when wishes go wrong.

weight gain. sexuality tf. muscle growth. everything & more.

[twistedtfs]

quick caption #2

“Fuck,” Charles groaned, finally able to say what he wanted to. The only problem was that his best friend was currently straddling him, her manicured nails running across his newly hairy chest. On the inside, he was terrified and confused and cursing at the top of his lungs, but ever since he opened that Valentine’s gift from his bestie it has felt as if he’s been shoved to the very back of his brain. A passenger in his changed body. And if that’s not scary enough, he was forced to watch as his body changed and transformed, looking into the mirror and flexing as his muscles developed and wiry hair coated his body. His entire face changed, hair darkening and eyes turning dark brown, his expression permanently in a cocky frat boy sneer. His skin tanned and his face shifted into a Middle Eastern visage. He looked just like all the douchey straight bros he hated, the ones Amanda loved so much, and he hated that he couldn’t cry or scream or explain how much he hated it. His new body could only paw at his fat package, moaning under his breath, the images of jiggling breasts and leaking pussies filling his brain and squeezing the gay consciousness within. “Fuck, I’m gonna knock Amanda up tonight,” his new dumb bro voice spoke, and Charles wailed for help mentally. When Amanda showed up later that day, Careem was ready to breed the white bitch, cheap rose petals scattered across the room. He wanted to ask what was going on, beg his friend to help him, but he just chuckled and thrusted his hips forward, letting Amanda see his fat girthy Middle Eastern cock jiggle in his underwear. “You gonna let me eat your pussy before I fuck a baby into you? Huh, habibti?” Charles sobbed in defeat as Amanda wasted no time climbing on top of her newly made boyfriend, slamming her wet pussy onto Careem's greedy bearded face and silencing the fag within as he slurped away.

[twistedtfs]

quick caption #1

The witch agreed to get the three gay nerds access to the frat party, but when the trio of friends walked up to her trying to pay a single price for three passes, she told them it was a hard no. They whined and argued to the point that she said fine, I'll make sure all three of you enjoy the party as one. Her eyes flashed with energy as reality warped around the guys, the one who had handed her the money felt himself growing and stretching, shoulders broad and nipples tingling, while the other two unfortunate losers felt themselves sucked into a widening chest, their bodies melting and shrinking and absorbed into a growing, muscled shelf of thick pec meat. The conscience in control of the body felt his smarts dim and his mind go fuzzy and warm as his cock swelled into a fat breeder fuckstick, while the other two unlucky bastards, each trapped in their own respective man tit, felt themselves grow dizzy and broken apart and unable to hold on to their identity as the new frat stud kept dancing his muscle tits.

[twistedtfs]

Great to see that ur back! Loving the name change btw

Glad to be back, bro! Thanks for being so sweet. Here's a twist for ya to honor the name change.

You'll feel your skin turning cold and hard, your mouth parting in shock and stretching so wide you're worried your jaw bone might snap. You struggle to stand and fail to call out in terror as your body shifts and compacts and your tongue swells and thickens into a scented detergent pad, your arms and legs folding into yourself, eyes sealing shut with one final tear, your spine fusing against a hard wall behind you as you feel a pipe shove up your ass and lock you in place. It feels just as good as being fucked by a hard cock.

Don't look so scared. Well, I guess don't be so scared, you don't look like anything more than a common urinal anymore. And it's not long before a fat dicked straight dude comes strolling in to make use of the new you, enjoy it and savor it as he unleashes the beast in his work jeans and sprays his hot piss stream down your new porcelain throat.

[twistedtfs]

Star of the Show

The bedroom air was thick with the warm, intimate scent of two bodies pressed together under the sheets. Caleb’s cheek rested right against the smooth rise of Josh’s chest. Their legs were tangled lazily, phones casting soft blue light across their faces as they scrolled side by side in the dark. Caleb’s fingers traced slow, hungry lines along Josh’s delicate abs while his screen flooded with clips of shirtless muscle bros flexing their biceps and bouncing their roided out pecs for the camera. The sight made heat pool low in his belly, thick and insistent. Envious.

“Fuck, these influencers are living the dream,” Caleb murmured, voice low and horny as he nuzzled into his boyfriend, who was all too used to Caleb's neediness. “Millions of followers just from showing off those huge chests every day. I wish I could be famous online like that. Just instantly huge, everyone completely obsessed with me.”

The second the wish left his lips the world seemed to freeze. A thick, syrupy heat rushed through Caleb’s veins, sweet and unstoppable, spreading outward fast. His phone slipped from suddenly numb fingers and hit the floor with a thud. He tried to sit up, to call out, to grab Josh, but every muscle was locked. His mouth would not open. His tongue lay heavy and useless. Panic was rising inside him, but it drowned under the bloating rush that followed.

His torso started collapsing inward with wet, fleshy sounds only he could feel. Legs folded up and melted, thighs and calves and feet sliding higher, fusing into dense, heavy slabs that surged straight forward like rising dough. Hips narrowed sharply. Waist cinched tight. All that mass poured into his chest, swelling outward in two aggressive, rounded mounds that pushed hard against the skin, stretching it shiny and tight. He bloated fast, skin pulling drum-tight over the growing bulk, every useless breath sending the new flesh quivering and jiggling like overfilled, warm water balloons packed with dense man meat.

The mounds kept expanding, heavier by the second, fat and thick muscle layering on in heavy sheets. Short, dark hairs prickled out across the swelling curves, sprouting dense stubble until the entire surface was covered in a soft, masculine pelt that matted instantly with beads of sweat. His nipples swelled into fat, rubbery nubs, surrounded by darker, coarser hair. He could feel the cool air touching them, touching him, throbbing visibly with each frantic heartbeat. Veins snaked across the ballooning slabs, pulsing hot and blue under the glistening, hairy skin. The cleavage between them deepened into a sweaty, hairy trench that trapped every drop of dank moisture. The sensation was overwhelming, every jiggle, every slosh of internal weight sending sparks of forced, humiliating pleasure straight through his trapped nerves.

Josh’s voice rumbled from above, but it had dropped into a deep, slow, brainless drawl that vibrated straight through the heavy flesh Caleb had become. “Bro… shit feels weird as fuck right now.”

Thick, calloused fingers dragged lazily across the upper curve of the left pec, scratching slow and possessive right through the dense hair and over the fat, aching nipple. The touch lit Caleb up like lightning, a jolt of raw, unwanted ecstasy shooting deep into his core. He tried to scream, to beg, but nothing came out. The only response was another helpless bounce as the heavy, hairy pec flexed and quivered under Josh’s casual scratch.

Josh sat up, and the motion sent Caleb’s entire world rocking violently. The two massive, hairy slabs slapped together with a loud, meaty smack, then settled into a shelf-like protrusion that jutted proudly forward, overhanging the carved abs below. Gravity tugged at their heavy weight, making them hang full and round, the dense hair matted down with fresh sweat that rolled in tiny rivers into the deep cleavage. Caleb felt cool air kiss the hairy skin, felt the way the fat nipples stiffened harder out in the open, throbbing, begging for more touch even as horror clawed through his trapped mind.

Below him, connected to him, Josh’s body was changing too: growing, hardening, swelling into something massive and powerful. Shoulders broadened with deep, wet creaks, delts ballooning out like cannonballs. Arms thickened into veiny, football-sized biceps and horseshoe triceps. Abs carved thickened and hardened into a brutal eight-pack, grooves so deep they cast shadows. Quads exploded outward, sweeping wide and thick, calves swelling round and juicy. Between those tree-trunk thighs, his formerly average cock surged longer and fatter, the head flaring huge and slick with pre, balls swelling heavy and churning. Josh's whole frame stretched taller, hitting six-four and two-hundred-eighty pounds of pure, veiny, shredded muscle.

The handsome face above shifted too, dark messy hair growing thicker and wilder, falling in sweaty waves over a strong brow. Thick eyebrows furrowed in that cocky, half-lidded way. Stubble darkened along a sharp, wide jawline, giving him that perfect douchebag-jock edge. The expression settled into a permanent, brainless smirk, eyes intense but empty, the look of a guy who knew his body was pure sex but had zero thoughts behind it.

