jerisch

[jerisch]

Turkish Delight

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Cory quickly realised he’d made a mistake.

He just couldn’t help it. Cory was enjoying an evening coffee at one of those small classic neighbourhood coffeehouses in Istanbul, the kind frequented mostly by aged locals, not young tourists like him. He felt and looked out of place, sure, but it was fine. Sitting at a far corner of the cosy establishment, no one bothered him and he bothered no one. It took him a little while, but Cory was just starting to feel at ease.

And then he entered. Clearly a regular, judging by the way he swaggered in and interacted with the owner and other customers. But he stood out among the others in that he wasn’t old like the rest of them; in fact, he and Cory seemed to be the only men under 40. He sat at a table at the other end of the place, placing him on Cory’s line of sight.

Cory was immediately captivated by this stranger, not fully understanding why. Maybe it was because the guy contrasted so strongly with himself. Not that Cory wasn’t attractive — of course he was — but something about the man transfixed him. “Fuck, he’s hot,” Cory thought. Maybe it was the gleaming light brown eyes to Cory’s own icy blue, or the meticulously-groomed heavy stubble the guy sported that accentuated his sharp jawline; maybe it was his athletic physique, his well-defined body betrayed by a shirt that was clearly a size too small, or maybe it was how hairy he was, the dark hair very conspicuously thickly covering his sturdy legs and arms offering a stark contrast to Cory’s blond hairs barely visible from a distance… Whatever the case, Cory just couldn’t take his eyes off that Turkish guy. He wanted him, to feel him, to taste him, and imagined all sorts of scenarios.

That’s when Cory realised: he was shamelessly ogling the man. Snapping out of his reverie, he noticed the hairy hunk staring right back at him, completely emotionless. Shit. Flushed and embarrassed, Cory hurriedly paid for his coffee and left, all the while the man continuously and intently observed his every move. Just as he exited, the guy whom he mentally violated also got up to follow him.

His cheeks still ruddy and warm from the unfortunate encounter a while ago, Cory briskly made his way through the labyrinthine streets of the hilly city, desperate to return to his accommodation. The Turkish guy wasn’t too far behind him; Cory meanwhile sensed he was being pursued so he quickened his pace. In an attempt to throw him off the trail, Cory turned a corner into a quiet narrow alleyway flanked by an empty lot and vacant buildings.

Right then, a deep voice called out from behind Cory.

“Hey, you.”

Cory froze, his face drained of the redness. He stood in silence, not knowing whether to respond or run away. He was terrified and felt faint. Only the fresh cool evening maritime breeze kept him on his wobbly knees as he shuddered, half because of the chill, half because he feared what would happen next. Ultimately, after a tense while which felt like an eternity, Cory turned around to see the man approaching him. Although Cory still was scared, he weirdly felt an emergent sense of excitement as well.

Soon, Cory stood facing the Turk. A dimly-lit streetlight was the only source of illumination through which Cory could better appreciate the figure before him. He noticed how the guy was even more hirsute than he realised, with chest hair spilling over his too-tight shirt. Cory’s cock twitched.

“I saw you look earlier,” the guy drily said, maintaining intense eye contact with Cory.

“Ye… No! I mean, yeah, I was…” Cory stammered sheepishly. Fuck, why was he getting turned on all of a sudden?

“Like what you see?”

Cory gulped and nodded. His knees were about to give in when the hunk suddenly grabbed Cory by the shoulders with his hairy meaty hands and yanked him close to give him a forceful yet passionate sloppy kiss. Cory was taken aback and screamed internally, but at the same time, he liked what was happening. Wasn’t this what he wanted in the first place? He didn’t resist the surprising advances; he simply couldn’t resist. He reciprocated, their tongues roaming each other’s mouths. As the Turk continued to shove his tongue in him, Cory felt like putty — he’d let the guy do anything to him, he’d be happy to be used by this gorgeous hairy man in whatever way.

The man’s stubble scratched and tickled Cory’s soft skin around his lips moistened by the wet kisses. Cory felt strong itching sensations in the same area. He normally kept himself clean-shaven, mainly because he could only manage to grow some wispy hairs on his face. As the Turkish guy momentarily pulled away from the kiss though, the area around Cory’s mouth was substantially darker than it was just a minute ago, the beard growth process being accelerated. Cory ignored the itch and continued making out.

After a while of spit-heavy lip-locking, the Turk pulled down his shorts and grabbed Cory by the shoulders, pushing him down to his knees. Cory, at eye level with the guy’s cut 8-inch cock, was completely mesmerised by the sight and especially the scent; the pubes were so dense, they trapped and collected all the musky sweat and oozing precum. The smell was rather pungent but Cory didn’t mind at all. If anything, the odour had a simultaneously captivating and relaxing effect on him and he felt compelled to inhale it more.

Cory piggishly sniffed the ridiculously hairy crotch, even licking the beads of moisture off individual strands of pubes. While doing so, the hair on his temple grazed the guy’s leaking member, some of the precum sticking onto his blond hair. His hair absorbed the pre almost instantly and began to darken, the change in colour spreading from where the precum had been smeared. The hair on Cory’s scalp lost its sandy hue but retained its sheen, turning browner and darker as the pigmentation spread from the roots to the tips. His face still buried in the thick pubes, Cory felt the man jerk himself, squeezing out more pre from his throbbing cock. “Suck,” he commanded. Cory swiftly obliged.

Cory was dazed; the public setting, the man’s body and scent, his own eagerness… all that was happening was wilder than anything he’d ever dreamt of. After admiring the juicy rod bobbing up and down in front of him, Cory closed his eyes and got to work, savouring the taste of the musky cock with a faint taste of piss. He took the whole length in his mouth and down his throat, blowing to the best of his abilities. He eagerly lapped up the copious amounts of pre from the Turk’s slick pulsating member, coating his tongue.

The more he sucked and swallowed, the more hairs grew on his face. The itch intensified above and below Cory’s lips, little needle-like black hairs pushing out from his smooth skin and multiplying below his nose and on his chin. The beginnings of a luscious beard then steadily migrated outwards, short pointed hairs breaking out all over Cory’s cheeks and linking with his tapered sideburns. By now, Cory had grown a remarkable designer stubble which grew in thicker by the minute and slowly crept down his chin. At the same time, his face took on a slight tan, darkening independently of the hair growth that took over the whole lower half of his face. Cory’s jaw looked more rugged too, becoming more square and masculine.

Cory carried on blowing his new acquaintance, completely oblivious to the changes affecting him. “You like?” asked the man. “Mmhrrrgggmm,” Cory could only nod and let out a gurgled hum of approval to affirm. The Turkish guy then forcefully rammed his cock down Cory’s throat, making him gag. Just as he did, Cory’s Adam’s apple jutted out more prominently. He opened his wet eyes to look up at the hunk; as he blinked away the tears, his blue eyes lost their iciness as the colour shifted from a cold blue to a warmer mixture of green and brown with flecks of gold. With his new hazel eyes, Cory saw the guy with a smirk on his face for the first time.

Cory’s body continued to change. He felt bulkier, the clothes he wore starting to strain against the muscles growing on his formerly slim frame. He also felt so much warmer despite the breeze; he felt heat radiating all throughout his body from the pit of his stomach and was sweating profusely as a result. He also felt his whole body itching uncomfortably by now. Watching the Turk strip and bare his gloriously hairy body, Cory did the same — he certainly wasn’t as hairy as the guy. Yet. The hair growing on Cory’s face continued to travel down, prickly hairs sprouting on his neck, past his collarbones and on his chest. Cory initially only had a faint patch of barely-visible hair right at the centre of his chest, but as the hairs darkened and thickened, they fanned out towards his pits, forming whirling patterns around his nipples and covering his whole chest with stubbly black hair, like a freshly-mowed lawn. The prickly sensation migrated south to his midriff, a trail of nascent coarse hairs sprouting from his chest down to his navel and then his crotch. From there, the newly-formed treasure trail widened and began to spread outwards in all directions, hairs multiplying rapidly until Cory’s whole torso was blanketed in a field of short hair which connected his stubble and still-sparse pubes.

After a few minutes of Cory sucking, slurping and gagging on the fat Turkish cock, the guy made him stop. Cory reluctantly agreed. The guy then grabbed Cory by his wavy, shiny black hair and got him up back on his feet. Cory was in a state of utter bliss, drunk on pre and musk, drooling uncontrollably. The Turk lifted his arm, exposing his smelly pit completely covered in tangled wiry hairs. The dark hairs were so incredibly dense and tightly-spaced that Cory thought he was staring into the void. “Sniff and lick,” he told Cory. Who was Cory to say no? He stumbled forward, faceplanting right in the sweaty jungle of pit hairs. The pit musk was surely at least ten times as potent as the musk from crotch! The pungent scent was overwhelming; it burned Cory’s nostrils, and yet his cock throbbed even harder, dripping pre all over. What would have been torture felt more like heaven to Cory. He grunted as he took a deep whiff of the rank musk and licked the matted hairy mess soaking wet with sweat. It was absolutely acrid, and the sharp sourness also scalded his throat, making him cough. Cory was immobilised though, his head held in place in the Turk’s reeking hirsute pit; he let out muffled moans, struggling to breathe. Inhaling the musk and gulping down obscene quantities of rancid sweat accelerated Cory’s changes.

Cory’s body ached all over as he increased in size, growing a few inches and gaining muscle mass. His muscles pulsated and expanded; it really looked as if someone was blowing air into him. His chicken legs inflated to become sturdy trunks, with hard thighs and bulging calves. His arms too grew larger, the veins protruding, his forearms thickening along with his biceps and triceps which doubled in size. Cory’s shoulders and chest broadened, providing him with a more robust, rugged physique. His abs also became prominent, the tight muscles emerging with several popping sounds. Cory was granted a temporary reprieve from piggishly eating out the Turk’s pit, leaving him to gasp for fresh air. The guy then tugged sharply on Cory’s nipples, making him let out a simultaneous yelp and low moan. As if some mechanism had been activated, Cory’s pecs ballooned and jutted out forward, his nipples looking thicker, longer and juicier than the goose-pimple ones he had before. Along with his pecs, his ass also expanded; what was once fairly flat and sad-looking was now globular, the firm cheeks jiggling with every move.

Cory’s puppeteer shoved Cory back into his other, equally hairy and musky pit. With his face buried in the nasty armpit, Cory panted and grunted as the intoxicating scent continued to work its magic. Cory’s brows became wider and bushier. The stubble on his face grew darker and thicker, the hairs coarsening and lengthening as well as multiplying in greater numbers. Starting from under his nose, more hairs poked out to give him a moustache which covered his whole upper lip. The hairs on his chin grew out in all directions, growing unruly and tangling up as Cory rubbed his face in the Turk’s manly pit. His cheeks underwent the same treatment, thick beard hairs pushing out from the follicles and cascading down, following Cory’s rugged jawline and covering the entire area of his face below his nose, the new bushy growth connecting with the moustache and the hairs below his lips. The growth continued to give Cory an incredibly thick medium-length beard that he’d only ever dreamt of having, now coated with a layer of musky sweat and Cory’s own saliva owing to his ravenous worshipping of the Turkish man’s pits. The man held Cory firmly in place, as if to cure the scent onto him.

This second explosion of hair travelled down Cory’s heaving body. Where the first wave of hair growth resulted in hairs which looked trimmed, the wiry, curly growth this time gave him a natural look, the hirsuteness of a man who had never shaved in his life, possibly unable to, due to how densely and much the hair grew. Coarse hairs burrowed their way out of Cory’s shoulders, leaving a forest of curly fur surrounding his neck, and flowed down his swollen upper arms and to his forearms, forming whirls and wave-like patterns, the wild, dense growth of black hair obscuring the view of the skin underneath — his arms looked as if they were wrapped in steel wool. Cory’s hands cracked and popped as they grew meatier and burlier, his fingers rough and calloused and speckled with thick hairs, giving him an almost beastly appearance.

The rapid growth of hair continued unabated, Cory feeling an intense itch under his arms. Soon, dark pinpricks appeared in his shaven pits, increasing exponentially. From those black dots, long wiry hairs shot out, growing thicker and longer, seemingly watered and fed by the sweat that had accumulated in his pits all this time. Radiating from the centre of the pits, the hairs blanketed a larger area, connecting with the hairs on Cory’s chest. Much like the Turk’s pits, Cory’s pit hair grew unwieldy and matted, the strands twisted and twirled from both the growth and the dampness. The moisture trapped under the massive tufts of pit hair emanated a smell. Indeed, accompanying the growing hairs was a stink, the same kind of rank smell that Cory had been inhaling for some time now, which grew increasingly more powerful as the fur grew in. Cory’s chest hair also began to lengthen at the same time, the hairs coiling out and curling and bunching up. Any remaining empty space was filled with thick wiry hair springing out in rapid succession. The amount of hair was grotesque; the eruption of wiry black hairs created a rug of fur on Cory’s toned body, completely enveloping his torso such that his pecs and abs were hardly visible at all, only his engorged nipples barely poking out from the dense field of hair.

Together with the massive hair growth and coupled with the increased pigmentation in his hairs, the light tan which had developed on his face also migrated down. Cory’s pale complexion on his face was already completely replaced by a natural tan, a light sun-kissed brown. The colour seeped down his neck, his back, his shoulders, like someone had dumped a bucket of oil on Cory. The dim orange streetlight made his tan appear darker, what little bits of skin peeking out through the dense hair glistening with the light reflecting off the sweat. Soon, all of Cory’s skin was a luscious earthy tone, not that much of it was visible under all the fur carpeting his whole body.

Cory’s raunchy pit sweat guzzling was interrupted when the Turk made him turn around and stand facing the wall of the vacant building. “Ass out,” the guy ordered. Cory immediately obeyed, panting like a dog that’s had too much sun. He was excited by the prospect of getting railed by this hot Turkish hunk, not having realised all the changes that affected him. Beads of precum dribbled out of Cory’s aching cock, which in the meantime had also darkened to match the rest of his complexion. His balls, larger than before, also churned. Cory felt the Turk holding him from behind, grinding his wet slick cock against Cory’s ass crack filling with hair. “Ready?” asked the man. “Fuck yes,” Cory responded. The guy spat right onto Cory’s tight puckering hole. Wiry black hairs blossomed around the pink ring, spreading out alongside the hairs growing on his crack. The light dusting of hair on his bouncy glutes was swiftly overtaken by curly dark hairs.

The Turk slowly inserted his cock lubed up with Cory’s saliva and his own precum into Cory’s inviting hairy hole, making Cory emit low moans and animalistic grunts sounding deeper than the previous ones. The man thrust in and out of Cory in a rhythmic fashion, Cory’s hole wrapping around his cock, basically milking him of his pre. With every thrust and pound and depositing of the Turkish guy’s precum in him, Cory changed further. His furry mounds ballooned even more. Pound. Fuzz grew in from the area of his coccyx and crept up the entire length of his spine, connecting with the thick curly hairs on his shoulders. Pound. The same fuzz then fanned out from the backbone, coating the lower back and colonising the previously hairless area of the shoulder blades. Pound. The wispy hairs on his whole back turned darker, growing longer and thicker, thousands of individual strands unfurling as they burrowed out of Cory’s smooth skin with great strength, leaving him with an impenetrable pelt of fur on his back. Pound. The wiry hairs erupted in greater quantities on his legs and snaked down, growing all over and wrapping around his thighs and calves and shins. Pound. The midnight black hairs on Cory’s legs thickened considerably that they were now visible from a distance, in stark contrast to before when he still had barely-visible light hairs against his pale white skin.

The pounding increased in speed, the Turk’s hairy low-hanging golf ball-sized balls slamming and smacking sonorously against Cory’s voluptuous hairy ass, also making his balls increase in size to those of tennis balls. Each frenzied slap caused Cory’s bush to fill in and spread beyond its confines at the base of his penis. He had previously kept his crotch trimmed, but that was history now; his pubes more closely resembled black fur due to how dense and tightly-packed it was. It was impossible to see the skin underneath the bush which had basically spread to the navel and also around Cory’s hips, even having crawled a little bit up his shaft. The wild, unkempt matted fur on his groin, much like the coarse tufts of hair under his arms, collected both musk and moisture, rendering it damp and especially pungent. It was only this time that Cory realised how much he reeked, with his arms outstretched to prop himself against the wall as he was fucked by his dream man. He didn’t care that he stunk; no, it turned him on, even. His dick responded accordingly, pulsating painfully — as the Turkish guy continued to thrust rigorously, Cory’s leaking cock grew larger incrementally, as did his balls which were engulfed in wiry hairs, and Cory produced more and more pre which trickled down his shaft and onto his extremely tangled mess of a bush, stinking it up even more.

