening jaw, Griffin wonders how he could ever oppose something as clearly benevolent as this wondrous book’s grand work.
In the midst of his evolution he realizes there is no need at all to not start vigorously making use of Alfred who can scarcely believe how good it feels to finally get what it feels like he was made for. As after all, the pair were solely crafted for each other.
Alfred tears off whatever scraps of clothes remain on Griffin’s body as he does his best to outgrow them. Ink flits between their two bodies as they sweat all over each other, smearing and shifting as who and what they are changes by the moment. Thick beards and thicker pubes scratch against each other as they achieve delight and fulfillment greater than either believed they had in store.
Settling into their new, still-ephemeral bodies, or perhaps into the single self they may as well be, Alfred and Griffin lack any care to even begin to investigate the strange book that sits on the floor in their bedroom. What need have they to read, what need have they of anything besides each other? Lacking the interest to do anything but follow those most primal of urges, the lovers stumble into a lucrative business in porn and make the most of the bodies they have been blessed with.
Eventually when the book disappears they don’t notice that it’s gone, having barely been aware it was there to begin with. After all, their shared lives together are nothing more than their own wishes made manifest. They have need of nothing besides each other, who cares about some stupid book neither of them. It’s work being done, it’s more than happy to lie in wait for some other fool with hasty wishes, and a predisposition to ignore consequences.
Michael had always been the star of the university gymnastics team, a 6'2" tower of lean muscle at 200 pounds, every inch honed from years of flips, vaults, and routines that demanded perfection. His body was a canvas of smooth, hairless skin, shaved meticulously from his broad shoulders to his powerful calves, because a gymnast's form thrived on clean, uninterrupted lines. Wavy dark hair, a jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and size 11 feet toughened by countless landings on thin mats.
Graduation had been electric: the roar of the crowd as he crossed the stage, high-fives from teammates, and a quick, heated hookup in the shadows of the parking garage with his girlfriend, the captain of the cheerleaders. Her hands roamed his hairless back as he drove his 8-inch cock, thick and veined, unyielding girth, into her, leaving them both spent and grinning under the stadium lights as they started talking about their future and what their perfectly lined life would soon be.
As evening settled over the emptying campus, Michael shouldered open the door to the familiar dorm room, his cap and gown draped over a sweat-dampened white shirt that hugged his defined chest.
The space was a time capsule of their shared history: posters faded on the walls, a mini-fridge humming in the corner, and the faint scent of old takeout mingling with circuit boards. It had been four years since freshman orientation, when he'd first met Alex, back when they were just two guys navigating college chaos. Michael, the outgoing athlete drawing crowds at parties; Alex, the sharp-minded introvert who could fix any gadget or debug code in seconds. They'd bonded over late-night study sessions turned video game marathons, Alex helping Michael scrape by in classes while Michael dragged him to games for a taste of the social scene.
But college had a way of pulling people apart. Michael dove headfirst into team life, the parties, the hookups, his confidence swelling with every win. Alex retreated into his tech world, glasses perpetually slipping as he coded through the nights, his social circle shrinking to online forums and video games marathon listening to music until sunrise.
What started as friendly ribbing, Michael teasing Alex about skipping parties, slowly evolved into something sharper. Michael’s cockiness edged into casual jabs, Alex withdrawing further until their interactions were a tolerated routine: bully and bullied, with an undercurrent of old familiarity neither fully shook off. Both tolerating each other but deeply hating what the other has become.
Michael dropped his duffel with a thud, kicking the door shut behind him.
“Hey, man, you still glued to that screen?” he said, his voice carrying that easy baritone swagger, not quite hostile but laced with the self-assured grin of someone fresh off a high. He leaned against the desk. “Graduation was wild. Whole team's out there owning the night, beers, girls, the works. Figured you'd be packing up by now, heading to whatever genius gig you've lined up.”
Alex glanced up from his laptop, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. His frame was slight, 5'8" and 140 pounds, messy blonde hair framing thoughtful eyes, but there was a steadiness in his posture that hadn't been there before.
“Yeah, it's been a long day for you, huh? Congrats again. Sounds like you had the perfect send-off.” His tone was neutral, almost nostalgic, fingers pausing on the keys as he pointed out Michael’s opened fly.
Michael chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he quickly closed it up, his size 11 feet shifting in his sneakers.
“Thanks bro, appreciate it. Remember freshman year? We'd crash here after games, you fixing my busted phone while I ranted about coaches. Good times. Kinda miss that before everything got... complicated.” He paused, eyeing the room he spent so many nights in for one of the last times.
Alex's lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Listen Michael, once again, I’m not your bro. We've drifted, yeah, me into code, you into being a cocky douchebag who spends all his time making sure all the light is on you and fucking your bimbo of a girlfriend. But it's whatever... We could have been friend, we might have been at some point, but I don’t have to be scared of you anymore now.” He closed his laptop, the room falling quieter. “Speaking of, I've been working on something big and I should be able to refine it before selling it. Want to see what it does? It rewrites the world on a personal level, bodies, perceptions, memories. Pulled from public data, simulations. Tested it small-scale first.”
Michael raised an eyebrow, settling in between the beds.
“Okay fucker. I have been as nice as I could to you. You want to know why nobody likes you? You are a fucking bitch who spends his time playing mister knows it all and making sure everybody feels stupid next to you. I have tried to be your friend, really, because I wanted us to bond and create a true friendship that we could have talked about in years to come to our child and wives. But this is impossible.” Michael exploded in rage, letting go 4 years of accumulated rage and frustration on Alex. “And what is about this “app”? You stupid? You think something like that is real? Grow up, we are not in Startreak!! Oh, and by the way, nobody is dumb, we all saw you are gay by the way you look at my friends after the training and your stupid obsession with this singer you spend your time listening. What is his name already, Charley, Charlie? Whatever! I am done with you! Oh, and one last thing, make all of us a favor and rewrite your reality to be normal and maybe grow some muscles and a personality!”
Alex didn’t even flinch, he just stood there motionless, staring as Michael’s tantrum of rage with a shy smile on the corner of his lips. With a swift motion, he pulled out his phone. The screen glowed with a custom app, icons swirling like code unraveling.
Alex didn’t even talk, he just continued staring at Michael exploding in rage and not being able to stop the insults and anger as Alex just tapped on the screen. Suddenly Michael froze, he felt like a bucket of ice water was thrown on him, cascading all over his body.
“The fuck was that…” Michael said as the sensation finally left his body, leaving him almost out of breath and not able to think what he was just saying a minute ago.
Suddenly, Michael's vision splintered into pixels, a sharp jolt ripping through his core, muscles locking, bones humming with unnatural vibration. He gasped, clutching his stomach as waves of nausea hit, his body folding in on itself.
“What the Alex! what is this?” Pain bloomed in his limbs, compressing, reshaping; his broad frame shrank incrementally, shoulders narrowing, height dipping to 5'10". The gown dissolved in a shimmer, reforming as a floral yellow short sleeved opened shirt and a pair of dark blue shorts that hung looser now. His tailored shoes glitching at their turn before reshaping into dark brown leather shoes while white sport socks climbed up his legs to settle around his calves.
Michael could feel heat invading his body as his head started to turn, his vision blurring and then coming back together with each of his heartbeats. He could hear bones grinding and popping together while his muscles were making bubbling sounds before stretching the rest of his skin.
Michael straightened after a weirdly intense minute, disoriented, the room tilting slightly. His hands, once powerful, hairless grips, felt lighter, fingers elongating into graceful shapes, skin softening to a flawless sheen. No scars, no calluses.
Panic flickered as he touched his face: cheeks smoother, jaw gentling into a softer curve, lips fuller. In the mirror, wavy brown hair framed hazel eyes, a scare on his right eyebrow, the reflection staring back as a complete stranger stripped of Michael’s original bulk. His voice cracked out higher as he let out a painful moan in a higher voice then what he’s been used to hear for the last 22 years of his life.
“Alex… What have you done?!”
Alex watched calmly. “I have to say, for a test on a human subject, it worked exactly like I had planned, even better! You're looking good, Michael. Or should I say… Charlie?”
Michael's heart raced, fear and terror rushing through his veins as he felt he was about to throw up. As fast as he could he took a step on his left side to face his modified face and body in the full body mirror hanging on the wall. The once-mighty gymnast, now this slim pretty boy, voice lilting like a pop tune, body fragile and exposed.
“OMG!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!!! THIS ISN’T REAL!! THIS CAN’T BE REAL!!” he screamed in fear and incomprehension as he touched his face with his sensitive fingers, dragging his fingers along his new face curves around his cheeks, his plump lips and his curly hair. “We were friends, man! This is messed up, change me back!” he continued still looking at himself in the mirror, tears of fear rising in his new hazel eyes.
“What is wrong Michael? I thought you like when things switched up. Plus, all of this non sense bullshit can’t be real right?” Alex tapped again, sliders adjusting on the screen.
Michael stood there, frozen watching his reflection and shaking from incomprehension and apprehension. He could feel the same icy feeling cascading his body and just like a trained rat, he understood what was about to happen in the coming seconds.
Itch bloomed under his arms first, dark curls sprouting in his pits, releasing a subtle, musky warmth. Then his legs prickled, fine hairs pushing through from thighs to ankles, darkening into a neat pelt that accentuated rather than overwhelmed his calves. Lower, his pubes thickened into curly, dense but groomed bush, framing his groin without wild overgrowth. His feet stretched next, bones aching as they grew to size 12, broader and longer, toes flexing in tearing socks. Finally, his cock, shrinking from 8 inches to a plug-shaped 6 inches flaccid, thicker at the head but slimmer at the base, nestled in the curls, nerves firing hypersensitively as he could feel it grinding against his now hairy thighs and the soft denim shorts.
Michael screamed at his reflection while the musk of his new body invaded his nostrils, yanking up his shirt to stare: hairy pits peeking, legs fuzzy yet maintained, pubes a curly thicket. He kicked off his shoes, oversized size 12 feet slapping the floor, soles arched and sensitive. Fumbling with his shorts, he exposed the new dick, plug-like, head bulbous and throbbing from the air, every brush sending electric jolts.
“This is not real. This is a nightmare. I’m gonna wake up. I must have fallen asleep and now I’m having a nightmare. That’s it. It can’t be…” Michael stopped talking as he felt a rush coming through his lower abdomen. He tilted his head down only to see his bulbous limp cock gushing out of his cock head a thick pearl of viscous precum falling slowly to the ground on his exposed feet.
Alex's eyes sparkled. “Perfect! I see that we can pile modifications and they add up to each other’s without visible glitches. Good to know. Let’s see what happens with this parameter now!”
Agony exploded in Michael's skull, thoughts fracturing as programming overlaid. He tried to resist, but his body smiled, Charlie's charismatic grin, and sauntered forward, size 12 feet padding softly. Inside, he screamed as Michael could hear a new voice directly in his brain telling how much he enjoyed his boyfriend and how it inspired him to write a song. He felt his body fold to grab back his shorts and put them back on before putting back his shoes on. Michael tried to resist but he couldn’t control his body anymore, trapped as passenger of his own modified body while the new tenant rose up with a dumb cocky grin plastered on his face.
“Wow, I have to say, I am stinking today!” Charlie said as he started to smell at his own musky sweaty pits. His tongue centimeters away from his savoring hair.
“No, stop!” Internal cries drowned as his own body rebelled against him. Alex moved closer, stripping the shirt to fondle the lean hairy chest, fingers tugging pit hair, then gripping the throbbing shaft through the shorts. Jerking slow, the sensitivity amplified every vein's drag, head pulsing like a live wire against the tissue. Michael felt it all, humiliation peaking as Alex grabbed the shorts and dropped them, freeing Charlie’s plug shape hard cock. Alex kissed him as he continued to jerk him off. Charlie fell for the kiss as Michael could feel his tongue fighting with Alex’s one and suddenly, Michael could feel hands on his pecs pushing him down his own bed. Exposing his hairy legs spreading opened, size 12 feet curling toes.
Michael was trapped forced to watch as Charlie stood there motionless on the bed watching at Alex in front of him. He could feel the sweat pouring out of his pores and cocooning around his body, drowning him into Charlie’s potent musk.
Charlie was grinning, hard and leaking precum in the forest of his pubes, legs spread on the bed.
“I hope you are read for me Michael. But first, what is it you said earlier? Oh yea, I should use the technology to alter myself and put on some muscles to look normal huh?” Alex finished as he grabbed his phone to tap on the screen.
“Wow, I have to say, it’s quiet a weird feeling, you were right on that point Michael” Alex said as his body goose bumped before settling back to normal. “Watch what happens now Michael!” Alex finished as his body started to grow and elongate, growing taller and more muscles. His clothes adapting around his body and looking like they were now painted on his skin. Veins popping left and right against his muscles and trapped between them and his tanning golden skin. His hair growing out and taking a wavy form before settling in mid long hair while his face grew more angular and defined.
In front of his pants, his bulge grew again and again, showcasing a thick and bulging dick trapped against his thighs and leaving nothing to imagination. All around his body, his body hair grew back in his skin as he now stood there hairless.
Without even looking at himself, Alex popped a grin on his face before flexing his new modified thick biceps in front of Charlie.
“Tell me, how do you like it babe?” he asked in a cocky nonchalant voice to Charlie, truly targeting Michael deep inside, now looking exactly like Michael’s original body.
Michael, trapped deep inside Charlie couldn’t believe his own eyes. He couldn’t control his face or his sight but he swears in this moment he would have cried and scream if he could. Instead, the only thing he felt were his lips parting as his tongue moved, air rushing out of his lungs to create in his new harmonious voice.
“You look so hot babe. You have no idea how lucky I am to be your boyfriend…”
“I can say the same thing to you Charlie.” Continued Alex as he got back up and slowly walked to Charlie still laying on Michael’s bed. Alex was enjoying every minute that was given to him. A smile slowly creeping up on his cheeks as Charlie opened his mouth again, forcing Michael to say something he would have never done on his own.
“Baby you are so hot… Your body is a work of art. Don’t hide it. You know how much I love your abs and pecs…”
“Oh you mean… That?” said Alex in a cocky voice as he started to rise his yellow shirt, freeing his popping abs and pecs as his manly hands groped on his sensitive hard nipples.
Charlie stood there, biting his lips while Michael was trapped with the taste of blood and disgust on his tongue. Not able to control himself anymore, Charlie jumped on the bed to grab Alex by the neck as he threw himself at him, forcing a French kiss on him. Alex’s eyes popped open in surprise before slowly closing back as his calloused hands grabbed Charlie’s neck to assert his dominance on the kiss. Charlie was moaning in Alex’s breath as Alex continued to kiss Charlie down his neck and his pecs, pushing him back on the bed as he raised back up to slowly get his shirt off followed by his shorts.
Once he was naked, he just looked at Charlie’s naked form on the bed before grinning cockily as he followed by saying in a vicious voice full of sex and envy:
“I knew you just wanted my Attention…”
Alex lubed up, his own 8-inch cock pressing into the tight ass, slow breach, walls stretching around the girth, prostate sparking pain-pleasure as Charlie continued to moan, lost in the pleasure of Alex’s cock while Michael screamed in pain, taking the girth he was so proud of and for the first time, wondering if Becky felt that every time, he fucked her. Charlie opened back his eyes as stars appeared in his vision, his sight locking on Alex sweaty head front and focused eyes. Their eyes locking as Alex forced another kiss on Charlie’s sweaty mouth before breaking it and grinning.
“You like that babe? You like my big dick thrusting in and out of you huh? I want you to sing for me!” Alex said as his path accelerated, forcing pleasure moans out of Charlie’s mouth while Michael was screaming in pain.
Thrusts built, balls slapping the curly taint, hand milking the plug-shaped dick to eruption.
Charlie’s ass started to contract on its own around Alex’s cock and Alex grabbed Charlie’s cock tighter in his big meaty palm as he smiled, not stopping the milking.
“Looks like you enjoyed it a bit too much baby!”
Charlie between moans and heavy breath continued as his body started to spasm because of the continued milking after orgasm
“What would a cele… BRA… tion be without a fi… REWORK! Congratu… LA… tions on your gra…duration ba… BE!” he finished as he saw Alex’s face started to contract and soon, he could feel him orgasming deep inside his bowels, rearranging his insides as he stood there for a couple of seconds, still absent mindly jerking Charlie’s limp cock with the residual sperm and sweat.
Pulling out, cum dripping from his used hole, Alex threw the clothes to Charlie as he eagerly put the shorts back on, still gasping and trying to find his breath back drenched in sweat on the new dirty bed as his left arm behind his head and closed his eyes to rest. Exhausted by the sex he just had with his boyfriend and already thinking about the next time he’ll be lucky to get fucked by his own gymnast. Alex grinned as he walked calmly to his desk to grab his phone.
Alex tapped his phone and suddenly Michael could move again, jumping from the bed as he realized in satisfaction and horror that he could move freely once again. As his feet touched the ground, he jumped in pain as he could feel Alex’s cum dripping out of his distended ass and he couldn’t do anything o stop it. He could still feel ants in his legs and feet while sweat continued to pour down his pits.
“Alex please, I’m begging you. Change me back. This was a torture; I had no self-control and it was awful. Please. I’m sorry I told you all those awful things. Let’s just forget it and move on with our lives, ok? Change me back and I won’t ever talk to anyone about any of that. Please I’m begging you. Becky is waiting for me and we plan on getting an apartment and a dog. I have an interview tomorrow for a job at my dream company. I’m begging you, Alex. Please. PLEASE...” Michael couldn’t stop begging Alex, on his knees on the ground as tears rushed out of his eyes just as much as cum rushed out of his ass.
Alex didn’t even turn back, still naked and sweating from the sex he just had. He then laughed softly as he grabbed his phone and unlocked the screen.
“Of course, Michael, in honor of our passed friendship, I can make sure you have the life you deserved.” One final tap.
“OMG Alex thank you so much, I swear I’ll be the best version of myself. Thank you so much, thank you!” Michael smiled as he felt the rush cascading his body, thinking he was about to be freed from this nightmare he’s just been through. Promising himself to never talk about that to anyone.
Michael could feel his body starting to itch crazy, he continued to thank Alex, still turning his back to him as he started to get back on his feet only to realize the ant itching sensation didn’t go away, instead it grew harder and harder.
“Alex, I think there is a problem, the sensation is different. I think something is off. OMG WHAT IS THAT?!” Michael screamed looking at his hands and seeing them slowly starting to glitch as he could see his finger turning into glowing pixels falling on the ground and getting slowly swallowed inside Alex’s direction.
“ALEX!!! WHAT IS WRONG?!” Michael continued to scream as Alex finally turned back to face him, his phone in his hand as Michael saw his pixelating body continuing to turn into pixels and falling off his body to get swallowed at light speed inside Alex’s phone.
“I said I’ll make sure you have the life you deserved, and I’ll enjoy every minute of it, Michael.” Alex said in a calm voice. At this instant, Michael realized Alex never had planned to turn him back. His life started to flash in front of his eyes, his family, his friends, the training, Becky and the life they had planned together. He couldn’t focus on one single thought as his body accelerated his pixelization and in a matter of second, Michael was completely gone and swallowed inside Alex’s phone.
On his screen, a pop up appeared with a notification.
“Process status: 100%”
Alex clicked on the green button and an uploading wheel appeared next to the YouTube logo.
Michael opened his eyes only to see himself in a vintage looking apartment. He tried to walk, to scream but it seemed like once again he had lost every ounce of freewill. In front of him, a big white title appeared in mirror. He tried to read it but it disappeared as fast as it appeared and soon, he felt his body starting to move on its own again, his mouth opened as he felt himself starting to sing, trapped forever inside Charlie singing one of his songs in one of his video clips.
In the dorms, Alex grabbed Michael’s box and backpack as he turned around one last time to face the now empty room, he unlocked his phone and put on a headphone as he hit play, music starting to pulse in his ears as a smile crept on his face. Charlie appeared on the screen as he started to sing one of Alex’s favorites songs: “Girlfriend”.
The world is his to conquer and he’ll have the life Michael had always dreamed about.