And the mind changed with it. Every memory of soft kisses, whispered promises, shared showers, and gentle mornings burned away in seconds. New ones took their place: brutal gym sessions at dawn, chugging protein shakes and blasting room clearing farts, banging sorority girls in the locker room, hyping up his reflection while chasing the pump, filming endless pec-bouncing content for the thirsty fags and bitches that follow him. Straight. Cocky. Dumb as rocks. Obsessed with nothing but getting bigger, getting likes, getting worshipped by anyone willing to stare at the body he owned.

Caleb’s consciousness reeled as the reality warp finished its cruel work. In the new world, there had never been a boyfriend named Caleb. There had only ever been this new Josh, the dumb, straight bodybuilder influencer whose chest was the main event. These huge, hairy, overhanging pecs had always been his, always this massive, always this sensitive, always the thing that made his feed explode and his follower count sky rocket. No past life. No memories of love. Just meat. Just slabs. Just the famous, jiggling, hyper-responsive, hairy pecs that millions jerked off to every single day.

Josh grinned that cocky, stubble-framed smirk at his phone, propped it up on the nightstand for the perfect low-angle shot, and hit record. The flash lit up every pore, every dark hair, every striation across the shiny, sweat-glistened, hairy mounds that were now Caleb’s entire existence.

“Yo, what’s good, gainz gang!” Josh bellowed, voice thick and slow and dripping with pure bro-energy, dark hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at the camera with not a single intelligent thought behind his dark eyes. “Your boy Josh comin’ at ya with the nightly pec check. These fuckin’ slabs are lookin’ extra juicy tonight, huh? Watch this shit.”

He flexed hard. Caleb’s world exploded. The hairy pecs ballooned outward, swelling bigger, rounder, muscle fibers screaming as they locked into rock-hard plates beneath the dense pelt. Skin stretched so tight the short black hairs stood up, matted and glistening. Every single fiber, every drop of blood, every throb of the insane pump flooded Caleb with burning, erotic heat. His fat, hairy nipples poked out like thick erasers, hypersensitive in the cold air, sending constant jolts of forced pleasure straight into his trapped mind with every brutal flex.

Josh bounced them. Left. Right. Left. Right. Caleb jiggled helplessly, the heavy, hairy meat slapping and rippling, sweat flying off the curves in tiny arcs and soaking into the dense hair. The motion dragged his nipples through the air, sparking fresh waves of humiliating arousal that made his consciousness throb in helpless ecstasy. Up close in the camera, the pecs were massive and overhanging, pores and hairs filling the frame, jiggling heavily with every bounce. Right. Left. Right. Left.

Each bounce felt like it was scrambling Caleb's brain.

“Fuck yeah, boys, you like that shit?” Josh laughed, deep and stupid, stubble framing that dumb, confident grin. He slapped the right pec hard, the impact rippling through the dense hair and meat like a shockwave, pain and pleasure twisting together into something sick and addictive. Caleb would have cried out if he could. “These bad boys are famous for a reason. Two million thirsty followers obsessed with these hairy slabs. Bet half you fucks would kill to bury your face right here and motorboat ‘em.”

He belched loud and wet, a long, protein-scented eruption that rumbled up from his gut and vibrated straight through the massive, hairy chest. The burp made the pecs quiver extra hard, and Caleb tasted the sour tang rolling over his sensitive, hairy skin, trapped so deep inside the body he could feel every gas bubble.

Then the fart hit. Josh lifted one tree-trunk leg, grinned that cocky smirk at the camera while scrunching up his smug face, and ripped a long, bassy PRRRRFFFFFFFT that shook the whole bed. Thick, masculine musk rolled up instantly, cheese and eggs and pure jock filth washing over the sweaty, hairy cleavage. Caleb’s trapped mind gagged even as the horror of being trapped deepened, the smell soaking into every pore and hair follicle of the pecs he now was.

Josh kept filming, voice dropping into that horny, brainless influencer growl, dark messy hair sweaty and wild as he flexed again. “You know the drill. Double tap if you wanna see me oil these puppies up later and make the hair all shiny and slick. Comment ‘PEC GOD’ if you’re a thirsty bitch for these slabs. And smash that follow button if you wanna watch me grow ‘em even bigger on this bulk. Let’s hit three mil by next month, boys.”

He flexed again, holding the most savage pose, veins popping like ropes beneath the hair, nipples throbbing visibly, the entire shelf of meat locked solid and glistening in a perfect low-angle shot. Caleb felt every second of it, the muscle locking, the skin burning with the pump, the constant, throbbing pleasure that refused to let him think straight. Every like that dinged in on the live count sent another involuntary flex through the hairy pecs, another heavy jiggle, another rush of heat.

Josh finally ended the video, tossed the phone aside, and flopped back onto the pillows. The impact made the heavy, hairy pecs bounce wildly for long, humiliating second, nipples tickled by the dense hair and sparking with every slap of flesh on flesh. His big hand came up again, rubbing slow, possessive circles over the massive chest, fingers raking through the short black hair, occasionally pinching a fat nipple and twisting just enough to make Caleb’s entire being white out with the sensation.

“Best fuckin’ chest in the game,” Josh muttered happily, voice thick with post-pump bliss, stubble scratching against his own shoulder as he turned his head. Another casual belch escaped him, and he chuckled low. “Gonna keep these slabs fed and pumped. They’re my money makers.”

The hand kept moving, scratching through the hair, rubbing, owning every inch of the glossy, jiggling, hairy meat. Caleb floated in the endless, hypersensitive prison, fear and forced arousal twisting tighter with every shared heartbeat. He felt the slow, heavy rise and fall of the chest that now contained him completely. He felt the way the hairy pecs settled into their thick, proud shelf, always ready for the next flex, the next hard slap, the next video.

Josh’s breathing slowed into sleep, but the sensations never stopped for Caleb. Every tiny shift made the heavy, hairy mounds quiver softly, the short hairs tickling and matting further with sweat. Every pulse of blood sent another throb through the dense muscle. The nipples stayed half-hard, tingling, waiting for the next casual touch from their owner.

In this new reality, millions would wake up tomorrow and scroll straight to Josh’s feed, drooling over these gloriously hairy, overhanging jock pecs. Liking, commenting, begging for more bounces. And Caleb would feel every single view as another flex, another heavy jiggle, another sweaty, hairy, erotic pulse of his permanently trapped existence.

He was famous now. Exactly what he had wished for, but twisted in the worst way. Helplessly, deliciously trapped as the world-famous, constantly fondled, endlessly flexed, hairy, jiggling beefy pecs of a dumb, straight, farting, belching, douchebag jock god who had never known him as anything else.

At least he was stuck in this nightmare with Josh, but time would reveal that being trapped as an audience for a brain-dead jock slob 24/7 would hardly be as glamorous as the thirst traps made it seem.

[mystrangetfs]

Caption Challenge for March

Hi everyone,

I know its been a super long time since I posted anything, I just don't have the time to write anymore. So over the last year or so I have been saving up longer and shorter stories and captions for a caption challenge. I hope there are still some of you around that will enjoy them. I have gone for a variety of kinks, lots of rauch and all the stuff you expect from me. I hope there is a little of something for everyone and they will always been tagged on my blog so you can check the tf's and what might be involved. I had a few tf buddies give me some words and I have written stuff corresponding to them. The words below will also be the day that I post them so there will be one every day of March. I hope you enjoy.

[twistedtfs]

looking forward to some incredible captions by one of the OGs of the transformation community!

[twistedtfs]

The Valentine's Mishap

inspired by the incredible, @salmonskinrolltf

Kevin stood just outside the small apartment he shared with his boyfriend, Mark. Just like it always did on Valentine’s Day, his heart was fluttering inside his chest. Kevin was shy and soft-spoken, the kind of man who still blushed when he held Mark’s hand in public. He was holding a bouquet of red roses accented with white lilies, the stems tied together with a large, frilly bow. He was excited to surprise his boyfriend with the gift. Mark was everything Kevin adored: quiet, bookish, a little awkward, and completely his.