Very little of Cory as he once was at the coffeehouse remained. At this point, he resembled an extremely hairy, beefy Turkish man, handsome and masculine, oozing testosterone out of every pore, blessed with the perfect manly genes such that luscious fur carpeted his body front and back, head to toe. After a few more thrusts and plunging and poking, the Turk erupted with one drawn-out growl and heavy panting and flooded Cory’s insides with his hot, sticky seed, depositing load after load in him. On Cory’s part, he too was close to cumming. As his cock reached a fully erect length of at least 9 inches, his foreskin retracted down his pulsing shaft and vanished altogether, leaving him with a newly-cut slab of meat. Cory blasted — hands-free — at the same time as the other Turk, leaving a puddle of splooge on the ground and painting a fair bit of the wall he propped himself up against. As he came, so came out the last vestiges of his former whiteness, his balls now filling and churning with Turkish cum.

The guy pulled out of Cory with a shlorp, cum dribbling out of Cory’s manhandled hairy hole and clinging onto the thick curly hairs on Cory’s ass and legs. Both men were breathing heavily, completely spent. They momentarily stood in silence punctuated by the sounds of buzzing insects and the occasional evening breeze. The other Turkish man, now slightly smaller in build than Cory, pulled Cory close for a kiss, gently and tenderly this time, not minding the pre and drool that had stuck and dried onto Cory’s majestic bushy beard.

“What’s your name?” the guy asked, thumbing Cory’s still-hard protruding nipples. Cory opened his mouth to respond but he hesitated. He suddenly realised he didn’t remember his name — what was his name? What a strange thing to forget! He knew it started with a C… no! It wasn’t a C, silly him. It started with a K, of course, and there was an R in there. K… Kor…? Ker…

“Kerem,” he finally answered. Yes, Kerem; that was his name, the name that he’d obviously had all his life. He’d always lived in Istanbul, hadn’t he? He liked the sea and the hills, his native culture, and the men, especially the men — those hirsute and masculine like him, of course — how happy is he who calls himself a Turk!

“I’m Semih,” said the other man who had followed Kerem all the way from the coffeehouse in the hopes of having fun with him. He certainly did get lucky, even out in public like this. “Evimde bir kez daha?”

“Peki, kanka.” Kerem was so ready for round two with Semih.

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Hi all, decided to upload something for a change. Kudos to @hairyjocktf for the encouragement!

[jerisch]

Commission - Built Better

A commission from a few months ago. Thank you again to the anonymous user who commissioned it!

This story came out early on my Patreon! If you're interested in early stories and other benefits check it out here! Interested in commissioning me? Check out this post for more information on rules and pricing.

~~~

Officer Davies was, above all else, a lazy person. 30 years in the same job on the force with barely any upward movement would do that to a person. When he'd first joined he'd been the young hotshot sure he would make detective within a year, but then so had everyone else. One year as a low level cop with no promotions turned to two, two turned to four, then before he knew it he was turning 50, fat, and still in the same shitty job. So he’d stopped caring about his appearance and his career prospects and just started going through the motions of bar minimum.

Which is exactly what he did when he got the early morning call for a noise complaint across town. Some old lady complained about the construction site next to her house being noisy when she was trying to sleep. He knew well enough the city laws had certain times places like that could and couldn’t work, and that this complaint had come in well within the legal timing. Still, protocol said he still go and check it out even if it were nothing, so that’s what he did. Gathered his, then headed out to grab a car to drive over to the site. 

~~~

Once he got to the site, Officer Davies switched the engine off and glanced around before getting out. It was a mess at best, with his squad car parked in front of a small, makeshift office that looked like it might collapse any moment. Men in hardhats wandered around every which way passed Officer Davies without much of a care as to why he was there; it was probably far above their pay grade.

“Can I help you with something, Officer?” A deep voice came from behind him only a few moments after he’d pulled himself out of the car.

Davies turned on the spot to see one of the workers smiling at him. His instant reaction was to wrinkle his nose at the smell coming off the guy; blue overalls open at the front let whatever intense stench of sweat from a hard morning working waft out. Pungent was the most apt description of the smell coming from the man’s hairy torso, but Davies was all too polite to mention it. The sooner he dealt with the noise complaint the sooner he could leave.

“Just a routine check up from some noise complaints in the area is all, I’ll need to have a chat with whoever the supervisor is around here to check on a few things before I can leave you to it.” He said with a flat, uninterested tone.

The man that’d stopped to talk to him smiled. “Well then you’re in luck, since I’m in charge around here. Shall we?” He gestured at the shabby building behind them that was his office. “Head on inside and I’ll be with you in a moment, just got to finish up something quickly.”

Officer Davies nodded wordlessly and turned towards the office. Anything to get away from the smell of sweat and all the dirt of the building site. He trudged over to the office and pulled the door open, and wasn’t surprised to see the messy state of the inside of the place. Clothes discarded on a sofa in one corner, papers strewn around all over the main desk in the centre of the room, an all around mess. How someone could work like this he had no idea. Still, he shuffled his way through the mess of an office and took a seat in front of the desk, idly drumming his fingers against the wooden arm of the chair as he waited for the man he'd seen to return. 

Several minutes later the sound of the office door opening behind him made Officer Davies turn. That same guy, now thankfully with his overalls zipped up, walked in with two coffee cups in hand. 

“Took the liberty of getting you something to drink Officer, our boys make the best coffee here.” He said with the same disarming smile from earlier as he walked over. Officer Davies reached out to take the cup closest to him, only for the foreman to switch them at the last moment and hand him the other cup. “Oops, sorry that one's mine. Trying some new health thing, so unless you want a decaf coffee with oat milk I'd take that one.”

Officer Davies smiled and took the offered cup, mumbling a word of thanks before he raised it to his lips. The guy might be messy as hell but at least he knew how to treat a visitor. The coffee it turned out was strong and hot, barely leaving any room to actually taste anything. That was the way he often liked it though, so he was glad to see the statement of them making good coffee was actually true.

“Right, sorry about all that.” The man across from him said when he was finally settled. “First off let me introduce myself, I'm Leon, I pretty much run things around here day to day. And you're here about a noise complaint, yes? Well I can assure you we keep everything up to code. As much as the top brass might want this project done quicker we only ever stick to the hours we're meant to operate in.”

“I'm not here to accuse you or your workers of anything, it's just routine. We get complaints we've got to come in and check, even if you are well within the law by the end of it.” Davies said in a monotonous tone. It was a speech he'd given a thousand times over to a thousand different people, just like every other aspect of his dead end job. “I'm just going to need to look around and speak to a few people, then I can be out of your hair. Won't be more than an hour.”

Leon’s smile was friendly and disarming, enough so that Officer Davies didn’t notice the button he pressed under his desk. He couldn’t have police looking too closely into what construction they were actually doing here, and they could always do with more workers. Besides, he had a feeling an overweight cop that looked bored with his job wouldn’t mind what he was about to do to him…

“Of course, by all means whatever you need.” Leon said as he gestured at the door he knew would already be locked. “I will have to ask you to leave your gun here though. We’ve got various equipment and chemicals on site, and whilst I’m not saying I don’t trust you, it’s a risk I can’t allow on site. I’m sure you understand, Officer.”

Davies glanced down at his belt, then rolled his eyes a little as he unclipped the gun and set it on the desk. Leon picked it up and placed it carefully into one of his desk drawers, which to the officer’s great relief he then proceeded to lock. Once that was done he pushed himself up out of the chair and headed over to the door, wanting more than anything to get this over with so he could go back to the station. Only, when he reached the door and pulled the handle he found it stuck fast. 

“Sorry, but that can’t be allowed to happen.” Leon’s calm voice came from behind him. “You see, we’re building a highly classified new building here, and can’t have anyone looking around. Orders from above is to ‘deal with’ anyone that tries to look around for any reason, especially police. You’ll like this though, I promise.”

The same pungent smell from earlier filled the room as Officer Davies started to panic. He couldn’t move despite many attempts, so he was stuck rooted to the spot as the manly stink of sweat and cum built and built. He thought it was coming from Leon, it had to be, but something was off. Part of that smell felt familiar where it had just been unpleasant before. He sniffed, then sniffed once more. He did recognise that smell he realised, but the only possible source of it made dread swirl up inside him. It was his smell. Or, more accurately it was some twisted version of how he knew he smelt mixed with the pungent aroma of something closer to Leon. 

“W-What are you…” He managed to say before the force holding him bound still stopped him from talking too. 

“What am I doing to you? It’s simple really.” Leon moved around to stand in front of the frozen policeman, that same disarming smile still plastered across his face. “I’m making you the best version of yourself. You look like you were probably an attractive man in your youth, right? Probably thought you were cool as hell, becoming a cop too to really flex that dominance. Only, it wasn’t as shiny and amazing as you thought it would be, was it? You got lazy and you got old, sat around doing paperwork all day instead of keeping up those looks of yours. Well how about you let me push you onto a different path?”

Officer Davies was torn. On the one hand he was terrified of whatever was going on that gave this guy the ability to do whatever he was going to do. But on the other hand he was curious as hell. The smell that’d grown didn’t feel so unpleasant now it had a twist of something familiar worked in, instead it felt safe, comfortable. And everything Leon was saying was true. He did miss his youth, he did miss being young and attractive and having girls fall at his feet. Those days were long behind him though and he’d accepted that. But maybe they didn’t have to be.

“All you have to do is say yes.” Leon continued. “Embrace this instead of making me force it and we can have so much fun together. You can have everything you want again; a young, strong body, all the sex you want, and even a career here that isn’t going to waste you away. Just tell me your name and I’ll set you free.”

“William.” He said before he could talk himself out of this. 

Giving into his captor might not be the smartest idea, but it was the greedy one. If everything being promised was indeed true then why not take everything being offered? He hated his life, he had for a long time, so being made anew by whatever powers that be was his best option. When would he get another chance like this?

Leon smirked. “William Davies, or should that be Liam Davies instead?”

As soon as the shorter name was spoken, a shiver ran through William’s body. He’d gone by Liam in his younger days, but as with his confidence and his hot body that had faded with maturity. Now the reminder came with it a powerful something he couldn’t quite place. An energy he’d forgotten from years ago, back when he was still in his prime. He felt a churning in his gut as this something spread through him, then it started. 

The mass of fat that’s spread over him in recent years contracted in a sudden lurch that had William’s balance faltering for a moment. He swayed and placed his hand against a nearby wall as the extra weight dropped away into nothingness, as if it was never there in the first place. The large shirt he wore as a uniform was loose now where it hadn't been moments ago, the fabric in the front now hanging freely over a stomach that was now flat and toned. 

So too did William realise the same change to his stomach had swept over the rest of his body, he had just been too preoccupied by the largest of those changes. His arms were right under the fabric of his shirt, now formed into two massive biceps bigger than his had ever been in the past. Pecs no longer soft had hardened up into two thick slabs of muscle, which in turn had helped his back push out wider. His uniform was now tight in all different places to where it had before; shoulders like cannonballs strained the dark fabric along with his upper back and arms instead of a massive belly.

“Shit, you weren't kidding!” William said as he took in the state of his body. Even his voice sounded smoother than it had before. Younger and less tainted by decades of smoking. “I can't believe this is really-”

“Believe it Liam, this is you. The best you possible.” The voice of the man responsible for this said. Suddenly there were two hands wrapping around his changed body from behind, pulling at the buttons of his shirt. “Let's get this off you alright? You're not some boring old cop anymore Liam, you're young and hot. You work for me, maybe more than that.”

Liam. It'd been a long time since anyone had properly called him that, but he liked it now. Made him feel like a younger man than he was, though that might not be exactly true anymore. As he let Leon strip him of his uniform, Liam ran his hands over his face and neck. Smooth and youthful, just as he had guessed. He wasn't old anymore, wasn't fat. Was far the opposite of both of those as he saw moments later with clothing removed; the absolutely ripped body that got revealed was a sight to say the least.

“All I've got to do for this is work for you? Here?” He asked as the shirt finally came loose of his arms and fell to the floor. 

It was a tempting offer, if it even was one. Part of him felt like this was happening either way, but hadn't he already accepted this when Leon had asked his name? He was in deep with this already, and it wasn't like he had anything worth holding onto in his life. He hated his old body and job. Hated all the assholes that never recognised the hard work he put in, until he stopped putting that work in and just did the bare minimum that is. Why even stay attached to all that when he could be hot as hell and smell so naturally good? Men would love that. 

“Wait.” He said as he caught up with the thought that'd just cross his mind. Men? He was straight, wasn't he? “I'm not-”

The scratch of a beard against his neck as a kiss was pressed there shut him right up. If his cock’s reaction was anything to go by he was definitely gay now. A hairy muscular hunk pressed against his back and undressing him, all whilst smelling so fucking good, who could resist? He could barely understand how he hadn't liked it when he'd arrived, the man smelt divine. 

“Finally caught up huh? Yeah, you're gay now.” Leon whispered. “Just like everyone else here. Side effect of the drug I slipped into your coffee, if you were straight before there's absolutely no chance you are now.”

He knew he should protest, but he couldn't bring himself to care any less about his sexuality being switched. So what if he was gay? It would probably be easier. Guys he understood, he was one after all. They were simple and predictable, going after what they wanted just like Leon was right now with his hands running lower down Liam's body. He could be gay, especially if it meant more of Leon. 

“Fuck, then what're you waiting for dude?” Liam said as he settled himself back into his old forgotten ways. The ways of a handsome stud not worn down by life. “Get on with it and show me a good time! If I'm gonna be gay you've got to at least show me why it's better than pussy.”

Leon's answer was to finish removing the oversized clothes from Liam's body, leaving the jock standing naked in the messy office. Naked in his full glory, far bigger and even more hung than he'd ever been. The drug had worked its magic just as Leon knew it would, sculpting Liam into his full potential from his genetics. 

Now it was easy for Leon to rock his hard bulge against Liam's ass whilst he jerked the new hunk off. Liam's moans echoed through the office, only serving to turn both of them on more with each stroke. Deep grunt's as Leon squeezed the shaft and rocked his hips in perfect sync, a move born of practised ease of plenty of sex with men. He knew how to work a cock, and he was going to make sure Liam knew that. 

On the side of the newly young jock, Liam couldn't believe how good this felt. He'd jerk off himself plenty, and been sucked off some in his youth too, but this was something else. Call it years of neglect for sex or maybe Leon was just that good, but this was incredible. The guy knew just how hard to squeeze, when to pause and tease the head of his cock slightly, when to pull back and let him recover before picking up the pace again. It went on for what felt like hours of being right on the edge of cumming but never being allowed to, not until Leon decided he could. 

“P-Please man you gotta…” He panted, now nothing more than a horny mess in Leon's arms. “I'm gay, I'm so fucking gay holy shit. And fuck my old life, fuck the police and fuck all that shit!” 

It was music to Leon's ears. Beautiful sweet music that he'd been able to take another wasted body and help them flourish into something better. And Liam Davies the young gay construction worker was far better than Officer William Davies, the old, fat, straight police officer.

“Then cum for me and let go of all that bullshit Liam, it's all behind you.” Leon's pace grew faster around Liam's cock, driving him finally closer to that delicious edge he craved. “You're free now, so release and finally enjoy life again.” 