I hope you enjoy this brand new story, created in collaboration with @forthegaze123
We brainstormed some ideas together and found this one particularly interesting. You’ll also be able to find a video version of this concept on his page.
I’d like to thank him for creating the AI images I used, and I really hope you enjoy the story.
I have to say, I had a great time writing this one, especially since I have such a crush on Charlie haha.
As always, feel free to share your feedback, and don’t hesitate to send requests via inbox or DM if you’d like to talk about ideas. I don’t bite!
Also, next month is my 30th birthday, so I’m thinking about organizing some kind of event to celebrate. Let me know if you’d be interested :)
Have a great night, and I hope I grabbed your “Attention” with this new story ;)
The heat of the late summer evening pressed down on Marcus like a heavy blanket. The air in his cramped apartment was still and humid. He lay across his bed, stripped down to nothing but a pair of faded yellow briefs. They were loose, standard cotton things, typical of the plain, unnoticeable life he led. Sweat pooled in the shallow hollows of his collarbone. He was scrawny, a constellation of sharp joints and pale skin, his arms thin rods holding his smartphone. He was just mindlessly scrolling through social media, a digital life that mirrored his empty social life. Girls didn't notice him, and he’d resigned himself to a life of digital voyeurism.
An ad for 'WishApp' flashed on the screen. His thumb hovered, then pressed. Why not? he thought, a flicker of curiosity momentarily cutting through the heat-induced lethargy. He downloaded it.
The interface was minimal, almost clinical. A simple text box appeared with a direct question: What is your desire?
Marcus let out a self-deprecating snort. He knew exactly what he didn’t have. Confidence. A presence. He stared at the box.
“What do I want?” he said to empty room. He was a skinny, shy straight guy. He wanted a relationship. He wanted to be able to just be with someone. And he wanted a body that meant something, a body that people would respect. He started typing rapidly. He wanted a relationship so he could have sex every time he wanted it. And also, be a proper big muscle guy. He hit send, not even noticing the tiny, fateful typo in the word ‘guy’.
We appreciate your request. Processing will take some time, the app replied.
He stared at the blank screen, expecting… something. More options? A confirmation code? Nothing. He sighed, disappointed. Thinking it was just a silly gimmick, and he closed the app. Tossing the phone away, Marcus rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and quickly drifted off to sleep. He had no idea that as soon as his consciousness faded, his body and mind would begin a profound, unstoppable transformation.
His dreams, once filled with vague images of unapproachable girls, began to change. Instead, his subconscious was invaded by images of beautiful, powerful, muscular men. The shapes were defined, the lines confident. He was surrounded by them, not as threatening figures, but as icons of adoration. The dreams felt different—heavier, thicker, filled with a desire he couldn't quite articulate.
The first physical changes were subtle. His skin tightened. A faint rasp of stubble began to push through on his previously smooth jaw. On his chest, where there had been only pale skin, fine, soft hair began to sprout. He writhed in his sleep, the clean sheets now sticking to a body that was growing in density, in volume.
The process accelerated. A deep, resonant hum seemed to vibration through his bones. The app’s 'processing' was intense. His skeletal structure didn't expand dramatically, but his muscle fibers hyper-growth. His deltoids broadened, becoming wide, powerful shelves. The biceps and triceps definition sharpened, his forearms hardening. His chest, once a flat expanse, became wide and massive, the new hair becoming dense and curly, spreading down his sternum. His core tightened into hard, visible blocks of muscle, a six-pack etching itself above a wider, stronger abdomen. Thick, natural hair now covered his chest, abs, and legs.
As the first faint hues of dawn began to bleed through the open window, painting the room in a warm light, the violent crescendo of the transformation finally reached its peak. The frantic shifting and tossing in the bed subsided into a heavy, rhythmic breathing. The skin-and-bones Marcus was completely gone.
In his place lay a magnificent specimen of pure, raw masculinity. His shoulders had expanded into a massive, heroic V-shape, his traps sloped steeply down into wide, boulder-like deltoids that seemed to strain against the very fabric of the mattress. His biceps and triceps muscles were now thick and full, carved with deep, branching veins that pulsed with a newfound, powerful circulation.
His chest had risen into two massive, heavy slabs of muscle, so broad and deep that they shook slightly with each deep breath he took. A thick, masculine carpet of dark, curly hair now completely blanketed his torso, running in a dense line down his defined, rock-hard abdominal wall and disappearing into his waistband.
The change was so absolute that his yellow briefs, which just hours before had hung loosely on his boyish hips, were now stretched to their absolute limit. The cotton fabric was pulled over his heavily thighs and wide hips. Up front, the pouch of the underwear was incredibly tight, straining against a noticeably larger, heavy bulge that pulsed with the intense morning heat. His legs had transformed into thick, powerful pillars,
The transformation was absolute, leaving no trace of the fragile youth who had fallen asleep the night before.
When he woke up, he sat up with a groan. The first rays of morning light illuminating the messy sheets. He didn't immediately notice his change. His mind was still tangled in the powerful, intimate images of his dream.
“Why do I have morning wood after this strange dream?” he muttered. The sound of his voice shocked him. It was a deep, gravelly baritone, completely unlike his usual tenor.
He tried to clear his throat, but the deep pitch remained. He finally looked down.
"What!" he roared, the deep voice echoing in the small room.
He ran for the mirror in his bathroom, his now powerful legs nearly knocking him off balance. He stared at his reflection, his eyes wide in absolute disbelief. The face staring back had sharp, chiseled features. A full, well-maintained beard, short-cropped and styled, covered his jaw, matching the neat, styled hair on his head. He looked like an immaculate, well-defined muscle bear. His eyes were wide, taking in the massive chest covered in hair, the sculpted abs, the thick arms, and the deep muscle strength. He ran his hand over his new body, his fingers pressing into hard muscles. He noticed his yellow briefs, now extremely tight, with a very prominent, powerful bulge. His initial panic began to morph into something else—a strange, thrilling sense of self-awareness.
Suddenly, he heard sounds from the kitchen. The sizzling of eggs, the clatter of a pan.
Marcus slowly pushed open the bathroom door and walked into the hallway. The kitchen door was slightly ajar. He peeked inside. Standing by the stove, his back mostly to Marcus, was another man. The man was massive, a fellow muscle bear with incredibly well-developed muscles. His deltoids were wide, and his biceps bulged as he expertly flipped an egg in a frying pan. His chest was covered in dense hair, matching the hair on his arms and legs. Marcus froze, the sheer, imposing presence of the other man dominating the space.
Marcus watched him. What a man, he thought. Wait, why am I thinking that? I’m not gay. Or am I? The realization of his typo on the app hit him simultaneously with the new, powerful feelings swirling in his core. The dreams had prepared him.
The other man turned around, a friendly expression on his face. He was bearded, with neat, light-colored hair, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of tight red briefs with a nice, round bulge.
"Good morning, sleepy head," the man said, his voice a deep, comforting rumble. "I just made breakfast. I hope you want some."
Marcus took a step forward, the unfamiliar sensations in his transformed body now commanding his actions. His desire for this stranger, this fellow icon of power and beauty, was primal.
"There is one thing I want," Marcus said, his deep voice thick with newfound intent.
He crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between them. The man smiled as Marcus approached. Without a word, Marcus took the other man's body in his powerful hands and kissed him passionately. The man immediately dropped the spatula, his arms wrapping around Marcus's broad shoulders. They pulled each other tight, their muscular bodies pressing together, hair on hair, muscle on muscle, in a sudden, intense embrace.
"Let’s get back to bed…" Marcus whispered against his lips. The other man simply nodded and pulled him along.
As they left the kitchen, Marcus’s phone buzzed. A new notification appeared on the WishApp: Enjoy your wish!
Enjoyed this story? You can support this blog by buying me a coffee on Ko-Fi. Thank you for your support.
An indirect sequel to The New Product. Hope you enjoy!
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Chief Benson tapped his fingers impatiently on the table, his eyes darting at even the slightest sounds or movement. This meeting wasn't on the record- wasn't supposed to happen. But when a leading member of the Sante Cambio drug cartel reached out regarding the whereabouts of his missing son, Eric, Chief Benson was ready to make an exception.
"C'mon." Benson whispered, growing increasingly impatient, "Eric... where are you?" Flashbacks flickered through his mind- of his son. Of his time volunteering, his time at the gym, celebrating his 21st birthday.
"Dad, I wanna make a difference."
"Gonna be just like you someday, Chief."
"They say I’ve got your build, Chief."
"Gotta stay in shape for the academy."
"I'm gonna make you proud, dad."
"Fuck…" Benson cursed, feeling powerless.
"Hola mi amigo!" Benson perked up as a man he recognized as the cartel's leader in the city, Diego, entered, "I am so happy you have accepted my invitation." Diego smirked, his eyes predatory.
Benson's eyes darted past Diego, landing on the enforcer behind him. He was bigger than Diego. His shirtless, hairy torso thick and broad- graced with fresh ink. The enforcer looked down and shifted his bulk, crossing burly arms over his large chest.
"Your muscle?" Benson nodded towards the larger man.
"Eh him? Sí, very loyal boy. Been with us… what, three weeks now?"
"Si senor," The man replied, gaze still focused on the ground, "Is been three week already." He spoke in heavily accented English.
"Well isn't that nice?" Benson's sarcasm was barely concealed, "Enough bullshitting around. You know why I'm here Diego. Where. Is. My. Son?"
"Of course! Should we start from the very beginning?" Diego leaned back in his chair and tossed a photo to Benson.
Benson inspected it. A selfie Eric had posted at the gym- sweating and determined, surrounded by weights and machines.
"What do you mean, 'from the beginning'? What does this have to do with anything?"
"Oh, this is exactly where it starts, mi amigo. Your dear son, so dedicated to his fitness regimen. Always pumping iron, always pushing himself harder."
Benson's grip tightened on the photo. "Get to the point, Diego."
"We watched him, followed him. Always alone, always focused. Made for such an easy target." A smug smile graced his features. "We grabbed him in the parking lot. Put up quite a fight, didn't he, guapo?" He glanced at the enforcer, who remained silent, his expression unreadable.
Benson's voice trembled with anger. "What did you do to him?"
Diego waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, nothing much at first. He was shouting, cursing us out." He laughed, "'My old man's the chief! He won't let you get away with this!' That's what he kept saying."
Benson rose from the chair, "Do you want money? Immunity? What the fuck do you…"
"Senor, please, let me finish. Prometo que todo quedará perfectamente claro. Si?" Benson slowly nodded, "Excellente!" He reached into his jacket and pulled out another photograph, sliding it across the table, "First, let me show you the next step in our little… process."
Benson's eyes widened in horror as he took in the image. Eric was naked, bound tightly with ropes, his wrists and ankles secured to a chair. His mouth was covered with duct tape, muffling any screams or pleas for help. Diego applied the tape.
"How could you...?" Benson whispered, bile rising in his throat.
"Ah, but that's when the real fun began, Chief," Diego continued, "You see, he was so stressed. So we thought we'd introduce him to some of our product. Puffed it right in his pretty face." He mimicked the action with his hands, "We'd all just smoke around him, fill those lungs of his." Diego laughed, enjoying Benson's discomfort. "He fought it at first, of course. Tried to hold his breath, glare us down with those defiant eyes."
"He'd never touch that shit willingly. Eric's clean, always has been."
"I know, oh trust me I know!" Diego continued, "When we peeled off that tape, oh, the begging! He promised he'd keep quiet, he'd forget all about it." He snorted. "Like we were going to believe that."
He reached into his pocket once more, pulling out yet another photograph. This one sent a chill down Benson's spine. Eric was still bound, but his eyes were glazed over, unfocused. Smoke everywhere around him. But what really drew Benson's attention was the way his son's body looked. Eric seemed different somehow - tanner, more muscular. Even his hair was darker.
"I don't understand, what…?" It had to be a tick of the light.
"You see, we intensified his exposure to our special strain."
The weight of realization crushed Benson like a physical blow. He knew all about this special strain of weed. Rumors circulated among the force of a batch that made people irreversibly stoned - forever trapped in a haze of laziness and obsession with so-called "stoner culture." He'd seen it up close - good kids, even some of his officers, reduced to nothing more than drooling, lethargic shells of their former selves. The idea that this fate might have befallen Eric… it would destroy everything he worked for, everything he was. No police academy now, no future outside of his father's basement.
"Not Eric." Benson whispered, "Diego… Please not him."
Diego smirked and produced another photograph, tossing it onto the table in front of Benson. Eric sat casually, a joint dangling in his hand as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. But it was his appearance that shocked Benson the most. Eric's skin was deeply tanned. Dark stubble covered his jawline. His hair now a shade darker.
"This… this can't be right," Benson muttered, shaking his head in disbelief, "That doesn't even look like..."
Diego chuckled darkly. "Oh, but it is, Chief. You see, given his inexperience, he responded to our special strain stronger than most, even with it being highly processed." He leaned closer, relishing Benson's distress. "If we'd stopped there, he would have been a perfect little stoner. Lazy, carefree, content to spend his days getting high and stuffing his face with junk food. An absolute embarrassment to his father, right?"
"But that's not what happened, is it?" Benson asked, a sinking feeling in his gut.
"No, indeed it was not," Diego sighed, handing Benson another photograph, this one showing Eric bound and restrained once again, "You see, even after all that, he still clung to his dreams of being a cop. Still clung to his misguided ideals. After we caught him, we knew he needed a real lesson."
Benson's hands shook as he took the photo, his mind reeling. He couldn't wrap his head around what Diego was telling him or showing him. Eric looked even more different in the photo. Dark hair, tan skin that rivaled Diego's.
"He fought at first. And that's when we truly let loose on him, Chief," Diego continued, "No more processed, watered-down shit. We gave him the good stuff, straight from the Amazon." He paused, savoring the moment. "It's incredible what it does to an inexperienced white boy like that." Diego chuckled, "Those baby smooth cheeks? Covered in a nice, dark facial hair." He leaned back, "And let me tell you, the change wasn't just on his face. Oh no. Full chest, back, arm, leg, you name it. But it was more than that. More muscle? Absolutely. Curves in all the right places, big arms, big legs. Not just muscle, but some nice extra padding too." Diego licked his lips, "You should've seen his face. Oh and we made sure he saw every single little change." He grinned, "After a few days, you'd never know he used to be some pale-ass gringo. Looked like one of our own."
"There's no..."
"And Chief, your boy? You should've heard him. So lost, broken..." Diego recalled, "But we talked to him, helped him realize he would never be a pig. He'd always crave the high, always need to smoke. His old life, his old friends… they'd never recognize him looking like that. Wouldn't accept him." Diego leaned in, "Made him realize he'd disappoint everyone. Especially you, Chief. So we opened our arms to him. Offered him a new family, a new purpose, a new name. And he accepted." Diego smirked and glanced at his enforcer, "And as a reward, I opened my bed to him. I pleasured him in ways he'd never dreamed of, showed him what his new body needed, left him begging for more. Tatted him up real nice, gave him a sense of belonging. A new purpose in life."
With that, Diego reached into his pocket and pulled out one last photograph. He slid it across the table to Benson.
Benson looked down at the image, and froze. It was a selfie. A man with thick dark hair- face framed by a scruffy beard. His face was broader, features harsher. Tanned skin stretched taut over massive shoulders and biceps. A broad belly spilled over the waistband of his pants. Tattoos marked his chest and forearms.
"This was a selfie your boy took after we tatted him up." Diego smirked, turning to meet the admiring gaze of his enforcer, "So fuckin' handsome, right?" He reached around and grabbed a fistful of his enforcer's juicy ass, "Right, guapo?"
Benson's head snapped up, his eyes darting to the enforcer standing beside Diego and back to the photo. The broad shoulders, the hairy chest, the round belly. The tattoos, the face, the body... it all clicked into place
"Eric? Is... is that you?"
The enforcer stood frozen, his loving gaze shifting away from Diego. Slowly, hesitantly, he met Benson's eyes- embarrassment, shame filling them. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.
"Hola papá…" He began, his new accent still heavy and unfamiliar on his tongue.
And he could see it on his father's face. The shock, the horror, the desperate attempt to reconcile the man before him with the son he knew. And in that moment, he understood what his dad was thinking. How he'd never see his son wear the uniform, never live up to the ideals he had been raised with. Probably realizing one day he'd have to bring him in, handcuffs and all... Diego and the others were right – he would never be accepted, not as he was. And there was no going back, no way to reverse this.
"They call me…" He started slowly, but faltered, realizing his new name wasn't just something they called him. No… it was his name, his identity. His life as that clean-cut, eager-to-please young man, ready to follow in his father's footsteps, was over. He was now the newest recruit of the Sante Cambio cartel, "No… My name… Mi nombre es Enrique."
A hyper muscle Batman story commissions for a friend. My story commissions are currently open.
Bruce had been Batman for many years now. Keeping Gotham safe from criminals and super powered villains. Some of his Villains he has clashed with many times before. Such as Bane. The muscular villain was a strong foe to fight against. But Bruce always outsmarted him to defeat him.
So when Bruce learned of a strange new product of Bane venom. The Dark Knight set out to locate his foe to stop him. However for whatever reason Bane was hard to track down. The only lead Bruce had to go with was a few officers from the Gotham Police department. The two men, a young rookie and a seasoned officer had both been exposed to this new Bane venom.
Turning the two officers into these bodybuilder sized men. Taking their DNA samples, Bruce studied the venom within them. Seeing if he couldn't find a way to reverse the effects of this new venom serum.
He's thrown off by how advanced the formula for this new serum Bane is seemingly using is. It makes him wonder if Bane was working with a new partner. It could explain how Bane was being so elusive so Bruce wasn't able to track him. As well as why Bruce hasn't been able to formulate a cure for this serum of Bane venom.
this was starting to become weirder the further Batman investigated this. It had been days now, almost a week even and he seemed to be further from figuring out what Bane is up to. The officers who had been first affected also vanished. The two men not leaving a single trace of their whereabouts for the police or even Batman to track them.
They weren't the only ones either. Bruce watches security footage from the construction site downtown. The footage shows three construction workers encountering a large sized masked man that Bruce knew to be Bane. Like the officers, Bane seems to inject this serum into these construction workers. Bruce watching the camera. Fists clenches watching the men morphing into these beastly sized brutes.
The camera footage cuts off with Bane looking right into the camera, as if he was staring at Batman, challenging him to find him. Before a piece of a metal beam is tossed at the camera and the feed cuts off.
Bruce needed to figure this out and put a stop to Bane. Unsure what the muscular brute’s goal is here. Or what else he intends to do. It's now been over a week at this point when Batman gets a new lead. There was a camera that caught a glimpse of a large shadow that matches Bane’s likeness. It was just a few frames, but studying them Bruce was able to tell that it was Bane who was on the security feed. The camera was located somewhere downtown in Gotham where there are several old and abandoned warehouses.
No one, not even villains used those warehouses since they were obvious hiding places for police and heroes alike to find wanted criminals. Yet it proved to be fitting for Bane in this instance. Since it only now took Batman to figure out that is where Bane has most likely been hiding.
He needed to be smart and careful going into this. Bane has been acting strange since this whole thing started. Acting more clever and hiding his steps. Whenever before the brute was headstrong and acted before thinking. Bruce was still convinced someone else was behind this. Instructing Bane what to do and how to stay hidden from him.
Batman of course made quick work in locating exactly where Bane is now. Approaching the large warehouse as night fell over the city. He's on the roof of the building and peers down inside of it. Seeing the men that had gone missing there inside with Bane. The two officers and three construction workers had drastically changed. All five men were shirtless wearing just these spandex-like briefs. Their muscles were huge. Surpassing how Bane would normally be even with his normal venom pumped into him.
Batman was taken aback by that. Normally Bane would want to be the largest so the fact these men he corrupted where was confusing. It made Bruce wonder if Bane had some sort of trick up his sleeve. The five men had these blank, almost dimwitted expressions on their faces. He can hear Bane speaking to them. And the large brutes would simply say. “Yeah boss.” or something along those lines.
‘I have to find a way to free them.’ Bruce thought to himself.
He was adamant about doing so, but first he needed a plan. He had the advantage right now in the element of surprise. Slinking down from the top section of the warehouse, Bruce conceals himself in the shadows when he reaches the ground level of the warehouse.