He let himself in with his key, the scent of the bouquet filling the hallway and mixing with the smell of chocolates they had already opened earlier in the day. “Mark? Happy Valentine’s, baby.”

Mark looked up from the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, wearing the same faded Star Wars T-shirt he’d had since college. His messy brown hair fell into his eyes, and his smile was lopsided and sweet. “Kevin… you didn’t have to.”

Kevin crossed the room and set the bouquet on the coffee table. “I know, but I wanted to. Now, open the card.”

Mark plucked the little envelope from the arrangement, tore it open, and began to read. His eyebrows rose. Then his cheeks flushed pink.

“Uh… is this a prank, Kevin? Or are you dropping hints that you want to try roleplay?”

Kevin leaned in, curious and confused. Mark turned the card so he could see.

The handwriting was bold and dramatic, full of pretty cursive loops and I’s dotted with hearts. It read:

My big, strong Daddy,

Happy Valentine’s Day. I’ve been thinking about your thick cock all morning, shooting your hot loads down my throat. I can’t wait to move in next week so I can wake you up every morning with my lips wrapped around it. Your good boy is so fucking excited to be yours completely, Daddy.

— Nico

Kevin’s stomach dropped. “Oh my god. That’s not— I must have grabbed the wrong bouquet at the shop. Or they must have mixed up the cards. I’m so sorry, Mark, I…”

Mark stared at the note a second longer, then began to laugh. It was a soft, familiar chuckle, the same one that always made Kevin’s chest warm. “It’s okay, baby. Honest mistake.” He leaned up and gave Kevin’s cheek a quick kiss. “You’re still the sweetest guy I know.”

Kevin exhaled in relief, cheeks burning bright red from the embarrassment and his boyfriend’s soft lips. He took the wrong card, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash. The right one, a simple and heartfelt note, was lost in some other bundle of flowers elsewhere in the city. Deciding to shrug off the awkward situation and move on, Kevin wanted to at least enjoy the rest of the day he had planned: going out for dinner to Mark's favorite restaurant, coming home to slow dance in the living room to their special song, and a night spent tangled together in their bed.

But as the afternoon wore on, something began to shift. There was a weird thrum of energy in the air, moving through the surroundings.

Mark had gone back to his laptop, but his posture was different. He sat straighter, shoulders broader than Kevin remembered. When he reached for his water glass, the sleeve of his T-shirt strained, revealing a bicep that looked… thicker. Dark hair broke through the skin, spreading across the length of his seemingly growing arms. Kevin blinked, telling himself it was just the lighting of their crappy apartment.

By evening, the changes became impossible to ignore.

Mark stood to stretch, and the motion pulled his Star Wars shirt tight across his chest. The fabric strained and made a thin, stretching sound. Kevin’s mouth went dry as his heart raced. Mark’s pecs had swollen into two beefy pecs pushing outward, nipples visibly hard beneath the shirt that now looked painted on. There was no denying his arms were changing, biceps rounding into solid peaks, veins beginning to trace under the skin. He rolled his neck, and Kevin heard a low, satisfied rumble come from his throat. The sound was deeper than Mark’s usual soft tenor.

“Mark… are you okay?” Kevin asked, voice small and concerned.

Mark turned. His face had changed. The boyish roundness was gone. His jaw was thick with a deep cleft, shadowed with stubble that had grown thick and dark over the last couple hours. His eyes, once soft behind his discarded glasses, now looked more intense, haloed by dark circles. He scratched at his thick chest absently, and Kevin watched the motion tug the shirt up, exposing a trail of curly dark hair running down a newly defined abdomen.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” Mark said. His voice had dropped an octave, with a faint gravelly edge that sent an unwelcome shiver down Kevin’s spine. “Just… feeling pumped today.”

He peeled the shirt off without asking, revealing a body that no longer belonged to the man Kevin had fallen in love with. Broad shoulders that were solid and strong, heavy pecs dusted with coarse black hair, a stomach that was still flat but showed the definition of strengthening abdominal muscles. Mark’s skin looked tanner, weathered by the sun. His nipples had darkened, thick and perky and just asking to be played with. Kevin’s anxious gaze dropped lower. The front of Mark’s sweatpants was stuffed full with a thick, heavy bulge that visibly throbbed once, as if aware of being watched.

Kevin’s cock stirred traitorously in his jeans even as panic started to sink in.

Mark didn’t seem to notice his boyfriend’s distress. He grabbed his phone instead, newly thick fingers scrolling through messages. A low chuckle, deeper now, rolled out of him as he read something on the screen.

Kevin tried to smile. “I, um… I made reservations for that little Italian place you like. Seven-thirty. We can walk there and hold hands, like we used to—”

“Not tonight,” Mark said, not even looking up. His thumb moved over the screen, typing. “Got plans.”

The words hit him like a truck. Kevin’s planned romantic evening dissolved in an instant.

Mark’s belly had begun to push outward. Not fat exactly, but solid and powerful. He was now rocking a heavy gut that spoke of his new strength and voracious appetite. Hair spread across his gut in a thick, dark pelt, swirling around his bellybutton. His sweatpants rode low now, the waistband stretched by wider hips and a round, muscular ass that jiggled when he shifted his weight. The bulge between his legs had grown even more obscene, the thick outline of a fat cock and swollen balls clearly visible to passersby. The fabric covering his crotch had already begun to darken with a wet spot of pre.

Kevin’s heart hammered inside his chest, alarm sirens blaring in his head. “Mark, please. Look at me. Something’s wrong. You’re… you’re changing.”

Mark finally glanced over. His face had aged impossibly. He had to be mid-forties now, maybe older. Lines accented the corners of his eyes, his brow heavy and brooding. His messy hair had receded, the top of his head now smooth and shaved close, while a thick, bushy salt and pepper beard had erupted across his chiseled jaw and cheeks. The hair was wiry and full, framing a mouth that looked more smug, frozen in a cocky sneer. When he spoke, his Midwestern accent had shifted, too. His voice was deeper, slower, a low rumble with a faint Southern drawl that Mark had never possessed before this moment.

“Wrong? Nah. I feel fucking good.” He palmed his heavy bulge openly, squeezing the fat shaft through the fabric as the dark spot spread. “Got my boy texting me all day, telling me how bad he needs his Daddy’s cock. Can’t wait to wreck that tight little hole tonight.”

Kevin’s knees nearly buckled. “Your… your boy?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, cold and dismissive. “Nico. My boy. You know that. Stop acting weird, Kevin. You’re my roommate, not my keeper.”

The words hit like a slap across the face. Kevin staggered back a step. “Roommate? Mark, we’ve been together for three years. We’re boyfriends. I love you—”

Mark laughed at that, a deep and booming sound that vibrated through the room like thunder. “Boyfriends? Ain’t that cute. You’ve always been a little clingy, but this is pathetic.” He stood fully now, towering over Kevin. He had grown at least six inches taller, easily 6’4”, shoulders wide enough to block the light and cast a shadow over the smaller man. His gut was a solid, hairy ball now, pushing against the waistband of his sweatpants. The fabric had begun fraying at the seams from the sheer mass of his thighs. His cock completely thickened into a monstrous, veiny club, the mushroom head pushing past the waistband as Mark became aroused. The tip was slick and leaking, and the musk wafting from the dense bush of black pubic hair made Kevin dizzy.

Kevin was inhaling him: cum, sweat, pure masculinity. His own small dick was painfully hard, shame flooding his cheeks even as tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t mask the sense of betrayal in his eyes.

Mark’s phone buzzed. He grinned, teeth white against the greying beard. “That’s my boy right there. He’s on his way over. Gonna fuck him so good tonight. You might wanna make yourself scarce, roomie. Unless you wanna watch.”

Kevin’s voice cracked. “Please, Mark. Remember me. Remember us. This is a dream and we’re both about to wake up. This isn’t possible—”

Mark waved a massive hand, already turning away. “Clean up your half of the dishes before you go to bed. And start packing. Nico’s moving in next week and things are becoming official real fast. We’re making this place ours. You’ve got till Sunday to find somewhere else.”