Liam did just that seconds later. Cumming hard and shooting like a broken faucet, Liam had never felt a better orgasm in his life. He could make something of himself here and he knew it, finally make a mark on life and feel like he was really doing something. And in that split second between the high of his orgasm and the onset of post-nut clarity he knew exactly what needed doing. 

~~~

“So, how would you say the city has changed since the dramatic events two months ago?” The news reporter held her microphone out to a familiar handsome middle-aged man, all dressed up in a suit and tie instead of the overalls he usually wore.

The man in question smiled. “You mean since over half of the local police force resigned or disappeared? For the better, honestly.” Leon said. “Half of them as it was discovered were crooked anyway, so it's not like they're going to be missed. Those that are left of course are still doing exemplary work, with our help of course.”

“And, what help is that exactly?” The woman questioned. “LifeCorp made all these promises when the incident happened of using their networks to help keep the peace, but what networks are those? We'd all like to know.”

“Well Melissa, I can't exactly be giving away company secrets. What I can say though is we've been working with those left in the police to transfer some of the responsibilities and put plans in place to create new infrastructure. We have a very talented and very capable construction crew, all led by my right hand man Liam Davies. A lot of the crime issues can be solved by just providing people with the opportunities they need, and that's what we at LifeCorp are trying to do. This just happened to be the perfect scenario to really show it off.”

Melissa nodded along with the explanation, but wasn't done yet. “And what do you make of the conspiracy theorists out there that are saying your company had a hand in the disappearances?” She pressed. 

Leon laughed. “Please, if we all listened to them then we'd be out here thinking the world is flat. On a serious note though, there's no way we'd ever do something like that. The planning to move into the city and bring our work here was already in place before anything happened, construction on our headquarters here started six months ago after all. We just accelerated things a little when the need arose.”

“Well thank you Leon for your time.” Melissa turned back to the camera and smiled a small, practised smile. “Well there you have it folks. That was Leon Delworth, head of the new west coast branch of the multinational company LifeCorp with me here to talk about how his company is here to demonstrate the overuse of police in America's cities today. Will their experiment prove a success? Keep yourself by the TV because we'll be keeping you updated with all the stats and information you need in this brave new adventure for our little city. That's all from me, goodnight.”

Liam switched the TV off and grinned to himself a little. The plan had gone off without fail, perhaps even better than he could have hoped. 

Back on that first day he was changed months ago he'd plotted with Leon for revenge. As soon as the ruggedly handsome man had confessed his actual role as more than just the man in charge of construction of the site it'd all fallen into place. They could and did use that same drug that had changed him to do the same to most of the other police officers Liam used to work with, albeit a little less willingly for some. They'd grown their construction crew of hunky gay men by double, and got rid of all the assholes at that place Liam hated that had messed him around for so long. A few had been left sure, the nicer and more competent ones. Then Leon had his company swoop in and act the saviour of the sudden problem, when it'd been their creation in the first place. 

His phone vibrating snapped him out of his thoughts.

Leon: Interview over at last. Ready for the celebration orgy with the guys?

Oh, was he ready. He'd been waiting all week for this, and the guys on the crew had too. Building work finished, interview over, they were all ready for one massive gay fuck in the new facility they'd just finished. The newly created members were just as eager if not more so than the ones that'd been around before this, Liam included. None of them saw any regrets being gay and hunky, not now they'd been educated first hand on the pleasures of it anyway. There had been resistance in the beginning, but they soon saw to it that every one of the former cops was happy as the new versions of themselves. 

Liam: You bet your ass I am. As long as I get you all to myself the rest of the weekend!

He locked his phone and stood after he'd replied, his grin still not fading. He couldn't get enough of his new life, construction was simple, easy, and a great workout for a guy as big as him. He couldn't wait for more.

[jerisch]

I’ve been looking for a fraternity to join at my new college, but none of them have really been letting me in. The only one left seems to be full of horny jocks that are dumber than a bag of bricks. Think you could help me… fit in?

FML: In

As you laid it all out in front of your friend, your plans, your goals, your desires, he just kind of shook his head in disbelief:

“I know that I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but damn that’s disappointing.”

“What’s so wrong about wanting to pledge?” you replied, “It would just make getting connected the university so much easier. Plus, the parties are legendary.”

“No I get it,” he scowled, “but really? Pi Kappa Epsilon?”

“Listen, they weren’t my first choice either. I would have preferred a group a little less… dim.” I knew he wouldn’t leave it there.

“Dim? Dim still implies some light on upstairs. You can just call them what they are: brainless frat bros. They think with their dicks and muscle their way through academics. I can’t believe you’re asking me to use my power for this.” He began walking towards the door.

I called after, “Look, I’ve seen you do crazier shit than this. You turned the guy upstairs into a dog for a week.”

He stopped in the door frame for a minute to chuckle, “If he was going to call the RA a bitch he may as well get first hand experience.”

“Please dude.” I stared at him.

After a moment he relented, “Fine. But are you sure you want this? You want to change for this? A frat?”

“Yes. And I promise I’ll get you into any party you want!”

“Fine. Give me a bit. But remember, you asked for it.”

He returned in a bit and tossed me a necklace from across the room, “Here’s your frat solution. Wear this to your next thing with them at their house.”

You inspected it. It looked like a basic chain necklace like you had seen other guys wear around “And do what? What does it do?”

He rolled his eyes, “And do nothing. It will help you fit into the frat, I promise.”

“No magic words or anything?” I asked.

He grinned, “Oh come on, think of me as better than needing all that crap. Now put it on so you don’t lose it.”

It fits well around your neck, “I’m headed over there tonight, I think it is the last event before they drop everyone. You sure this will work?”

“Trust me,” he says, “You want in the frat? You will be in the frat.”

When you arrive at the frat house, you do feel the necklace almost pulling you inside. It feels warm against your chest as you wander around, talking with some brothers and checking in with your fellow pledges. You get a sense of magnetism from it, like the necklace is pulling the frat house around it towards you. As the party kicks into gear, you focus less on the chain and more on socializing. But whatever it’s effect, it seems to be working. Brothers and other pledges are seeming to stumble over themselves trying to talk with you. Even the pledge master gives a knowing glance and tilts his head in approval. In a little under two hours, you begin to feel more at home in the house, more comfortable in the crowd. Maybe for the first time you feel a sense of brotherhood. So it is a shock when you step into the bathroom to take a piss and take a look in the mirror.

You don’t recognize the face that stared back. You blinked in confusion, assuming you had too much to drink. But no. The stranger in the mirror stared back into your eyes, copying your every move as you tilted your head and inspected your face in awe. The trance broke as you glanced down and saw the truth. Your polo shirt stretched against your chest as two pectorals firmly pushed out, flexing with each breath. Your pants had grown tight around my quads, now a good few inches short. They hugged your ass so tightly you were surprised they hadn’t ripped. Tattoos flowed down your arms, newly ripped and well toned. You noticed for the first time the power you felt coursing through your veins. You could almost feel your skin taut against your muscles as they slowly swelled. You pulled your top off to get a better look at the action.

‘Damn I look good’ you think as you admire the new cum gutters and still developing 6-pack. You try out a few poses in the mirror, just to see the muscles move. The necklace is no joke. No way PKE would drop you now, you looked like you fit right in. But, at the same time, you figured it may be time to get the necklace off. You didn’t want to change too much, and no telling how far it would go. You go for the back of your neck and and start to fiddle with the clasp when the necklace suddenly starts to warm up.

You feel the odd magnetism is no longer subtle. It feels as though the necklace is pulling against the frat house you, drawing it’s very essence towards you. At the same time, the growth within your body stops as the necklace channels all its energy towards your head. The sudden spike hits like a migraine, as you let go of the necklace and go to hold your temples. The necklace wants to finish its work. Your senses are sharpened to a point, as you feel the heat of the bros downstairs, taste cheap beer and seltzers, hear every footstep, see every muscle and bulge, and smell 100 horny men all at once. You feel the pure energy of the fraternity pull through your body as it shapes you. Beneath the pressure, your mind buckles as false memories push their way in. Memories of watching college football on TV. Working out during the summer to become a fucking stud. Playing the field as soon as you got to college. Meeting up with some brothers to get a foot in the door. Getting called a fuckboi for the first time on Tinder. Wearing it like a badge of pride.

Your brain throbbed as the energy reshaped your memories and personality, but your balls churned as it began to adjust your libido. They ached as they swelled to the size of golf balls. Your cock was rigid at attention as you grabbed it with both meaty hands and started to pump. Your body writhed as every stroke only makes the pleasure more intense. You are soon hot with the effort. An aura of testosterone and sweat formed around you as a frat funk sets in deep: a mixture of booze, yesterday’s workout, and cheap cologne. The smell only drives you more wild, and you start to feel your brain short circuit. Your mind, consumed by pleasure, gave into the pressure and lost any remaining will to resist. The necklace pulsed in time with your throbbing cock as it buried the old you. As you reached climax, you knew there was no going back. As you shot your load across the room, a new you was released. A dumb, horny frat bro ready to pledge PKE.

And then the door behind you opened.

The pledge master, apparently worried by how long you had been in here, walked in on your afterglow as you tucked your cock back into your pants.

“Hey man, you okay?” he asked before recoiling a step. You watched as he smelled your rank funk and nearly gagged. You took a step closer.

“Yeah bro, better than ever. What about you? You look like you’re about to vomit.” you said, leaning in a bit closer. You flex your muscles and let your pit stench join the lingering cloud. You feel yourself start to harden again as he tried not to react.

“Bro, you are fucking rank. You smell like a… like a-”

“Like a frat house should?” you taunted. He had stopped recoiling and seemed now to be fighting a different urge.

“I don’t know bro, you should get- get that looked at.”

His eyes were focused on your muscles as you slowly flexed them rhythmically to the music downstairs. I felt the necklace pulling him closer as he fought the urges he is having. Fuck, you remembered that feeling, that pull towards desire. You knew how to help him out though. You grabbed the back of his head and pulled his lips to your pecs. As his lips connected with your flesh and tasted the beads of sweat that rolled down your chest, he wrapped his arms around you and began worshiping your muscles. As he kissed and licked every inch of your chest and washboard abs, he gently rubbed against your rigid cock. It wasn’t long before he was licking at the fabric separating his mouth from his prize. But as he reached for the elastic band around your waist, you grabbed his hair and pulled him up.

Your mind reveled in in the power you held in your hands and the pleasure your new frat bro could cause with his mouth. But you only had one thing left on you mind:

“I wanna be in the frat bro.” You said.

He mumbled as his mouth still searched for your flesh, “Yeah man, sure thing. I’ll make it happen. You can be a frat bro. Just please let me suck on your-“

“No,” you boomed. You pulled him out of the bathroom and into the nearest bedroom, locking the door behind you. You grabbed his ass as he grew limp in your hands, “I want to be in the frat bro.” You slip your hand beneath his gym shorts and begin slowly finger fucking his tight, straight hole.

He understood his place as he slipped off his shorts and underwear, leaving his cheeks on full display.

He moaned like he was in heat, “Yeah bro. Please. I would be so honored.”

You bent him over and spat in his quivering hole before you pressed your cock against him. You didn’t wait for him to relax as you slammed your cock as deep as you could and watched him yelp in surprise. As you slowly sped up and heard him start to moan, you felt the necklace once again start to warm against my chest as its power flowed through your cock and into the bro beneath you. He too began to sweat with the funk of the frat as was remade in its image under your guidance. He was going to become just as unified with PKE as you were.

[jerisch]

Old

When you're skinny and weak, it's no fun being young. Richard wasn't even particularly clever or funny or charismatic. Richhard was just a lop! No longer being 18. No longer being mistaken for 16. No longer being bullied… Richard wanted nothing more! Regularly attending a gym seemed the logical consequence. Train hard. That must lead to muscles. And tougher facial features. And more respect from others…. But the first few visits to the gym were more than demoralizing. The other guys here were so much bigger than him. He looked ridiculous in his cheap clothes from school sports. Richard moved his work outs to the early mornings or late evenings when he was almost alone. At some point he was asked if he would like to earn a few extra dollars. Soon, when he trained in the evening, Richard would lock up the gym after his workout, clean up, mop the floor and get everything ready for the next morning. This had many advantages. He had money for better clothes and even got an employee discount at the gym store. And he could train completely alone and undisturbed after the official end of business.

That had an effect. Slowly. Far too slowly. After six months, perhaps no one was laughing at Richrad anymore. But no one showed him any respect from the members or colleagues who occasionally crossed his path despite his training and working hours.

Richard had already heard about this Chronivac. It was used to support particularly solvent customers with their transformations. The device had to be in the managing director's office. But it was always locked there. There was no chance of getting to the device. Until this one evening. The evening when Richard walked through the corridors with the mop. And the door to the office was open. Wide open. And this device was lying on the desk. Obviously on. The display bathed the office in a very faint blue light.

"Scanning the client" was written on the display… It looked like a normal smartphone app. Richard pressed "okay" and a monitor appeared. Richard held the device in front of his face. There was no button like on a camera. But after a few moments there was an acoustic signal and the message "Number of virtual training units" appeared on the display. Damn, what was that supposed to mean? Was the device simulating training sessions? Richard trained three times a week. 12 times a month. 144 times a year. It would be cool to be four years older. 22 years old. A college jock who had been training hard for four years. Richard did a quick mental calculation. That was about… He heard footsteps. Shit! 500 had to be about right. He typed in 600 and pressed enter. And carefully put the device back on the desk. Hopefully that had worked. He took the mop and ran to the showers. And while he was mopping the floor, Nick, the manager, came in. He greeted Richard and asked if everything was OK. It was already late and Richard should leave. All right, Richard replied. The message "Transformation started. Perform 500 monthly training cycles. Transformation within the next eight hours."

As he has done for almost 42 years, Rick was one of the first to enter the gym. He had been a member longer than any other guy pumping here. Longer than anyone who worked here. Rick was simply part of the inventory. He was the janitor, the manager, the go-to guy here. And a role model for every man who trained here. Yes, Rick had never become one of the musclemen who also trained here. But he had also always been clean. Never cheated. And a body that still worked like a well-oiled machine despite his almost 60 years of life was his thanks. Yes, his beard and hair were gray. But he still had the body of a 30-year-old athlete. And with that, he had honestly earned the respect of everyone here.

Inspiration by @workinprogress1986

[jerisch]

It’s such a shame you don’t have a whole part for dumb&jocked! He left tumblr I think and I can’t find his stories anywhere

You can find most of the stories on this site. As for the missing parts, you may find them on my blog.

[jerisch]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[jerisch]

FML: Urged

I think this was the photo that got me in. Of course I get the appeal now. But at the time I thought I was just messaging some other random torso on the apps. I was supposed to just be in and out, no strings attached. After all, he wasn’t my usual type. Looked like a roided out gym rat: bit of a gut; dark, wiry hair; and thick muscles. But muscles weren’t the thickest thing about him, and who was I to pass up a good time?

So I went over to his place. I wasn’t surprised when it was a loft above a small gym. Seemed like the ideal spot for the kind of guy. What I was not expecting was the apartment itself to be so…nice? Normal? I was prepared to get fucked on a twin-sized mattress on the floor, no frame, with sweaty clothes rotting around me. But the apartment had some character. He even offered me something to drink before we got started, in an actual glass. Maybe I needed to raise my standards. We chatted, flirted a bit as I finished my water and let things get hot from there. We kissed in the kitchen, made out in the living room, and worked our way back to his bedroom as sweatshirts, belts, shirts, pants, and straps trailed behind us.

