malestransforming

[malestransforming]

Respect Women

Kris was simply in a bad mood when he told the woman at the club to fuck off. Well, to be honest, he said more than that: he called her a fucking bitch, and then told her to fuck off. Her eyes seemed to flash red with rage, jabbing him in his bony twink chest with a manicured finger, speaking with passion and disdain. "Boy, if you're gonna talk to women like that with that mouth, the least you can do is make her cum with it." The obviously gay guy blushed and then turned beet red in confusion and embarrassment. Something about the adrenaline of the moment even made his dick chub up a bit, or so he told himself.

He shook his head, stumbling back a few steps, ignoring the tingling feeling running across the flesh of his lips. He excused himself, leaving the woman to her anger and rushing outside where he quickly called a cab to come pick him up and save him from the awkwardness. Not only had his boyfriend stood him up, but he went and made an asshole of himself in front of some chick who totally thought he was a douche now. He knew better than to call her a bitch! He loved women, all his friends were girls, he was gay for crying out loud. He just wanted to take his frustration out on someone.

To do that on a black woman in a gay club… Wow. Awful judgment call, Kris. Good going.

He makes it to his home, rushes inside and slams the door behind him. Rubbing his face, he lets out a sigh and wastes no time making his way to his bedroom, where he flings himself on the bed and starts to fall asleep. Tomorrow will be better, he thinks, sleepily, still chubbed up and grinding lightly against the sheets below him. They feel so warm… so soft… so inviting. His eyelids are fluttering closed before realizing his lips are parting, tongue swirling out of his mouth, ready to have a french kiss makeout session with his pillow.

When he finally wakes up hours later, he's face first in a pile of drool, and as he tries to sit up, it feels as if someone has tied two massive bricks to his chest.

Kris groaned as he managed to roll over, panting for breath as it seemed to take all his energy to heave his chest up and down. His bulge felt so swollen and uncomfortably tight in his sleep shorts, like every movement was causing skin to rub against skin, chafing. He glanced down with a bleary blink, and then he gasped in shock and a little in fear. "FUCK!" booming out of his still wet and slobbery mouth was a low, husky bovine drawl, a bro's voice, and attached to his once pale, flat chest were now two thick slabs of bouncing, dark brown pec meat. Popping in place. Seeing how huge his chest was made him also notice how massive his shoulders were, how wide he was, how even though he couldn't see over his rock hard set of tits, he could feel his much fatter toes wriggling so much further down than he remembered them being. He forced himself to get off the bed, rising to his feet.

He could feel the vibration of his newly plumped up ass jiggling just behind him, and it took all his effort again to glance over his thick as fuck shoulder. With a wide look of panic, he could still see the massive jock globes shaking inside the tight prison of his mesh shorts. And the smell wafting up from the sweaty damp crack… whew! He glanced at his huge black hands, reached them upwards to feel the contours of his face, realizing very quickly that everything about him had been replaced. Not just his body. He could feel a much wider, sharper jaw. His brow felt furrowed, thicker, his nose large and his lips still slick and kissable and jutting out from his face. He pressed a finger into his fat, muscled up pec, noticing the stretch marks to the sides of his torso, from the sheer hulking size of him. He began to sweat, feeling that same sticky heat flare up beneath his armpits where black curls spiraled out, wafting the scent further across his bedroom.

He was so much taller, so much bigger, and as he stared at the black hunk he had become, he thought of the girl from the bar.

He remembered her eyes flashing red, the words she said to him, and his heart began to race and make him pump out even more sweat.

And then, so strangely, his dick began to get hard. He was just thinking about the girl he was an asshole to, and then suddenly he was remembering more about her than he noticed the first time, how she was wearing that cute peach top. How it hugged her curves, gave her tits an extra oomph, how those bouncing juicy breasts had been swaying up and down and jiggling ever so slightly the whole time they had been speaking. His newly massive cock lurched, radiating lust, and he moaned a low and desperate sound. The shaft throbbed against his tight boxers, his sleep shorts reforming into douchey sweaty workout pants loosely tied around his narrow waist, abs rippling on display.

Why was he feeling this way? He was as gay as any other twink in the state, he was frightened and confused to suddenly be a massive black dude with a hard on for some female stranger he demeaned last night, but he couldn't stop his brain from wanting to literally demean her further. He pressed his calloused hands on either side of his head, blinking back tears as he felt the distinct wiry curls of his new hair, his entire race had been changed against his will.