The horror settled deep in Kevin’s gut. This wasn’t a prank. Reality itself was rewriting around them. Mark, or better yet the stranger that had taken Mark’s place, was forgotten by the rest of the world as the sweet nerd he had once been. He had always been this: a big, hairy, dominant daddy who collected pretty boys like property.

The knock came at eight-thirty.

Kevin was still in the kitchen, hands trembling as he washed the same plate over and over while lost in thought, when the door opened.

Nico stepped in.

He was everything the card had promised and more. Blonde, tousled hair that fell in soft waves around a pretty, vacant face. Full, cock-sucking lips that appeared glossy in the light. Wide, innocent blue eyes that blinked vapidly. His body was pure himbo goodness: narrow shoulders, tiny waist, and then an explosion of curves below. His ass was enormous, two fat, jiggling globes barely contained by tight white booty shorts that disappeared between them. His cock formed a small bulge that bounced with every step. He wore a crop top that read “Daddy’s Boy” in glittery letters, nipples hard and visibly pierced beneath the fabric.

“Daddy!” Nico squealed, voice high and breathy. He dropped his bag and threw himself at Mark.

Mark, now fully transformed now, caught his lover easily, massive hands gripping two handfuls of that fat ass and squeezing hard enough to make Nico moan. “There’s my good little slut,” he growled, voice pure gravel and smoke. “Missed this fat fucking ass all day.”

He kissed Nico like he was claiming territory, tongue invading that eager mouth while Nico whimpered and ground his hard little cock against Mark’s hairy thigh. Kevin watched from the kitchen doorway, frozen, as Mark’s thick fingers slid under the shorts and pushed into Nico’s needy hole without foreplay. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the apartment.

“Bedroom. Now,” Mark ordered.

Nico nodded frantically. “Yes, Daddy. Use me. Ruin my hole.”

They didn’t even close the door.

Kevin stood in the hallway, heart shattering at the sounds he could overhear. The wet slap of skin against skin. Nico’s high, desperate moans. Mark’s deep, filthy growls.

“Take it, boy. That’s it. Swallow Daddy’s cock. Fuck, your throat’s so tight. Gonna bust so hard you’ll taste me for days.”

Kevin’s hand moved without permission. He felt himself palming his own pathetic erection through his jeans, shame burning through him like fire. Tears streamed down his cheeks even as he unzipped the fly and fished out his small cock, even as he started stroking in time with the rhythmic thump of the headboard against the wall.

Inside the bedroom, Mark was relentless. “You’re mine now, Nico. My cumdump. I’m gonna fuck you every night while that worthless roommate of mine jerks his tiny dick in the next room.”

Nico giggled, voice breaking on a moan. “He’s so pathetic, Daddy. Can we… can we make him watch sometime?”

Mark laughed, deep and satisfied. “Maybe. If he’s good. But today is Valentine’s, boy, so we're the only two people in the world right now.”

Kevin came hard, shamefully, biting his lip to stay quiet and choke down the moan. His load splattered against the hallway floor as the sounds of Mark fucking his new boy toy echoed through the apartment. The man who had once whispered “I love you” to Kevin before bed each night now snarled filthy commands and slapped Nico’s fat, jiggling ass until it was red.

When it was all over, the apartment fell quiet except for Nico’s soft, satisfied whimpers and Mark’s low, possessive grunts.

Kevin slid down the wall, spent and broken, staring at the still ajar bedroom door. He could smell the musk wafting out. Valentine’s Day was over. His relationship was over, too. The man he loved was gone, replaced by a big, hairy, dominant daddy who didn’t even recognize his former boyfriend as anyone other than a dude who split the rent payment with him.

And in the morning, Kevin would start packing. He had a couple days to come up with a plan, but it was a given that Mark and Nico were not going to be shy about their love during that time. He’d be listening to the daddy and his boy fucking like rabbits through the wall at least until Sunday.

He cock began to rise again just thinking about it.

[twistedtfs]

I'd like to be turned into a smelly obese old man with a husband who's similarly aged but totally jacked unlike me... like he's got some insane muscles that'll make anyone jealous and question why he's with me.

Oh, and make us both incredibly flatulent too, me with my beer farts and my husband with his protein farts. Please?

You were a lanky 24-year-old barista, all sharp elbows and nervous energy, slinging lattes at a hipster café with your boyfriend, Matt, a wiry gym rat who was always talking about bulking up one day. One night, you both stumbled into a dingy antique shop after a weekend date, drawn to a dusty old beer mug etched with a grinning boar on the front. “Looks cool,” you said, running your fingers over the warm metal. Matt smirked, “Make a wish, babe.” Half-drunk on cheap wine, you laughed and said, “I wanna be an old, happy couple with you, living large!” The mug flared hot beneath your palm, and a low, guttural chuckle echoed in the air.

Oh, you didn’t say how you’d live large, did you?

A greasy, churning heat surged through your body, starting in your gut. You gasped, clutching your stomach as it let out a loud, wet gurgle. “What the fuck?!” you yelped, but your voice was already deepening, rough and gravelly. Your flat belly swelled, inflating like a beach ball pumped full of lard. The skin stretched tight, pale flesh ballooning into a massive, wobbling gut that hung over your waistband, crisscrossed with red stretch marks. Your T-shirt ripped at the seams, the fabric tearing to reveal doughy rolls that jiggled with every panicked step. Your jeans split, thighs thickening into sweaty, chafing trunks that slapped together. Your arms bloated into flabby hams, sprouting coarse gray hair, and your chest sagged into heavy, pendulous moobs that bounced like water balloons.

You stumbled to a cracked mirror in the shop, your heart pounding. Your boyish face was gone, replaced by a sagging triple chin, puffy cheeks, and deep wrinkles that aged you to a ripe 60. Your hair thinned into a greasy, balding white patch, sweat dripping down your scalp. A ripe, sour stench rolled off you, armpits reeking of stale beer and BO, your gut churning with every movement. A loud burp erupted, sour with the tang of cheap lager, followed by a wet, rumbling beer fart that filled the air with a rank, yeasty stench. “No fuckin’ way!” you groaned, but your voice was lewd, proud, and hungry for more.

Your mind fogged, a new persona taking over—a kinky, obese old slob who loved his size and his stink. The old you screamed inside, but the new you grinned, smacking your gut with a meaty hand. “Fuck yeah, I’m a big, nasty hog,” you rumbled, your thoughts twisting into perverse pride. You turned to Matt, expecting him to be horrified, but the mug’s magic had hit him too—just in a very different way.

Matt’s wiry frame had exploded with muscle. His shoulders widened into boulders, his pecs swelled into chiseled slabs, and his arms bulged with veins, biceps bigger than your head. His abs were a sculpted six-pack, his thighs like tree trunks, and his jawline sharpened into a rugged, silver-stubbled cleft chin. He was 60 too, but a jacked, silver-fox god, his skin bronzed and tight, his hair a thick, gray mane. Every inch of him screamed power, the kind of physique that made gym bros weep with envy. But his eyes glinted with a kinky edge, and a loud, protein-shake-fueled fart ripped from him, stinking of whey and sulfur. “Fuck, babe,” he growled, flexing his massive arms, “you’re a sexy fuckin’ pig, and I’m your muscle daddy.”

The shop's scenery melted and morphed into a seedy gym, packed with cameras and an audience of online fans. Your new self waddled to a bench, your 400-pound frame creaking the metal as you plopped down, chugging a beer from the cursed mug. Each gulp bloated your gut tighter, skin stretching, and you belched so loud the weights rattled around you. “Look at this pile of lard!” you roared, jiggling your belly for the livestream, your beer farts blasting out in a rank symphony. PRRRRRRFT! Matt strutted over, his protein farts rumbling like thunder, and flexed his monstrous pecs for the camera. “Who’s jealous of my fat hog?” he taunted, smacking your gut so it wobbled, his own stench mixing with yours in a filthy cloud.