As I positioned a pillow under myself, he took off his wife beater, the last barrier between us. The shirtless torso that seduced me was on full display as I rubbed his chest. As he leaned in to kiss me, I felt engulfed by this bear of a man, skin electric where I felt his hair ticking my bare chest. My senses felt heightened as I tasted cheap beer on his breath and smelled a deep musk of sweat, cum, and Old Spice, more in line with what I had expected from him. He ran his calloused hands over my chest and abs before finally taking up position over my trembling body. I wanted him in a way I hadn’t felt since I was a teen. Normally I would want to talk a bit more, at least give a safe word. But as he surrounded me and I felt his presence, my brain flipped a switch as my body instinctively relaxed for him. There were no thoughts to be had as my mind was consumed by his rich scent, the pleasure of his cock slowly stretching out my ass, and his intense gaze set on my fluttering eyes. At last I felt his bush pressed against my clenching ass. He lingered for just a moment, every throb of his member sending shivers through my body. He leaned in and whispered, “You feeling good, baby?”

I could only moan a bit in response. Feeling his weight bear down on me and his cock in my ass left no room for words. He shoved his pit in my face and I instinctively took a deep huff. Any resistance and tension left in my body released. I felt filled by him, just a vessel for his use. I was about to stick out my tongue when he pulled back and repositioned himself. He held my shoulders as he began moving his hips.

As he slowly began to fuck me, I felt him reach new depths within myself.

“There you go, much better. Let yourself just float”

I couldn’t resist him even if I wanted to. His cock methodically jackhammering my hole had my body riding wave after wave of pleasure. Then, I felt him tense up a bit as his cock swelled just a bit more telling me what was to come. He buried it deep as a pressure built within myself. A few more thrust from him and I shot my load over his furry chest. My mind could no longer handle it. I slipped off into a void of pure bliss, as this stranger collapsed on top of me, feeling his damp fur against my body and filling my senses once again with his musk.

I woke up the next day back in my own bedroom. No one else around. No signs of trouble. No clue how I got back. If the whole experience hadn’t been so vivid, I would have thought I dreamt the whole thing. But as I rolled myself out of bed and into the bathroom, one change became very clear.

Seemingly overnight I had lost my smooth skin and dirty blonde curls. In its place was hair. Thick, dark, course hair. It covered my chest, my arms, my back, even my crotch. I was shocked but, also, something else began to tickle at my brain. I took off my tank to get a better look at the forest. I flexed my muscles and admired the way it coated my chest and seemed to exaggerate its size. I hit a double bicep pose and smelled a familiar scent. The scent of sweat and heat and masculinity. My mind flooded with images of that night as my cock stood at attention. I shoved my face into my own pit as I bagan jacking off in front of the mirror, admiring my new body. It felt strange but satisfying, watching this stranger in the mirror mimic my every move as I lusted for him. I didn’t realize how far I had gone until I saw the stream hitting the mirror. It was hot, but something still didn’t feel right. As I cleaned up the restroom, I picked up my razor and considered cleaning myself up a bit. But as I lifted it to my face, I noticed my newly hairy pits. Exposing them, the scent of last night invaded my mind again and I couldn’t follow through. I finished getting dressed and I left for the day. With a busy schedule, maybe I could get some answers tomorrow. I think that was the last chance I had to do something, divert from the path laid out for me. But looking back, I don’t know if I would have changed a thing.

No day was as sharp a change as the first, but each morning as I looked myself in the mirror, something was a bit different. Maybe it was the sharpness of my jaw. Or were my pecs always this swoll? One week I swore my feet were growing larger. There is no way that they always slapped the ground like that. But my shoes always fit perfectly. Heck I may even need a new pair soon. My joggers were beat up as hell and reeked when I took them off after my Saturday runs. But soon it was the days that I couldn’t find anything that looked different that began to worry me most. Had I always thought so much about the bodies of the men around me? Did people always talk so fast? But as life slipped back into routine. Soon I began to question myself. Why had I worried so much about any changes? Things never actually seemed out of place, and I worked out hard to get these gains. I had been going to the gym for years and had spent tears perfecting my splits. After about two months. I stopped worrying at all. Until finally, one day I woke up and looked myself in the mirror, I saw the same man who greeted me for years.

I was a sweaty gym rat. Always had been. Always would be. I took a deep huff of my own funk, and rubbed my muscles. But everything fell into place, something felt missing. I shouldn’t have to keep this godly body and musk to myself. For the first time in a while, I hopped onto the apps and started scanning through. God, all these old matches were terrible. Why did I used to have such a thing for those muscled-up college boys? They couldn’t grow a beard if their lives depended on it. Besides, I think I wanted someone a little more…submissive. Scrolling through, my eyes caught on this young 20-something twink. Something about him reminded me of someone…someone I used to know. His lithe body, tight curls, and skimpy clothes told me he was a bottom before I clicked on his profile. A few messages back and forth, and he was on his way.

He walked in the door and it was all I could do to contain myself. Something deep within me wanted my seed deep in his ass. I needed him to worship me. I wanted him to become just like me. I had no patience as my body acted on instinct. I stripped my shirt and calmly approached, placing my hand against the wall behind him. As my masculinity and musk washed over the twink, I watched as his eyes fluttered a bit and knew his mind was submitting.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I asked plainly.

“Ye-yes, sir.”

I grinned as I understood fully now just what had happened to me, and the power I held. But watching this twink practically trembling in front of me, maybe I was even better than my captor had been.

I gave him a quick kiss as I lead him to my bedroom. I couldn’t wait to make another man in my image.

[jerisch]

Ramadan Recitations

Here's a Arab/Muslim Cultural TF, figured I may as well throw it up for Eid! May not be for everyone, but may those who enjoy have at it! Happy Eid! -Occam

It’s the end of March and Allen’s roommate has been listening to the Quran out loud for the length of Ramadan. He’s out of town for the weekend and Allen is uncomfortable sitting alone in the silence of their apartment. Now that he hasn’t heard the consistent background melodies of a recitation in a couple days he realizes what delight they brought him. He goes to find the playlist that Mo had been using. Suddenly feeling the golden cross that hangs from his neck everyday he briefly reconsiders before deciding to put on the recitation anyway. Jesus is in the Quran right? It’s not like there’s any harm to appreciating someone else’s culture.

Assuming Mo wouldn’t mind Allen using his speakers he throws on the Tilawa, Mo would be playing it now himself anyway. Allen starts to work as the reciter begins his melodic reading. He almost tunes it out as he starts reading and responding to emails in their shared living room. His body sits at ease as the rhythm of the man’s speaking reverberates through him.

Allen doesn’t speak a word of Arabic, but as he continues to type up droll responses to even duller emails he finds himself paying more attention to the verses than work that he needs to get done. As his distraction rises he tabs away from work and decides to take a break and see what exactly the verses that he’s so fond of are saying. He scans a translation but his eyes glaze over as he remembers Mohammad telling him that to really understand the words of the prophet one must read in his tongue. 

Instead Allen just decides to just close his eyes and listen to the deep melodies of the mother tongue. The patterns and unfamiliar tonality provide him a comfort he doesn’t understand. He listens and the song only grows sweeter to his ears, he lies back against the couch as he begins to hum along uncertainly to the music. Allen harmonizes better by the second as he feels some sense of understanding over the distinctively not western scales, however he doesn’t notice as the chain of his necklace breaks, falling to the floor. He doesn’t hear the cross hit the floor instead remaining focused on his serene enjoyment of the man singing scripture to him.

Continuing to hum along, Allen notices that despite trying to keep a steady note, his tone seems to be getting deeper. He clears his throat and finds it’s not only his humming but his voice entire that has lowered in pitch. He rises from his serene reverie to go and find some medicine worried now that he is coming down with the flu. Standing he also notices that the temperature seems as if it’s rising in the apartment as well. Allen goes to grab some medicine, under his breath saying “inshallah I’m not sick eh?” Mo had been teaching him Arabic for some time now, but he always avoiding using it, Inshallah in particular since so many kids who certainly don’t appreciate Arabic culture are throwing it around. At this moment though Allen says it as if it’s an instinct, as if he has been using the language for some time. 

Walking to a medicine cabinet Allen doesn’t notice as the volume increases on the speakers to still reach his ears. Words continue to steadily flow into his mind, standing in front of the cabinet he finds alongside the still increasing warmth there is a soreness starting to appear through the whole of his body. He groans in his deeper voice, feeling his Adam’s apple rest strangely on his throat as he tries to stretch out his soreness. It’s like he hit the gym this morning, though he certainly has not. He takes deep slow breaths as he bends down to work out the pain in his legs and torso, unaware as his body begins to lengthen in height. He feels the aircon blow up his shirt as his midriff is now exposed, he pulls it down in vain before reaching to grab medicine, accidentally overshooting thanks to his added height.

Allen makes his way back to the living room, dry swallowing his flu medicine before sitting back down to enjoy his repose. This time not only does he have an instinctual understanding of the melody and rhythm, but he finds himself knowing what words are to come next in the verses. Surely he hasn’t heard recitations that much right? He doesn’t even speak the language how could he possibly, nevertheless he starts whispering under his breath the words he feels should be next and finds himself right on the money. His whispering slowly grows in volume as he finds himself beginning to sing along with the tapes, “Bismillah al-Rahman al-Rahim…” he continues on with the verse, singing as if classically trained.

He shoves his hand over his mouth in shock and finds another surprise awaiting him on his face. He is perpetually clean-shaven for work and yet all of a sudden there is stubble growing on his face. Allen rushes to the restroom to inspect his face and finally finds something impossible happening to him. He sees the roots of his hair growing darker, pushing thicker out from his head. Not only has he suddenly grown stubble but the scruff on his face is rapidly approaching a full beard. As he clutches at his hair and beard in inspection he finds that the changes are not isolated to his face.

He sees his arms stretch further from his shirt than they did this morning and feels the awkward gaps on his waist and ankles, and feels the air blow against the dark hairs beginning to spread up his stomach and legs. He sees hair thicker than his pubes begin to grow on his wrists spreading indeterminably up his arms. The reciter’s voice grows stronger as Allen inspects himself, his eyes racing from one part of his body to another seeking any sign of normality. He feels an itch in his pits and on his chest as the song rises in pitch and volume. There is a drive in his chest to continue singing along but as he makes eye-contact with himself in the mirror, seeing the blue eyes he’s always loved swiftly staining themselves the color of coffee before darkening even further he knows that there can be no explanation for this other than that man’s voice.

He clenches his jaw to keep himself quiet as he races through the living room to shut off the speakers. His longer legs trip over themselves as each frantic breath he takes begins to expand his chest. Beyond the physical changes to his body he feels a change begin to take root in his mind. Allin feels he must be big, he must be strong. It is as Allah wills it. He stumbles in front of the speakers as he finds himself torn on what to do. He sees his arms darken under the still growing forest of hair on his arms, his biceps tearing his sleeves as they tan. Growing chest hair tickling his shirt he feels muscle surge from his chest as he raises his hand to yank the speakers from the wall. 

The voice of the man singing grows to a din as it is joined by a chorus of other voices within Alin’s head. Thousands of recitations, of songs, the Quran and countless Hadith surge into his mind in a horrible cacophony. He yanks the power cord from the wall and the dissonant symphony within his mind vacates. And Alin is once more left alone with himself, his ears ringing and his vision blotchy. Slowly recovering and laying on the floor he begins to hear himself groan through the tinnitus. Even his moaning sounds changed as the man begins to lose his English vocabulary to learn the only tongue that shall truly matter to him now, that of the sacred book.

He whines to himself switching between eloquent Arabic vulgarities and English more accented by the second, he sees a cross necklace next to him, calling out quite loudly, “Madha? What is this?” Must be a prank from Mo, ach he needs to work on his material eh. Sitting alone in the living room Alin tries to think of what to do to distract himself, both from the silence surrounding him and from the flood of information storming in his head. Suddenly everything becomes simpler when he decides to just do what he always does, turning to the East Alin sees Mo’s prayer rug, always lying out for convenience’s sake. Alin grimaces and briefly considers phoning Mo for his lack of dedication, but upon seeing the skintight outfit he is wearing to pray he reconsiders. He should focus on correcting himself before fretting over even his friend.

Alin closes his eyes once more, languishing in the quiet for one moment before he begins his own, his deep voice ringing out as he sings verse in praise, “Ah, Allahu Akbar.” His chest growing to hold more breath and his pecs begin to surge large enough to honor Allah with his body. He hugs his stomach as he continues “Subhanakal-lahumma wabihamdika-” He feels his biceps pull against his massive chest and almost smirks as he thinks about them, he feels an urge, a desire to flex the them before clicking his tongue at himself to stay on task.

“Subhanna rabbeeyal adheem-” he bends down, feeling his thighs and ass push out behind him, ripping large tears into his pants At the same time Alin sees the bulge in his pants grow larger, popping his zipper and escaping from his pants. He sharply inhales as he feels everything is suddenly more intense. He feels his body grow beyond the limits of his clothes. He feels his already larger cock begin to grow erect and Alin, continues to sing “Rabbana walakal hamd-”

Finally he prepares to do his favorite part of Rakats, he gets to his knees before fully prostrating himself. Continuing the prayer as he feels his beard grow heavier on his face. His forehead touches the floor and he smiles, feeling a warm itch in his crotch as his briefs strain to contain him, pubes spilling out every way, “Subhanna rabbeeyal ‘alaa”

He rises back to seating, the motion creating an intense pang of pleasure throughout his body as he struggles to maintain control of his senses. He ekes out, “Rabbigh-fir lee…” becores cumming in his briefs. He finishes the Rakat in his solid pants before promptly leaving to regain his dignity and change into actual prayer appropriate attire, changing into a thobe and doing two Rak’a ending with a Tashahhud as one is to do.

Ali smiles as he sits in reflection having finally quieted the chaos within his mind. He feels his strong body hidden under the thobe and comforted in his time spent worshiping. His final thoughts before he decides to do another round of Rak’a is a conviction to thank Mo for sending him that playlist of Quranic Recitations. He does not know who he would be without it. Inshallah he shall get the chance to bring his light to others. He rubs his hands down his powerful body as he stands. Wallah, they don't know what they’re missing.

[jerisch]

Lucky

Back at it again with @mrrharper

Colt was the greatest roommate I could have ever asked for, and I am surprised that nobody had snatched him before I did. I was so lucky to have found him.

I had been searching for a dude pretty similar to myself to room with: sameish age, comparable activities, would not have a problem with me bringing home a girl from the club every once and a while. Colt was all that and more. He was responsible and took his share of chores, was active and cared about sports (although he cheered for the wrong teams), and he was great at giving me my space but was also always willing to hang. He even gifted me with a playlist for the gym! Colt was just so thoughtful.

Colt was very sympathetic about my current situation, understanding that it would take a little bit before I found a stable job. He did not mind however, reminding me that as long as I had the money to pay for rent, he did not care what I did. This meant my weeks were fairly open to begin with, mostly spent applying and interviewing for jobs with my history degree. I visited the gym twice or three times a week for some light cardio, using Colt’s playlist to keep me motivated. His choices in music were perfect; I would finish my workouts before I even realized it.

As time went on, Colt and I got to spend more time with each other, learning about our individual hobbies and interests. We shared one of these moments while watching a game together between my favorite team, the New England Patriots, and his, the Philadelphia Eagles. It was a brutal match, with both of us cheering rampantly for our different picks. Colt’s team had been having a rough season already, so it was not surprising when the Patriots pulled ahead in the end. I was cheering and hollering, engrossed in my team’s victory.

“Isn’t it difficult to always be supporting the best team, Mike?” Colt suddenly asked.

I frowned, “What do you mean?”

“It’s so much pressure to always be on top. There’s more fun in supporting an underdog like the Eagles.” 