The whole time he stood there and stressed, he couldn't control his pecs and make them stop bouncing. Up, down, up and then down, POP POP POP.

And his ass kept swaying and jiggling and moving like a big chunk of jello behind him. He reached a hand back to rest against it, feeling the squish of the soft meat beneath his fingers. Against his will and giving in to his curiosity, his still hard cock directing him to tighten his body, to flex his biceps and get a look at just how truly sculpted he had become. As he flexed and then clenched his ass cheeks, his body moved on its own accord, giving his booty an extra playful shake to really make it bounce up and down. Like it had done this before.

But as he did so, he could feel his newly tight, puckered hole inch open just enough for a hot puff of protein reeking air to hiss out of his ass. PRFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT!

A whiny voice echoed in his mind, wailing, begging to be forgiven, for the curse to be lifted, but Christian felt like he was in heaven. Nothing mattered more to the man than getting women off. Being covered in the juices of the female sex. Hearing them moan, feeling them vibrate, bounce, shake. Nah… he was a fucking breeder. An alpha. A real gentleman.

And after he finished swallowing down all her pussy juice, he'd be having her bounce up and down on his ready to burst python in no time. He'd be sure to leave a mini me baking in her womb as a thank you for her service.

Fuckkkk! He sure loved WOMEN.

[malestransforming]

Some days you just want to switch off.

Ever just wanna "turn it off?"

I'm always so in my head all the time, so anxious and thinking about my future and my past. I really wish there was an easy way to let go of all of that and be impulsive and in the moment. Gain some monster muscles and maybe learn a new language to go with it? Even better. I'm tired of me. Maybe you can help me turn off all the noise and turn into someone else?

You want to be a creature of impulse and live in the moment? Sure. I understand. You feel the genie’s steps shake the ground as he approaches your car. He’s huge, shirtless to show off his bouncy pecs and sexy gut. The passenger door unlocks as he grabs the handle, and he slides into the seat next to you.

Just being in close proximity to his masculinity, his massive, leaking cock and his big sweaty muscles has your higher brain functions switching off. You feel a bit of drool leak out the corner of your mouth as the genie slaps a snapback cap on your head.

All your worries and shit melt away as the magical cap dissolves your previous self. English vanishes from your mind, replaced quickly by Spanish. Even then, most of the words you know are dumb slang. You don’t need to be a poet to get on your knees.

A dark tan flows across your face from the edges of the cap, and your features grow, becoming masculine and handsome. A thick black moustache and beard grow to cover your lantern jaw. As the darker skin flows over your body, you bulk up with muscle and fat, just like the genie. The car settles a bit as your bouncy new muscle ass grinds into the seat. Your slutty holes are so hungry.

When the transformation is done, you lunge across the dashboard to latch onto the genie’s big, hard nipple. From now on, you always act to make sure that you get off as soon as possible. No second thoughts when your leaky Latino cock is making all the decisions.

Another wish fulfilled.

Got a wish you need twisted? Send an ask! Remember to say “I wish” so the genie hears exactly what you’re wishing for

#race change #latino muscle #latino transformation #mental change

[malestransforming]

Fantastic.

The New Garbageman

Lance slowed from his run and glanced at the trash compactor sitting outside his apartment complex. He needed to catch his breath, but he hated being so close. The young man gave a disdainful look to the laborer who seemed wholly unbothered by his choice in career. 'Some men are just meant for menial crap like this,' he thought to himself, 'God knows I wouldn't be caught dead doing it.'

The jogger looked straight ahead as he passed, not wanting to make eye contact with the sucker lugging away a week's worth of his building's refuge. Lance thought the smell alone was enough to make him gag, but he was even more disturbed by the garbageman's indifference to the squishy contents leaking all over his clothes.

'At what point is that worker just considered trash himself?' Lance pondered with a grimace.

Just as he was about to escape into the entrance of the complex, a sharp ripping noise sounded behind him, followed by a clamour of things crashing to the ground.

Lance made the mistake of looking back, seeing a huge mess scattered across the sidewalk. It looked like a garbage can had exploded and now there was rotten food and crumpled papers everywhere, but that damn sanitation worker had vanished!

"The hell!" Lance shouted in anger, but his rage didn't last long.

A sudden pain stabbed him in the back and he crumpled to the ground like all the garbage had moments before. Everything went black...

Lance shook off the daze and found himself leaning against one of the garbage bins. The pain in his back didn't feel as acute anymore. All he could feel was an unusual warmth spreading from where he had been stung.