The old you was trapped, horrified, as your body reveled in its excess. You grabbed a tray of wings, grease dripping onto your sweaty chest, and shoved them in, burping and farting with every messy bite. Matt grinned, flexing his biceps and letting out a protein fart that made the crowd cheer. The eggy, protein smell shot straight up your hog nose. “Tell us how nasty we are!” he bellowed, and the comments poured in, mocking your stench, your size, his impossible muscles. You loved it, begging for more taunts, your gut swelling bigger with every jeer. Half the comments were asking why such an impressive man would ever put up with an obese loser like you, and your tiny nub cock squirted pre beneath the fat pad crushing it. Matt leaned in, whispering, “You’re my perfect pig.” His breath was hot and rank, and you moaned, your mind fully twisted into a flatulent, kinky slob who lived for his jacked husband’s worship and teasing.

The mug sat forgotten on a gym bench, its boar face still grinning. You’d wished to live large, and you got it — not as a happy young couple, but as a smelly, alcoholic obese hog and his muscle-god husband, both farting up a storm and ruling the gym with your filthy, kinky love.

[twistedtfs]

The Wrong Wish (revamped)

inspired, once again, by the iconic @bigfuckingdudes. more stories to come! appreciate all the asks and excitement. hope y'all weren't trying to lose weight while i was gone.

Kyle slouched on the couch, his lean, 19-year-old frame tense with disgust. Craig, his mother’s new husband, waddled in from the kitchen, his beer gut swaying, sweat stains blooming under his armpits. The man let out a ripe fart, chuckling as he scratched his hairy belly, crumbs from a bag of BBQ chips tumbling to the floor. “Hey, lighten up, squirt,” Craig leered, winking with a crude grin. “Life’s too short to be so uptight.” Kyle’s stomach churned. Craig was everything he despised: loud, vulgar, and shamelessly gross. Worse, his mom seemed blind to it, laughing at Craig’s lewd jokes, blushing when he groped her. Kyle was the opposite—quiet, introspective, a college kid who valued discipline and order. This slob was ruining his life.

That night, Kyle lay in bed, his mind racing. “I’d do anything to get Craig away from Mom,” he whispered, his voice cracking with desperation. The words hung in the air, heavy with intent, as if the universe itself was listening. Exhausted, he drifted into a deep, uneasy sleep.

And then the sun rose on a new reality.

Kyle woke to a suffocating weight, his body sinking into the mattress like it was quicksand. His limbs felt sluggish, pinned by an unfamiliar and quivering bulk. His chest heaved, each breath a labored wheeze, as if his lungs were squeezed by layers of dough. He tried to move, but his neck—now a thick roll of fat—resisted, creaking as he turned his head. In the dim light, Craig loomed beside him, propped on one elbow, his doughy face split into a smug, intimate grin. “Mornin’, my sexy hog,” the man purred, his voice dripping with lust. His meaty hand reached out, stroking Kyle’s cheek, fingers lingering on the stubble of a double chin.

Kyle’s heart pounded. “What the—” His voice was alien, a deep, raspy growl, thickened by years of grease and smoke. He tried to sit up, but his body rebelled. His belly, a massive, quivering dome, spilled across the bed, its pale, stretch-marked surface trembling with every breath. Rolls of fat cascaded down his sides, pooling against the sheets, each one soft and heavy, like warm dough. His thighs, thick as tree trunks, rubbed together, slick with sweat, their friction sending a jolt through him. His arms were flabby slabs, jiggling as he flailed, and his man-tits sagged, dusted with coarse, dark hair that trailed down to his navel. A sour, musky stench clung to him—sweat, body odor, and something earthier, like unwashed skin. It was his smell, and it made his stomach lurch.

He raised a hand, fingers now fat and clumsy, nails yellowed, and saw a gold wedding band glinting on his ring finger. His chest tightened. He was married. To Craig. “No, no, no,” he rasped, his voice trembling. He tried to roll off the bed, but his bulk made it impossible. His belly sloshed, dragging him back, and his joints ached under the strain. Beneath the layers of fat, his cock stirred, buried under a thick pad of lard that jiggled with every movement. It throbbed, hard and aching, the pressure intense but humiliatingly inaccessible, smothered by his new girth.

“Look at you, my big, blubbery boy,” Craig teased, his hand sliding down to knead Kyle’s belly, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. “Fuck, you’re so heavy, ain’t ya? Bet you can’t even get outta bed without me.” He chuckled, his own gut pressing against Kyle’s side, their sweaty skin sticking together. Kyle’s cock pulsed harder, betraying him, and a wave of arousal hit so strong he gasped, his cheeks flushing under his chubby cheeks.

“Get… away,” Kyle managed, but his mind was foggy. He was not himself—or was he too much himself? Memories flickered, not his own. He saw himself as Kyle, the lean, disciplined kid who planned his workouts, who cringed at fast food, who valued control. But new memories—vivid, invasive—pushed in. He was 48 now, not 19, a man who’d spent decades indulging, gorging on pizzas and beers with Craig at their favorite diner. He was no longer quiet; he was loud, laughing at crude jokes, belching in public, reveling in his bulk. He was Craig’s husband, a role model for excess, a gainer who lived for the scale’s climb. Their wedding day: Kyle, 400 pounds, waddling down the aisle, his suit splitting at the seams, Craig whispering, “You’re my perfect pig.” Nights in this bed, Craig feeding him, their bodies entwined, sweat and musk mingling as they fucked.

“No, I’m not that guy!” Kyle growled, shaking his head, his jowls quivering. He clung to his old self, the college kid who hated Craig’s filth—his farts, his sweat, his lewdness. But it was fading, like a signal drowned out by static. Craig grinned, undeterred, and grabbed a tray from the nightstand, laden with donuts, their glaze glistening, alongside a pitcher of cream and a stack of bacon. “Time to eat, big man,” he said, holding a donut to Kyle’s lips. “Gotta keep my hog nice and stuffed.”

Kyle’s stomach roared, a deep, hungry rumble that shook his frame. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to open his mouth. “I’m not… your fucking pig,” he spat, but the scent of sugar and grease was intoxicating. His cock throbbed beneath his fat pad, the pressure building, and he hated how good it felt. Craig’s teasing didn’t stop. “Oh, come on, babe, you love this. Look at that gut, all swollen with lard. Bet you can’t even reach your dick anymore, huh? Need your husband to take care of that for ya.” He jiggled Kyle’s belly, sending ripples through the fat, and Kyle moaned, the sound raw and involuntary.

His mind begged him to fight. You’re Kyle. You’re not this slob. You hate him. But his body had other ideas. His mouth opened, and the donut slid in, the sweet, doughy taste exploding on his tongue. He chewed, glaze smearing his lips, and another moan escaped. Craig fed him another, then a strip of bacon, the grease dripping down Kyle’s chin, pooling in the folds of his neck. Each bite was a surrender, his old personality crumbling. The disciplined kid was gone, replaced by a man who craved excess—food, sex, filth. He was becoming Craig’s mirror, a loud, crude gainer who laughed at restraint, who loved burping contests and farting in bed, who got off on being too big for chairs.

“Fuck, you’re such a greedy pig,” Craig growled, his hand sliding under Kyle’s belly, fingers brushing the fat pad where his cock strained. “Look at this. All that lard’s got you so hard, but you’re too fat to do shit about it.” He squeezed, and Kyle bucked, his bulk quivering, pleasure overwhelming his resistance. Craig leaned in, kissing him, his stubble scraping his sensitive skin, his breath hot and sour. Their bellies pressed together, sweat and musk mingling, and Kyle’s mind frayed. Craig’s filth—his filth—wasn’t gross; it was hot. His farts were funny, his sweat was sexy, his crude love was perfect.

“I… I’m not…” Kyle whimpered, but the words were a lie. The wedding band felt like it had always been there, a symbol of their kinky bond. New memories solidified: him and Craig at a buffet, Kyle’s shirt riding up, Craig feeding him ribs until he couldn’t breathe. Their honeymoon, Kyle stuck in a hot tub, Craig fucking him as the water sloshed. He was a gainer, a hog, proud of his 500-pound frame, his immobility a trophy of their love. His personality had shifted—he was no longer introspective but boisterous, cracking lewd jokes, goading Craig into stuffing him fuller.