I considered his point, having been a lifelong Patriots fan. It made sense–always winning took some of the adrenaline away while at the same time instituting stress. If the Patriots lost, it would have been devastating. But even though the Eagles lost, Colt pointed out he still had hope, and that either result would have still made him feel good. I nodded after Colt asked if I wanted to feel good like him. There was no harm in becoming an Eagles fan for a season, it would give me something different. Plus, it would be exciting for Colt and I to be on the same team

It was then I discovered another great part of living with Colt was being exposed to a unique perspective. At first, I was watching twice as many games, supporting both the Patriots and the Eagles. But I quickly found my interest leaning towards the latter, better understand Colt's theory about hope. Losing never felt so good! By the end of the season, I had not only attended an Eagle’s game with Colt, but had missed the Patriots winning the Super Bowl entirely!

Colt’s perspective influenced me in other routes as well. Still without a job, he suggested that I could have been taking advantage of my free time at the gym. I had not objected to this thought, considering it as a fair idea. Slowly, I found myself working out more often, eventually entering and leaving the gym every single day. Colt commented that I must have loved it; working out and flexing my muscles. It also meant I had more time to listen to his awesome playlist.

At some point, the effect of my frequent gym visits became recognizable. There were the obvious benefits–I had always been athletic but now my muscles were becoming conditioned, firm and supple and model-worthy. But a cloud of funk had begun to surround my everyday life, the reek of sweat and body odor hovering constantly. I had always been good about wearing deodorant, but at some point the habit had abruptly vanished. Colt did not seem bothered by my musk however, so neither was I. 

Laundry was another victim of my altering lifestyle. Clean clothes became a thing of the past as my forgetful mind struggled to organize. My room became covered in my discarded clothing, some of which I eventually threw out. Not because they smelled horrendous, but because they were simply too hot. Starchy and confining, I soon found myself buying shorter shorts, more revealing tees, things the typical jock would wear. Colt even commented on it.

“You’re becoming quite the bro, Mike,” he had joked.

“They’re just so much more comfortable.” I had been in a stringer with some running shorts. “And I’m always so flushed now too.”

“It’s a new stage of life, you’re probably just anxious,” Colt offered. "You should just walk around in your boxers, that would help cool you down.”

“You think so?”

The next day, I found myself grateful for Colt’s suggestion. Strutting around the apartment in just my boxers massively improved my temperature regulation. There were other benefits too, like being able to visualize my flexes after every insane pump. It also allowed me easier access to my package, which I had recently noted had begun to feel heavier. Colt had caught me standing in the hallway fondling my junk once, snapping me out of a haze. He did not mind my behavior however, and I did not worry about him perving on me. I was not homophobic or anything, but I would have never roomed with a gay guy. I knew dudes well enough to know that sort of thing.

This was evident by the new guys I was hanging out with at the gym. A few of the jockish types had approached me after a workout, and with Colt’s encouragement, I had begun to hang out with them more frequently. Big Dog, Chief, The Big Brobowski; if I was not spending time with Colt I was at the gym, at the bars, or at the clubs with them. When I told Colt about this, he stated it was about time I had a nickname to go along with.

“Maverick,” he nodded. “Yeah, it fits you perfectly.”

I smiled dumbly, struggling to remember what my former name had been.

“The bros have had quite the impact on you,” Colt said. “You’re bigger, smellier, hairier.”

I chuckled, scratching at the fuzz on my exposed chest.

“Dumber too,” Colt added. “All that knowledge has shifted to sports, fitness, and nutrition. I think it's about time you stopped looking for a job with that useless degree. Apply to be a trainer at your gym.”

I cocked my head, the wheels turning slowly in my head as I considered this idea.

“Yeah...sure bro,” I eventually replied. And I followed up with it. To my surprise, the owner of the gym offered me a position right on the spot, saying I could start immediately after the weekend. The first thing I did was rush home to Colt, excited to tell him the news. I did not expect to see him on the couch in one of my dirty workout tees and a pair of silk shorts, pawing himself cockily.

Colt must have seen the shocked look on my face. “What, Maverick? Have you not done this with your bros yet?”

“Uh…done what?” I asked slowly.

“Helped a bro out,” Colt scoffed as if it was the most obvious thing. “Come here, I’ll show you.”

I followed his command, approaching slowly. I was still a bit sweaty from my viscous victory workout after the interview, Colt’s playlist had been blasting my eardrums the entire time.

“Gym bros like you do this all the time, Maverick” Colt persuaded, ushering for me to get on top of him. I crawled forward, my eyes tracing each ab that he revealed from under his shirt. “They look tasty, don’t they?”

With Colt's guidance, I felt myself lower down to run my tongue along my roommate's smooth, tight chest.

“See? That wasn’t so hard was it?”

Our eyes met. I did not have to vocally confirm.

“Dumb jocks like you do this all the time,” Colt reaffirmed. “They love to do this all the time.”

I felt my cock gently inflate, throbbing inside my tight shorts. Colt reached his left hand to calmly, but assertively cup my balls, eliciting a small moan from me as he pushed back my shorts. He then began to remove his own, aligning my dick and rubbing it against his hole. My precum was soon slicking him up. 

“I am the greatest roommate you could have ever asked for, and you are surprised that nobody had snatched me before you did.” Colt instructed as I entered him. “You were so lucky to have found me.”

[jerisch]

Going Green

"Microtransactions!"

Charles looked around the board members.

"Micro. Transactions. Have you ever heard of that? Anyone?"

Slowly, heads nodded.

"Oh, good! So, you *have* heard of them. Does anyone care to explain to me then why our games barely have any? In fact, I have yet to see *any* microtransaction revenue from our latest release."

"But Sir, 'Orcs and Morcs' is a single player game - and not for a mobile platform, too. It doesn't even have an online connection. It would be highly unusual."

Charles M. Anderson cut the engineer up with a gesture. He didn't even know the other man's name, which wasn't too unusual. Even though he was the CEO of GreenGames for six months now, he didn't bother to learn his subordinates names until they proved useful. And this unnamed engineer could be happy if he still had a job after this meeting.

"I don't care about your techno-babble. Microtransactions is where the money is, so I want them in our products. *All* our products. And make sure to make them mandatory for any progress, too."

Charles usually talked about "Releases" and "Products". To him, video games were just a product like any other. Of course *he* didn't play any of those silly games, games were for children and losers. He only cared for the numbers, the graphs and revenues.

"What about the backlash? I mean, I understand that you want to generate more revenue, but GreenGames is known for providing high quality games that *don't* try to rip their customers off."

"So?"

"So, this could be bad publicity for us. Really bad."

Charles looked around the table and noticed most of the other board members nodding.

"Listen up, everyone. I think there is some misunderstanding here. You think that I care about our customers. I really don't, as long as they continue to buy our products. There is no such thing as bad publicity. So, I don't tell you how to draw your silly ogres and you don't try to meddle in the business aspect of the company, okay?"

Even though the inflection suggested a question, it was perfectly clear that it was neither a question nor a request. Again, heads nodded and tried to avoid eye contact. Good. Respect was very important for a leader.

One woman spoke up. Charles suspected her to be some lead writer or something.

"It's orcs, Sir."

Charles blinked. "What are you trying to say?"

"You said ogres, but our games are about orcs. That is our thing, we make games about orcs."

"There is no difference between orcs, ogres, unicorns and all that whimsy stuff. Leave me alone with your fantasy crap."

"But there is another thing. You are responsible for the story of our products?"

The woman agreed with a careful: "Yes, Sir?"

Charles looked her straight in the eye. "It has come to my attention that there are certain woke elements in our products. As a story writer, I expect you to take care of that."

"What... do you mean by woke? And by taking care of that?"

Charles sighed. Why was everyone so incompetent?

"Apparently, there is same-sex smut in our products, some even have pronouns. That crap needs to disappear asap. It is 'go woke go broke', after all."

The writer woman looked at Charles incredulously. "But Sir! Same-Sex romances are a well-accepted part of the industry for *decades* now. And it's not like the player has to engage in that, too. It's just an option - an option we actually received much praise for in the past. And about the pronouns... It's just a setting that influences some dialogues on how the player character is referred to. Again, it is perfectly possible to play as a straight green cis male if that's what you want to do."

Charles shook his head, his voice now dangerously low. "One more word of that, miss, and you can start looking for a new job. 84% of our customer base is male, and male customers want to see boobs, that's a fact. I won't tolerate wasting company resources on pacifying some noisy minority and alienating our main audience."

"But sir!" the writer woman objected.

Charles' look silenced her.

"One more word and you're out. We'll find another writer. Someone who does the job and keeps their mouth shut. This meeting is over. I expect results end of next week."

Nobody dared to speak up when everybody left the meeting room, and Charles returned to his office. What a productive meeting.

Just as he turned to his computer to check today's KPIs, he noticed a new email.

From: Employee Council

To: Charles M. Anderson

Subject: Going Green

Body:

Dear Mr. Anderson,

we here at GreenGames would like to take the opportunity to point out some concerns about your leadership role.

We have noticed a disturbing development since your takeover and would like to remind you of the values we stand for at GreenGames. We like creating games, and we identify with the work we do. Our players are important to us, and we strife to be open and accessible for everyone. Just like the protagonists in our games, we have honor and use our strengths to better the world. You in particular should be the living embodiment of this ideal. Please take this chance to re-think your methods and decisions and "go green" for real.

Sincerely,

The Employee Council.

Charles was outraged. How dared those subordinates criticizing him? He reached for his phone, ready to phone his secretary to find out who this "Employee Council" was but was interrupted by a ripping sound.

The right arm of his expensive suit jacket had ripped at the shoulder, which was unusual. He would have to have a stern talk with the tailor. Charles stood up and took off his jacket - or at least, he tried to. It was like the piece of clothing was way too small all of a sudden. He finally managed to get out of it, but only with several more rips in the fabric. Charles loosened his tie. He was sweating like mad, and when he looked down on himself, he was in utter disarray. His shirt looked like it was several numbers too small and as he was watching, one button after the other flew off with an audible "pling", exposing his torso underneath.

But was it really his torso? Not only was it *bigger*, it also looked way *hairier*. Charles had never been a man with much body hair, but now, he looked down on a stomach that was showing visible abs covered with a dense treasure trail of dark hairs. They continued upwards where they met with a true forest of curly dark hair that covered the slabs of pecs that were still growing as Charles watched.

He had to loosen his tie again before taking it off entirely. All of his clothes felt constricting, so, he peeled himself out of his shirt, too. His expensive watch was interrupting his growth painfully, but Charles was too occupied to notice, let alone care. With a dull cracking noise, the leather strap broke, and the watch flew across the room, hitting the opposite wall.

As Charles continued to grow, the chair underneath him creaked, but, again, he had other things to worry about. His lower body was still covered by his dress pants and shoes, but that was getting tight, too. His shoes especially were getting painful, and it was a relief when the front broke, exposing large muscular feet and toes. His pants were filled to the brim with heavy, muscled legs now, but there was another region where the capacity had been reached. His groin formed an obscene bulge. That alone would have probably fit - barely - but it was accompanied by an unusual feeling. Charles didn't *mind* his extreme change. In fact, the hyper masculine body turned him on, even. He watched as a dick print became clearly visible outlined against his groin, as his cock grew hard. It pulsed, once, and Charles felt a spurt of precum soak into his boxer shorts. A wet patch became apparent as the liquid seeped through his pants - all from a single spurt. His dick pulsed again, and Charles' head began to swim. The air in the room was thick with sweat and testosterone by now, and Charles groaned from arousal. Man, what would he give for a nice firm manly ass right now, giving him a lap dance.

Wait, what? Manly ass?

But it was true! Every time, Charles tried to think about sexy girls, but all that came to mind were men. Burly, hairy men, twinkish shaved men, green-skinned ogre-man. No, not ogres, he corrected himself. Orcs.

As he thought this word, his dick pulsed again and made Charles almost cry out from arousal. He couldn't restrain himself anymore. He *ripped* apart his dress pants and lowered his boxer shorts that looked like a pair of briefs on his massive body now, releasing a gigantic stiff rod and a matching set of heavy balls - along with a whole cloud of manly, musky smell that made Charles even hornier than before.

He closed his gigantic hand around his shaft and moved it up and down, in a slow, barely constrained motion. He had almost come by that one stroke, so horny was his mind. Fascinatedly, he watched as his cock and balls took on a deep, green color. It looked almost like a cucumber, or the penis of the incredible hulk. Or... an orc. As he moved his strong hand up and down again, the green started to spread in all directions.

Yes! There was no doubt: He was becoming a big, strong, sexy orc! Charles let all restraints fall away and started pumping in earnest now. With each stroke, the green spread, until his entire torso was of a rich green color. His head felt a pressure as his facial structure reformed, and his ears grew long and pointy. His hair lost darkened and grew out into a wild mohawk-like hairstyle. At the same time, a black beard sprouted around his entire jaw, underlining his masculinity.

Meanwhile, the green had swept across his arms and legs, quickly eliminating any leftover pink spots. The green color looked incredibly hot under the coat of dense, manly hair, and Charles felt himself getting closer. He grunted with each stroke like an animal and where his muscular green body touched the furniture or his executive chair, it left a film of manly sweat. Finally, he felt a short bit of pain on his ears and nipples, as small metal piercings appeared there: Short studs in his ears and small rings in his nipples.

That sent him over the edge. With a final bellow, he came, mightily. His large green balls contracted and his massive cock spew cum everywhere: All over his stomach, his chest, his furniture, even his face!

Charr panted in the afterglow of his orgasm. He was the epitome of virility and although he had just cummed all over his office, his mind kept creeping back to sexy guys again. He would be able to go again, soon - but that had to wait a bit. He used the remains of his suit to clean up a bit (although it was still clearly visible and smellable what happened here), stuffed his mighty tool into the cum-stained underwear and reached for the phone.

"Please send the board to my office, I want to issue an honorable apology, and announce our new strategy." He rumbled with his new, low voice. After a moment of consideration, he added: "And please send someone to install our games on my PC."

He rubbed his hands. This would usher in a whole new era for GreenGames - with the greenest possible CEO.

I have the feeling that a lot of companies could benefit greatly from a bit of a greener leadership!

[jerisch]

Be of Service

Round of applause to @mrrharper

I dumped my uniform and bag into the locker, my partner John doing likewise beside me. After a graveyard shift, the two of us had decided to hit the gym bright and early in the morning before sleeping through our day off. John and I had been partners since we had first joined the police force. As officers, we had done a lot together; rode together, drank together, laughed together. One time we were even in a foursome together with two chicks we had picked up at a bar.

Now in our early thirties though, we had begun to take life a little more seriously. Start choosing wisely, acting responsibly. Working out had been my idea, and after six months it had already shown some results. Both of us were average height and had gained some pudge over the years, but now we both had notable definition. I could not help but flex a little in the mirror, impressed by the beginnings of my triceps.

“Looking fire, broski!”

My eyes shifted over to one of the three football jocks who sauntered into the locker room. I was immediately annoyed by the trio of obnoxious meatheads, and I could tell John was as well.

“Have you been coming here for long?” the first asked. “We haven’t seen you around.”

“We come when we can,” I replied. “Working for the law gives us busy schedules.”

“Woah…so are you guys like, officers or something?” the second guffawed.

“Officers, yeah.” John was irked.

“Huhuhuh…cool bruh!” the third jock inserted. “You two should totally join us!”

Before we could respond, the first jock piped back in, “Yeah dudes! We could have a great sesh between the five of us. Brock here is stellar at arms, and Duke is the best at working those legs and glutes.”

“Jalen’s a pro with chest,” the second jock, Brock, finished. “And you two officer bros, what are you good at?”

I grunted, “Knowing how to refuse an offer.”

It took Brock and Duke, the third jock, a second to process what I had implied, their mental capacities obviously slower than the average male. Jalen was a little faster however, putting on a dumb smile. 

“Your loss bros, but totally understandable,” he shrugged. “In case it wasn’t obvious, we’re on the football team at the local college, so let us know if you need any workout tips or exercises.”