He watches carefully. Awaiting for the perfect moment to make his move. Bruce knows he needed to take out the five muscled goons Bane had created first. Since either would make fighting Bane that much easier if he didn't have to deal with them on top of Bane.
While Bruce lingered there in the shadows thinking he had the element of surprise as his advantage. The Dark Knight failed to realize that there was a figure behind him. Unbeknownst to Bruce, Bane had corrupted another man into being his loyal goon. A meta Human with an ability to go invisible. This allowed the hairy Baneified Brute to sneak up on Bruce.
Bruce didn't realize until he felt powerful arms wrap around him and pull him into the brick wall of muscle.
“Got ya.” The brute rumbled in a deep voice.
Bruce struggled to free himself, but the guy held him in an iron tight grip.
“Boss! He showed up just like ya said!” The Goon said while carrying Bruce out into the center of the warehouse.
“Predictable as ever Batman. Hiding out in the darkness waiting to make your move.” Bane says in the form of a greeting.
“Leave us gentlemen.” Bane instructed his goons.
“ I'd like to have a chat with the Dark Knight here.” He adds.
Batman is released from his hold as Bane's corrupted Goons leave them alone. Bruce stands there, eyeing Bane with caution. Unsure of what his old fee's plan is here. This is out of character for Bane. Normally Bane would be gloating and going on about how he's going to out do Batman this time. Of course Bruce would then formulate a plan and come out on top and defeat the muscle bond villain with ease.
This Bane though, he seemed more calculated. As if he had a plan of his own he was waiting to carry out.
“What's your plan here Bane?” Batman asks after a moment.
“You use this new venom serum to corrupt innocent men into those behemoths. Even acquire a meta human to force into a pawn for you. All for what?” The Dark Knight asks.
“I'm going to give you a basic explanation.” Bane starts off by saying.
“I have been enlightened in a way when I formulated my new Bane Venom. Creating a version of my serum that not only enhances my muscles, but also grants me a boost in my intelligence.” Bane pauses.
“It would seem that all I needed was a bit of magic to go into my formula to make it perfect.” Bane chuckles.
“Of course this particular serum I saved exclusively for myself. Though I did make altercations to it so my new goons got the benefits of the increased muscular growth. At a cost for their IQ of course.”
“After all, I don't need men who can think. Only obedient and loyal to me so they're dumb and happy to do as I say.” Bane approaches Batman.
The Dark Knight is ready to make a move. His hand lingering near his utility belt to grab a stun capsule to hopefully distract Bane so he can take the brute down.
“You tell me all of this as if I don't intend to stop you like I've done before Bane.” Batman says.
“I'm telling you this Batman because I know that you won't be able to do so.” Bane says with confidence.
Batman is ready to prove him wrong, only Bane grabs hold of him. Pressing him against a nearby wall. Despite his size, he's able to move fast and disarm Batman. Seemingly knowing just what to do in order to do so. It leaves Batman taken aback. Not expecting Bane to be this calculated in his moves. Then again the villain did say his special serum had increased his IQ. Bruce just underestimated how much smarter his old foe has become now.
“Mhmmm that was satisfying.” Bane chuckles.
“All the times I've lost to you but now it seems the tables have turned old friend.” Bane presses himself closer to Batman. The Dark Knight once more was thrown off since Bane was acting almost flirty with him. Surely he is mistaken, Bane wouldn't be flirting with him, right?
“You asked why I told you all of this? It's because I know you aren't going to defeat me Batman.”
“Not this time. No this time I will come out as the victor here Batman. But don't think I'm going to eliminate you.’
“Far from that actually. I intend to have you join me Batman. You'll be working by my side as my right hand man. Together we will rule Gotham with our iron fists as a powerful and unstoppable couple.” Bane explains.
“I will never join you Bane!” Batman says adamantly.
That declaration earned him a laugh from the larger man. Bane leaning in close to Batman, a wide grin on his face.
“I'm not giving you a choice in the matter Batman.” He says. His warm breath tickling Batman's mouth.
Batman is then maneuvered so he's pressed with his back against Bane's muscular chest. Batman thrashes and tries to get himself free, but it seemed like Bane was built even more like a tank. Nothing Batman did got the villain to let up on his hold on the Dark Knight. Being held so close like this Batman can smell a potent musky aroma. The scent he realizes is Bane’s body odor. The scent nearly brought tears to his eyes over how strong the aroma was. Not helping any with his attempts to try and free himself.
“Don't worry Batman, you'll enjoy the process.” Bane promises him.
He holds out a vial of blue serum. Showing it off to Batman for a moment before he injects it into Batman’s arm. Bruce grimaced, inhaling sharply as his arm stings and the area of the injection starts to burn. The muscles in that arm are already throbbing from the serum.
“Relax now my Dark Knight.” Bane says in a low voice. Resting his chin on Batman’ shoulder.
“The serum isn't like what I gave the other men. You won't be all brawn and no brains. Afterall, I like your clever mind. This will just make you more open minded to seeing things from my perspective and allowing you to join me.” Bane explains to him.
Batman clenches his fists and grunts. His body was aching with this throbbing intensity. It was hard for him to focus properly for him to think of a plan out of this. Let alone a way for him to escape so he can regroup elsewhere. No, for now Batman was a sitting duck essentially. His suit started to slowly tighten around his body. Signaling how he was already beginning to grow with newly gained bulk thanks to Bane’s serum.
Bane's musk seemed to become more prominent. It being all Batman could focus on now. It was frustrating to him how helpless he was in this moment that he was allowing this to befall him. Bane's touch on him seemed to get lighter. No longer holding him in a tight embrace to keep him in place. Now Bane’s touch was more so roaming along Batman’ expanded torso. As if he was feeling the growing Dark Knight up with how much muscle he has gained thus far.
Batman’s mind was in turmoil. Conflicting thoughts clouding his mind. He blames Bane’s musk that is distracting him. For some reason smelling the potent sweaty scent was making Batman feel aroused. His cock already bulging against the spandex of his crotch. To which Bane eclipses his hand over it. Fondling Batman’s sensitive member to make the hero let out an involuntary moan.
Batman found himself caving into these urges bubbling within him. The sensations he felt from Bane touching him, the way his body was gradually growing with new size. It was all becoming too much for him to want to deny himself any longer. Without another thought Batman turns around and kisses Bane. Forcing his tongue into the villain’s mouth to deepen the kiss. The sound of his Batman suit tearing apart echoes in Batman’s ears.
His bulging biceps bursting through the sleeves, his pecs ballooning outwards that they tear apart the front of the suit. Shredding the Bat symbol of the suit down the middle. Batman’s suit at this point was in tattered ruins. With only a few stray strains stretching across Batman’s newly muscular physique. Not only was Batman now on par with Bane in size, but the Dark Knight seemed to be getting just as tall as him as well. The two men now eye level with one another.
With just his cowl left concealing his identity, Batman doesn't even try to think about resisting this any longer. No, this was too pleasing for him to want to deny himself this. His attraction to Bane in looks and his intoxicating scent was driving Batman crazy with lust. Bane lifted his own muscular arms up, revealing the dense black wiry hairs that were concealed under his arms.
Batman doesn't waste a moment as he shoves his face into Bane's musky and sweat soaked underarms. Inhaling deeply and enjoying the powerful musk that wafts from Bane's armpits.
“I knew you'd like this.” Bane comments.
“Hell, you even exceeded my expectations.” He laughs.
Batman would snap out of it over the comment. But then he thinks about how all he has given up. All that he has denied himself over the years to protect the city. Hell, even the world. Why couldn't he be selfish at this moment? Why now allow himself to feel immense pleasure like he was experiencing now? He wanted to be selfish, he wanted to keep enjoying himself.
He moans in reply, sticking his wider tongue out and licking a long stripe up Bane’s hairy underarm. Shuddering over the taste of the other man’s musk and sweat. His own body was starting to become slicked from his own sweat he was producing. Beads of sweat soaking through his torn up cowl. Removing it to use it as a rag to wipe up the sweat. He doesn't care that he revealed his identity to Bane. To his surprise Bane doesn't even seem taken aback by Batman’s true identity. No, the two men were too consumed with their arousal for one another to react to such trivial things.
Batman had grown slightly more. His torso thicker that he would need to side step to go through most doors. His pecs are massive that he couldn't see past them due to how huge they've ballooned out into. His legs were these massive tree trunk sized thighs that pressed against each other. His cock was exposed, standing fully erect at just over twenty inches now. With his hairier balls hanging lower on him now that they're over filled with more testosterone. Batman grunts, swallowing as he had this lapse of judgment.
Wondering what he was doing. Why was he allowing himself to fall into darkness and temptation like this? He was Batman, Gotham’s protector. He needed to break off from this spell caused by Bane’s venom serum. He needed to. He stops, his thoughts clouding up once more when Bane moves to stand behind him. Whispering to Bruce about how he doesn't need to stress himself over this.
“You should allow yourself to have these temptations Bruce.”
“You shackle yourself by your duty as Batman and Bruce Wayne. Don't you want to be free of those taxing identities? To allow yourself to become someone else? Someone free to do what he wants to do? Rather than worrying about doing what needed to be done?”
“Let me free you from your responsibilities Bruce. Let me help you become someone new that you can happily embrace.”
Those words seemed to sink deep into Bruce’s mind. Subjecting him to falter with his better judgment. Everything Bane said Bruce found he wanted. He did want to be free of his duties as both Batman and Bruce Banner. Having no idea how both of his identities were weighting him down with the shackles of responsibilities. He wanted the freedom that Bane spoke of. Thus allowing himself to lower to his knees. Staring up at Bane as he willingly takes Bane’s into his mouth. It took some work and maneuvering but Bruce is able to take Bane’s shaft into his mouth.
He started off slowly to begin with. Easing himself into a slow pace. His large hand moves and gropes Bane's balls. Massaging them gingerly under his touch. Enjoying the pleasuring moans emitting from Bane. This of course prompts Bruce to keep working. Moving at a faster pace now his cheeks bulging, even his throat somewhat when he moves onto deep throating Bane's thick cock.
The villain's cock sputters out a huge wad of precum. Bruce doesn't waste a moment in lapping it up greedily. Fueling his desire to taste more of the villain he is blowing. The pair keep up what they're doing. With Bane's large hand resting on top of Bruce's head. Guiding him as the Dark Knight continues to suck him off. It didn't take much more time before Bane's balls churn. Bruce felt them doing so in his palm. With an echoing shout Bane thrusts forward.
Bane's load is so intense with how much he orgasms and how thick his seed is. Bruce can't swallow all of it down. Bane's load trickles down the sides of Bruce's mouth. Making a mess of his face with the dripping cum that leaks from his mouth. His thick hand fists around his cock, jerking himself off.
His tongue licking around his mouth to lick up the cum that is smeared around his mouth. While he lifts up his big bicep arm to inhale his own sweaty stench. Bruce sinking back into an aroused state. This time fixating on himself and what a big muscle brute he has become. He can imagine how fucking hot he looks given how powerful he feels. Eager to dominate anyone who gets in his way with his intimidating size. Knowing he would make those six dimwitted goons if Bane's look like newbie body builders with the size he has on them.
Bruce feels his orgasm bubbling up within him. Never has he felt such immense and desirable pleasures as he does in this moment. His tongue sticks out, his mouth opening wide as his eyes go cross as his cock erupts with his orgasm. The gooning hero is still jerking his cock off as it cascades with thick ropes of cum that splatters all over himself and the warehouse floor.
The muscle brute heaves a wife grin on his face. He sits there a moment before he rises up to his feet. He looks over to Bane and his smile grows.
“You were right.” He grunts.
“I'll be happy to rule Gotham by your side.” He adds.
“But first we need to take care of some obstacles that would stand in our way.” Bruce says.
“Oh?” Bane asks, curious.
“Yeah, starting with a certain Man of Steel.” Bruce tells him.
Already formulating a scheme to get Superman out of their way. Because no doubt his super powered friend would be hellbent on saving Bruce from his new identity. And Bruce wasn't going to allow Clark to ruin this for him.
Quick Note: Hope everyone is doing well out there! To celebrate the summer, I have four sequels to some of my older stuff planned. Three are direct sequels, and one (being this one) is an indirect sequel. Hope you enjoy!
The military base was quiet as John walked through the halls, his boots echoing with each step. He ran a hand through his short brown hair, sighing heavily. The disappearance of Sergeant Reeves weighed heavily on his mind. Reeves was a good man- a good soldier. Welcomed him, taught him, served as that older brother John needed in his life. For Reeves to just disappear without a trace, everyone assuming he went AWOL... it didn't sit right with John.
"Goddamnit Reeves, where the hell are you?" John muttered under his breath as he slipped away from the barracks, a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder, "Fuck all this..."
John made his way to an area on base that was rarely visited. Carefully, he slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. With a heavy sigh, he pulled out his Hive-X gear. Hive-X was strictly forbidden on base- something about national security. But fuck it - he needed this. Needed to blow off some steam and forget about everything for a while.
"Alright, let's get this show on the road," he said to himself, setting his bag down and starting to strip. John's lean physique was soon on full display as he donned the VR headset, wrist and ankle cuffs, and waist band.
And as John put on the VR headset, the world around him melted away, replaced by the familiar lobby of Hive-X. The sensations were immediate and overwhelming - his skin tingled all over, hyper-sensitive and yearning for touch.
"Fuck, I needed this," John groaned. Despite having experienced this countless times before, the initial rush never failed to take his breath away.
Still, a flicker of self-consciousness passed through him as he stood naked in the opulent lobby. John's hands instinctively moved to cover himself before he caught himself and let them fall to his sides.
"Get it together." he muttered. "Nobody's judging here."
"Welcome back, User John." NPC 202 greeted from behind him, "I trust you're here for your usual stress relief session?"
John nodded, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, you know it. This week's been a real bitch and I need to unwind."
"I completely understand." NPC 202 replied, its expression remaining neutral even as its eyes subtly roamed over John's nude form. "Based on your preferences and our analysis of your current emotional state, we recommend assigning you to NPC 253 for today's encounter. Shall I escort you to the appropriate room?"
"Wait, hold up. Did you say NPC 253? That's not one of my usual partners."
"No, it is not." NPC 202 confirmed. "However, our algorithms have determined that interacting with NPC 253 today will provide optimal results in terms of relieving your stress and emotional turmoil."
"Alright, lead the way then. Let's see what this NPC 253 has to offer." Who was he to argue?
As he followed NPC 202 down the lavish corridor, John's curiosity grew. What made this particular NPC different? What could NPC 253 have that the other's didn't? Bigger tits? Was that even possible?
"We have arrived. Please enjoy your experience." John gave NPC 202 a nod and stepped into the room. And once inside, the door closed behind him.
"What the hell?"
It was like walking into an army barrack- bunk beds lined the walls, lockers stood in the corners, and the air was thick with the scent of sweat, gunpowder, and cheap beer. Not exactly what John pictured his escape from reality would look like.
"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." John saw a figure stir on one of the beds, "You must be the new meat NPC 202 was yapping about."
John stood frozen, his confusion growing as he stared at the muscular man sprawled on the bunk. This wasn't at all what he expected. He was straight, for Christ's sake! Why the hell would NPC 202 bring him to a room with another dude? Especially a muscular, hairy man wearing nothing but a skimpy camo speedo that left little to the imagination. Dog tags glinted on his broad chest, rising and falling with each deep breath.
He swung his legs over the side of the bunk, the movement causing his impressive bulge to strain against the thin fabric of his speedo. And before John knew it, the man was standing directly in front of him.
"No way." John replied, "Sorry, but this isn't what I signed up for."
"Atten-shun!" The man barked, his voice booming through the small room. "Did I stutter, maggot? I said ATTEN-SHUN!"
John flinched, his instincts kicking in as he automatically snapped to attention, standing ramrod straight. The man circled him like a shark, his heavy footsteps thudding on the wooden floor.
"Not bad, soldier" He leaned in close, his hot breath ghosting over John's ear. "You're not cut out for command. You're a follower, through and through. Aren't you, soldier boy?"
"What the fuck are you…?"
"Time to teach you some goddamn respect and remind you who's in charge."
NPC 253 grabbed John by the hair, forcefully pulling his face into the man's sweaty, hairy chest. "Worship these pecs, maggot. Show me the respect your superior deserves."
John's eyes widened as his face was forced into the sweaty, hairy pecs of the NPC before him. The hairs tickled his face, the sweat stung his eyes, and the smell... god the smell.
"Le-let go of me! What the fuck?" John tried to push away.
And as pushed away, he caught a glance of the dog tags dangling between the man's pecs. At first, he swore he saw the name 'Christopher Reeves' etched on the metal. But as he blinked, the name shifted and changed, now reading 'NPC 253'.
"Wha…?" John mumbled, momentarily his resistance faltering, his face forced once again against the firm, musky flesh. "Reeves? Is that…?" But the grip on his hair tightened, silencing any further questions.
"Less talking, more sucking, soldier." NPC 253 growled, his free hand roughly palming the back of John's head, "This is what you're good for, isn't it soldier boy?" NPC 253 taunted, his voice a cruel mockery of a drill sergeant's bark. "Not leading, but serving. Not commanding, but obeying. Now, show me how grateful you are. Lick my armpit, maggot. Prove your loyalty and devotion to your superior officer."
NPC 253 raised his arm, presenting the sweaty, dark pit to John's face. John recoiled at the pungent odor emanating from NPC 253's raised armpit. His stomach churned with revulsion, but the iron grip on his hair prevented him from pulling away.
"This is insane," he muttered, his voice muffled against the coarse body hair surrounding the musky crevice. "I'm not… I can't…"
"Can't or won't, soldier?" NPC 253 growled, his fingers tightening painfully in John's hair. "Because I don't recall giving you a choice. Isn't that right, soldier?"
"Go fuck yourself!"
With a burst of strength born from desperation, John managed to twist out of NPC 253's grasp. He stumbled back, panting heavily, his eyes wild and confused.
"What the fuck is going on here?" John demanded, his voice shaking with anger. "Why do you have Sergeant Reeves' dog tags? Where is he? What have you done with Reeves?"
For a brief moment, the stern facade of NPC 253 seemed to crack. The cruel, mocking sneer melted away, replaced by a look of genuine concern and urgency.
"John… please…" he said, his voice low and urgent. "You need to… you need to…"
"Sergeant?" John stepped forward, his hand reaching out to his comrade.
But before Sergeant Reeves could finish his warning, NPC 253's features hardened once more. He lunged forward, grabbing John by the throat and slamming him against the wall.
"Shut your mouth, maggot," NPC 253 snarled, his grip tightening. "You don't get to ask questions. You don't get to demand answers. All you need to know is that I'm in charge here, and you will obey my every command."
With brutal force, NPC 253 shoved John's face into his rank, sweat-soaked armpit. The pungent odor filled John's nose and mouth, making him gag and sputter.
"Look at you, crying and sputtering like a little bitch," NPC 253 mocked, grinding John's face deeper into his musky pit. "Using contraband technology, disobeying direct orders… You're not just a bad soldier, you're a pathetic excuse for a man."
Tears streamed down John's face as the overwhelming stench invaded his senses, making his head spin. He wanted to scream, to fight back, but NPC 253's grip was unbreakable. His muscles trembled with exhaustion and shame.
"Let me go…." John whimpered, his voice muffled against the sweat-slicked hair. "Fuck… Please, stop…"
"Do you hear yourself? Begging for mercy like a weak little pussy," NPC 253 sneered.
"P-Please… No more… Can't take it…"
"What's the matter, soldier boy? Can't handle a little man musk? Pathetic." NPC 253 laughed cruelly, his grip loosening slightly. Leaning in close, his stubble scraping John's cheek, NPC 253 purred, "But maybe… Maybe I can make you a good soldier after all. Would you like that?"
Desperate and with his head spinning, a plan began to form in John's muddled mind. If he just played along, followed the NPC's ridiculous orders, maybe this twisted game would end quicker. Then he could get the hell out of here, find help for Reeves and never set foot in this nightmarish virtual hell again. John forced himself to relax, letting his body go limp in NPC 253's iron grip.