“More,” Kyle gasped, his voice thick with need. “Feed me, Craig.” His mind screamed one last desperate plea, but it was drowned out by his hunger. Craig’s laugh was deep and triumphant. “That’s my big, filthy hog,” he said, stuffing a pancake into his mouth, syrup dripping onto his man-tits. His hand worked under the fat pad, teasing his cock, and Kyle moaned, his body quaking. “Gonna make you so much fatter, babe. My perfect husband.”

Kyle surrendered completely. He was Craig’s, body and soul. His old life—discipline, restraint—was a distant dream. He loved his filthy, kinky husband, loved the sweat, the stench, the excess. As Craig fed him, fucked him, worshipped him, Kyle knew this was where he belonged: a massive, smelly hog, bound to his fat man forever.

[twistedtfs]

Impressive start. These stories about such guys becoming depraved fatass gooners are rather well written with good image references. Looking forward to seeing what you next produce.

thank you for the encouragement. there's several asks in my inbox i need to answer - and there's several people waiting patiently to be changed for the better. can't wait until all my readers are pervy gainer hogs.

as a thank you, here's a treat for you all:

Kyle smirked smugly as he cracked his knuckles, focusing his gaze on the glowing screen of his roommate Aaron’s laptop. The chubby loser had stepped out for the night, leaving behind his personal device like a quite-literally-open invitation. It was shocking enough that the chubby fag actually had a reason to leave his room for once, but this was the icing on the cake. Kyle, the undisputed king of their shared dorm — athletic, classically handsome, irresistible to hot babes —couldn’t resist the temptation to snoop.

Aaron was weird, always stuffing his chubby face with greasy food and belching endlessly, sweating through his XL shirts as he waddled in and out. Kyle figured the loser had to be into something embarrassing. He'd take a quick peek, snap a picture or two, and he'd have a couple month's worth of entertainment to milk when he showed his bros later. He expected to see some cringey anime shit, maybe weird foot stuff. But this?

Kyle’s breath caught as a video popped open on the screen.

An obese, hairy, gray-haired man reclined in a chair, his too-small shirt riding up over a massive, bouncing gut. The guy looked at the camera with a lazy, satisfied grin, and he used his massive hand to rub slow, indulgent circles into his belly.

“Mmmph… just keep feedin’ me, darlin’,” the man moaned, his voice deep and drawling. The old fat ass sounded hungry. He licked his thick lips, then let out a long, wet belch that made Kyle's ears ring.

Kyle recoiled, his stomach feeling uneasy with disgust and confusion. “The hell is this?” His finger reached for the power button. The last thing he wanted was to watch anymore of this weird shit!

ZAP.

A jolt of electricity surged through his body as quickly as his fingertip pressed down on the key. He yelped, but the sound lodged itself in his throat as his muscles locked in place, heat blooming in his chest, his toned core tightening like a retreating wave — then swelling like a full force tsunami.

A deep, gurgling sound roared from his swelling stomach.

Kyle gasped as his once-taut abs pushed outward with lard, the definition he worked so hard for vanishing beneath thickening fat. As he grew, his skin became stretched and sore. His tight shirt became strained from the sheer size of his torso, the fabric clinging to his skin as his belly inflated like a rising dough ball. His whole body quivered, muscles going soft and untrained. Fat piled onto his frame like an avalanche.

His pecs sagged into heavy moobs, a thick carpet of distinctly gray hair erupting across his much larger chest. His arms thickened into fat, useless slabs of meat. Then his fat, dimpled thighs bulged apart, forcing him into a wide, helpless sprawl. He hated it, but he could feel his once proud 8 incher shrink into a numb as his groin became swallowed beneath a hairy, musky fat pad.

Kyle's once handsome face rounded, his jawline vanishing beneath a sagging double chin.

The changes came faster. His smooth, youthful skin wrinkled, years of age marching across his face in mere seconds. His styled, dirty blonde hair lightened, thinned, then started to turn as gray as his chest hairs. Greasy strands fell from his scalp as what remained of his hair formed a horseshoe around his head. His body odor shifted, his designer cologne replaced by sour sweat, musk, and the lingering stench of beer and fast food.

Kyle wheezed, his massive gut surging forward, spilling over his waistband and pressing against the desk that housed Aaron's laptop. His sausage fingers sank into the heavy, warm blubber, and an indecent moan slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

BUUUUUURP.

A deep, thundering belch erupted from his drooling mouth, spraying spit all over the laptop screen. His massive, clearly obese belly heaved, wobbling with the force of the expulsion. His thick fingers twitched, rubbing slow, indulgent circles over his bloated gut. It was like he was forced to act out the pervy video he watched.

And it felt… so good.

Kyle’s mind screamed that this was wrong, that he should fight this, but God, the warmth of his fat belly, the satisfaction of a good belch pushing hot gas out of his bloated body, the sensation of his jiggling, hairy gut jutting out in front of him —it was pure bliss.

The door creaked open.

Kyle turned his nearly bald, sweat-dampened head just as Aaron stepped inside. The young man's beady, piggish eyes widened behind his thick glasses, then his lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“Well, well,” Aaron murmured in self satisfaction and a mix of lust, stepping closer. His gaze raked over Kyle’s massive, inflated frame, lingering on his thick, graying chest hair, his sweat-slicked moobs, and the way his huge gut surged over his lap.

Kyle huffed, another lazy burp slipping from his lips as he rubbed slow, eager circles into his belly.

Aaron’s voice dropped, teasing and eager. “Guess ya finally found my collection, huh?”

Kyle whimpered at the tone, his fat, old man body trembling at Aaron’s attention. He should’ve been angry. He should’ve fought. But when Aaron reached into his bookbag and pulled out a greasy fast-food bag, the overwhelming aroma of burgers and fries filled the air —and Kyle’s fat gut growled in need.

Aaron chuckled, cupping his unimpressive bulge with his free hand and starting to rub. “C’mon, big guy. Let’s make my dream daddy even fatter.”

Kyle licked his lips hungrily. The last of his old self melted away and was blasted out of his ass as he let rip a droning, reeking fart. He leaned forward to reach for both his meal and his ideal lover, gut slapping against his thighs.

After all… what else was a greedy, gainer addicted, perverted old man supposed to do?

[twistedtfs]

Loved that story you posted! Cant wait to see what else you've got in store

Thank you for the encouragement! I just posted another story that was inspired by an old favorite of mine, but more content is definitely on the way. I'm excited to drop some more original stories for you all soon. Also, you sent in the very first ask to my blog, so I hope you don't mind if I work a little magic and change ya. Being such a good follower means you deserve a nice treat - or several.

POOF!

I want you to be a fan of my stories forever, so turning you into a gooner, obese, balding loser of a nerd should do the trick. Now you're too busy stuffing your face with greasy fast food and jerking off to hot weight gain TF stories to worry about anything else.

And don't worry, fatso! You'll have more material for your spank bank before you know it! (Maybe try to go waddle into the bathroom and take a shower while you're waiting?)

[twistedtfs]

Colton had always seemed like the perfect guy. He was in the prime of his life with a jacked physique, smoldering blue eyes, and a cocky smirk that made both men and women swoon. He was the king of the gym, the star of his university’s football team, and the kind of guy who turned heads wherever he went. Sometimes, this was an awesome thing. Like when the cheerleader babes would eye him up like a sexy slab of all American beef. He loved to show off his muscles for them, listening to them giggle and squeal.

However, he didn't like being ogled by just anyone. Some dudes were oblivious to the hints he would drop: that he was in no way, shape, or form interested in their pathetic, gay attention.

Which was why he hated the way his doctor, Dr. Reynolds, kept looking at him as if he was about to blow a disgusting load into his XL work khakis.

The older man was always too touchy during checkups, his eyes lingering just a little too long on the younger man's biceps and firm pecs. It made Colton’s skin crawl. As he sat on the exam table, dressed in nothing but his compression shorts, he felt those eyes scanning over his muscles again. Dr. Reynolds was eyeing Colton's girthy package, moments away from drooling.

“Man, I wish you’d stop looking at me like that,” Colton muttered hatefully under his breath.