I barely nodded my head, offering a blunt, “Ok, thanks.” John and I then made our way past the bulky jocks, the three of them each larger than either of us. I took a breath as soon as we exited their collective earshot.

“Three cocky dicks,” I snorted. “No better way to start the morning.”

John mockingly agreed. Our workout was brutal, our bodies already tired due to our unusual sleep schedule. This, along with the occasional stare from one of the jocks, only encouraged us to work harder. Nothing was spared from our exercises, we utilized machines that hit multiple areas at once. Arms and chest, legs and back, abs and quads. At the end, we hit the treadmills for a thirty minute run, sneering back at the trio while they stood in front of one of the many mirrors and flexed their pumped arms, taking pictures for social media.

Eventually, we were back in the locker room cleaning up, both expecting the jocks to ambush us again. Fortunately, the lumbering footballers never arrived. John had joked they were probably still drooling over their own muscles in the mirror, and I had replied better they were drooling on themselves then us. I did not want their narcissistic, dim-witted reek all over me, and neither did my partner. We both opted to skip showers; we could take them back at our respective apartments before crashing into our own, cool beds.

As we left the locker rooms and headed towards the exit, we were immediately swarmed by our unwanted acquaintances. 

“You know, bros,” Jalen swung a beefy, sweaty arm around both of us. Brock paced behind me, and Duke followed suit with John. “We never caught your names? We’d like to thank you for your service, officers, whatever it is you do."

His tone was a little menacing, but I knew he would not try to pull something in broad daylight. “Darren,” I responded. “and John.”

Jalen grinned, moving his arms to pat the back of our necks. I felt a little sting at his touch, almost like an electric shock.

“Now c’mon bros, how about you come join us at the frat house where we can properly use your services.”

John frowned, and I retorted with, “I think you boys have had your fun.”

Brock chuckled, “Fun’s not even started broski.”

Duke’s response was even deeper and dumber, “Huhuhuh...dudes aren’t even ready.”

We had finally made it outside, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon. I noticed our squad cars parked up front, we would be out of this mess in just a moment.

“Alright, this is our stop,” I exclaimed, making sure the three got my message. Suddenly, a piercing jolt was sent across my spine, traveling all the way from my brain to my toes.

“Our stop is actually over there, officers.” Jalen pointed to the two trucks past their cruisers. “Darren, you can come with me and Brock, Duke here is gonna take John.”

Robotically, my body followed Jalen’s command, tracing behind the first two jocks to their obnoxiously big vehicle. Although I could not turn my head, I could tell John’s body was following the orders as well.

“Disengage Operation Mode, security bypass JALEN, sleep.”

— —

“Engage 25% Operation Mode, security bypass JALEN, wake.”

My eyes fluttered open. I was standing in an empty room, not rigid but not slouching either. To my right, I could sense my partner’s presence, familiar with John’s aura. We were still in our dirty gym gear, although our body odor was nothing compared to the three jocks standing proudly before us. Through the windows behind them, I assumed it to still be some time in the morning, but that was the only piece of the situation that I could try to fathom.

“Bet you’ve never had a mind control chip implanted, have you, officers?”

I tried to respond with something snarky, but my mouth wouldn’t let me.

“We were just trying to be friendly, help some bros out, but you two insulted our kindness.” Jalen stepped a little closer, even from a distance I could feel his large, masculine presence. “Maybe next time you won’t mess with the son of a government-funded millionaire.”

Jalen pointed his fingers at his two goons. Brock and Duke each stepped forward, crossing the distance between them and John and I. They removed our shirts, and although I could see or move my feet, I realized my shoes had already been taken too.

“My dad gifted me some leftover mind-control chips he had built for the military, said I could use them if I ever needed them. Something along the lines of "accessing the nervous system" and "reprogramming capabilities". Didn't matter to me bros, it was all nerd-speak. I just needed the commands.”

If I could have, I would have gulped. Jalen stepped closer as the other jocks discarded our clothes.

“MC 1001, 50% Operation Mode.”

Suddenly, the feeling was restored throughout my body. I did not bother with attempting an escape, recognizing my body was still glued to the floor. When I turned to my partner, I realized John had not been released.

“What’s the plan, Jalen?” I spat.

“You were so rude to us back at our gym when you are employed to be of service” Jalen smirked. "The bros and I thought we should remind you of your duty, and what better way then by dispatching you as our new security guards who obey our every wish and command?”

“So what, you’re going to 'reprogram' us?”

“How about you see for yourself?” Jalen then turned to John. “MC 1002, engage Modification Mode, security bypass JALEN.”

“MC 1002, Modification Mode engaged, security bypass confirmed." It may have been John’s mouth that had opened, but I knew it was not him who was speaking.

“Brock,” Jalen invited. “How about you take the first swing?”

Brock laughed and scratched at his crotch, “Get him jacked bro.”

Jalen turned to Duke, “Anything specific you’d like to add?”

To my surprise, Duke did have something to add–a lot to add: “Make them former rugby players bro, cause rugby is for idiots and rugby players should serve football jocks, the real alphas.”

Jalen raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised too. “Works for me. MC 1002, enter in keywords ‘Rugby’ and ‘Jock’ to the personality frame and set both at 88. Raise ‘Muscle’ by 40 base points and remove any post-secondary education from the mainframe.”

Watching the football neanderthal list off a series of programming commands put our situation into a new perspective. My eyes grew with fear as the changes installed into John’s body. It was like watching a horrible balloon inflation, his body contorting as it expanded. John’s once meager chest bloated into two massive pecs supported by two trunks of legs. His arms cartoonishly bulged until they were practically circular, his pits filling with hair as a tattoo wrapped itself around his right bicep. His face thickened too, adopting a square shape along with a wider nose and thicker stubble.

“Keywords ‘Rugby’ and ‘Jock’ successfully installed.” John’s voice was now deeper, gruffer. “‘Muscle’ upgraded, post-secondary education deleted.”

Jalen nodded, “MC 1002, add 10 base points to his age as well.”

“Adding 10 base points to ‘Age’.” To my shock, I helplessly observed my partner grow older beside me. The skin around his body tightened, pulling in to reveal the more delicate details of his veins and tendons. Wrinkles began to develop across his body along with other age marks. It was painful to watch his hairline slowly pull back, his scalp thinning out into a well-maintained crew cut.

“Here’s the fun part,” Jalen mocked, noting my face of terror. "Lower cognitive abilities by 20 base points and independent identity by 30 base points. Install the ‘Security’ package to the mainframe and boost the ‘Obedience’ category to max potential."

Although there were no visible alterations, I could have sworn the light went out behind my partner’s eyes. “All actions executed, please confirm modifications to MC 1002.”

Jalen smirked, making direct eye contact with me. “Confirm MC 1002, disengage Modification Mode, reengage total Operation Mode.”

To my delight, I watched as John’s body reanimated completely, indicating he now had full control over his body. But any hope I had was immediately crushed as soon as he stood at command, dumbly  grinning with his arms crossed over his chest.

“How can I be of service, sir?” John asked Jalen.

“Go do a full sweep of the yard of something, bro.” Jalen tossed John a pair of sunglasses, not even bothering to hand him any other clothes. Apparently his now too-tight joggers were enough. “Oh, and by the way, you go by Hammer now.”

“Hammer…” John processed. “Yes sir, thank you sir.”

I watched as my former partner stomped out of the room, out of our reality.

“Why ‘Hammer’, bro?” Brock piped in from behind me.

“‘Cause he’ll be laying down the law of the land.” Jalen then shifted back to me. “Our other friend here will be ‘Brute’.”

I heard two empty-headed laughs from the two empty-headed jocks behind me.

“He’ll be nothing more than a wall of meat,” Jalen taunted. Before I could insult him back, he instantly shut me up. “MC 1001, engage Modification Mode, security bypass JALEN.”

“MC 1001, Modification Mode engaged, security bypass confirmed." My mouth was out of my control. I tried to fight back, reanimate myself by any means possible.

“Alright Duke, it’s your turn.”

“Same thing as last time, bruh.”

Disappointed, Jalen shifted back to Brock, “Got something else?”

I prayed Brock would not say anything too damaging “Make him huge dude,” he requested, putting me at ease before following up with: “And make him like a butler too.”

Jalen laughed, and if I could have I would have cried.

“Oh MC 1001,” Jalen merrily instructed. “Copy MC 1002’s personality frame and mainframe, and enhance body and clothes proportions to 1.5. ”

“Modifications downloading,” I stated, a sudden sinking emerging in my stomach. In moments, I sprung upwards towards the ceiling, my height soaring above the jocks to an astonishing six and a half feet. Muscles exploded out of my body, bloating me thick with bulk. My arms were plump and my hands meaty. Two juicy pecs larger than my head were now carried by my absolute barrel of a chest, stretched out and taut. My legs were colossal, so dense that I would permanently be forced to take wide, swaggering steps. Even my neck thickened, supporting my newly masculinized skull.

“Copy and paste procedure successful.” My voice was husky, low, deep and booming. “Body and clothes proportions at 1.5.”

“Look at his socks, bro,” I heard Brock snigger behind me. “Whattya think those stompers are?”

“Huhuhuh…I don’t know dude…maybe Size 15?”

“Looks like I missed something,” Jalen appeared disappointed. “MC 1001, reduce reproductive size to 3.”

“Redacting 4 base points from ‘Reproduction’.” I screamed, pleading for this to stop. But no words exited my mouth. Instead, I remained painfully silent as I felt my cock and balls shrivel down within my shorts. 

“Helps with the obedience factor” Jalen stated. “Now, let's lower cognitive abilities by 40 base points and independent identity to 15 base points. Install the ‘Security’ package to the mainframe, boost the ‘Obedience’ category to max potential, and add in keywords ‘Respect’, ‘Humility’, and ‘Subservience’."

I would not give up, I would not cave in. “Please confirm modifications to MC 1002?”

Jalen was finished with his game. “Confirm modifications, disengage Modification Mode, reengage total Operation Mode.”

After a moment, I blinked. My head felt fuzzy, empty, as if some great weight of responsibility had been removed. I dumbly chuckled to myself.

"Feeling good there, bro?” Jalen smiled. “Excited to serve us jocks?"

"Uhhhh, yeah bruh…be of service."

"Well said, Brute."

"Brute?" I smiled lazily. “What can I uh…do bro?”

"First, let’s get you in uniform.” Jalen signaled to Duke, who then tossed a black cap to me. I secured it backwards onto my head proudly.

“Now, clean the frat house from top to bottom. I’m talking dirty laundry in the machine, trash taken out, floors scrubbed–the whole deal. I want this place looking slick before the party starts tonight. Once you’re done with that, you can go patrol the lawn for any feds. Got all that?”

It took a while for me to process everything, but eventually the dumb grin came back to my face.

“Yeah bruh…whatever you need.”

[jerisch]

I'm an 30s average Asian live a boring office life and I want to rent Wolverine series, 1-3 would all be nice enough, cuz I love Hugh Jackman's Logan(well love Wolverine's comic version as well) so much. Pity that I may never be able to have any interaction with this character, otherwise it would be fantastic to build a close relationship with him, or even closer u u

Your Be Kind Rewind package finally arrived! You’ve been waiting for the VHS delivery all week and it’s finally here! You were unsure about it at first, because you don’t own a VCR, but the web site said you didn’t need any special equipment to play the tape. And the price point of $1 for all three Wolverine movies was just too good to pass up.

When you rip open the package, a small red six-sided die falls into your hand. Huh. Weird. You forgot that was the whole gimmick of the rental place. You wonder why. Although you’re excited to watch the movie ASAP, you feel a sudden urge to roll the die. You shrug and give it a quick roll, hardly noticing that it lands on 2 as you pull out a pristine VHS copy of The Wolverine. You don’t need to watch the movies in any order, because you’ve seen them all so many times, so you bring it over to your TV. Sure enough, a slot wide enough to fit a VHS tape is on the side of the machine, even though you could swear you’ve never seen it before. You pop in the tape and your screen crackles to life. Soft music plays over the closing credits of the movie.

You suppose the tape really is living up to the name of the company. You’re gonna have to rewind the whole tape if you actually want to watch the movie. Rolling your eyes, you hit the rewind button on your TV remote. Thankfully, it works. The screen turns blue and the tape begins whirring, but as it does so you feel an uncanny tingling throughout your body. You wonder if something weird is going on with your TV. As you approach, you feel static electricity from the front of the screen. You hold your hand out, watching the hairs on the back of your knuckles stand on end. Vaguely, in your reflection on the blue screen, you can see your hair standing on end too, largely forming into two fluffy points on either side of your head. You take your hand away and the hair doesn’t fall. The hair on your knuckles does, though.

Not only does it fall back down to your knuckles, but it seems to… roll? The hairs that have fallen begin to darken in color and give the illusion of movement as more hair sprouts from your knuckles, creating a thick carpet that begins unfurling rapidly down your forearms. You hold a hand up to your face in shock, but that just makes the hair from your knuckles spread onto your cheeks as well. Your skin tickles with pinpricks as dark hairs sprout from your face, spreading in either direction until a full, lush beard spans your entire face, except for the small spot on your chin that your hand was touching.

Your nose tickles as a mustache sprouts beneath it and you rush into the bathroom to look at yourself in the mirror. You look like you, but with crazy hair, a beard, and hairy-ass arms. You pale in shock at the sight. Actually, no. You just… pale. The skin on your face and arms leaches of color until you look totally… Canadian. Why did that thought pop into your head? You were originally going to say European, but suddenly the thought of being from anywhere other than Canada feels wrong.

Your body is suddenly wracked with pain and you double over the sink. As if they’re somehow tripling in density, your bones suddenly feel heavy. You struggle just to hold yourself up against the sink. As you strain, your veins begin to bulge. And then everything begins to bulge. Your shirt rips in two as your pecs inflate. Your stomach hardens into a set of cobblestone abs and your arms turn into corded mounds of muscle and sinew. Unbelievingly, you poke yourself in your newly firm chest. This causes a small patch of chest hair to curl out from around where you touched your - very real - muscles.

Your brain finally clicks out of panic mode and you realize you look just like Wolverine himself. You chub up a bit in your pants at the idea, but no. You can’t just emerge back into your life looking like a clone of Hugh Jackman. You need to stop this from progressing even further.

As the whirring of the VCR invades your mind, you realize your strange transformation must be related to the tape somehow. You rush toward the machine, feeling more powerful and agile than you’ve ever been before despite the newfound weight inside your body, and begin tapping frantically at the eject button.

SNIKT

With a brief rush of pain, a metal claw emerges from between your hairy knuckles, stabbing directly into the tape slot and causing an explosion that rockets you backward onto the floor. After a moment, groggy and rubbing your head, you sit up, but you’re no longer in your living room. You’re… somewhere in Japan? How the hell did you get here?

You panic and look around the room, trying to find the exit. You spot a phone and grab it, but in your haste you strain your fist again and three metal claws burst out of your skin, gouging the table. What. The. Fuck. You barely felt the pain that time, and you can see the wounds on your knuckles close up immediately after you retract your claws. Somehow the motion required to retract them just feels… natural.

After all… why wouldn’t it? You’ve watched the Wolverine mov- You’ve watched the- You’ve- Why can’t you complete that thought? Your brain fogs, and then clears. You try again. You’ve… been Wolverine for longer than most mutants have been alive, of course you know how your claws work. As if to prove this to yourself, you ball both hands into fists and let the claws break through in a display of pure, bestial power.

SNIKT

[jerisch]

This Is How You Recruit Gym Bros

Drake stood in front of one of many mirrors in the gym lobby and took out his phone. Then he flexed his pumped arm and got a few pictures for Instagram. As he did the Gym Owner walked up to him.

"How was the day, Drake?" he asked as he put his hand on Drake's shoulder. The gym bro grinned and did a double biceps pose, showing off his muscles to his own-- his employer.

"Good, boss." He replied in his usual dumb and low voice. "Had three clients, got sick pump on huge guns" He then flexed his arms again, showing off his biceps to the Owner.

Owner walked up to Drake and squeezed these pumped biceps.

"That's good, you're a great asset." He inhaled the gym bro's sweaty scent and saw as Drake grinned and began laughing like the dumb jock he was.

"Yes, boss" Drake drawled, his eyes unfocused, his mouth slightly open and drool starting to leak from it.

Only two weeks earlier Drake was David. A scrawny college student, whom the Owner attracted to his new gym with a heavily discounted monthly pass. He also showered him with free workout gear, as well as a jersey, a few chains and caps.

For David it was just a way of building brand loyalty or some similar bullshit, but for the Owner it was something more. The desired effects became apparent very quickly. As David continued wearing the gear he got, his mental capacity quickly deteriorated. His speech patterns became very basic and full of jock speak, he stopped attending classes and instead started spending hours and hours in the gym.

Barely a week has passed and David was now a muscular jock. The Owner decided that was the moment to act.