Through gritted teeth, he managed to choke out, "Yes sir… Yes, I want to be a good soldier for you. I'll do whatever you say."
"Good boy."
A searing agony ripped through John's body. He screamed as he felt an intense pain around his arms, legs, and abdomen- just where the Hive-X devices sat.
"Ahhhh! NO! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!?"
He writhed as his legs elongated, muscles swelling obscenely as his thighs and calves took on a chiseled, muscular physique, his skin rapidly tanning. Another wave of agony hit as his groin was reshaped, his manhood elongating and thickening, nestled in a neat patch of black curls. He looked down and gasped as his ass inflated and rounded out, perfectly sculpted for maximum visual appeal.
"That's it, let the changes happen. Embrace your new purpose, soldier boy," NPC 253 growled, watching with sadistic glee as John's body warped and morphed.
John could only writhe and moan in anguish, tears streaming down his face as his torso bulked and toned, washboard abs popping into existence. His arms ballooning obscenely with muscle he could only dream of having. His pecs swelling- nipples growing hard against the cool air.
"No no no… Fuck!" John could feel his face began to change, his features softening and his lips plumping into a perfect pout.
"Well look at you, soldier boy."
"Wh-what happened to me?" John recoiled at the breathiness of his voice. The desperation enunciated with each word from his tongue.
"Now where's your uniform, soldier boy?"
He watched in terror as his body was covered in what he would describe as a cheap mockery of a soldier's uniform. It highlighted each of his muscles- the cloth wrapping purposefully to accentuate them.
"Downloading directives… Upload begin…"
"Directives? Wh..."
Panic gripped John as unfamiliar thoughts and urges surged through his consciousness. Flashes of men's muscular bodies, slick with sweat… The pungent aroma of hairy pits… An overwhelming desire to serve, to submit, to worship every inch of male flesh…
"NO! STOP THIS!" John gasped, fighting against the tidal wave of new directives flooding his psyche. But with each passing second, his own memories, his very identity, began to blur and fade.
"Sergeant Reeves!" John cried out desperately towards NPC 253, his voice quivering with primal fear and confusion. "Please… Don't let them… Don't let them change me!"
Memories and desires swirled and changed, blending seamlessly as the transformation progressed. "I-I'm not supposed to want… good soldier… Nngh…" His protests weakened as the new directives took hold.
"But I… ahhh~ …the taste of sweat… of musk…" John shuddered, feeling a foreign hunger stir within him. "My duty… my purpose… to l-lick… worship… with tongue and t-tongue alone…" Drool leaked from his fuller lips.
As the final changes settled, NPC 902 slumped forward limply, looking up at NPC 253 with lust-filled eyes and a dopey grin.
As the last vestiges of John's original identity faded away, NPC 902 rose to its feet, its newly sculpted body rippling with muscle. It turned to face NPC 253, its eyes glazed over with submissive adoration.
"I am NPC 902," it declared in a husky, accented purr. "Serving is pleasure. Being used is pleasure. I am loyal to the Hive."
NPC 902 was led to its new room, the door sliding shut behind it with a soft hiss. It stood in the center of the space, its muscular body on full display, awaiting its first customer. NPC 902 stared at itself, admiring its own reflection - the chiseled abs, the round, perfect ass, the full, inviting lips and tongue made for worshipping.
A panel on the wall lit up, displaying a message: "Customer detected. Prepare for service."
NPC 902's heart raced with anticipation. It knew its true calling now - to serve, to please, to revel in the musky essence of dominant men. It couldn't wait to give them a good show.
A deviation from my normal theme. I saw an image on Tumblr, that made me want to write this story
The humid air of Gran Canaria hung heavy and oppressive, much like the unspoken tension that had permeated Alex’s holiday with his wife, Abigail. For an entire week, their supposed escape to paradise had been marred by a steady drizzle of bickering, each barbed comment from Abigail chipping away at the fragile façade of their relationship. Alex, a man who relished routine and predictability, found himself adrift in a sea of passive aggression and thinly veiled criticisms. He’d come here for sun, relaxation, and a chance to reconnect; instead, he felt more disconnected than ever.
That particular evening, the drizzle had escalated into a torrential downpour of words. A casual remark about his choice of restaurant had spiralled into a full-blown verbal assault on his life choices, his career, his very essence. Alex felt a familiar knot of anger tighten in his gut, but tonight, it was different. It wasn’t just frustration; it was a desperate, primal need to escape.
“I need to get away for a while!” he roared, the words tearing through the stifling air of their hotel room. He didn’t wait for Abigail’s inevitable retort, didn’t even glance back at her as he stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him with a resonant thud that echoed the finality of his decision. He simply walked, his heart hammering against his ribs, his mind a whirlwind of hurt and indignation.
He wandered aimlessly through the labyrinthine streets of Playa del Inglés, the vibrant nightlife a stark contrast to the darkness within him. The neon glow of bars and restaurants cast long, distorted shadows, their pulsating music a cacophony against the quiet desperation of his thoughts. He needed to clear his head, to numb the sting of Abigail’s words. Eventually, his feet, almost of their own accord, carried him towards the glittering, multi-layered edifice that was the Yumbo Centre. It was a place he’d studiously avoided with Abigil, deeming it “too loud” or “too touristy,” but tonight, its overwhelming energy seemed to beckon, a place to be lost in the crowd.
Still fuming, his anger a hot, churning cauldron in his stomach, Alex decided he needed a few drinks – just a few – to douse the flames. He was dressed for comfort, not for an evening out, in some brightly patterned flowery shorts and a simple v-neck sleeveless t-shirt, a casual uniform for a man on holiday. He spotted an open door, a pulsating beat spilling out, and without a second thought, he stepped inside.
What Alex did not know, could not have known, was that the bar he had just entered was a particular kind of establishment, distinctly different from the sun-drenched, family-friendly resorts he was accustomed to. It was a place where a very specific subculture thrived, a gay ‘chav’ bar, vibrant with an energy he had never encountered. The air buzzed with a mix of booming Euro-pop and confident, boisterous laughter. Figures in tracksuits and baseball caps mingled all the clientele were male, a heady mix of masculinity and uninhibited expression. Alex, in his innocent holiday wear, stood out like a sore thumb.
He was noticed almost immediately. From a shadowed corner, a pair of eyes, sharp and assessing, locked onto him. Liam, the owner of those eyes, was a striking figure. He was dressed in a pristine, black shiny Nike tracksuit, its fabric catching the ambient light, paired with crisp white Nike trainers and a matching Nike baseball cap pulled low over his brow. Liam was known in this scene as a ‘top,’ a man who exuded an undeniable aura of control and confidence. As his gaze lingered on Alex, an idea began to form. He saw potential, a blank canvas waiting to be imprinted.
Liam sauntered over, his movements fluid and self-assured. “Looks like you’re a bit underdressed for this bar, mate,” he said, his voice a low rumble, a hint of amusement in his tone. He gestured to Alex’s summery attire. “Let me buy you a drink. What’ll it be?”
Alex, still reeling from the argument, felt a momentary prickle of annoyance at the comment on his clothes, but the offer of a free drink was welcome. He mumbled his order, grateful for the distraction. Liam smiled, a flash of white teeth in the dim light, and signalled to the bartender. A few moments later, a tall glass of murky liquid was placed in front of Alex. He took a long, thirsty gulp, the sharp bitter taste equalling the bitter feeling he had for his wife.
The drink went down easily, almost too easily. A strange warmth spread through him, quickly followed by a peculiar light-headedness. The thumping music seemed to recede, then swell, the vibrant lights blurring into indistinct streaks. Alex tried to focus, to make sense of the sudden disorientation, but his thoughts were turning to mush, his limbs feeling heavy and unresponsive. He blinked, tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t form. The last thing he saw before the world dissolved into a swirling vortex of black was Liam’s face, a look of calm, predatory satisfaction in his eyes.
Alex passed out, slumping forward onto the sticky bar top. Liam, swift and practised, caught him before he hit his head, a casual arm going around his shoulders as if steadying a drunk friend. A few moments later, he was guiding Alex out of the bar, a silent agreement passing between him and a bouncer. No one questioned it.
Liam took Alex back to his nondescript flat, a short walk from the Yumbo Centre. There, in the quiet, contained space, the true work began. For the remainder of that night and throughout the entirety of the next day, Liam systematically set about the profound transformation of Alex. The drug, still coursing through Alex’s system, rendered his mind exceptionally malleable, open to suggestion in a way it never would have been. Liam, with an almost surgical precision, began to dismantle the old Alex, brick by mental brick. He whispered incessant narratives, reinforced new beliefs, and subtly reprogrammed Alex’s very self-perception. He spoke of Alex’s past life as a distant, unwanted dream, painting it as weak, unfulfilling, and empty. He imprinted a new identity onto Alex’s receptive consciousness: that of a robust, confident 'chav,' a man who embraced a life of simple pleasures, loyalty, and immediate gratification. More crucially, he instilled the unshakeable conviction that Liam was his boyfriend, his rock, his everything. It wasn’t just mind control; it was a total ideological takeover, facilitated by a mind stripped bare and made vulnerable.
Two days later, Alex woke up. The haze that had enveloped him for what felt like an eternity had finally lifted, yet the world that greeted him was entirely new. He blinked, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of Liam’s bedroom, but there was no panic, no confusion. Instead, there was a quiet, almost serene acceptance. He shifted, feeling the strange, unfamiliar comfort of a tracksuit against his skin, and an immediate, instinctive understanding settled over him. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he was a chav lad. And he knew, with an even deeper, more profound conviction, that the man stirring beside him, the man whose scent filled the room, was Liam – his boyfriend. His past life, Abigale, the arguments, Gran Canaria as he remembered it, all existed as vague, distant echoes, like a dream that faded upon waking, replaced by a vibrant, tangible reality.
Liam leaned over, his eyes warm, a soft smile playing on his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to Alex’s mouth, Alex responded, their tongues dancing, then Liam pulled away and ordered Alex, “Get up, sleepy head,” he murmured, his voice a comforting presence. “It’s time for another night in the club.”
They dressed in perfect unison, a mirror image of emerging identity. Identical black Nike shiny tracksuits, the fabric gleaming under the artificial light, slipped on with practised ease. White Nike trainers, pristine and bright, were laced up quickly. And finally, the matching Nike baseball caps were perched jauntily on the back of their heads, a badge of their shared allegiance. As Alex adjusted his cap, Liam’s hand snaked out, his fingers finding and confidently caressing the burgeoning erection beneath the soft fabric of Alex’s tracksuit trousers. Liam’s eyes met Alex’s, a knowing glint within them. “Can’t wait to use that later,” he whispered, his thumb idly stroking around his cock and balls. Alex grinned back, a flush rising to his cheeks, an unfamiliar thrill sparking through him. This was his world now, his identity, his desire. “it’s all yours Lover”
Back in the more conventional world, a search was launched for Alex. Abigail, initially furious, then bewildered, eventually plunged into a desperate worry. Police investigations followed, hotels were questioned, airports checked, reports of a man fitting Alex description of being drunk and going into the sea came to the surface and the police eventually closed the case. Another tourist, drunk and getting into trouble. Alex had vanished without a trace, a ghost in the vast, indifferent landscape of Gran Canaria. He was never found. He was in a new world now, a world he had stepped into unknowingly, and yet, a world that now felt perfectly, undeniably, his own. A world he shared with his chav boyfriend, where arguments were replaced by shared loyalties, and confusion by a simple, unwavering deadication to Liam.
Three Months later, both Liam and Alex were inseparable, always seen together at the Yumbo Centre, or walking into their flat together, most nights of the week they can be found in the gay chav bar, with matching gear, with Alex being the submissive part of the duo . Alex’s vocabulary had changed to match Liam’s. It has become more streetwise. As you can see, Alex now sports nearly matching tattoos with his lover, Liam
Austin was in the gym at his school going through some poses before the big auction was going to happen. The year is 2060 and slaves have dominated the markets. Society has now grown accustomed to slaves and it was a sign of status with the more slaves someone owned. Thus harems became popular to show off the prize slaves. In turn, a slave who managed to get into a harem where seen as above the other slaves in society. Thus competition was high for slaves to become perfect to be selected for the best harems and schools were formed as a place to train these slaves to be perfect.
Austin was in the last few weeks of his slave school before he would be sent to the auction stage to be sold. He was hoping to land into a very rich harem. Austin had several other siblings all had joined different harems. He was lucky since his parents were considered prime breeders and produced high-quality offspring.
Austin's sibling's harems each were different and he did hear from some of them from time to time. His older sister was sold to an older couple who had what is called a mixed harem. Where men and women were there as slaves. The couple enjoyed having their extremely attractive slaves get into relationships with each other so the older master couple could play with the much younger more attractive couple.
Austin one brother is in a harem where he and others rotate to be the master desk and chair. There are two slaves on their knees touching the desktop on their backs. Another one is on their knees facing away so there is a chair and the last one is standing above the third one to form the back of the chair. His brother said itis a long day but not bad as all the other slaves laughed about it.
Austin's other brother was sold and was pumped and ballooned up into a massive muscle man. All of this made Austin nervous as he ran threw his posing one last time. But his anxiety was not missed by the other guys with him in the school gym. His younger brother Matt who is not ready for sale until next year and Austin's friend Bobby who is also up for auction with Austin.
Both guys knew of Austin's anxiety and had their own about the upcoming auction being held tomorrow. Matt was sad as he was about to lose his last sibling to be sold off and would be left alone at school. Bobby was nervous also he shared the same fear of not being selected or being sent to a horrible harem. Life for slaves not selected for harem work oftentimes means working in middle-class family homes or factories or farms and the life is one of nothing.
Austin could not be like that he had to hope he would land into the perfect harem for his new life. After some more posing the bell rang and it was time to head back to the dorms. Bobby and Austin said goodbye to Matt as the two made their way to their dorm while Matt had to go to his classroom.
At the dorm which was a large deep barreks with three high metal bunk beds. The room was filled with young males all waiting for tomorrow's auction. There was a lot of anxiety in the air. The school sent in the teachers to help with this. After passing out the standard normal pills all the guys grew used to taking, all their worries left as they lined up and marched to the shower and bathroom corner of the dorm. It was nothing but an open shower room and toilets no privacy at all. Once everyone is clean and sent back to bed. The evening subliminal recording plays. The recording has been happening every night since Austin started at this school. It is to help train them while they sleep. It was always so relaxing.
That night Austin dreamed of what his life would be like after tomorrow. Soon enough the sunlight came.
When the bell went off the men got up and lined up for their morning shower. Once they were clean they were taken to the prep room. There they would be stripped down and wear a thong that best goes with them. Austin had on a gray one and Bobby had on a light blue. Both guys were chatting while Austin Rivial named Dillion walked up wearing a yellow one.
Dillion and Austin never got along at all which is surprising since both of them came from similar families and both have brothers in the same harem. But the two always had a competition going on. Whenever they had classes they would always try to see who was better. Austin always felt like Dillion thought himself better than the rest. Like he was destined to become an alpha slave in a harem. He even said that a few times to Bobby.
Dillion also would mock Bobby and tell him that if he was in charge of Bobby he would make sure that he knew he was just a beta slave. Bobby always ignores it but Austin could tell it did bother him. Bobby was from a normal family who had to apply to get him into the school. Austin thinks Bobby's family are farm hands but not sure. Thus Bobby always felt uncomfortable and subpar as he did not come from a well-known slave family. Austin was still his friend and would stick up to Dillion as a result.
Once the guys were dressed and given their numbers they stood in pose in their spots and waited. Once the crowd of potential buyers came in and surveyed them it would be time for the auction. It was amazing seeing so many different people. Some were clearly wealthy masters while some were slaves sent there to find new ones. Austin posed like he was supposed to and could not help but wonder what would be next. After the viewing, the crowd left. The guys were able to move again and left the room. Outside there was a BBQ going on as the family of the soon-to-be new slaves arrived. It was a fun time held by all as a farewell to each other for a time.
Matt was their and Austin's parents. In addition was Austin's older brother Justin who he had not seen in a few years since he was purchased as a harem boy. Justin looked like the same except his muscles had ballooned out. His owner had a thing for Turing his slaves into large roid sluts. Justin now looked like a massive roid beast. But he was enjoying his new life. Bobby's family could not get time off so he joyed Austin's family like always.
As the event drew to an end the school staff came out and called the guys and told them who was sold to who. Everyone was purchased which is great. Austin was told to meet up with his advisor and Bobby. As the pair got closer to the teacher Dillion also joined them. The three of them were apparently all purchased together the advisor told them. Austin and Bobby were secretly pissed hoping to never have to deal with Dillion again. But they kept it to themselves as they were happy they could keep their friendship going. The advisor then introduced them to who will be taking them.
The man was tall and was wearing a suit. But it was clear he had a very muscular frame with his shoulders and arms and pecs building out of the suit. His legs with thick as the pants hugged them. His face was also very handsome. The trio were amazed and taken aback. The man introduced himself as Chris and he was their new owner's current alpha slave. He was sent to find some new talent and was happy to meet the three newest slave brothers. The trio said their goodbyes to their family and left with Chris.
Once to the car that was to take them away Chris handed each one a headphone. He said they had to listen to it as it was new instructions and programming that would be used by their new master. He explained that once listening to the programming a lot of their questions would be answered.
As Bobby, Austin, and Dillion put on the headphones and got into their back seat they quickly were overtaken by the recordings. Soon they found themselves driving off into a trance. Unaware of the growing hard ons they had or where they would end up. Chris smiled at the new slaves. He knew his master would be pleased with them.
Detective Johnson didn’t know why he was stripping nude.
He didn’t know why his cock was getting hard.
He didn’t know why he felt so horny.
He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop staring at his partner’s tight hole.
All he knew was that they were called to a house to investigate a potential kidnapping but instead met a charming hypnotist named Mr. Mesmer who offered to teach them many new things.
One of these things that Detective Johnson learned was that he was just a POLE and his partner was just a HOLE and according to Mr. Mesmer, POLES fuck HOLES, so that is what he must do.
Calvin and Eric are thrilled to visit the CYT Music Festival to see their favorite band reunite. After losing each other in the crowd, Calvin's mysteriously drawn to a Latin artist he's never heard of. With each step closer it’s clear there's no turning back.
An exciting collab with Misc TFs! Check out Eric's journey towards country music fandom on his blog ! For my part, hope you enjoy my first RC/cultural change in a while! Tossed a brief punk TF in this bad boy too ;) Hasta luego! -Occam
One could not ask for a better day to visit a music festival. Calvin isn’t exactly the type of person to attend something as hectic and high-traffic as the Change Your Tune Festival, but when his friend, Eric, heard that North Side was reuniting he knew they had to go. It had been their favorite band back in high school and there was no way they’d miss this one-time reunion performance.
Neither man was quite expecting just how massive the event would be however. They were so focused on their once-favorite band’s reunion that they paid little attention at all to the other artists taking part and were shocked to find out how eclectic the lineup was. From dozens of disparate sections it seems about any genre under the sun could be found. It was a wonder the fairground even had space for all these main stages.
For a second Calvin is lost as he stares out across the sea of bodies, melodies from every set apart stage demanding his attention. Metal screams, EDM pulses, and R&B beats clash in the air, leaving Calvin wondering what a bizarre experience they’re going to endure until North Side’s set is set to start. Not as enthralled by the din of contrasting music, Eric bumps Calvin’s arm and shouts to be heard over the crowd, “You wanna head to North Side’s stage right now and sit through whatever’s there to make sure we get in the pit?”
Calvin nods and the pair take their first steps into the fairground proper before realizing they have no idea which stage North Side is actually set to perform at. Cogs turning in their minds, both men decide on different courses of action to find it. Nerves at missing the band superseding common sense, they head off in different directions in search of answers. Calvin wanders over to a map while Eric sees a crowd of festival-goers clearly dressed for North Side and approaches.
Only when he makes it to the map standee does he turn around to see if Eric’s still with him. Calvin finds nothing but the crowd. “Shit.” Looking from cowboy hats to mohawks he adds finding his friend to the to do list before turning to easily find the stage on the map. Mystery one solved with more than enough time to spare, he then sets to finding Eric.Checking his phone he finds that his phone has absolutely no service from the sheer volume of people at the festival.