A chill ran down his spine. The air in the room seemed to shift — something he couldn't perceive, but he could not deny that something had begun to change. Dr. Reynolds blinked, his expression becoming blank and flat, before his lips curled into an amused grin.

“Looking at you like what, Colton?” the doctor asked, his voice laced with condescension. He had never spoken so haughtily before. “Like I’d ever be interested in you?”

Colton frowned. That wasn’t right. Dr. Reynolds had definitely been checking him out less than a second ago. The man was a fat perv who drooled over his hot athlete patients, this wasn't far from the normal experience. “Dude, you were just—”

Colton's stomach lurched so violently that he couldn't stop the URRRRRRRRRRRRRP that erupted out of his mouth. A deep, guttural gurgle started to brew inside his belly. He gasped, gripping his gut as an unbearable heat spread through his body. Sweat collected on his forehead, dripping down the sides of his body as his pits became slick and hairy. His skin tingled, rippled, then started to sag under the new weight.

He stared in horror at the full body mirror propped up against the wall, watching as his reflection warped before his very eyes. His sculpted pecs deflated, drooping into soft, flabby moobs. Curls of dark, wiry hair began to sprout across his aging skin. His tight six-pack was swallowed by lard as thick rolls of fat spilled over the waistband of his shorts. They had fit snugly before, but now they were far too tight. His thighs swelled, losing their lean definition as they turned into fat, pale slabs of dimpled hairy flesh that rubbed together, sticky with sweat. The smells wafting off his changing body made Colton want to gag.

“What the fuck?” he gasped, his voice cracking, higher, wheezier — wrong.

Dr. Reynolds chuckled. But his nasally voice seemed different — his slouchy posture was correcting itself — the old pervy doctor was being transformed, too! His hunched shoulders began to straighten, his immense potbelly retreating into an increasingly sculpted core as abdominal muscles pressed against his much smaller, tighter shirt. All the fat on his body began to melt away as years of neglect were reversing before Colton’s eyes. Dr. Reynold's graying hair darkened, growing thick and healthy. His wrinkles faded into smooth, taut skin. His pasty complexion was now bronzed and glowing.

“Colton, please settle down. This is your usual checkup, nothing more. And quit cussing — you of all people should know better,” Dr. Reynolds said, but his voice was deeper now, stronger, more confident. His lab coat suddenly fit better, snug against a chest that was now larger than Colton's had ever been. Even the man's biceps looked larger, veins running across the surface.

“What?” Colton wheezed, struggling to pull up his compression shorts as they dug painfully into his growing gut and fat pad. But the fabric was changing beneath his fingertips — stretching, darkening —becoming ratty sweatpants stained with grease and even grosser liquids.

“You’re always acting like a nervous wreck when you come in here,” Dr. Reynolds went on, now casually adjusting the very tight sleeves of his tailored hospital uniform. “You’d think you’d be used to it by now. How many times have I told you to cut back on the junk food? Christ, Colton, you really have ballooned since last visit.”

“No, no, no—” Colton gripped his thickening face, his bloated fingers sinking into new layers of soft, jowly fat. His chiseled jawline was buried beneath multiple chins, his sharp cheekbones lost forever beneath two fat dimples. His now greasy hair thinned before his eyes, receding higher and higher up his forehead. His nose widened, nostrils flaring as they twitched from the rancid stench that rose from his body.

Sweat. Cum. Food. Gas.

These were the things that defined him now.

Dr. Reynolds— younger, stronger, undeniably out of Colton's league — waved a large hand in front of his face, grimacing at the foul stench. “Jesus, did you even shower before coming in? Or is that just how you always smell?”

Colton’s mind reeled in confusion. He could still feel his old self somewhere, buried beneath all the blubber, the sweat, the stink. This wasn’t real—this wasn’t him! His chest hair begun to turn white, his balding hair turning gray as a salt-and-pepper beard erupted across his fat chins.

“I’m not—” he gasped in exhaustion. “I’m not—”

The words caught in his throat. He was losing the battle to remain himself.

Dr. Reynolds smirked, beginning to remove his now perfectly-fitted coat, muscles rippling with his every movement. “Not what? Not some fat, pathetic, gay slob who spends more time shoveling junk food into his face than actually taking care of himself?” He scoffed, his beautiful face glaring down at Colton like he was the smallest morbidly obese man in the world. “Colton, be serious for once in your life. When’s the last time you even saw the inside of a gym?”

Colton had just been at the gym — he had been hitting the weights all morning long before his check up! Pumping iron, running drills! He had done all of these things! But even as he reached for those memories of himself as a young and disciplined jock, they slipped away, replaced by something else — something that terrified him.

Hazy images of stained couch cushions arose in his conflicted mind, fast food wrappers strewn across his disgusting apartment. Late nights spent online on gainer forums took root in his brain, scrolling through mukbang videos while stuffing his own face. He vividly recalled jerking off to images of fit jocks who wouldn't even spit on him if he were on fire.

His stomach roared, suddenly starving, and he felt his mouth water at the thought of a greasy double cheeseburger and some extra-large fries.

“No…” Colton whimpered, shaking his fat head, his chins jiggling with the motion. His once proud cock had shrunken beneath his growing fat pad, but he could still feel it throbbing, rubbing against his folds as his massive body wobbled with each breath. It felt like he was balancing a beachball on his lap. And it was inflated to the point it was about to pop.

Dr. Reynolds scribbled something down on his clipboard, his biceps bulging slightly as he moved. Colton's little nub of a cock got harder, his fat lips glistening with drool. “Well, old man, we’re gonna have to talk about your cholesterol again. Not that you’ve ever listened to me before. You’re lucky I even let you keep coming in — most guys your size just give up on doctors entirely.” The young man chuckled, voice smooth, self-assured. “Then again, I guess you have given up, huh?”

Colton tried to protest, to fight, but his body ached — his back was sore from carrying so much weight, and his thick thighs were chafing with every tiny movement. His gut gurgled again, demanding food, reminding him of who he was — who he had always been. An obese, smelly old man who was addicted to porn; who got off to young jocks teasing him for being such a fucking loser.

Reality snapped into place around him.

Dr. Reynolds sighed, shaking his handsome head as he handed Colton a prescription slip. His hand was strong, veined, perfect, as Colton’s thick sausage fingers struggled to take it. “Here. Not that you’ll actually do anything about it, but at least it makes me feel better.”

Colton looked down at the slip. His chubby fingers struggled to grip the paper, smudged with sweat and burger grease he couldn't be assed to wash off. His name at the top was the same, but… had he ever been that perfect, sculpted jock that was still lingering in his mind? Had he really played football, been admired by his peers, been wanted by anyone in a sexual sense?

Or had he always been this old, flatulent lard ass loser?

“Get outta here, Colton,” Dr. Reynolds said, already moving on to the next file. His grin was smug, confident, gleaming. “And try not to waddle too much on your way out.”

Colton got up and rubbed his sagging, bloated belly as he marched out of the room. He knew there was no helping his waddle, but he found himself blushing in shame as his wide ass cheeks jiggled behind him. As he left the room, Colton squeezed out a nasty, droning fart. His tiny cock was squirting pre into his fat pad folds.

A distant voice in his mind was screaming for mercy, but the new Colton just got off on the sheer weight of his obese body, the knowledge that his handsome, young doctor thought he was disgusting. Fuck. This was the only reason he still showed up to his appointments.

This old perv needed to get home and order some fast food and start jerking to his favorite jock porn immediately! He'd consider actually reading his prescription slip tomorrow.

(this story is a reimagined version of Athlete No More by the iconic @bigfuckingdudes)

[twistedtfs]

(inspired by the one & only @fattystoriez, this is a prequel to Preston's 18th Birthday)

Travis had always prided himself on his ambition.

At eighteen, he already had a promising future ahead of him — a scholarship to a top university, a beautiful fiancée named Megan, and a baby boy only months away from being born. He planned to be the kind of father he never had growing up. His own father, Carl, had walked out on the family when Travis was still in diapers.