"Where is that goddamn garbage man," he growled, wincing at the litter surrounding him. He was ready to give that idiot a piece of his mind.

He put his hand on the concrete in an attempt to get himself up, but was surprised by the feeling of gloves over his fingers. Lance stared at his gloved palms with total confusion. He was sure as hell that he didn't put those old worn things on!

Then he noticed his shoes. They weren't the sneakers he'd been jogging in moments before. They were some kind of work boots!

"What the hell!" he exclaimed, wondering if he'd actually been knocked out and robbed.

Lance pushed his fears aside and began climbing to his feet, but as he did, he noticed something had appeared over his shoulders!

"Where'd this come from?" he cried, becoming more and more angry as articles of clothing just kept appearing on his body.

He was positive this dirty old jacket didn't belong to him. It was covered with stains and reeked like a public bathroom. Lance had a habit of always keeping his clothes freshly laundered and fragranced. He wouldn't even wear jeans two days in a row without washing them, so what was this raggedy work jacket doing in his back?

Lance frantically started to pull the thing off, but it seemed stuck on his waistband or something. No amount of thrashing could get him to pull the thing over his head!

He moaned in frustration and threw his fists down angrily. Then, he noticed why the jacket wouldn't come off. It took him a second to realize what he was looking at. The jacket was attached to the new pants he had on!

Lance shouted out in a state of confused panic. "Help!" he cried, not knowing what else to do, but even if someone did come over, what would he tell them? They'd never believe that his clothes were magically being replaced!

He couldn't even bring himself to look down at what he was wearing. Gone were his running shorts and tank top. In their place, a gross old jumpsuit had enveloped his body. Lance was struck by the itchiness of the course material, but he was even more horrified by how damp it felt against his skin. He didn't want to know what liquid those coveralls were saturated with; oil, sweat, or something even worse?

Lance couldn't find his phone in any of his new attire's pockets. He didn't know what was going on, but he was about to start screaming if he didn't find out soon. His breathing intensified while his heart raced out of his chest. He could feel the panic attack coming.

Then all of a sudden, he stopped...

That warm feeling in his back had washed over his entire body and told every tense muscle to relax. Lance's heart rate eased and his breathing slowed. The confusion, worry, and panic in his face was gone: a numb expression sat in its place.

Lance didn't understand why he had suddenly become so calm. Internally, he was still disgusted, horrified, and outraged, but he couldn't deny how relaxed his body had became.

Finally able to gain his bearing, the former jogger climbed up from the ground and gave his new outfit another look.

"What the hell is this thing," he wondered, but his voice had a comparatively lifeless tone.

Lance studied the clothing. The boots were caked with dirt and grime. He could feel his feet sweating inside them. In fact, his entire body felt like it was being cooked. He was completely covered from the neck down with some pretty heavy duty work wear. It was all clothing he would never be caught dead in, yet it looked kind of familiar.

Suddenly it, clicked.

"I'm dressed a goddamn garbage man," Lance spoke again with a monotoned voice.

Then his mouth moved on its own, "I am a garbage man."

The words chilled him to the core. He had not meant to say them! That warm feeling that started in his back had moved to his throat and taken over.

Before he knew it, his hands were moving on their own too. They were picking up the trash littered around him! His legs moved to, crawling his body across the concrete, and Lance couldn't do anything to stop himself.

His mouth wouldn't open when he tried! He wanted to scream! His arms and legs weren't doing what he wanted either. He was trapped in his own body! Lance couldn't speak; he couldn't run; he couldn't hide; he couldn't even panic. His own heart beat at a steady pace like he was the calmest man in the world! His lungs systematically drew in breath after calm breath, and his face was locked in an empty look of indifference...

Lance would have to get used to being around the trash. He was a garbageman now...

One Year Later...

Lance had never imagined he'd be trapped as a garbage collector for this long. His body hadn't let him look back once since he walked away from his old life. Who knows what happened to his apartment and family. He'd long since given up on the idea of ever going back to his old life.

His days were now spent being puppettered to take out other people's trash. It was disgusting hard work that he got no thanks for, but that didn't matter. He wasn't in control of his body, and his body just kept lugging rank bags of garbage day after day after day.

He'd been subjected to millions of dirty looks as people caught sight of him. Lance knew he must seem pathetic. He was sure he smelled even worse. How could anyone respect a man like him? Even after a year, his face still burnt red when someone looked grossed out by him.