"Hey, man, I've seen you around the gym a lot recently."

"Huhuhuh, yeah bruh" David responded and scratched his crotch.

"What would you say if I would propose you work for me as a Personal Trainer? I need guys like you here."

"Uhhhh, bruh... I guess, like I dunno dude, uuuuhh..."

"Great!" Owner took David and guided him to his office. "You're redy to become an asset of Steel Gym, Drake!"

"Duuuude, it's like, uhhh... David--"

"Drake. That's your name. That's what in the gym's system."

"Drake?" the gym bro looked at the Owner with a confused expression. He, in response took a chain laying on his desk and put it around Drake's neck. The bro immediately relaxed, his eyes unfocused, and he grinned lazily.

"Drake... trainer... good asset... gym... boss..." he drawled as he signed the contract and officially became the gym's newest machine.

[jerisch]

Just Like Your Old Man

Justin cautiously parked the car in the driveway, having nearly turned back twice already. He despised his father, the years of torture he and put on Justin's family after coming out and abandoning his wife and 9-year-old son. It had taken years of therapy for Justin to recover from the trauma his father had caused, years to correct the inadvertent homophobia he had unknowingly developed. And now, 25 years later, his father wanted to reconnect.

When he first got the letter, Justin had almost thrown the paper in the trash. He even considered burning it. But his girlfriend encouraged him to discuss the matter with his therapist, and the therapist encouraged him to reach out. The word “closure” was tossed around more times than Justin could count. To his disgust, his therapist challenged him to make the visit, even going as far to say it was his responsibility as an investigative journalist. And now here he was, hours from home parked in his father’s quaint, suburban expanse.

Gathering his courage, Justin exited his car. He trekked up the pavement, dreading each new step a little more. In moments he was knocking on the door, hoping and praying that his father would not be on the other side.

“Justin!” 

Justin grimaced at the lumberjack of a man towering before him, his father’s voice deeper and gruffer than he remembered. 6’5, covered in either more hair or more bulk. All the hair on his head was gone, now bored out into a horseshoe supported by a dense, graying beard. His face appeared rougher than Justin had imagined, wrinkled and leathery in a way he believed was not typical of a man only in his fifties. His father’s aging had not come gracefully, but he appeared proud of himself nonetheless.

As his father led him inside, Justin was thankful he had never grown up to be like him. Physically, Justin took after my mother. He was shorter, naturally thinner, and had kept his youthful glow even into his early thirties. He had nearly grabbed his curly pompadour at the door just to confirm that his hair was still there. His girlfriend had once joked that Justin was "delicate," and he had reminded her that delicate was better than paunchy. 

Walking through his father’s home, Justin realized their personal lives were very distinct. As if going for a certain aesthetic, his father’s house resembled a maximalist's hunting lodge. Deeply-colored woods, furniture with dark reds and evergreens, and even a flag with brown stripes and a bear paw. This highly countered Justin’s own greige apartment. The only thing similar between the two of them were their outfits, his father’s crusty white wifebeater and jeans complimenting Justin’s own denim and black tee. 

“Please, take a seat.” His father had led them out to the back patio, offering Justin one of the two chairs. Beside it was a table that appeared handmade, holding two cups and a liquor bottle with bourbon. His father poured him a glass, even though Justin really only drank beer. Once he had finished pouring, his father offered him a small black box engraved with the face of a bear.

“What’s in it?” Justin asked.

“A cigar, of course.” Another thing he hated about his father, the smoking habits. When Justin was younger, he once overheard his mother remarking that her husband had always loved his cigars more than women.

“I’m good,” Justin declined flatly. “I don’t smoke.”

“Oh c’mon, just have one.” His father opened the box to show him. “It’s high quality, expensive for this momentous occasion.”

Justin remained stoic, sticking to his front.

“It will help you loosen up a little,” his father persisted. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how tense you are.”

Huffing, Justin sluggishly reached out to accept his father’s gift. He knew he would hate it, but surrendering would stop his father from pushing the matter any further. If anything, it would at least get a good laugh from his girlfriend.

After taking the cigar out of its box, Justin leaned forward for his father to light the end. Hesitantly, he then put it into his mouth, allowing the smoke to plume into his system before exhaling it out. It had a full-bodied, earthy flavor, leathery in a way Justin had not expected. He rationalized that the cigars were partially responsible for his father’s aging, and partially responsible for why he had held off his own.

“You’re a natural,” his father smiled, pleased as Justin took another drag without coughing. Justin was quite surprised by how easy the cigar was to handle. “You're just like your old man.”

That line made Justin snap, “I’m nothing like my old man.”

The blow was quick, but his father barely flinched. Justin knew he had been rude but he would not let his father take credit for the man he had become. Instead of retreating however, his father actually engaged the conversation. “I would disagree, Justin.”

Humored, Justin sat back a little in his seat, gulping down a bit of the bourbon. The warmth perfectly accompanied the musky flavor of the cigar. “Really dad, how so?”

“You take after me quite a lot, actually,” he replied. “In fact, when I saw you at my door, it was like looking back at a reflection of me that day I left.”

Justin’s cheeks grew red, shocked that his father would be so bold. But instead of retorting, his hand surprisingly guided the cigar back to his mouth.

His father chuckled, “I know it’s been a while since I last saw your mom, but you couldn’t possibly think that height of yours came from her. Last I remember, all your uncles were under six feet.”

Justin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, propping out his legs further. He would never admit that his father was correct, but his mother’s genetics did only gift men either at or below average height. Justin’s own 6’2 did not compare to his father’s monstrous size, but it definitely confirmed there was a bit of his father in him.

“And those muscles,” his father noted. “Have you been working out?”

Justin opened his mouth to scoff, but found the cigar had been stuck back into his lips. Inhaling and puffing out, he cooly replied, “More like off-an-on manual labor.”

“That would explain your build, I suppose,” his father agreed. “Stacked but not conditioned, which shows real hard-earned strength. That muscle gut of yours oughta look like mine in due time.”

Justin nearly choked on his second sip of bourbon, despising his father for his continual comparisons. His muscles had come from hard work alone, nothing to do with genetics. The reason he had these thick, sturdy arms was from carrying metal pipes. His thick legs that filled out his jeans well, those came from squatting shipments and supporting the machinery. The Size 14 feet? Stomping around construction sites. His thick, calloused hands? Hours of hauling materials. 

So sure, Justin’s stomach may have become smoothened out into more of a curve, sometimes even bunching up his shirts underneath his tight pecs. The years of manual labor and hanging out with the fellas after hours may have stretched his lower torso taut, but it was nothing compared to the swollen ballgut his own father had.

“Guys with our frames were meant to be heavier, right?” his father stated. “In fact, knowing how similar we are, I’d bet you’ve started enjoying that bulk. Perhaps even indulging in it.”

Justin allowed another puff of smoke to melt down his throat. “Is it, um, that obvious?” he asked, slightly embarrassed this stranger was able to pick that up. Justin had started relaxing his diet a bit more, commonly accepting leftovers and offers to eat out. He had become quite skilled at out-drinking his opponents, something he had discovered was quite exhilarating. Countless memories Justin sliding his hand down into his unbuckled pants, groping his bulge after every instance of his dirty bulking suddenly appeared. The size and power thrilled him, excited him.

“Don’t worry son, it’s normal for guys like us.” His father heartily laughed and took a drag of his own cigar. “The hair loss is pretty typical too. How long do you think you’ll hold on before you just shave it all off?”

“Shave it?” 

“Well sure,” his father grunted. “Better than watching it all thin away.”

Justin assumed his father was correct. Every year since he was a teenager, it seemed like he was cutting his hair a bit shorter, little by little. It was now reduced to nothing more than a small peak, his sides sheared away just shy of a buzz.

“That’s what the beard is for anyway, huh?” his father joked. “It’s a compromise: the older we get, the more hair that falls off our heads and onto the rest of our bodies.”

With his other hand, Justin raised his glass in cheers before taking a swig of the bourbon. His father had been spot on. Justin had become quite the furry beast, with thick patches of hair sprouting all across his chest and carpets lining his arms and legs. His pits were jungles of their own, and he did not even bother trying to maintain the bush around his package. It was not like Justin had a girlfriend or anything to abide by any standards for.

“What do you think of that bourbon by the way?” his father asked, taking a sip from his own glass. “It’s my personal favorite.”

“Mine too,” Justin agreed behind a cloud of smoke. His voice had adopted a hoarser, huskier flavor akin to his father’s.

“And that cigar is doing wonders for you,” his father added, the choice of words confusing Justin momentarily. “What I mean is, you seem to really be enjoying it.”

“It’s something I probably got from you,” Justin admitted. “Loved cigars for as long as I can remember. Even started my own podcast on them on the side.” Justin nodded down to his chest, the name of his show branded proudly across his tight black tee.

His father grinned, placing his bourbon back on the table. With one hand, he guided his cigar back up to his lips, taking another long drag. He dug his other hand into his pants, fondling himself languidly. 

“Would you agree with me now, son? That you’re like your old man?”

Justin, unfazed by his father’s sudden indecency, pondered the question, watching as the smoke released from his cigar and his own lips.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

His father then lowered his jeans, his thick, monstrous, 9-inch hairy dong flopping out.

“Would you say you’re just like your old man, son?” his father questioned.

Taking one last inhale of his delicious cigar, Justin placed his glass back onto the table. Justin then placed his cigar beside it before crawling between his father’s knees, his own giant cock throbbing and wet as well. Through careful actions, he opened his mouth and went down on the new thick cigar is father had presented to him, the musky smoke creating the perfect cloud around them.

[jerisch]

StraightShot

Jax was about to have his very first one-night stand, and it was going to be with two pornstars. 

Just an hour ago Jax had been flaunting his twinky physique at the clubs. With a group of his friends, he had been making waves along one of the city’s most prominent strips. This was mainly due to his flirtatious attitude and newfound sense of freedom, after having been dumped by his boyfriend only a week before. The two had been going at it for almost a year, but after six days of grieving Jax was ready to be reborn. With a glittery crop top and tight black jeans, Jax was to have fun.

The night had luckily provided him with what he needed. Jax’s typical shy, romantic personality was ditched after a few shots of tequila, instead adopting a more flamboyant, slutty nature. Jax rubbed his body against any male figure he could, no matter how attractive. He was feeling easy and sleazy, a look that suited his 5’5 lithe frame quite well. His friends even commented on it, encouraging him to embrace his more feral side. And they were the ones who encouraged him to go home with Malik and Martin.

The pair had bumped into him on the dancefloor. Jax had first started grinding his perky bum up against Malik, the shorter and tanner of the two. Martin approached shortly after, sandwiching Jax in between their bodies. Both well over six feet, Jax melted into himself, the pure walls of masculine meat like heaven. His own meat, a solid 4 inches, displayed his ecstasy. He quivered as he realized the two massive sausages poking at either end of his exposed torso were not even hard yet.

“How about you come home vith us,” Martin requested in a slightly accented English.

“Yes,” Malik agreed, his English notably rougher. “Ve give you good time.”

After a confirming nod with his friends, Jax left with the pair. They rented a house that even in the night appeared desperate for some renovations. Jax’s heart was pounding as he entered the home, trying his best to disregard the unkempt space. The place reeked of sour food and musky men, each floor painted with an array of unwashed clothes and unknown stains. And he would not even try to discuss their intellects–Jax was not that picky but he at least wanted a guy who could hold a conversation. Yet he reminded himself that he was here for one good time, not a relationship of many.

“Let’s see vat ve are vorking vith,” Malik chuckled, helping Jax remove his small shirt. His pale, beautifully thin torso often led others to assume he was years younger than his actual age of 22.

“Ah yes,” Martin began rubbing one of his thick mitts along Jax’s bare skin, examining him. He had removed his own shirt to reveal two sculpted pecs and a muscular build gifted by the gods. “Zis vill do nicely.”

Malik smiled, “I agree, big money.” Malik’s own revealed torso was just as marvelous.

“This is insane,” Jax replied giddily. “You two are built like pornstars.”

The pair looked at each other before laughing, “Zat is because ve are.”

Jax gulped, “Really? What site do you guys work for?”

“StraightShot” Malik said. “Have you heard of it?”

Jax nodded slowly. He had never actually seen any videos from the site, but he was familiar with the name. He remembered thinking it was clever, assuming it to be some joke on forceful ejaculation.

Martin noted the concern in Jax’s face. “Do not vorry, ve are both clean.”

“Yes, very clean,” Malik added. “Very talented too.”

Jax began to feel the downward slide of his adrenaline, the logic and doubt he had tried so desperately to force back seeping in. 

“If you are vorried, ve can give you aid for fun.” Malik suddenly voiced, extending a hand slowly to cup Jax’s bulge. Instantly, his softening cock began expanding once again.

“‘Aid’?” Jax questioned.

“It is vat producers give if we have off day, are nervous,” Martin answered. “Vould you like some?”

Before he could answer, Malik dug the hand fondling Jax's dick up and into his skinny jeans, his rough calluses completely rubbing erotically against Jax's skin. Jax moaned a little in response, rolling back his eyes as Martin opened a drawer beneath the sink in front of them. Inside was a stack of syringes, each filled with a hazy white liquid.

“W…wait,” the sight momentarily broke Jax out of his glazed state. “What is that?”

“Do not fear,” Malik cooed, tightening his grip on Jax’s shoulder and dick. Martin's giant hand landed on Jax’s shoulder, their combined strength suspending him.

“Guys?” Jax’s voice cracked nervously. “What is going on?!”

“Just relax,” Martin notched the cap off of a syringe. “Zis vill take one second.”

“No, wait, I don’t consent-!”

In a flurry of action, Malik yanked Jax’s dick out of the tight jeans while ripping down his jeans with the other hand. With Jax held still, Martin jabbed the syringe into Jax's hard dick and slowly released the milky liquid. The pain was incredible, paralyzing Jax until the last drop had entered his system. Once he was finished, Martin slowly removed the needle and tossed the syringe aside. The pair then released Jax, watching carefully as he collected himself.

“What the…” Jax started slowly. “What did you do to me? What was that?”

“Zat vas ze Straight Shot,” Malik answered. 

“The what?”

“Ze Straight Shot,” Martin over-emphasized each word dramatically as if Jax did not understand what they were literally saying. 

Jax backed out of the bathroom naked and in disbelief, the two carefully following. The muscles Jax had previously wished to be wrapped up and tangled in were now frightening to his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Malik and Martin did not know how exactly to respond, and luckily, they did not have to. With a groan, Jax felt his dick stiffen up again. Unlike before however, his boner was more intense, more demanding. It was so stiff and rigid that Jax could have sworn it was bigger. It globbed out a spurt of precum, and to Jax’s shock, his dick grew. The previous 4 inches had plumped up into to 5.

“What the-” but Jax did not finish his statement. He groaned again as another drop oozed out of his head. Only this time, the growth did not only come from his dick. Slowly, his bones creaked and extended as his height was altered. His legs were stretched out, torso lengthened, and even his midsection was vertically pulled. More precum began pulling out, only fueling Jax’s ascent until he reached Martin’s height, a glorious 6’5.

Jax’s height was not the only thing affected by the steady trickling leaking from his current 6-incher. Across his body, Jax’s skin began to inflate, as if filling with cotton. At first, Jax thought it could be some temporary allergic reaction, but after some painful recognition he realized it was quite the opposite.

Jax's thin frame was bulking out with muscle rapidly. It was granting him biceps the size of footballs and quadriceps the size of watermelons. Calves with steel tendons, triceps carved by intricate valleys, gigantic hands built for cupping gigantic pouches. Even his buttocks had discovered a new harder, tighter curve. In the back of Jax’s mind, he reckoned it would be harder to bottom now.

Another groan showcased Jax’s new voice: a deeper, gruffer tone. It made him sound much older, his vocal color introducing him as a more experienced person. Through the agony of his transformation, Jax realized his voice was not the only thing that aged. His body proportioned itself differently–a more even distribution of his muscle mass, tighter skin, a sharper jaw that was covered quickly by a luxurious beard. 

Body hair instantly followed, dusting Jax’s pecs, pits, and coating his legs all the way down to his new monstrous Size 15 feet. The skin around his face grew a little taut, plumping out his longer nose and larger brow. With one hand on his 7-inch pump, Jax ran his other giant mitt through his taller, lusher quiff, just barely feeling the new age lines upon his forehead. No one would ever assume he was younger than 22 again.

“You are almost zere, brother,” Martin cheered.