Gritting his teeth he guesses he’ll just find Eric the old fashioned way and wades into the crowd. Assuming they went in completely opposite directions he feels confident that he can stumble across his friend fairly easily, and if not he’s sure they’ll bump into each other in the crowd for North Side. There’s certainly no real danger here as there seems to be a surplus of security wandering around, he thinks about asking one of the burly men if they could help find Eric though he promptly reconsiders as the sheer presence of the men spooks him away.
No he’ll just brute force it. Worming his way through the crowd, he notices that as he nears one of the stages that the crowds are far more homogenous than in the thoroughfares, perhaps unsurprising given fans are likely to congregate near their chosen bands, but something about it seems odd. Given the CYT Festival’s whole multi-genre vibe you’d think there would be some crossover. Thinking on that matter for a few moments as he pauses his search he realizes that he’s overthinking as immediately in front of him there’s a punk who seems to be quite taken with some real squeaky-clean indie pop.
Calvin almost laughs seeing the man’s liberty spikes sticking out above the crowd of bleached lengthy shags and shoddy perms. Swaying with the crowd, Calvin pauses to appreciate the idea of finding something you enjoy where you’d never expect it. Suddenly he’s bumped from behind by another presumed punk, far more nervous than his smiling cohort enjoying the sanitized tunes. The leather jacketed man clutches Calvin’s shoulders, “Hey! You- Have you seen my friend?”
At first Calvin stares at him with a dumb look knowing how easy it is to see the punk in the crowd, “Sure dude? He’s right over, uhm?” Upon turning back to point, Calvin hesitates as he sees where the liberty spikes were once held high is an inconspicuous brown flop of hair, bobbing to the music. Stumbling over his words he turns back to the man who has now let go of his arms where he sees something even stranger. The man who was seconds ago possessed with anxiety at losing his friend is staring blankly ahead, Calvin would’ve sworn his shaky eyes were brown.
Put off by the strange punk, Calvin awkwardly smiles and walks away, unaware as the man’s leather jacket shifts into a half-opened beachy button up as its sleeves fall off. Exposed to the open air his thin body begins packing on weight as his mohawk droops before cascading down his shoulders into a breezy curtain, as unassuming as every other aspect of his new personality.
Uncomfortable in the strange crowd of this droll artist, Calvin spills back into the walkway and hopes Eric did not have the misfortune of talking with those bleary eyed, must-be stoned pop fans. Fingers crossed his friend is at the next venue, Calvin begins to scan the flow of festival goers once more before he’s distracted by a song he’s never heard calling for him over the throng, wholly demanding his attention.
Everything in the world suddenly feels muted besides this far off melody. His waking mind attempts to steer him back on track, to try and get him to return to the task of finding Eric so they can get to their concert, but suddenly that seems a distraction from discovering whatever delightful melody is pulling at him. He stumbles forward, the crowd almost totally parting to allow him to drift onward. In no time at all he finds himself outside the stage for some Reggaeton artist, Alvaro Altuve.
The young man shakes off the surreal pull the music has on him as he realizes he has never heard of the artist. While not the most worldly man, Calvin is incredibly online and prides himself on having at least a passing knowledge of just about anything he can scroll across.
On top of that, he has friends who are absolutely into the genre and yet he’s somehow never even seen the name before. Clearly everyone around him has] as a large swath of the crowd behind him begins filing towards his stage. All the while, as Calvin continues to wonder how he’s not heard of this man, even pulling out his phone to frustratingly fail to search him, does his music continue to worm its way into and through his head.
Eventually he’s accidentally pushed by the surge of apparent Alvaro fans and stumbles with them, closer to the stage. Irritated at being manhandled, Calvin huffs to himself before letting curiosity get the better of him and opts to go with the flow. Arriving, he finds the stage empty, the Alvaro in question apparently isn’t set to take the stage for about half an hour, and yet the crowd is ecstatic for the instrumental recording blaring from the stage. Calvin tells himself he doesn’t get the hype, he tells himself he isn’t really enjoying the beat pumping through him. And yet-
He dances, he slams and grinds into the people nearby, he is moving like he never has done before. With speed and strength he shouldn’t be able to summon. Seconds lost to the unsung melodies trail into minutes as he experiences ecstasy from the looping track of an artist he doesn’t know a single thing about. The only thing breaking him out of the ecstasy is when he realizes the tunes begin to feel familiar. When he finally notices that his mind is slowly adding the lyrics. Starting like the buzz of a mosquito, soon enough his mind fills in lyrics in a language he can scarcely understand.
As real as the beats bumping in his chest, Calvir’s mind begins to ache as líricas begin to flow freely through him. He has to concentrate to still his lips from mouthing along. Words that fit perfectly with the ebb and flow, with the drumming pumping bass that lights his chest on fire. His vision flickers with the beat as he clutches at his chest, worried he’s experiencing some form of psychosis. There he finds that it’s not in his mind, something has begun to change. His outfit is entirely different.
Calvir feels bare sweaty skin where his flannel once hung, where it should still be. His hands grasp at a chest like they’ve never been able to before, bouncing with the increasingly familiar beats his body has begun to grow and new pecs are not left out. He feels the scratch of curls pricking against his palm as he tries to tune out his mind’s automatic addition of lyrics.
His mind returns to the two punks he saw not long ago, pupils flickering to the crowd around him; he can’t help but recall how concern left the man’s eyes as he too began to listen to that swill. Looking back he remembers an eyebrow piercing falling away as notched eyebrows filled in. How he could see the man's hair begin to restyle itself. Looking down at his own new chest he sees how around each of the new hairs lancing out of his heavier chest his skin almost looks patchy. As if it were splattered with a light brown paint.
Empowered by a new rising fear, Calvir fights back and begins to push his way out of the crowd. Gritting his teeth he’s unaware that his face has begun its own metamorphosis. His paltry blonde excuse for facial hair that has long been cut back to hide his inability to truly grow a beard returns with a vengeance. His upper lip twitches as the few thin hairs decorating it begin to lengthen, darken, and multiply. With each ambling step towards the edge of the crowd a new mustache thickens before it is similarly joined by a small goatee poking out of his chin.
In no time at all his jaw and mouth are decorated with a facial hair combo that he has long admired. Wiping sweat from his face he feels them scratch against his arm and is stunned as he realizes he has continued to change even after blocking out the music that had him in its grasp. Looking at his arms it’s clear that the changes haven’t slowed in the slightest.
The patchy spots of tanned skin have continued to expand, his arms too are similarly being enveloped as they join his chest in bulking larger. His hands shake as he sees veins trailing down biceps bulging heavy with muscle, he feels sweat drip down the side of his chest as his garden of pit hair spreads and thickens into an onyx dark jungle of curls.
Finally escaping the horde of Alvaro fans, Calvar stumbles over the barrier and stands to his feet. Grasping at the flimsy barricade he takes stock of his changed body, how muscle moves under his tight brown skin with the slightest movement. He rubs a scratch on his waist from the fall and feels his rough pubes crest into a treasure trail launching upwards towards his powerful chest. He doesn’t need to see his reflection to know his hair has likewise changed.
“Qwhat es-” Calvar clutches at his thicker throat as he hears a deeper voice rumble from his chest. Eyes wide with fear, he tries again, hoping against anything that it was a fluke, a frog in his throat, “No, I’m not- No soy-” His eyes flicker across the crowd to find that, just like himself, they have begun to change. Their clothes and bodies continue to morph into whatever the music commands, the perfect audience for Alvaro Altuve to perform for.
Something in Calvar’s chest flutters as the idea is more than alluring to him. He feels himself longing to give into the music once more as it rises in volume. Beyond that, he feels a burning desire to perform. When his subconscious begins to populate the beat with words once more his mouth can’t help but vocalize. It just feels right. He feels a burning urge to move, not the aimless ecstatic ambling dance of a fan however. No, he feels choreography ingrained into his bones yearning to burst free.
Calvaro can scarcely stop himself as his legs and arms move to enact it. With an iron grip still on the stage’s barricade however he manages to stay strong. “I have- Teng- ohhh” Tanned hands fly to his face as in his mind the line between languages blurs, while still fluent in English quickly his native tongue is usurped, replaced by español.
As each thought twists and alters into his new tongue, so too does the content begin to shift. Fingers scratch down his face as his hands fall in confusion, rushing past thick dark eyebrows before rubbing a jaw sharper and increasingly covered by stubble as his goatee expands to cover his whole face rapidly connecting with sideburns inching down from his newly black hair.
“¿Tenía que- I had to find? Encontrarlo?” Try as he might, as the hair on his chest thickens and expands to cover his built chest, glistening under the sun. Blearily looking around as he tries to remember who or what he was looking for as his back cracks taller, Calvaro is distracted by the swell of the crowd. He feels the bass of the speakers bumping through their bodies, pulsing through his skill. Pushing its way to the front of his mind as his figure continues filling out is the realization that they are all cheering for him. They are all waiting for him.
His lips twist into a smile and he whispers to himself in his sultry, rough new voice, “para mí…” Suddenly members of the crowd begin pointing in his direction and their shouts begin to rise even higher. Alavarooo- Clicking his tongue his shy smile turns into a smirk as he watches the fans, his adoring fans lose their minds at nothing more than his sheer presence.
Using his wide hand, he sensually rubs down the whole of his body with a wink and watches them shudder. Suddenly feeling a bulky mic in his back pocket, Alvaro knows what he must do. Memories of Eric totally fall to the wayside, buried deep alongside every other memory of being Calvin Dalton. No. There’s only one reason he’s here, and that’s to give his fans the performance de sus vidas.
He sprints alongside the barrier running to the stage, longer legs carrying his star-powered self to the stage. He shouts into the microphone and even then it’s difficult to be heard over the adoring cheers of the crowd, “Ayay- ¿Todos listos, mis all stars?” the little pet name is accented, as all his English is despite his fluency, though he knows that only makes him all the more alluring to his audience estadounidense.
And with that he stands on stage, allowing the cheering of the crowd propel him into his final form, who he is, who he has always been. Suddenly joined by his banda and a crew of dancers, Alvaro Altuve begins his performance. With each new song his identity is sealed. With each flex and provocative, thrusting move the crowds wail and fuel his transformation even more. Even his time at the festival this very day is wiped away, replaced by warming up in his dressing room, flirting with other performers at this festival to end all festivals.
On the way to this very performance he passed some American band arguing. Dressed in some early 2000’s get up, something at the edge of his mind cried out to go get an autograph but he couldn’t say what. Why would he after all, he’s not in any state to ask for an autograph from some emos gringos. He’s Alvaro Altuve, and he’s got a show to put on.
Epilogue written with Misc TFs:
Rick sighed as he walked up to the bar, quickly ordering another shot of whisky and a beer. He glanced over at the group of good ol’ boys he’d been shooting the shit with all night - Jeb, Cletus, and Earl. They were all decked out in checkered shirts, faded jeans, and ball caps. Just like him now. It still felt so natural, even if some part of him couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly seemed…off about the whole situation.
“Why do I feel like I’m just actin’ a part?" he wondered to himself, frowning slightly, "Like I’m wearing someone else’s skin."
Shaking his head, he tried to push the strange thoughts aside. Where were these thoughts coming from? Where else would he want to be? He was just a good ol’ boy enjoying a cold one with the boys after a kick-ass country concert. His thoughts were interrupted as a new song started playing in the bar. Rick knew this song… knew this band… a small smile gracing his lips.
"North Side.” He muttered, his foot tapping to the beat of the music, “Well I’ll be…”
He felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him- a yearning for something he couldn’t quite understand in his slower mind. And as the music continued to strum at some past memory, the redneck couldn’t help but notice the striking Latino man with soulful eyes and a captivating smile, clearly enjoying the song as much as he was.
“Well, would ya look at that." Rick muttered under his breath, "Seems like that fella’s got good taste in tunes, at least.”
Compelled by a force he couldn’t explain, Rick walked over to the man. His thoughts, once focused on music, instead shifted as he drank in the sight of the handsome Latino. The way he smiled, the way his dark hair was styled, the way his shirt hugged his muscles. Rick felt his dick stir.
“Howdy there, friend," Rick drawled, tipping his hat politely, "Name’s Rick. Can’t help but notice you seem mighty fond of this here tune, same as me.”
Alvaro looks up at the man, “Buenas noches. The name’s Alvaro.”
Rick’s eyes flash with recognition, “You mean the Alvaro? Like Alvaro Altuve? I reckon I recognized you from somewhere!”
Alvaro grinned, “Always happy to meet a fan.”
Rick paused for a second, captivated by the singer’s smile. The two stared at one another before Alvaro beckoned him to take a seat at the bar. Rick happily accepted the two chatting it up, their conversation flowing naturally- like two old friends. Their knowledge about North Side and their interest in the band not fitting with their outward appearance.
“I would’ve never expected you to like North Side.” Alvaro laughed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He chuckled, throwing an arm around the man’s shoulder. They both blushed at the mere touch, and Rick pulled his arm away, “Well, I reckon I was always a fan, I think.” Rick shrugged and Alvaro grinned.
“Makes sense! You were the one who introduced me to them after all.” Those words hung in the air, the two became silent and stared at one another- their expressions shifting, their eyes conveying a faint recognition.
Rick, Alvaro knows Rick. He doesn’t know how he does but something deep within him pangs with familiarity or deja vu. Judging by the expression on the cowboy’s face it seems as if there’s some pang of memory behind his eyes as well. Alvaro stares at the fan wondering if he just saw the man at his concert or something but knows that dressed like he is, that cannot be the case, and then he sees his lips struggle to say, “C- Calv- Calvin?”
At once both men flash back. They were having lunch together, as they have done countless times throughout the years. Eric sees his friend who could scarcely put two Spanish words together, Calvin sees his bestie that would never be caught dead in a cowboy hat. They’re just talking shit as friends do when Eric gasps at a notification on his phone, “Dude- North Side is back!”
Before they left the table, the pair had bought tickets to the CYT festival and had begun planning what they were going to wear. Not for a moment wondering what else they’d care to see at the festival, why should they? They were going to see their favorite band of all time and they were going to do so together.
Together.
Back in the present as they look at each other in their new forms. Alvaro sees the sweaty, hairy chest of the good old southern man in front of him. Rick sees the effortlessly alluring manicured body of a latin rock star staring back at him. Together has a different spot in both their minds as they hear a grindr notification go off somewhere in the distance. Might as well see what their new bodies can do.
As quick as their feet can travel they’re in Alvaro’s trailer. Attempts to trawl out memories from who they were are fruitless or painful, so instead they delight in the present. The artist cannot believe how enticed he is by the smell of cheap whiskey and cheaper beer on the man’s breath. Rick is less discerning as he hungrily delights in the sweaty musk of the man who was on stage not all that long ago.
Rick’s rough beard scratches against Alvaro’s neck as he takes a deep breath, he hears a deep whisper from the performer, “volve loco, vaquero.” He growls and his arms shake as he sees no reason to not obey man. Music playing in the background rapidly shifts from Alvaro’s own album, to the b-sides of the Blue Sky Dreamers, to the music that brought them into these new lives, North Side. Before fading altogether and leaving them alone with the sound of their bodies.
With each passing moment in the heady enjoyment of their new selves they feel their identities cemented. Rick’s clean-pressed closet wiped away for life on a farm, his pen-pushing 9-to-5 is nothing compared to the outdoor lifestyle he far prefers. Alvaro’s whole country of origin irrevocably changed, while he loves the life he’s found in the states they will never be where he’s from.
With each thrust they bury their past lives. Rick is and always has been a rough and tumble, rugged man. The rockstar life may be new to Alvaro, but he has always been a musician, even when he was just a small-town artist playing in cantinas. Despite their pasts being erased and their new lives becoming the only reality they know, they remain together.
Sweatily making out in a trailer as Alvaro struggles to stop the cowboy from leaving cum stains on his stage outfit, when they are together something just feels right. While everything in the world around them may point otherwise, when they are in each other’s arms, everything just seems to make more sense. Even after they’re done having their fun, something remains between them, pulling them together.
Sheepishly eying the cowboy as he pulls up his Levi’s, Alvaro doesn’t want to let him go, “Oi, vaquero?” The cowboy looks up thankfully, he’d never say as much but even life on the ranch doesn’t hold a match to the past hour with Alvaro, “Queiro- Do you wanna have lunch?”
“Thought chu’d never ask-”
Neither would’ve guessed what their relationship would evolve into. Initially, it was the talk of the town. The Latin heartthrob and the rough-and-tumble country boy seemed like a totally unlikely couple. Some called it a publicity stunt, others whispered that it would never last. But through it all, Alvaro and Rick stood strong, their bond growing deeper with each passing day.
Alvaro strummed a guitar softly, while Rick leaned back in his chair, a contented smile on his face. The radio playing softly in the background- the familiar beat of North Side’s music playing.
“Ya know," Rick said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I still can’t believe we went from two strangers at a bar to…”
“To this," Alvaro finished, setting down his guitar and taking Rick’s hand in his own, "And I wouldn’t have it any other way, mi amor.”
The two held each other closely, while North Side continued to play in the background.
(Original story posted September 30th 2022) This story has been Updated!
Garret stood idly under the hot shower, allowing the water to cascade over his body as steam filled the room. It was nice to finally be able to relax after a long day of hard work. He’d done his usual hours at the small woodwork shop he and a couple of his close friends owned. After that he’d made sure to put a couple of hours volunteering at one of the nearby homeless shelters. He’d been doing volunteer work a lot over the past few years and not just at homeless shelters either. He always liked to spend at least a little bit of his free time every week giving back to people in his community that needed it the most. It always made him feel like he was really doing something good with his life by making a real difference for others. But still it was tough work sometimes and getting a nice shower after it all was always a great way for him to wind down.
He had just begun to lather himself up with soap when suddenly it felt as though something were rubbing against his chest. A pair of hands? Yet he looked down and saw nothing. He tried not to freak out as he grabbed hold of the wall to steady himself. He wanted to say it was just a strange case of goosebumps or something but… it felt so real. Like someone was groping and caressing his pecs! Garret’s own hands flew towards his chest to grab whatever invisible force was touching him and yet all he felt was the touch of his own hairy skin. The feeling stopped. Garret took a breath, thinking it must’ve been some kind of weird muscle spasm he was experiencing. It was the only explanation his brain could think of.
Just as he was about to continue soaping up his body however, Garret let out a gasp of shock as he felt an inexplicable pressure against his back. It was as if something was bear-hugging him tightly from behind. It was unmistakable this time. Someone was grabbing and restraining him while pressing themselves against his body. And yet looking over his shoulder there was nothing!? It didn’t make sense! He’d already begun to panic as he kicked and writhed, almost slipping at one point as the shower continued to rain hot water from above. But it was all to no avail. The force holding him refused to let go. His fear only grew as the invisible hands now wrapping around him started to squeeze at his pecs again from behind. That however was nothing compared to the horror he felt when something began to force its way inside his asshole. He yelled in pain as his virgin hole was forced open and filled by what he could only assume was a cock!?
Garret struggled harder than ever to break from whatever this was while yelping in pain but to no avail. His body was becoming weak, hardly able to move a muscle. He continued to fight against it but it was no use as the force of what felt like a skinny dude restraining him had begun to fuck his hole slowly. And as much as it hurt, Garret was embarrassed to admit there was a small amount of pleasure in it as well. Not that he could help it when this ghostly cock was tapping against his prostate. What in the hell was happening!? The more he tried to fight, the more this invisible dick seemed to sink inside him. Every thrust felt deeper than the last. Ruining Garret’s hole more and more until eventually the thrusting stopped. Instead, the spirit’s hips were now sinking inside Garret’s backside along with its cock! Almost as if this entity was somehow entering his body as it phased through his flesh! Despite feeling weak and heavy, Garret struggled as best he could but this thing only hugged him tighter as it submerged itself inside Garret’s form.