The night of his eighteenth birthday was supposed to be a celebration. Megan had planned a homecooked dinner and game night with Travis's mom and a few of their close friends. But everything changed when Carl showed up unannounced. A heavy fist thudded against the front door, and Travis was the first to answer.

It had been years since Travis had even heard his father’s name spoken, yet there Carl was, standing on the porch — he was a bald with a thick, dark beard. His huge, beachball sized gut had burst through the buttons on what must have once been a nice dress shirt, and the sour stink of beer and gas clung to him like a second skin. Travis focused on the sheer girth of the man, the way his massive belly jiggled as he drew in a ragged breath. Even his huge, hairy tits couldn't be contained by his XXL shirt.

“Travis,” Carl greeted with a gruff voice and a wide grin, exposing his yellowed teeth and exhaling the scent of cigarette smoke and fried food. “Figured I oughta be here for my boy’s big day.”

Travis barely managed to keep his disgust hidden as he frowned at the obese, raunchy man. Even after being told about his father’s betrayal, Travis liked to fantasize about who Carl actually was. As a kid, he imagined his dad was a police officer, or an astronaut. He liked to pretend Carl's job had been why he couldn't stick around, but the man standing in front of him looked more like a stereotype of a dirty plumber than anything else.

The truth was hard to come to terms with. Travis stared at the bloated man as his huge gut bounced and sloshed with lard, unable to be contained by his useless shirt. His father was nothing like the man Travis planned to become. This man was an obese, bald loser with hygiene issues and an a smoking addiction.

Still, something in Carl’s intense gaze made Travis's stomach twist. He could hear it gurgling.

Travis needed to hear Carl's side of the story, so he quickly stepped onto the porch and closed the front door behind him with a quiet thud. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and the meaty stench of a fart seemed to orbit around the massive man he struggled to view as his father. "Mom isn't going to allow you inside, but you drove here, right? We can go to the diner together. I'll at least hear you out."

The pickup truck the two squeezed into seemed to amplify all the smells, like belches and farts were embedded into the old leather cushions. The thick girth of Carl pressed against Travis, shoving the slender teen against the car door as he found himself literally stuck between a rock and a very fat place. Travis was able to notice that they had a similar eye color and the same dark, curly brown hair. Only, Travis still had it on his head, and Carl had it around his chubby, sagging face. The similarities ended there: an athletic jock and an obese slob driving in silence.

Once they arrived at the diner and received their orders, they passed the first few minutes with awkward small talk. Carl barely touched his towering stack of maple drenched pancakes, watching Travis intently. Travis found himself eating eagerly, as if he hasn’t already eaten the breakfast his mother had cooked only a half hour ago. Finally, as the meal wound down, Carl leaned in, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers up Travis’s spine. The musk of his father rolled over him in a thick wave. “You ever wonder why I left, boy?”

Travis swallowed hard. He was so close to finally having an answer, but opening up about his feelings was a daunting task. He had always longed for a father, but was it worth it to stoop this low? “I figured you just didn’t care enough to stay.”

Carl chuckled, his fat gut pressed against the table and making it shake, but there was no humor in the sound. “Not exactly. You see, men in our family… we got a curse. A blessing, really. But it don’t matter how hard you fight it, how much you wanna be different. It’s in your blood.”

Travis frowned, having to clear his throat as his voice began to take on the same hoarse quality as his father's. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Carl pulled something from his pocket—a grease stained, crumpled old photograph. Travis hesitated before taking it. The man in the image was almost unrecognizable, but the longer he stared, the more it all started to make sense. It was Carl in the photo, younger, leaner, and with a striking resemblance to Travis himself. It was shocking to see how much a human's body could change over the years.

“That was me at eighteen,” Carl said, his hand rubbing circles on his engorged, hairy belly. It was jutting out from his dress shirt like a hairy beachball, begging to be worshipped. “Before it happened.”

Travis scoffed, about to throw the photo the ground when a sharp pain twisted in his gut. He doubled over, a cold sweat breaking out across his body as he started to tremble. The gurgling was back again, a tightness in his stomach that made him feel like he needed to pass gas.

“What the—?” The words died in his throat as heat surged through his limbs. His fingers were shaking, his vision blurred. And his muscles, once lean and toned, tingled—then they began to soften. Like someone was pumping him full of dough. His chest felt itchy before the firm definition of his pecs sank into soft, pliant flesh. Dark curls of hair started to poke through his skin. It didn’t take long before the front of his shirt was stretched by a pair of saggy man boobs. Travis’s arms thickened, his lean biceps swallowed by layers of fat.

And that was only the beginning.

He gasped as his stomach pushed outward, stretching his shirt until the fabric groaned and began to tear at the seams. Rolls upon rolls of flesh surged forth, his abs dissolving beneath an avalanche of lard. Every trace of his old physique was being swallowed by a body that began to look increasingly like Carl's. His thighs ballooned, pressing against each other. His once-taut ass was spread out and sagging against the chair beneath him. Travis felt his asshole twitching between his swampy crack. His fat ass cheeks jiggled as he squeezed out a hot, sputtering fart against his will.

PRFFFFFFFFFFFFT!

The smell came next, and it was noxious. A deep, pungent musk seemed to ooze from his pores—thick, sour, inescapable. He reeked of body odor, stale sweat, and something heavier, something rotten.

“No—No, this isn’t—” His voice was deeper now, rougher, his breath coming in ragged, phlegmy wheezes. His vision cleared just enough to catch his reflection in the diner window—a bloated, thirty plus slob stared back at Travis. His sharp jaw had disappeared beneath jowls, his youthful face buried beneath a double chin and stubble. Sweat had soaked through his now ruined dress shirt. The flimsy fabric clung to his hairy gut for dear life. His belly looked even larger than Carl’s.

The buttons didn't take long to start flying off.

Travis stank. And worse—he was getting used to it. He breathed in deep, his shrinking cock twitching as it rubbed against his soft, fat body.

Carl laughed, clapping Travis on the shoulder. “Ain’t no fightin’ it, son. We were meant for this life. Me, my daddy before me, and now you.”

Travis wanted to scream, to fight, but his body was betraying him. A deep rumble built in his gut before he let out a thick, meaty belch. The sheer release sent shudders of disgusting pleasure through him. His cock—once proud and athletic—twitched beneath his huge gut, crushed under his fat pad. He tried to cling to his identity, but his memories of the old Travis were fading fast. He wasn't strong enough to stop himself from burping and farting them all out,

PRFFFFFFFFFT! BELCH.

Megan. His unborn son. His future.

All of it—

Gone.

A new hunger replaced the old ambitions. The thought of responsibility, of fatherhood, of discipline, felt foreign to the hog now. A greasy, gluttonous craving overtook everything else. His stomach gurgled loudly, demanding more. Without thinking, he reached for the pancakes Carl was ignoring, shoveling sugary bites into his mouth, moaning at the taste. His nub of a cock leaked pre down his fat leg. He was so happy he couldn't help but jiggle for his Daddy.

Carl leaned back, grinning as he squeezed and played with his own gut. “That’s my boy.”

As Travis sat there, gorging himself and flaunting his size, his past life faded into a distant haze. He wasn’t meant to be a father. He wasn’t meant to amount to anything of note. "Oh, Daddy. Thank you." He was only meant for this—to be a lazy, filthy slob with no worries beyond when his Daddy would provide his next meal. The two of them were now bonded for life, and the old Travis disappeared without a trace.

And the best part?

He was absolutely in love.

"This was the best birthday yet, Daddy. Yer gonna have to let me repay ya." Maybe the other diner guests should have been shocked to see the obese, filthy father and son began to fondle and play with one another in public. Their huge bellies met across the table and rubbed together as they moaned. It seemed that Travis had some latent magic of his own, the same blood curse his father warned him about. The hornier Travis got, the more the diner begun to heat up. And the more the guests became hotter and hornier and hungrier, too.

Travis heard the clothes ripping as men swelled to epic proportions.

And he heard the grunting sound of pig-like men shoveling food down their throats.

From a visiting businessman to the diner's very own chef, no man was safe from the magic that Carl and Travis unleashed.

And Travis was too busy sucking on his Daddy's fat tits to notice.