“Yes, so very close,” Malik encouraged. “Ze viewers will love zis, love you.”

“‘Ze viewers’?” Jax questioned, his rich bass now also tainted with their same accent. “Vat you mean by zis?”

Jax followed Malik’s and Martin’s eyes, discovering a phone had been propped up onto a stand to his right the entire time. Its screen mirrored himself back. His entirely new, muscular, naked frame was currently gracing the audience of their livestream. And according to StraightShot's numbers, the audience had just hit four digits.

“I am being live streamed?”

“And later, your video vill be published on our channel,” Martin grinned. 

Malik added, “You vill join our content house.”

“But vat if-'' Jax grunted, thrusting his hips forward. “Vat if I don’t want zis? I liked being tvink!”

“‘Tvink’?” Malik questioned, as if Jax had just spoken a foreign language. Jax stared at Martin for help, but was met with the same dumbfounded expression. That was what he was, or at least what he had been. Any gay man should have known what a twink was.

Jax blinked. Even through the pain, the unwanted ecstasy, and the fear, he now began to fully grasp the scene before him. StraightShot was not some pun on ejaculation, it was a literal conversion drug. And the signs had been there all along. Malik and Martin's continuously soft cocks, their inspection of his body, their unfamiliarity with queer terms.

“Does zat mean…” Jax moaned, his 8-inch dick throbbing and quivering. “...you two…you two are straight?”

The pair chuckled, with Martin replying, “And you vill be too.”

Jax’s heart skipped a beat, the rush of despair clouding his judgment. He did not even recognize his guard faltering, lowering just enough for the ecstasy to completely override his system.

“Oh god,” Jax tried to protest in agony, but he had already lost. Both of his hands were working him towards release, one pumping his long, girthy cock and the other cupping the succulent, drooping sac that had already removed all of its former homosexual occupants. Jax held himself for just a moment before releasing his head back, the pleasure overpowering his will. 

"ICH KOMME!" The roar was that of a mighty manly beast, accompanied by hot, sticky cum. After a few labored breaths, the new man settled back into reality.

The young, romantic, little gayboy Jax was gone, now splattered across the room and even partially onto the phone in front of him. Malik, Martin, and their subscribers were now presented with Maximillian. Bolstering 32 years, 200 pounds of pure muscle, and 9 inches of pure heterosexual meat, the newest member of Malik’s and Martin’s content page was bound to rack up views and money.

Maximilian’s memory of his past and transformation had been erased, along with a notable chunk of his intelligence. Now lacking the certain motor skills he had once looked for in a partner, he simply began to flex for his fans in front of the camera, still covered in sweat and the afterglow.

“Hey,” Malik whispered eventually, breaking Maximilian out of his mindless haze. “Time to sign off.”

“Vat?” Maximilian growled. “Zey love me.”

Martin winked, “Zink of ze slutty babes zat vill love you more.”

To the delight of his viewers, Maximilian’s massive dick instantly sprung up. To their dismay however, he grabbed a pair of tight black undies and covered his package. Flexing one last time, he confirmed his departure quickly with the pair before addressing his audience.

“It is time to go,” Maximilian remarked matter-of-factually. “I’ve got to StraightShot into some chicks!”

Maximilian signed off, ignoring Malik’s and Martin’s comments that he would have to work on his English to create a better closer. As they left, the pair began discussing how they could catch their next content creator. Maximilian did not listen however–he needed pussy and he needed it now!

[jerisch]

‘Aren’t personal trainers supposed to be buff?’ Joe thought as he followed behind Richey, ‘Or at least work out a little?’ He wondered as he looked over at the short, skinny blond guy leading him through the gym.

“So we’ll start with some basic stuff just to get an idea where you’re at.” Richey’s high voice caused Joe to wince, “But before we start, I like to know what motivates my What really drives you.” Richey turned and stared deeply into Joe’s eyes.

“Well uh...” Joe averted his gaze slightly, taken aback by the intensity of the stare, “I want to get in better shape.” He chuckled a bit, “I just graduated college and was on the swim team, but two years of working and drinking kinda caught up to me. It’s tough man, ya know?” He adjusted his loose shirt a bit, which hid the slight pudge that covered his abs, “I’ve tried to get back into it but I don’t know...”

Richey nodded, “I definitely don’t think you’re in bad shape.” He winked and Joe couldn’t help but smirk. Was he really getting hit on by his personal trainer? Ashley would get a good laugh at that, “But I can respect that. So you lost your drive. Gave into some unhealthy habits.” Richey clapped his hands together, “Well you came to the right place! I know how to help all my clients reach their goals through both body and mind!” Richey led Joe into a different part of the gym, a private room with a cabinet, free weights, a bench press, and a squat rack.

“From what I’ve heard, if there’s anyone who could its you.” Joe replied, taking in his surroundings, “I’ve heard great things from all the reviews.” Richey smirked as he walked to the cabinet and began to rustle through the contents. Joe raised an eyebrow, “So uh, what’re you looking for?”

“Ah there it is!” Richey said with a grin, turning to face Joe, holding a few candles, “I know this is unorthodox, but I believe creating a peaceful environment while working out is key.” Richey said, placing candles around the workout room and lighting them, “Go on, let’s start with a basic bench press.”

Joe nodded and scrunched his nose at the smell of the candles. He could smell a hint of pine, tobacco, and leather. And it smelled pretty good.

‘Unorthodox, but okay.’ Joe thought, as he sat at the bench and got ready to start his set.

Richey stood above to spot, “Okay now you know the drill, just up and down. We’ll start with a light weight, okay?” Joe nodded and started just as Richey instructed. Up and down. Barely difficult, “You’re doing so well.” Richey cooed, “Remember, deep breaths.” Joe continued, taking in deep breaths, the smell from the candles entering his nostrils, “Wow look at those. What nice pecs you have.” Richey said, grinning down at Joe.

“Uh thanks man?” Joe replied, finishing his set and sitting up, “Appreciate the comment, but just want you to know, I’m not gay.”

Richey chuckled, “Of course, of course!” He held up his hands defensively, “Sorry, I can’t help but admire my work.” Joe raised an eyebrow but before he could say anything, Richey cut him off, “Okay I think we’ve done enough with the bench. Let’s focus on your biceps.”

Joe nodded. It felt odd to move so quickly to the next exercise but his chest felt sore. He chuckled- he must’ve really been out of shape. As he walked over and grabbed some dumbbells for curls, he noticed Richey lighting a few more candles. Again, the smell of pine, leather, and cigar smoke intensified in the room.

“Just some basic curls and transition to shoulder press.” Richey instructed. Joe did just that, curling the dumbbells with ease, a grin forming on his face.

‘Fuck this feels really good.’ He thought, observing himself in the gym mirror, ‘Huh I thought I shaved today.’ Joe could see some stubble across his face. But before he could think more of it, Richey walked over and gave his biceps a squeeze.

“Very good, drop the weights. I think you’ve done enough for now.”

“Hey man, don’t touch...” But Joe stopped before he could finish. As he looked at Richey, his wide blue eyes, tan skin, and cropped blond hair, he felt an odd infatuation for the cute man, “Uh never mind dude.” His voice sounded a little hoarse and he cleared his throat, “Hey its getting a bit hot in here, mind if I lose the shirt?”

Richey smiled, “Oh please do.”

Joe smirked and pulled off his shirt, revealing a pair of nicely sculpted pecs and bulging arms and shoulders. He looked over at himself in the mirror, catching a glimpse of his improved physique.

“Wait...” Joe said aloud, trying to process his bulging muscles, “That’s not...”

“Let’s get you doing some crunches.” Richey interrupted, “I’ll support your feet, okay?”

Joe was about to interject, but he caught another whiff of the candles and simply nodded. He got to the ground, placing his arms behind his head and began his set of crunches. And with each crunch, the slight pudge that covered his abs seemed to reduce until a perfect set of abdominals graced his features.

“I’m very impressed.” Richey commented, “When I saw your application I was a little worried about you.”

“Yeah? Why’s tHAt?” Joe’s voice cracked as he did another crunch.

“Well men of your age tend to have less exercise capacity.”

Joe chuckled, “I’m only 45.” His eyes widened... why’d he say that? He was 24! He cleared his throat, “I’m 45.” His voice sounded deeper, more gruff.

“Oh exactly. But I think the extra years add maturity. Less excuses, more personal discipline.” Richey replied, “You know how to make a routine and actually follow through.”

And as Joe came up from another crunch, Richey leaned forward and gave the man a kiss on the lips. Joe’s eyes widened and he quickly stood up, glaring at Richey. He wanted to chastise him, to scold him. But the kiss felt kind of nice. And the way the young personal trainer looked... with those blue eyes and fat ass. Joe didn’t know what to say, so he quickly darted toward the bathroom, mumbling that he needed some water. Richey smirked and watched as Joe’s blond locks fell from his head and hair sprouted from his face and chest. He was turning out nicely, but Richey wasn’t done. He grabbed a candle and approached the bathroom.  

When Joe finally got to the bathroom, he ran to the mirror with wide eyes. Staring back at him was an older man- buff as hell but certainly not him. His hands quickly darted to feel his new body, silently confirming it was indeed very real. And when he heard the door shut open and close behind him, he jumped.

“Oh daddy, don’t worry.” Richey cooed, placing the candle down and removing his shirt. Joe watched as the slender twink sauntered up to him. Richey smirked and placed a hand on Joe’s hairy pec, causing the older man to shudder, “You’re soooo perfect.”

“No... this isn’t right.” Joe whispered, feeling blood rush to his cock, “Get away from me.” The smell of the candle made his head spin.

“It’s okay now daddy.” Richey moaned, rubbing his hand across Joe’s pec and abs, and then down his pants, “Mind and body. That’s my mantra.”

Joe moaned as Richey grabbed his fat cock and began to pump it, slowly increasing the speed. Before he could finish though, Joe suddenly pushed Richey against the wall, breathing heavily and looking down at the smaller man. For a brief second, nothing was said before Joe crushed his lips against Richey’s, the two passionately making out. As they made out, Richey removed Joe’s pants and slowly knelt to the ground. He smirked up at Joe before wrapping his lips around the older man’s cock.

“Fuck!” Joe moaned as Richey continued. He couldn’t believe how good this felt. He’d never had a better blowjob. Not even from his... girlfriend? Joe’s head started to hurt as his prior memories came rushing forward, trying to encourage him to resist. To push Richey off of him and escape. But before he could gather the energy to do so, he felt Richey begin to suck more vigorously. And before he could stop it, he came. And with it, Joe felt his desire for his former life fade away until it disappeared. All he wanted now was to be here, with Richey.

“How’re you feeling daddy?” Richey asked, wiping his mouth, “You happy with the results?”

Joe looked over in the mirror, flexing his biceps, “You bet your ass, boy.” He replied, turning back to Richey, “So when’s our next session?”

[jerisch]

A New Daddy

Aaron sighed as he kicked another rock down the walking path. He found himself here a lot nowadays. It offered him some much needed peace and a place to think about his life. In reality, Aaron was overjoyed. His wife was due any day and he’d be a father soon. But Aaron was anxious. His dad was not much of a father and left the family when he was young. And because of that, the soon to be father was worried... what if he was a bad father? What if he messed up something? He never had a real role model. With another sigh, he sat down on the edge of a small pond and started skipping stones. As he looked out over the lake, he didn’t register the strange glow coming from the stone in his hand.

“I just wish I’ll be a good dad.” He whispered as he tossed the stone.

He watched as the stone hopped across the pond and with each hop glowing slightly brighter. He was fixated on the strange glow- it was perhaps one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. But his amazement quickly subsided as he felt a cool breeze pass over his bare skin. Wait... bare skin!? Aaron jumped up and looked down at his naked form. He quickly covered his junk and looked around in terror. Where’d his clothes go? What if someone saw him? Wait... since when did his chest hair look like that? Aaron watched as the light dusting of chest hairs that adorned his toned chest started to darken. And as they darkened, more started to sprout across his pale skin. He raised his hand to his chest, confirming that these new growths were real, but quickly yelped in surprise when he noticed the same wiry dark hairs sprouting across his arms.  

“I need to get help.” He whispered, turning his attention away from the thick pelt that was growing over him, “Where’s my phone? Fuck did that disappear to? I’ll just need to ask someone... anyone...”

Aaron took a step forward to start his search and cried out in pain as his foot touched the ground. It felt like all the muscles in his body were contracting. He watched through teary eyes as his calves and thighs exploded with muscle- thickening and becoming large like tree trunks. He winced as he raised his arms and watched as his previously thin and toned musculature started to thicken. His forearms were first, followed by his biceps and triceps, which were becoming padded with thick layers of muscle and fat. While incredibly painful, he was amazed. What guy doesn’t dream of having muscles like this? But this wasn’t natural and he couldn’t do anything as his body continued to transform against his will. Aaron watched as his flat, but now hairy abdomen, pushed out with layers of fat. He’d never be called “beanpole” again, he realized. But just as his stomach was blossoming into a firm muscle gut, his hairy chest was following closely. He packed on layers of muscle and fat to his previously toned chest. All the while, a pleasure was building from nipples, which were becoming larger and perkier. Aaron let out a silent cry as a cold sweat washed over him and his muscles relaxed.

“I... need... help...” He breathed out, flipping over and forcing himself up.

He stood unsteadily on his thickened legs. He was certainly taller than before. And as he tried to reorient himself, he became unbalanced and fell to his knees. He met his reflection in the still pond water. It was still him. His light dirty blond hair, kind eyes, and youthful face. But... but he couldn’t help but noticed that his stubble looked slightly darker. And before he could do anything, he watched with dread as his facial hair became darker and started to form into a manly beard. He couldn’t turn away as he watched his dirty blond hair fall from the top of his head, until he was completely bald. And then a new feeling washed over him as his skin became tougher and weathered as his body aged rapidly.

“No... fuck no.” He whispered as he turned away from his new reflection, “This... how did this?” He winced at how gruff and deep his new voice was. This didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. He felt tears in his eyes as he looked down as his hairier, older, and thicker form.

And suddenly the world spun around him- shifting and changing rapidly. The now older man felt his head spin as the world around him changed. He was no longer in a park, but instead what looked like a home workout room. Weights and equipment scattered all around him. And as the world stopped spinning, he attempted to regain his footing, but fell with a loud bang.

“Fuck!” He shouted, his deeper voice again causing him to wince. He quickly looked around, but everything seemed to be tinted darker, “Sunglasses?” He whispered as he caught sight of himself in the gym’s mirror, “What am I wearing?” It looked like some type of leather harness wrapped around his chest, causing his muscular pecs to be more pronounced, “At least I’m not naked anymore.” He mused, looking down at the white jockstrap that covered his dick, “Where the fuck am I? I need to find Amy and get help...”

“Daddy?” Aaron froze when he heard the high-pitched, feminine, yet decidedly male voice. He turned and locked eyes with the man, “Oh my god, daddy are you okay?”

Aaron’s eyes widened as the younger man ran towards him, wearing nothing more than a light-blue jockstrap. Each step causing the platinum blond man’s ass to bounce. Aaron was mesmerized, his eyes fixated on the guy’s massive bubble butt. How perky and jiggly it was. How much he wanted to squeeze it. Wait? Squeeze it?

“I don’t need you.” Aaron spat, picking himself up, “Get away from me!” Wait... why was his cock growing? He wasn’t into men? Or their sexy asses. Sexy? Aaron gripped his head, “Wait... no... stop...”

“But daddy, I just want to help you.” The twink bit his lower lip and walked up to Aaron, “And you’ve been working so hard.” He traced his hands along Aaron’s hairy muscular torso, “Please daddy, just a taste.” He moaned as his hand slipped under Aaron’s jockstrap.

Aaron’s mind was filled with conflicting thoughts. He was going to be a father... but wasn’t he already a daddy? A daddy? A damn good daddy, right? But didn’t he like women? Wasn’t he married? Why would he be married? Since when was he ever with a woman? Since when did he ever want to be with a woman?

“Please daddy.” The twink moaned as he pulled down the jockstrap, freeing Aaron’s cock. And he didn’t protest.

As the twink wrapped his mouth around the older man’s cock, Aaron’s mind spun even faster. It felt so good, so much better than any time with a woman. And as he looked down at slut on his knees, his ass jiggling with each thrust of Aaron’s monster cock, a new feeling washed over him.

“Deeper, boy.” Aaron commanded, gripping the back of the twink’s head and forcing his cock deeper, “Show daddy how much you want it.”

The twink obliged and Aaron threw his head back in pleasure. His spinning thoughts were settling down. His new identity taking hold. He was a dom daddy. A good daddy for his little slut. Nothing before this mattered- nothing ever mattered, just this. Even his old self was becoming content, quieting down and falling into a state of blissful pleasure. After all, he just wanted to be a good daddy? Wish granted, right?

“God damn, boy!” Aaron shouted as he came, sending torrents of cum down his slut’s throat. He sat down on the workout bench, while his slut breathed heavily.

“Oh daddy, thank you.” The twink moaned, “You’re the best daddy ever.”

Aaron smirked, “Damn right, boy.” He smirked at himself in the mirror. Fuck he looked good. A true man. His attention turned back to his slut, “Now boy, are you ready for round two?”