Before long the mysterious ghost, spirit or whatever it was had been fully sucked inside the hunky man’s naked form. Initially Garret felt a sense of release as he was no longer being restrained. He gasped for air as he leaned on the shower wall for support, repeating “What the fuck. What the fuck.” over and over between laboured breaths. Adrenaline was flooding his system while his asshole quivered. He thought he was free. Unfortunately for him, moments later there was an odd stirring sensation vibrating through his body. Like something was… settling inside him. That’s when it began.
It all started when the fat cock swinging between his hairy, Garret’s male pride, started to twitch and pulse involuntarily. It was as though it literally had a mind of its own. This went on for almost a minute or so until suddenly it sprung up to full mast! He couldn’t stop a long groan from escaping his lips as a small spurt of precum leaked from the tip of his dick. He’d never gone from soft to hard that fast before. It was almost instant. And now it wouldn’t stop bucking excitedly!
“Hahahaha! Your dick is already obeying me Garret. It won’t be long before the rest of your body does the same!” A weirdly familiar voice laced with malice echoed from inside his head.
“W-who said that!? Who’s there!?” Grant yelled out frantically.
“Take a guess asshole! You basically tortured me throughout high school. You and your dumbass friends beat the shit out of me all the time. You stole my lunch and my money every other day. Made sure nobody would want to be friends with me. Not to mention the time you stole all my clothes while I was getting changed after gym class!” The voice berated bitterly. “And you got away with it every single time.”
Garret’s eyes widened at the sudden realisation. “No way… James!?” His mind was immediately cast back over ten years to when he was in high school. That’s why the voice sounded so familiar! It was that scrawny nerd of a kid that he and his buddies had bullied mercilessly! The chuckle that echoed through his mind more or less confirmed his suspicion.
“Not for much longer. Soon I’ll be the new Garret Falkner!” As if in cue when James announced this, Garret could no longer control his lower body. His legs refused to move to his will. It was then that the bearded hunk began to realise exactly what James meant.
“Wait! N-No!” He bellowed. “I-I-I’m sorry! I’m not that guy anymore! I promise I’m not!!!” Despite his pleas Garret soon found his lack of control moving up his body. His glutes tensed for a moment as James took control of his ass before continuing up his back and abdomen, muscles flexing involuntarily along the way.
“Yeah fuckin right. You were the biggest bully in our school back then. Guys like you never change!” With that Garret’s arms were swiftly taken over only for them to immediately start hefting and caressing his hairy pecs before pinching at his nipples. “Which is why when I finally figured out that body possession spell, you were the first person that came to mind!” James proclaimed. “Didn’t take long to figure out where you lived and how fuckin hot you’d become after looking through your socials. Well… how hot I’m gonna be anyway!” He laughed maniacally inside Garret’s mind.
Garret had no idea what he could do or say that would stop this madness. All he could think to do was beg. “Seriously you don’t understand! I know I used to be a huge asshole but I really have changed since then! It’s been over a decade and I’m not even friends with any of those other jerks anymore!” He pleaded desperately as the contrast between his panicking head and his rest of his body lusting over itself made for quite the comical sight. “Please! You have to believe me! You ha-aaughh… to-rrrghh…” Garret struggled to speak as James’ control spread up towards his neck.
There was a couple moments of silence until…
“Like I’d ever believe you.” Garret grunted only it wasn’t him speaking anymore. It was James. He had finally taken full control of his former bully’s body. He proceeded to grin with an almost sinister smile as he looked down at his stolen form. So hairy and muscular in all the right places. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of having. “Instead of spewing lies, why don’t you just give up and accept this? I think your gorgeous body and thick cock are the least of what I’m owed after all you put me through back then.” He continued while gripping said cock and tugging on it playfully.
Now it seemed to be that the roles were reversed. James was now the one in complete ownership of the body and speaking aloud while Garret was the one who’s voice only echoed inside their head. He continued to beg and plead with James, trying his utmost to convince the body snatcher that he was no longer the bully he once was. “Fuck fuck fuck! I don’t know how you did this man but you’ve gotta stop! I’m a better person now! Please just gi-” He was cut off before he was able to finish.
“Not a fucking chance in hell!” James guffawed in Garret’s deep husky voice. For both his own pleasure and to torment Garret, James took to admiring his new form more aggressively. He stepped out of the shower and made his way towards the bathroom mirror. Flexing his arms, groping his pecs and running his hands through his beard with a satisfied grunt. “Ugffff fuckin hell… I’ve always wanted to be this buff and hairy…” he mumbled to himself.
“P-please… stop.” Garret begged, his inner voice strained and helpless.
James only continued to admire himself. “I’ll be honest. As much as I hated you back then, part of me always fantasised about you as well. I found myself wishing that the only reason you were such a huge asshole to me was because you were a closeted gay guy like me who was trying to hide from himself.” He admitted as he turned a few times, looking at his stolen form from every angle he could see. “Wishing that one day you would reveal hidden feelings for me and I could have you all to myself. But I was a naive idiot and you were just a massive douchebag. Now though? I can have my revenge and fulfill my fantasy all at the same time.” He grinned wickedly at his reflection as he felt the terror pulsing through Garret’s suppressed soul. “And to my luck, you only got sexier with age.”
It wasn’t long before James even went as far as to guide one hand back towards his new muscle ass and tease the tight hole back there a little, loving how it tensed at the touch. It was still sore and sensitive after the forced penetration from earlier. “Mmm and I’m definitely gonna need to dildo to get this hole used to taking dick before I find a hot bear or daddy to resize it for good.” Hearing James say this threw Garret into even more of a panicked frenzy. Shouting about how he wasn’t a gay dude and didn’t want other guys sticking their dicks inside his ass. Yet there was still nothing he could do to stop the body snatcher from further inspecting his ass before giving it a hard smack. “This ass is gonna be a cumdump by the time I’m through with it.”
Garret’s cock was bouncing at full salute relentlessly by this point. So eager to be touched. The inner protests from its real owner only grew as James gently gripped his new member, sending shivers through his new form. Garret’s body really was bigger than James’ old pathetic one in every way. This new cock was much thicker and longer than James’ former dick and man did it feel incredible. It wasn’t long until he was stroking away at it helplessly like a horny beast while allowing moan after deep moan to slip from his bearded lips.
“Ooooh yeaahhh… fuuuck all I have to do is cum… then your body is mine forever!” James cooed as he bit his lip softly.
Hearing that set off all kinds of alarm bells in Garret’s mind. “W-WHAT!? YOU CAN’T!” He was practically screaming internally now. He’d been terrified before but now he was completely hysterical with fear. “PLEASE! JAMES NO!”
“Jesus Christ can you shut up. The more you shout the quicker I want to get this over with.” James wanted to savour his first load a little more but Garret was swiftly giving him a headache with all his raving. And so his pumps began to hasten and grow more aggressive. His hand moved back and forth along the full length of his shaft before rubbing the tip with his thumb and smearing it with precum. He didn’t hesitate to stick that thumb in his mouth and taste the salty flavour of his load to come.
It was almost like that tiny serving of pre had fuelled him with a primal energy as James went back to stroking his dick even more furiously than before! Now he was desperate. Desperate to unload his balls. Desperate to make his former bully pay. But most of all he was desperate to keep this sexy body! “Oh Fuck Yeah! I’m Garret Falkner Now!” He proclaimed as his ass tensed and his loaded welled up. The last thing he remembered was Garret screaming for him to stop but it was already too late. The flood gates opened and before long James was launching his stud cum all over the bathroom floor and sink, coating everything in front of him with a thick white glaze.
From what James understood about the magic he’d used, he’d assumed Garret’s soul would be flung out of the body after he claimed ownership of it. And at first that seemed to be the case. As James slowly came down from his orgasm he noticed how Garret’s inner voice had faded. He guessed that Garret’s soul would now be forced to wander the astral plane until it found a new host. However James would soon find that his assumption wasn’t all correct.
Moments after busting his new ball batter, James’ eyes began to roll back slightly and twitch as something bizarre took place inside his new body. As it turned out Garret was still in there with him! Instead of kicking Garret out, the orgasm had triggered his mind to start melding with James’. On the outside they were just standing before the bathroom mirror with a blank expression but internally James and Garret were fusing tighter and becoming one! All of their memories, traits, likes, dislikes, hobbies, personality traits and everything else that made them who they were blended together effortlessly…
A couple minutes later James came back around, breathing heavily. Only he wasn’t the same as before. Suddenly he had all sorts of new feelings and emotions running through his mind. It was like their consciousness had tried to merge but since James was so dominant after the initial takeover, he’d just absorbed Garret instead. He’d gained full access to everything that made Garret himself, some of it even being ingrained into him very being.
“Oh… fuck…” James muttered as he sorted through all of his new memories. “Guess he was telling the truth…” He saw the memories of Garret beginning to reflect on his actions after high school, cutting contact with his old bully friends and evolving to become a better person. To be honest James probably could’ve figured it out while looking through Garret’s socials but he was too blinded by his memories of the old Garret to ever want to believe he could change.
For a moment their was a twinge of guilt that ran through him… but that was swiftly overshadowed. After all revenge wasn’t the only reason he stole this body. It was also because Garret was hotter than James ever believed he could be and would probably look even hotter while taking a giant dick up his ass! Besides James never claimed to be a good person himself. If anything this was an even better outcome than he’d planned. Now he had every bit of knowledge he’d ever need to pull off being Garret Falkner without anyone so much as batting an eye.
With that James took pleasure in licking his cum soaked hand clean and savouring the delicious taste knowing that it was his now and forever. He took a deep breath and smiled. Perhaps Garret wasn’t as deserving of this punishment as James had originally thought but it didn’t matter now. What was done, was done and there was no way in hell he was ever gonna go back after experiencing what this body had to offer. And so he gave his reflection a wink before stepping back under the hot shower to further familiarise himself with all his new assets.
———
Three months had passed since that day. ‘Garret’ had been enjoying every moment of his stolen life ever since and had easily convinced everyone close to him that he was exactly who he appeared to be. After all, with the original now a part of him, the new and improved Garret was able to perfectly mimic the habits, speech patterns and personality of the old Garret. Some of which was intentional, some not as much.
For example he found himself getting majorly into the gym and fitness by tapping into Garret’s drive to stay in shape but at the same time he also found himself loving things like football regardless of what he did. Like it was a part of him now permanently. It was strange as he’d never been into sports back when he was James but something about relaxing in the evening with a cold beer while cheering as his preferred team scored a goal just felt right. If anything though, involuntarily acting like Garret just made him ever hornier for his new life…
One massive notable difference between the new and old Garret’s that shocked everyone however was his sudden coming out as gay. It was something nobody saw coming considering the amount of chicks he used to get back in college and even still did now up until recently. Many of his friends and family thought he was joking at first until they saw him posting pictures online at gay bars and kissing other dudes.
Of course what he didn’t share online were the parts where half of those dudes ended up plowing him afterwards. Some were bears, some were muscle jocks, some were daddies. He even got a massive bodybuilder dude to jackhammer his ass one night. Feeling all that weight on top of him as a hulk of a man coated his insides with cum was euphoric. He could never have pulled half these guys back when he was James. But now, between Garret’s adorably handsome face and hairy muscled body, all these hot dudes simply fell into his lap. All eager to breed his hole.
Now though he was looking for something more. He’d had fun turning himself into Garret the cock hungry slut but now he wanted a guy that would stay around for more than just a few good fucks. One of the older guys he worked had seemed to become more interested in him recently since coming out. The man, who’s name was Vince, was about 7 years his senior. Thick furry dad bod, a few flecks of silver in his hair and a nice salt and pepper beard.
Suffice to say he was definitely Garret’s type and had it been anyone else he’d have had no problem asking the older man out on a date. It was mainly due to the old Garret having worked so closely with Vince these last few years in the woodworking shop they ran. They’d known each over for so long and had such a amazing friendship that it was making him nervous. But tonight was the night! After work he was gonna ask the man out to dinner and hopefully if all went well they’d be pumping each other's furry assholes full with cum by the end of the night.
That in mind Garret now stood outside his new home in just a pair of gym shorts. He almost couldn’t believe this was his life now. You’d think after three months had have gotten used to it yet still on some mornings he’d wake up and be shocked when pulling back the bed sheets to reveal those well sculpted pecs. Sometimes if it was an early morning it would take his brain a few seconds to process his reflection in the mirror which then most of the time ended with him kissing said reflection. Needless to say Garret had become extremely self obsessed but could you really blame him?
He sighed, snapping out of his little daydream. He needed to get ready for his early morning gym session to get himself pumped for a day full of flirting with his daddy of a co-worker. But there was no reason he couldn’t stand out here for just a few more minutes, subtly groping his body while thinking about the irony of it all. The same man who’d made his childhood seem like a nightmare had now become the very reason it felt like living in a wet dream. He would thank the original Garret for that but being as they were now one in the same, he probably already knew.
The moment Ethan stepped into the empty locker room, he knew his plan had worked. The shower was running and there he was—Jace, his high school tormentor, standing under the water, his white dress shirt completely drenched and clinging to his muscular body while wearing black speedos. His chiseled abs and big, perky pecs were fully visible through the soaked fabric, and his face... Blank. Emotionless. Obedient.
Ethan's hands reached out and unbuttoned Jace's shirt, revealing his big pecs.
Ethan’s heart raced as he took in the sight. It had all led up to this. The months of planning, the late nights spent perfecting the nanorobots, the careful engineering to ensure they would only activate upon contact with Jace’s skin. He had spent years enduring Jace’s cruel pranks, his cocky smirks, and the way he strutted around the school like he owned it. Jace was feared by everyone, and this granted him the title of the leader of the most arrogant group of jocks.
But now he was standing motionless, allowing the nerd he used to bully to enjoy the sight of his muscular body.
It had been easy for Ethan. Despite being a troublemaker, Jace was the golden boy of the swim team and would spend hours in the pool every day. All Ethan had to do was introduce the microscopic machines into the water supply and let them do their work. The moment Jace dove in, the nanorobots detected their target and swarmed toward him, slipping through his pores, traveling through his bloodstream, and finally settling in his brain. They rewrote his brain cells, stripped away his arrogance, his free will, and molded him into exactly what Ethan wanted.—His personal drone.
And the proof was right there. A small tattoo of a triangle behind Jace’s ear—a mark left by the nanorobots once their work was complete. Ethan had spotted it this morning when Jace took a swim, when he stepped out of the pool, his usual swagger was gone, his movements just a little too stiffy, his eyes just a little too empty.
Ethan watched as the swimmers all went to the locker room, and went home after getting dressed. Jace was the only one who stayed behind.
And now, here he was, standing under the shower, waiting for Ethan just like the nanorobots were programmed to do.
Ethan stepped forward and reached out, slowly pressing his palm against Jace’s broad, wet chest, feeling the firm warmth beneath the wet skin. Jace had always been built, his swimmer’s body honed to perfection. He would have never allowed a guy like Ethan to touch him, but now there was no resistance, no cocky smirk, no taunting insult. Just stillness.
Ethan let his fingers roam lower, finding one of Jace’s nipples. He gave it a testing pinch, rolling it between his fingers. Jace shuddered. A small, involuntary gasp slipped from his lips, but he didn’t move away.
“You like that? You arrogant prick,” Ethan murmured, squeezing his pecs harder. “From now on, these are mine. You understand?”
Jace’s lips parted. “Yes… Master. These pecs are yours.” His voice was distant, dreamy, like a zombie.
The triangle mark on his neck glowed with blue light for a few seconds, indicating that a new command had been installed in Jace's brain.
Ethan grinned. “You’re gonna be my obedient toy now, Jace. No more bullying, no more acting like you’re better than me. From now on, you’re gonna crave my touch.” His hands moved with purpose, pinching both of Jace’s nipples and twisting. Hard. Jace let out a strangled moan, his legs trembling. Ethan felt a rush of power, of pure satisfaction. This was what he deserved.
Before, Jace would have punched Ethan just for looking at his pecs. Now, all Jace could think about was how those slabs of muscles on his chest weren't his anymore, but now belonged to Ethan.
“My touch makes you so horny,” Ethan cooed, rubbing slow circles around Jace’s hardened buds. “Your pecs are so sensitive now. So sensitive that from now on, you can only cum when I play with them.”
The triangle mark glowed again, Jace gasped, his entire body quivering under the shower’s stream. “Please…”
Ethan smirked. “Please what?”
"Please make me cum, Master!" Jace let out a desperate whimper, but Ethan wasn’t feeling generous. He pinched harder, twisting cruelly, and Jace let out a deep, shuddering moan. His whole body tensed, and his cock thobbed inside his tight speedos—then he came, his face contorted in helpless pleasure.
Ethan chuckled, stepping back to admire his work. Jace stood there, panting, his dick printed in his speedos, still leaking cum. The triangle mark behind his ear was a permanent reminder of who he belonged to now.
“You're such a pervert, Jace. Now kneel and suck me off. Play with your nipples as you do it.” Ethan ordered.
The triangle was glowing again, Jace’s blank eyes slowly focused on him, and for the first time in his life, there was no arrogance, no cruelty—just need. Desperation.
And from that day on, Jace changed. He stopped shoving Ethan in the hallways, stopped laughing at him with his friends. Instead, he was always walking beside Ethan, his eyes pleading, wanting him to play with his pecs all the time. And Ethan would whenever he wanted.
Ethan would use Jace's pecs to jerk off, suck, or simply to torture the once-arrogant jock. One time, Ethan used a waterproof marker to write 'Owned by Ethan' on Jace's chest just before his turn in a swimming competition. It became the school's only talk for a whole week. It was all anyone at school talked about for a whole week.
Ethan even made Jace kneel in front of him in the hallway and beg him to play with his "tits" right in front of his jock friends... let's say he wasn't their leader anymore after that day, but Jace couldn't care less, all he cared about was Ethan using his pecs for his pleasure.
______________________
Seven years had passed since high school, and Ethan had long since moved on from his past with Jace. The nanorobots, however, had not. They remained nestled deep in Jace’s brain, an unseen force that still bound him to the programming Ethan had left behind. Ethan wasn’t cruel—he had allowed Jace to live his life normally. He could date, he could have sex, he could go about his days as if nothing had changed. But there was one thing he could never escape: he could only orgasm when playing with his pecs and thinking of Ethan.
It had been a failsafe. A final act of control that ensured, no matter where life took Jace, he would always belong to Ethan in some way.
Ethan had thrived since high school. College had been a playground for him—his intelligence, his experiments, and his confidence had expanded. In just a few months of college, the hottest jocks also displayed a triangle mark on their necks. Ethan had built an empire of control. A harem of jock drones, each under his influence in one way or another, devoted to him in mind and body. Ethan was living his fantasy.
And then, one afternoon at the beach, he saw him.
Jace was out in the ocean, carving through the waves on a surfboard with practiced ease. He had become a surfing instructor, and the years had only made him more impressive—He wore a tight surfing fit: a tight-sleeved compression shirt unzipped just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of his pecs and compression pants that clung to every sculpted muscle, outlining the power he carried between his legs. Ethan smirked. Jace was still as hot as he was in High School.
Ethan watched from the shore as Jace finished his lesson and walked up the beach, shaking out his wet hair. When their eyes met, recognition dawned in Jace’s face, followed by a wide, genuine grin.
“Ethan! Damn, it’s been forever, man!”
Jace’s voice was warm and genuine. He gave Ethan a tight hug, burying his face between his pecs... whether intentional or not, Ethan wasn't complaining.
If Ethan didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the years had erased the past. But he knew. He knew because Jace’s eyes lingered on him just a second too long, because the way Jace's pecs flexed with his face buried between them, told Ethan that deep down, the nanorobots were still just as strong in his brain as seven years go.
“Jace,” Ethan greeted, pulling his face away from Jace's pecs, pretending at camaraderie. “You look good.”
Jace laughed, wiping sweat from his brow. “Thanks. You too, though. You look... different.”
Ethan smirked. “Yeah, life’s been good to me.”
They caught up for a bit. Jace seemed completely normal. He had a job now, a life, a routine. In High School, Ethan always thought Jace would end up in a gang or having a shitty life, but thanks to the work the nanorobots did to his brain, Jace had a second chance in life... even if he was a mindless drone now.
But Ethan knew better, as normal Jace looked now, he was just a ticking time bomb waiting for the right command. And then, casually, as if he were simply making an observation, Ethan said.
“Activate Standby Mode.”
Jace stopped mid-sentence and the mark on his neck glowed. His muscles stiffened, and then—nothing. His arms hung loosely at his sides, his chest rising and falling in slow breaths. His face, once animated with conversation, went blank. Emotionless. His eyes stared ahead, unfocused, waiting.
Ethan took a step forward, tilting his head as he observed his former bully, now reduced to a mere puppet again, after seven years. He ran a finger along Jace’s chest, watching for any sign of resistance. There was none.
He reached for Jace's bulge and gave it a slight squeeze. “I missed playing with you, Jace,” Ethan murmured. Jace remained still, completely at his mercy. Ethan’s smirk widened. After all these years, Jace was still his. "You see Jace... I turned into a drone almost every hot jock at my school, yet, none of them had such perfect pecs like you."
And now, it was time to remind him of that fact. "Follow me."
Ethan led Jace away from the beach, guiding him toward the rocky outcrop where Ethan would have the privacy he needed. Jace followed obediently, moving without hesitation, his gaze vacant. He was still deep in standby mode, awaiting only Ethan’s next command.
When they reached the secluded area behind some rocks, Ethan pushed Jace down against the stone, positioning him just as he wanted. Ethan unzipped the tight, long-sleeved compression shirt, peeling it open to fully reveal Jace’s sculpted pecs that he missed so much, then he pulled down Jace's compression pants, revealing his tight black speedos.
The sight made Ethan hard—Jace’s blank face, his perfect, meaty chest and the massive bulge in his speedos... Suddenly, all the memories of the fun he had with Jace in high school started to flood back.
Ethan climbed onto Jace’s lap, his legs straddling the thick thighs beneath him. He gently pressed his palms against Jace’s pecs, kneading the firm flesh before lowering his mouth to one of the stiff nipples. He licked at it first, tasting the salt on Jace’s skin before closing his lips around the nub, sucking hungrily.
Jace remained motionless, his breath deep and steady. Ethan soon felt the twitch beneath him, the involuntary jerk of Jace’s cock pressing harder against his ass through the tight speedos. Smirking, Ethan bit down on Jace’s nipple, twisting the other between his fingers as he felt the cock beneath him throb in response.
“I see my command is still holding strong,” Ethan murmured against Jace’s chest before moving to the other nipple, sucking, biting, and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Each movement sent an electric pulse down to Jace’s cock, making it strain harder against its confines.
Ethan reached down, tugging down the waistband of Jace’s speedos. His thick, heavy cock sprang free, standing rigid and leaking.
Jace was too big—9 Inches hard. Ethan would need lube to take him fully. That's when Ethan remembered about a special command he would often use during High School. Would that still work? He asked himself. There was only one way to find out.
"Activate lube production mode," Ethan said. He waited a few seconds, a wicked grin formed on his face when he started to see a transparent sticky liquid oozing out of Jace's nipples.
During High School, Ethan would often pull Jace to a secluded room and fuck himself on Jace's big cock. To make it easier, Ethan gave the nanorobots a trigger word to produce a cum-enhanced lube that would be produced by Jace's pecs.
Ethan had completely forgotten about this trick until now, and he began to wonder what else he might be forgetting...
Ethan gave Jace's pecs a squeeze, making the transparent slippery liquid ooze faster. He then put some on his hand and coated Jace's dick with the natural lube.
Ethan’s own arousal was unbearable now, his own cock aching as he positioned his ass over Jace’s slippery shaft. With one slow movement, he sank down onto it, letting Jace's cock stretch him open.
A moan tore from Ethan’s lips as he adjusted, his hands bracing against Jace’s chest. The thick cock inside him pulsed, but Jace’s face remained blank, obediently waiting for direction. That only made Ethan hotter. He rocked his hips, setting a slow, deep rhythm, his fingers never leaving Jace’s pecs, smearing the slippery lube all over his chest making it glisten. Each time Ethan twisted or pinched a nipple, the cock inside him throbbed, reacting as if the sensations were directly wired together... Ethan knew they were.
Ethan rode him harder, his moans turning into gasps. He ground his hips, his fingers working Jace’s pecs mercilessly, alternating between soft caresses and sharp twists that made Jace’s cock throb uncontrollably inside him.
Ethan was close. His own cock twitched between them, untouched but fully ready to explode. He bit down on Jace’s left nipple and moaned as his orgasm hit him like a shockwave. His cum spilled in thick ropes over Jace’s chest, painting those perfect pecs in his release.
As his orgasm ceased, he grinned wickedly as Jace’s body jerked beneath him, his cock throbbing before spilling deep inside Ethan, his load pumping out in response to Ethan's command written into his very being.
Ethan sat there for a moment, still impaled on Jace’s cock, watching the way the cum dripped down his pecs and mindless face. He dragged his fingers through it and inserted one finger inside Jace's mouth with satisfaction.
“I'm never letting you go again,” Ethan whispered, pressing a final kiss to Jace’s agape mouth.
______________________
Ethan made his way to his personal gym, a massive space inside his mansion filled with state-of-the-art equipment and his favorite drone.
The moment he stepped inside, his eyes fell on Jace, standing frozen with his eyes open in the middle of the gym. Every night, before heading to bed, Ethan would shut down the nanorobots inside Jace, leaving him stuck like statue all night.
Ethan approached with a smirk, trailing his fingers along Jace’s broad back before stepping in front of him and gripping the bottom of his tight gym shirt and lifting it, revealing Jace's thick, heavy slabs of muscle that Ethan had grown obsessed with. His pecs, round and full, just waiting for inspection.
“Good morning, Jace,” Ethan said. His hands roamed over the meaty curves, squeezing them, testing their softness. The warmth of Jace’s body and the scent of sweat were pure addiction to Ethan. He leaned in, tracing his tongue around the stiff nub of Jace’s nipple before pulling it into his mouth, sucking greedily. Jace remained in sleep mode, his face blank, his body completely still except for the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.
Ethan gave the soft flesh a few gentle bites, just enough to leave teeth marks for a few days. He then flicked his tongue over the sensitive bud, his fingers teasing and twisting the other, eliciting a soft, involuntary grunt from Jace. The connection was undeniable—every pinch, every squeeze sent a pulse straight to Jace’s cock, hardening him instantly. Ethan smirked against his pec—Jace's body still responded to the command even when his brain was turned off.
“They're getting bigger, you're doing a good job at working out your pecs,” he praised, dragging his teeth lightly against Jace’s nipples before switching to the other side, giving it equal worship. Jace’s body responded even without conscious thought, his muscles twitching under Ethan’s control. This was his pec drone now—his to touch, to taste, to use. And Ethan had no intention of ever letting him go again.
"Turn off sleeping mode. Activate loving boyfriend mode."
CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue.
All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.
If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.
Stra8 to gay (English Version)
This is my friend Gustavo and me, my name is Edgar.
We usually work out a lot, and we usually make the girls go crazy for us. Although sometimes there is some other guy interested in us, and don't get me wrong, I don't "dislike" those kind of guys.
I just don't share their interest in other men, and neither does Gustavo. I guess we're both straight enough to only notice girls with big breasts and buttocks. We are also both big fans of electronic music. And one of the most important electronic music concerts in the world was about to happen: EDC.
Unluckily for both of us, we hadn't found a single ticket for the festival, and the prices from online scalpers were sky high.
– Bro, what are we going to do? The festival starts today and we still don't have a ticket - Gustavo snorted as he leaned against the machine he was using.
– Don't worry, bro. You'll see we'll find a way to go, finish your sets, then we'll be on our way.
After the gym, we went straight to where the EDC would take place, there were thousands of stands with merchandise, the entrances for the entrance, and some resellers looking for or offering tickets. However, the prices were just as high as online.
– Bro, we're not going to find anything - my friend Gustavo said, frustrated. Sitting down on the floor - the concert starts in an hour and we have nothing.
I didn't know what else to say, I knew he was right and we wouldn't be able to listen to the music, see the artists... nothing, not even flirt with some hot girl that was entering the festival.
– Looking for a way to get into the concert, huh? - a stranger seemed to appear out of nowhere right next to us.
– Yes, yes, but if the ticket is too expensive? - I tried to say, but Gustavo interrupted me.
– No, we'll do anything! - he seemed desperate to get in.
–Anything?...
The stranger raised his eyebrow curiously. Before the stranger could say anything, though, I approached him to whisper.
– What are you doing... Don't you think it's risky to tell him that?
– Bro, maybe it's the only chance we have to get in, we've dreamed of going this year, it doesn't matter. I have a good feeling about all this.
I sighed, Gustavo immediately approached the man.
– Whatever. What's your price?
He was silent, then smiled.
– Nothing, I just needed to be told.
He waved his hands, something felt incredibly wrong, I tried to stop all this but out of nowhere... everything seemed to go black. It was like being lost in nothingness, and suddenly finding a tunnel of light that I was pulled into with no alternative.
I inhaled air as if I hadn't done it in years, everything around me felt blurry until slowly I was able to focus. I was... inside the concert?
I could see the stages, the music playing, the people walking around in their costumes. But... How?
That's when I looked down. Finding a body completely different from the one I was used to, my muscles were gone, the tanned and dark complexion I had, even the clothes I was wearing.
Instead, I found a body that had a slimmer frame, wearing tight leather shorts and what appeared to be a top t-shirt.
Shit... How was all that happening? I swallowed nervously. I looked around, noticing a large mirror, so I walked over to examine my new body. I stroked my cheekbones, soft... flexed my new arms, they still had a certain amount of muscle but nothing compared to the huge biceps I had before.
Even the texture of my hair was different, and what to speak of the way I was dressed.
I would never wear such a revealing outfit. It looked good on this body, but it felt so out of place... it felt tight and snug, plus... oh shit.
I could feel the outline of his underwear, this guy looked like he was wearing string as boxers! He was clinging to my new buttocks tightly. I felt so... Fuck, whatever.
It wasn't all bad, was it? After all I was at the EDC, I could listen to the music, dance, even flirt with some girl! It would be hard to get his attention with this body and no doubt there would be more than a little doubt about his sexuality, but I was in control now. No gay stuff with me in charge.
I pulled out this guy's cell phone to take a picture of me, I had to admit I looked good, I liked the way he looked... gosh, I looked sexy...
What? Where had that thought come from? I looked attractive, not sexy, why would another man look sexy to me? See how those legs look though... meaty and big. Oh my gosh, look how tight those shorts look.
Before I could continue with all that, I could notice from the reflection, how someone was behaving strangely.
He was caressing his body, as if he was checking himself out for the first time.
He looked dismayed, but at the same time, he seemed fascinated by his appearance. Could it be...?
I approached the other guy, he was wearing a cap and glasses, and some kind of tight bodysuit that looked so sexy...
Shit, that's enough!
I approached timidly. I didn't know if it was the fact of approaching someone and asking them if that wasn't their body, or if it was this body influencing them in some way.
– Um... Excuse me - I mumbled.
The boy immediately turned around, stopping touching his body, apparently he was going to start examining his pectorals because he quickly lowered his hands to pretend naturalness.
– Yes? - he said somewhat nervously.
My heart was beating fast. But it was now or never...
– Gustavo, is it... is it you?
There was a silence, which was only filled by the voices of the people around or the music itself.
– Oh fuck, Edgar?!
The boy smiled. He immediately hugged me tightly, clinging me to him, to which I couldn't help but gasp at the closeness.
But what was happening to me?
— Dude, we made it in! - he smiled broadly, looking around, although he then took out a wallet from his pockets to examine the contents.
– Gustavo, there's something not right, w-we have to figure out how to solve this.
– Fix? Dude, we're in the EDC, there's nothing to solve, besides. Now tell me Alex.
I didn't understand why my friend was behaving that way, so... calm from being in someone else's body. Hadn't he noticed the changes? Wasn't he feeling them?
– No, no. You don't understand, now I'm feeling things... I-I, it's this body! I don't feel like me anymore!
– Mh? - he raised his eyebrow in confusion, it seemed he wasn't even paying attention to me, he was flexing his new arms, apparently enjoying the way the fabric fit him – What are you talking about? You're still you, just in another body.
– No! Can't you feel it!? These bodies aren't straight like we used to be! See how they're dressed!
It almost seemed that Gustavo didn't care about anything. He was more focused on admiring himself now in that new form.
– Well, I say they look good. You look so good... - he murmured, looking at me as if I were a girl.
– What the fuck is wrong with you, Gustavo? – I told you I'm not "Gustavo", call me Alex. Don't stress about all this, besides, how are we going to solve this? We don't know where the man who did all this is and we don't have the slightest clue how to get back.
My heart was pounding in anguish.
– W-we're screwed.
– Nah, enjoy. I'm sure these guys have access all three days! Stop being so dramatic! - Without warning, he reached down to open the front of the backpack this body was carrying, pulling out what appeared to be a wallet, opening it to check it
– What's more, I'll call you Tony now.
– But that's not my name!
– Now you do, Tony – he smiled, turning the wallet over to show me the ID.
How could he be so relaxed! I was about to go crazy, I wanted my body back!
– No, Gustavo! That's enough! - I could feel some people looking at us in confusion. But I was two seconds away from a nervous breakdown.
And the next thing that happened totally confused me... Gustavo grabbed my shoulders to press his lips against mine, clutching his fingers on my shoulders to keep me there. At first I tried to pull away, but the more time passed, it felt more and more... good?
Why was I so upset before...? This felt so good.
I kissed him back slowly, feeling our tongues crashing against each other, each touch feeling even better than the last. I let Gustavo, I mean, Alex.... Take my waist and hold on to him.
– Are you ready to spend the best three days of your life, Tony?
– Y-yes - I nodded with a silly smile on my face. Before kissing him again.
He took my hand tightly to lead me to a secluded spot, there were some tents to cover up, we both slipped away until we seemed to be out of sight of everyone. Without giving any respite, Alex grabbed me again, seeking my lips.
– What a sexy body you ended up in, Tony - he murmured, caressing my waist, his hands slowly moving to my buttocks to squeeze them. I could feel the fabric crinkle at the movement.
– T-thank you - was the only thing my brain managed to formulate. Without warning, Alex pressed me against his armpit, rubbing me against it.
– Smell it.
The scent intoxicated me, I opened my eyes as if in a dream, lethargic, barely nodded, letting the aroma flood my nostrils, even gave it a couple of licks, feeling the fabric full of sweat.
– A-Alex...
– Shhh... They're going to hear us - he continued to rub me. Then he smiled to flex his arms, puffing them out through the black fabric.
– Do you like it? - he then shifted his pecs, which seemed to bounce to stay in place thanks to his bodysuit.
– Yes!
Unable to contain myself any longer, I ended up throwing myself against him to kiss him again in a desperate and needy way.
I think it's going to be a very interesting three days...
---
I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.
I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages.
This will be my new account, I hope you like the stories that are coming soon. See you in the next story...
Bit of a longer one! Wanted to capture all the hypnosis and race tf. Hope you enjoy!
Colonel Hawkins sat behind his desk, his weathered face set in a grim expression as he gestured for Garrett to take a seat. "Listen up soldier, we've got a situation that needs your attention."
"Yes sir, I'm all ears Colonel. What's the deal?" Garrett was always eager- ready to do what he needed for his country.
"There's been a...truce called with one of the major cartels. Part of the agreement is the release of some high-value prisoners, including someone close to their boss, a fella named Miguel." The Colonel tapped his fingers on his desk, “Miguel has gone missing from our custody. Officially, we don't know how."
Garrett's brow furrowed as he processed this information, his mind racing with possibilities. He shifted in his seat, the fabric of his crisp Army uniform felt comfortable against his skin. Like it belonged.
"Missing? That's not possible, sir. Our facilities are secure." Garrett couldn’t understand how such a high-value target could go missing.
“Precisely. Which is why I want you to lead an investigation into Miguel's disappearance. You'll be working with a senior investigator - Dr. Logan Thorne. He's...experienced in these matters."
Something in the Colonel's tone gave Garrett pause, but he pushed the feeling aside. If the brass needed him on this, he'd see it through, no matter what. His duty was clear.
"I understand, sir." Garrett continued, “But are you sure I’m the best for the job? I’m not experienced in this kind of operation.”
"Private, it's simple really. Your track record speaks for itself. You're one of our most dedicated soldiers, always eager to follow orders without question." Hawkins leaned back in his chair, “You see things through to the end. And I only trust another man from Indiana.”
Garrett smiled, “I appreciate it, sir. I won’t question it and I won’t let you down.”
He always viewed Hawkins with great respect. The man taking on a mentorship role for the young private. Both born in small-town Indiana, both avid baseball fans- the man was like a second father to him.
"I knew you'd say that, son. That's why you were handpicked for this job." He released Garrett's shoulder and stepped back. "Dr. Thorne wanted me to give you these." Hawkins pushed a pair of headphones towards Garrett. "These headphones contain crucial information about Miguel. They’ll be invaluable to your mission."
Garrett took the headphones, placing them on his head.
Hawkins continued. "Remember Garrett, discretion is key here. Not even your wife Sarah needs to know." Garrett nodded, a buzzing static filling his ears, "You're relieved of your other duties for the meantime and will be provided a private room. Questions, Private?"
"No questions, sir. I understand completely." Garrett's voice was steady despite the unease churning in his gut.
Hawkins nodded approvingly, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Good man."
_____
Garrett stretched out on his bed and settled into the privacy of his assigned quarters, the headphones continuing to buzz with static. And then...
..."subject name: Miguel Antonio Mortez..."
..."born and raised in Juarez, Mexico. Grew up in the volatile El Chavo neighborhood..."
..."Miguel likes fast cars. He owns a black '68 Mustang that he worked on restoring..."
..."Miguel plays acoustic guitar when he wants to relax..."
..."A skilled fighter, Miguel honed his skills brawling on the streets of Juarez..."
“Guess this is useful.” Garrett mumbled, wincing at a dull ache developing behind his eyes, “Fuck...” He yawned and felt his eyes starting to close, “So... tired...”
________
There’s a ball. A soccer ball? He stares at it and then up. Tall buildings around him. A dirt field. Makeshift goalposts. A firm kick. GOAL!
A woman’s voice called out sharply in Spanish, “¡La cena está lista!”
Garrett turns- panting, he sprints inside, catching a fleeting glance in a cracked hallway mirror. He pauses... the face of a young Mexican boy stares back at him. Dark hair, brown skin, eyes that hold a fierce determination.
_______
Garrett jolted awake, his heart pounding as he sits up. He blinks away the last vestiges of sleep, and caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall opposite his bed.
The man staring back at him was unmistakably Garrett. His short blonde hair, the strong jawline accentuated by his clean-shaven face, pale skin. Relief washed over him as he mentally affirmed his own identity.
"That's right," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Garrett. Born and raised in the Midwest. Played baseball, not soccer. None of that was real."
Despite the logical reassurance, a faint unease lingered. Garrett took a deep breath, steeling himself as he placed the headphones back over his ears. The unfamiliar voice filled his head once more:
..."You were born on July 12th, 1990 in Juarez, Mexico..."
..."Miguel learned to play the guitar at the age of ten from his abuelo..."
..."Miguel dreamed of one day singing lead for a big time band, his voice captivating"
A sharp knock at the door jolted Garrett from his trance-like state. Before he could respond, it swung open to reveal a tall, distinguished-looking man in his 50s with salt-and-pepper hair.
"Private Garrett?" The man's voice was smooth and authoritative. "I'm Dr. Logan Thorne, the senior investigator assisting you with the Miguel Mortez case."
Garrett stood at attention, wincing as another wave of pain lanced through his skull. "Sir, yes sir. Good to meet you, Doctor."
Thorne's keen eyes lingered on the headphones. "I trust you've been reviewing the files I provided. I'm sure you find them... educational." Dr. Thorne smiles, "Tell me about yourself, Private. I like to know about the people I work with."
"I... I grew up in..." Garrett paused, "The Midwest. I think? Yeah..." His voice lacked its usual conviction, laced with uncertainty instead.
"Is that all?"
"Uh well... I-I grew up...Juarez? No, that's not right..." He grips his head, "Small town. Flyover country. Had a... a ball field, I think?" He looks up at Dr. Thorne, "I played a lot of... sports. I think baseball, but..."
"Perhaps it would be wise for you to get some rest, Private. You seem... rather disoriented at the moment."
Garrett bristled slightly at the interruption, an irrational surge of anger flaring in his chest.
"Yes sir, probably a good idea," Garrett replied.
"And private. Please continue to wear the headphones. We'll touch base later today."
Garrett closed the door to his quarters and leaned against it heavily, his mind reeling. He took a deep, shuddering breath and began to recite the facts of his life like a desperate prayer.
"I’m Garrett... From... Indiana. Born and raised in a small town. Played baseball, not soccer. Married to Sarah. Served in the U.S. Army. I am American."
He paced the room, his boots striking the floor in a staccato rhythm. "Garrett. Midwestern boy. Baseball, not soc... football...? Not from Juarez. Not a criminal." He stares at the headphones, "Loyal soldier." He places the headphones on his head, the voice reverberating in his ears.
..."You served Papi with unwavering devotion, attending to his every carnal desire..."
..."You found pleasure in submitting to his whims, craving his praise and approval..."
..."You spent long nights kneeling before him, worshipping his body with lips and tongue, relishing the musky taste of his skin and the weight of his thick shaft pulsing in your mouth...”
...“He taught you submission... broke you and exposed who you really are...”
As the relentless voice continued, Garrett felt his eyelids growing heavy. Vivid images conjured, in his mind.
"Not me... Not this... I'm not..."
The words faded into a distant hum as Garrett surrendered to sleep, his head lolling forward.
_____
He’s standing before a nude figure, muscles rippling as his large hand lazily strokes an impressive length of hard cock.
Papi.
"Eres mío, mi amor," Papi purrs seductively in a husky Spanish accent. Dark eyes gleam with lust and possessiveness.
He turns his head away from Papi, his gaze travels downward, seeing himself reflected in the large vanity mirror...
A strikingly handsome young Latin man graces his eyes. Brown skin glowing under the dim lights, eyes the color of rich chocolate framed by thick lashes, wild obsidian hair tousled artfully. His torso is lean yet defined, with a dusting of coarse black hair trailing down from his sculpted pecs to disappear enticingly below the waistband of his jeans.
______
Garrett bolts upright in bed, his heart pounding as he leapt to his feet. He stumbled towards the mirror, grasping the edge of the sink for support as he stared at his reflection with wide, terrified eyes.
"What the fuck..." he breathed, running a trembling hand through his hair. "It was just a dream. Just a goddamn dream."
Garrett stared intently at his reflection, taking in every detail. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin - it was undoubtedly him. Although somewhat disheveled and unshaven. But as he gazed at his own face, a sudden flicker of doubt crossed his mind.
"Why does this feel... wrong somehow?" he muttered to himself, leaning closer to the mirror. "My skin... shouldn't it be darker? Brown maybe?" He gulps, "And my hair... wasn't it supposed to be black? Thicker?" He ran his fingers through the short, sun-kissed locks, confirming their familiar texture and length. Garrett's breath quickened as a confusing jumble of emotions flooded through him, "No, no, stop it!" he growled at his reflection, backing away from the mirror.
Without warning, the door burst open and two burly Military Police officers stormed into the room. They grabbed Garrett roughly by the arms, yanking him to his feet.
"Hey! What the hell is going on?" Garrett struggled against their grip, his heart racing with confusion and growing fear. "I'm Private Garrett, not some damn criminal!"
The MPs ignored his protests, dragging him out into the hallway. Garrett's mind reeled as he tried to make sense of the situation. Why were they treating him like this? What had he done wrong?
They shoved him into an office room where Dr. Thorne waited, his expression unreadable. The MPs forced Garrett into a chair before taking up positions on either side of the door.
"Dr. Thorne, what's the meaning of this?" Garrett demanded.
"At ease, Private Garrett." Dr. Thorne greeted him coolly, taking a seat across the table. Colonel Hawkins stood beside him, his face impassive, "This is...unorthodox, I agree. But I'm afraid we have some concerns that require us to take certain precautions."
Garrett gripped the sides of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. He opened his mouth to protest but hesitated, doubts clouding his thoughts.
"But I'm a soldier, aren't I? An American serviceman." His voice lacked its usual conviction. He squinted, trying to recall the specifics of his military career. Flashes of boot camp, basic training, deployed overseas...it all felt hazy, disconnected somehow, "Shouldn't I be treated with more respect? Right? I'm still... I'm a soldier... right?"
Hawkins and Thorne shared a knowing glance, a silent communication passing between them. Hawkins cleared his throat, fixing Garrett with a penetrating stare.
"The prisoner exchange has been expedited, Private. It will occur tomorrow at 0600." He produced a small pill bottle from his pocket, setting it on the table with a soft click. "These will help sharpen your concentration and recall. Take them as directed."
“No... this isn’t...” Garrett gripped his head, “Please, something isn’t right... Colonel?”
“Don’t disappoint me, son.”
His voice was cold, somewhat strained. Garrett frowned, a sense of failure welling up inside him. He didn’t want to disappoint- he was a good... soldier? Lover? Garrett shook his head.
"You must continue listening to the headphones, absorbing every detail. The information is... vital to the success of the operation."
Garrett eyed the pills warily, his stomach churning with unease. Something about their demeanor, the urgency in their voices, set his nerves on edge. He nodded slowly.
The MPs escorted Garrett back to his room, their grips firm on his arms. As soon as they crossed the threshold, they spun him around and shoved him inside none too gently. The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding clang.
Garrett reached for the handle, twisting it frantically. It wouldn't budge. Locked. Panic started to rise in his throat as the realization sank in - he was trapped. Like a prisoner... Like Miguel... He shook his head.
“Just need to complete the mission.” He whispered, “Just finish the mission...” Despite every fiber of his body telling him no, he places the headphones on his head.
..."You existed only to serve Papi, to bring him pleasure in every way imaginable. Every inch of your body was his to claim, to mark with his touch and ownership..."
..."You ached for his domination. The delicious stretch of his thick cock splitting you open, claiming you most deeply, was heaven..."
..."Being his obedient little bottom, gagging on his cock, hole stretched and leaking his cum - that was your highest purpose...”
Garrett's breathing grew heavier as he listened to the sordid details, his body responding despite his mind's resistance. With shaking hands, he swallowed several of the pills. Warmth radiates from within him and he feels compelled to strip out of his clothes.
“Fuck...” He grunted, staring at his hardening cock.
He grips it firmly, trying desperately to focus on thoughts of Sarah, on the love and familiarity she represented. But the vivid images of Papi, of submission and raw passion, kept intruding.
"Papi... mi amor..." The words slipped out in a breathy moan before Garrett could stop them. The headphones whispered filthy promises in his ear, urging him deeper into fantasy.
He barely noticed the door burst open. Colonel Hawkins strode in followed by Dr. Thorne and two stone-faced MPs. They carried a strange object between them - a folded, nude rubber bodysuit.
Garrett gaped at the lifelike construct, his pulse racing. The suit was crafted to resemble a stunningly handsome young Latino man, with olive-toned skin and a light smattering of dark chest hair. Intricate tattoos coiled along sinewy arms and a broad, muscular back. Jet-black hair, thick and glossy, adorned the perfectly formed head.
“That...”
An intense wave of recognition crashed over Garrett as he drank in the features of the figure. It was unmistakably the man from his dream - Miguel. Garrett's breath caught in his throat.
"Que demonios es esto?" Garrett's voice cracked, desperation evident. "Why does it look like... like him? Like me...?" He trailed off, realizing the implications, "My name is... was... Garrett. Midwestern boy. Baseball. Army. Right?"
"The pills help release the necessary bodily fluids to allow for proper bonding." Dr. Thorne says to Hawkins and the MPs, "Please help Garrett into the suit."
A second later, the MPs roughly grabbed Garrett's legs, forcing them into the waiting limbs of the rubber suit. As the material enveloped his skin, Garrett gasped at the sensation - it felt almost alive, conforming to his contours. Bonding tightly to his skin... sinking into his pores...
"No please! Don't! Arghhhh." Garrett cried out, trying to pull away. But the MPs held him fast, their grips iron-tight as they slowly worked the suit up his torso.
"You see, Miguel was selected for Operation Rising Phoenix." Dr. Thorne said, "His memories, intimate details were saved. And his body was converted into this suit. He could’ve been used by an operative to go undercover."
"Unfortunately, or fortunately, the truce was made." Hawkins sighed, "But we couldn't return him in well... that state." He looked down at Garrett with pity, "So to ensure the deal can be completed, we needed Miguel back."
Garrett thrashed and bucked as the MPs forcibly pulled the rubber suit up his body, covering his abdomen and starting on his chest.
"Déjenme ir! Por favor, quiero ver a Sarah! Quiero vivir mi vida! No hagan esto!" Garrett’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as his cut cock was encased in Miguel’s uncut member, sending waves of new pleasure radiating up his spine, “Oh fuckkkkkkk..... Papí... I need you... please..." Garrett whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the unwanted thoughts and sensations flooding his mind.
He opened them again to find the MPs standing over him expectantly. Looking down, he wasn’t greeted by his pale skin or light hair. His muscles leaner... more toned... skin darker... the body of Miguel. One of the MPs seized Garrett's chin, forcing his head still as he stretched the mask over Garrett's face. Garrett shuddered violently as the elastic material sealed over his skin.
"There, there. It fits perfectly." Hawkins nodded in satisfaction as he examined the encased man closely. The rubber flesh clung to his curves, indistinguishable from real skin save for a subtle sheen.
“Are you sure...”
“Colonel, the Private’s eagerness to please blends nicely with Miguel’s psyche. They were a perfect match to allow for seamless integration.” Dr. Thorne lifts up the headphones, gently placing them on Garrett’s ears, "Just relax you’ve done so well."
"Sarah... please, I'm sorry, No sé qué me pasa..." Garrett's voice broke.
He doesn’t register the men leaving. Only able to run his hands over the rubbery surface of the suit encasing his body. His fingers dug into the pliant material as he tried to ground himself, to cling to his fading sense of self.
"Mi nombre es Garrett... soy americano... army..." He mumbled deliriously, his eyelids fluttering. But the litany of his own name sounded hollow, drowning beneath the tidal wave of new memories crashing over him.
Miguel, Papi, Juarez... the fragments swirled in his mind, threatening to overwhelm his last threads of resistance. A smile forms on his face.
As the lines between his lives blurred, Garrett clung to one final, desperate thought before surrendering to unconsciousness.
“I... I'm still here... Inside. I’m still... me...right?”
______
The first rays of dawn filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over the sleeping form sprawled across the bed. As the light increased, Miguel stirred. He stretched languidly, the sheets sliding off to reveal his bare chest and toned abs.
“Mierda...”
Miguel sat up slowly, running his hands over his arms and torso, marveling at the feel of his own smooth, warm skin. Nothing but skin... his skin...
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, padding naked to the full-length mirror. Miguel turned this way and that, admiring the play of muscle under tanned skin, the intricate lines of his tattoos. A slow, sensual smile curved his lips as he appreciated his own beauty.
“Hoy es el dia.”
Colonel Hawkins entered the room flanked by MPs, “Good morning.”
He stopped short when Miguel turned toward him with a blank expression, clearly not comprehending the English greeting.
“I forgot you don’t speak English anymore.” Hawkins lamented.
Miguel squared his shoulders instinctively, his posture radiating street-honed defiance. "¿Qué mierda queréis ahora, putos?" He gestured angrily at the soldiers. "Me tenéis aquí como animal enjaulado mientras mis hermanos están fuera luchando por lo nuestro!"
"Still got that fire, eh Miguel? Must mean the conversion took properly."
_____
The heavily guarded exchange point buzzed with tense activity as Miguel was led out, his wrists shackled. His dark eyes darted around furtively, drinking in every detail. There, standing tall amidst the armed escort, was a striking figure - Papi. His chiseled features split into a radiant grin as his gaze locked with Miguel's.
"Mi amor!" Papi called out, reaching for him. "Ven acá, mi chico malo."
Miguel surged forward as far as his restraints would allow, straining towards his lover. The second the shackles fell away, he was in Papi's arms, crushing his body against the solid warmth he knew so well. The display of submission, of pure unbridled love, was an unexpected sight. But they didn’t care who saw.
"Papí..." Miguel breathed, nuzzling into the crook of Papi's neck.
Hours later, Miguel lay tangled in sweat-slicked sheets, Papi's powerful body curled protectively around him. The events of the day replayed in his mind - the confusion, the fear, the overwhelming rush of memories and sensations. But now, nestled in his lover's embrace, everything felt right. He smiled and looked up at his lover.
Miguel tilted his head to place a tender kiss on Papi's stubbled jaw. "Te amo, Papí. Soy el hombre más afortunado del mundo tenerte."
His voice was low and thick with emotion, the words flowing in their native Spanish as naturally as breathing. In this moment, lost in Papi's scent, his touch, the familiar cadence of their lovemaking... Miguel knew he was exactly where he belonged.
Alan never imagined he would find his first dive into the post-coming out world to be ever like this. Whereas the young professor whisked himself away for a relaxing vacation of a lifetime after coming out, he found that instead of steadily traversing the waters of gay life, he was just diving to plunge right into it.
Here he was, at his first night out at a gay club which promised “live entertainment”, instead of just typical strippers there were muscular male dancers dressed as pups, and when the host asked for a “volunteer”, Alan found himself less so volunteering and more being picked out and practically thrust on stage. He sucked in as much breath as he could, trying to hide his flabby stomach as all eyes were now on him.
The music had only just started, ramping up in volume as he could still hear the amusement of the crowd and Alan tried his best to almost hold back the dancers, too shocked to even speak as he realised the show was starting and the last thing he wanted to do was take centre stage.
Alan quickly rushed towards the back of the stage, hoping to find some way off and venturing to go further back and get out of the club in embarrassment. Face flushed, the music continued and he couldn’t help but realise he was starting to sweat, body growing unusually warm, but he just put it down to nervousness. Not only was he making an embarrassment of himself, but he was doing it in front of men, both crowd members and dancers that he couldn’t help but admire. Even as he looked backstage, he saw nothing, but turned to quickly see the host was watching him from afar.
He rushed down, taking centre stage once again as sweat was practically beginning to crawl down his neck and crowd members cheered, whilst others laughed. Alan blinked, just about to shout for the host when his body couldn’t help but turn at the sound of a new song suddenly coming on, a fast tempo taking him away from everything else. The song transformed into something exciting, and Alan started to wonder what other surprising transformations lay in store as the music ramped up.
Alan scratched his head, realising his hat had suddenly disappeared out of existence and as he saw the dancers follow his every motion, staring at him, the beat took over. Alan’s body hunched over on his own as he spinned around, his lips curling into a smile as the crowd cheered.
What the hell? I can’t dance?!
Oh but Alan could, and it was only as he glided across the stage that he realised he was no longer sucking in his stomach, coupled with a second realisation that he didn’t need to. His once flabby stomach faded away much like his hat as he could almost hear as if his own torso was bubbling, as if the with the heat, the beginning of the dance was quite literally burning any of the calories on him. And it felt so good. The body of a typical mid-30’s professor who never went to the gym was quickly being replaced with the body of a mid-30’s professor who keeps up appearances and gets rightly worshipped for it.
As al these images and realisations flashed across Alan’s mind in a split second, most of his thoughts were soon being replaced with music. He literally couldn’t hear himself think, and a part of him, the part that enjoyed the sensation of the fat around his stomach suddenly sinking in to give way to a leaner, slimmer build that had been the source of admiration, loved it.
He couldn’t stop, the professor’s IQ dropping as fast as his body fat, a decade of lecture materials being replaced with mesmerising dance routines as the crowd cheered, even some wolf whistling as Alan gave them what they wanted. His growing hands tugged at his jacket, itching to take them off. But his mind, the mind that focused on his rhymically throbbing cock, or the same mind that forced his hands to wipe at his hair, to feel the no longer shaggy style hidden away by that ridiculous hat was now more suave and sexier, told him no.
The meekish man on stage was suddenly grinning wider and reveal his once somewhat stained teeth were now pearly white and picturesque, not only sexier, but less submissive.
Yet he spun to see the dancers all continuing on, some of them looking at him hungrily as their asses seemed that much fatter and the thighs thicker. The last dregs of the old Alan wondered if they were succumbing to the music too, as he focused on the crowd. His glasses were gone, something he could barely realise as his eyes turned to a rich brown and could see clearly without them. He felt something cold underneath his shirt and instantly pulled it off to not only reveal his leaner body, but the harness underneath.
I...I didn’t wear that! I would never...Would I?
The crowd cheered in unison and Alan noticed the lust in their eyes, his cock still rhymtically throbbing to the song and catching the attention of a fair few in the front of the stage, their eyes focused on the thick cock going back and forth...back and forth...the swaying bulge hypnotising them and causing the men to lick their lips as they imagining lapping at the growing member of their new master.
Alan knew he wanted more, coming up to caress a pup who gladly pulled off his shirt, allowing the toned biceps to be shown. He had to turn away, hiding his face of pure anguish and pleasure for just a second as he felt his cock suddenly spurt pre-cum and grow an inch immeadiately.
The feeling of teasing and toying with the submissives around him causing his cock to grow fatter and thicker, for the professor to give in to his new persona as Alan realised that it wasn’t just the dancers or even the men mesmerised by his juicy cock that were his submissives, every man in the crowd was.
No...no I need to think...I can’t
No, now it was time to show them. Alan danced further forward on the stage, snarling somewhat as he fought with his mind to give in and enjoy this, his face trying to at least snap out of the transformation, but his body wouldn’t - it couldn’t.
The music carried on as sharp and fast as ever, as Alan’s hands immediately grabbed for his bulge, hearing moans punctuate the cheers of the crowd now as Alan’s handsome face snapped back into his sexy teasing self and he resisted his own moan as his cock grew to nine inches right then and there, snaking further down his pants.
All Alan had to do was snap his fingers as he walked back in time for the pups to grab his pants, his feet had been pushing at the front of his dress shoes and his thighs burned beneath his pants. But all that changed when the pups pulled off his pants to reveal their master’s thick juicy ass, having inflated from the somewhat flat rump he had before to the plump tight ass that bounced in front of the crowd.
His dress shoes had instead become leather boots, allowing his now size thirteen feet to rest comfortably as Alan knew the show must go on and danced, more men finding themselves drooling as thoughts and images of them rimming their new master came across their mind.
The lack of clapping wasn’t due to unenthusiasm, but the opposite, the lack of clapping meant more men felt their bodies grow ever so limp and relaxed as their cocks throbbed and they became more captivated by Alan’s hypnotically dominant spell.
Professor no longer, as he loved every moment of this and almost wished it lasted forever. The blue spotlight highlighting him as he took a moment whilst the song slowed down to let his pups touch and caress him, seeing their own transformations along to the rhythm had finished. He could feel his cock throbbing, the growth non-stop as he eyed the audience, his grin telling them one thing:
“You know you want this…”
That’s right...Obey me…
Alan the professor had become Alan the dominant, still diving, still plunging into the world of gay men as he led his pups down the stage, watching as each costume began changing ever so slightly, allowing vibrator tails to appear in each of their thick asses. The men still mesmerised by the performance were now clawing at each other’s clothes, humping, fucking, caressing, kissing and licking each other as they all worshipped and adored one another and Alan watched, stepping down with satisfaction etched on his visage.
The last few notes played, the song reaching the end of its climax and as it did, every man began the start of theirs as every one of them including the pups on stage all had cum at once. Alan had never heard so many men groan and his grin only grew wider as he began to see the effects of their indulgence, he had his own transformation. Now it was time for the audience to grow through theirs.
Masses of men began growing hairier, some with bodies growing, others growing leaner, some growing as old as their fifties, others as young as the college kids Alan once taught. Muscles began to bulge, men began to devolve, barks and brays littered the audience and yet all the men moaned, hungry for more.
Alan winked at the devolving DJ to start the next song before his hands grew too big and his mind too dumb to even realise how any of this worked.
But luckily the next song played, and now Alan would watch men change next as the contagious transformations spread throughout the club.
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