The discomfort of his uniform has become normal to Lance. It was itchy and humid under there, which made sense since it hadn't been washed in the all the time he'd had it on.

Well, that wasn't entirely true...

Every night after work, his body would hop on the garbage truck and get dropped off at the sanitation department's parking garage. There he and the rest of the garbage crew would hose each other down. It didn't do much other than make him cold, but at least he got that.

After the makeshift shower, he and the rest of the guys would file into the garage. Lance assumed that every one of the laborers were being used as puppets like him, because they appeared just as numb and lifeless as he did. There was no chummy chitchat; there were no friendly waves or claps on the back; hell there wasn't even a smile or frown on any of their faces.

All the garbagemen acted like robotic slaves for unpaid labor, which is exactly what they were.

Lance's theory was that when he'd felt that pain a year ago, he'd had some sort of Syfy-futuritic-techno crap inserted in his back. It had to be controlling his actions. He could feel it on his spine, sending signals to the resto for his body for how to behave.

It was just a theory. He couldn't prove or disprove anything when he had no autonomy over his own body.

So he was stuck seeing himself play out the same awful routine everyday. 'At least the day's almost over,' he thought to himself. At least he could still dream of a life where he didn't wear this disgusting uniform and pick up garbage all day.

Lance's body joined the rest of the men on the floor. This was where they spent their nights. Whoever was controlling them was clearly too cheap to buy them beds let alone showers or laundry machines

It usually got pretty bleak in there: a whole room of men that aren't allowed to talk or interact outside of working together. There was nothing else to do but sleep, so Lance slid down to the concrete and closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever be anything other than a smelly garbageman ever again.

He thought back to his old life, dreaming about that last morning run he'd gotten before all this happened. He fantasized about what would have happened if he'd just ran around the block one more time.

Would he have avoided this fate or was he just destined for menial crap like this?

Thanks for the Ask, workgearfan

[malestransforming]

So hot.

Hey there! I'm having a debate with my roommate and wondering if you can help settle it. He says that if you gave someone the body of a jock, without any mental changes, they'll eventually start acting like a jock anyway. I don't think that's true. Just because you have muscles and look like a jock doesn't mean you'll start acting like one, right? We were thinking of trying to set up an experiment for our honor's thesis and wanted your input, thanks!

Are you really sure you want to go through with it? We are happy to do it. I'll create a preset for you that only changes your body. But really. 1.90 m tall. 140 kg of pure muscle mass. But everything else stays the same. To be honest, you don't look like you're ready for it. But it's up to you. I can only recommend that you are in a safe and, above all, unobserved place when you activate the preset.

You take a deep breath. You stand naked in the middle of your room. Next to you, you have laid out a pair of tracksuit bottoms, a tank top, a jockstrap, a pair of socks and a pair of sneakers. You can only hope that the clothes will fit your new self. 3. 2. 1. enter!

Wow! Holy shit! Now that was quick and without a transition. You look down at the floor from a slightly greater height. And when you look down, all you see are pecs. Fucking huge pecs. You need a mirror. Phew! Very slowly! The new body works a little differently than the old one… Your center of gravity is much higher up. You stand in front of the mirror. This no longer has anything to do with you. It's more Greek demigod than human. Your cock is getting hard. A huge cock that fits this huge body. You never wank. Especially not in the middle of your room. But now you have to. Not for long. And a huge load lands on the mirror and the floor. Yes, I've changed a few details apart from the height and muscle mass. You've already noticed one thing. You'll notice the others too.

You're convinced that the new body won't change anything. So you act as you always have. First of all, you clean up the mess. You are manically clean and tidy. Then you put on your clothes. The shoes are a bit tight, but otherwise everything fits pretty well. So off you go to the library. After all, your honors thesis isn't going to write itself.

Iris and Rita at the information desk didn't recognize you when you greeted them. They looked at you as if you were an alien when you wished them a good morning. You sat down at your regular place in the library. You like routines. You started working on your thesis outline when Vincent came over. Vincent always sits three tables behind you. Nice guy, similarly obsessive as you. He clears his throat and says that you can't sit here, the seat is taken. Actually, you should have said something along the lines of "Vincent, don't you recognize me, it's me!". But somehow you can't help it. You have to try it out. You cross your muscular arms behind your head, look deep into his eyes and just ask who cares. Vincent retreats like a beaten dog. Three minutes later, you have a WhatsApp message: "There's some stupid musclehead sitting in your seat!" You reply that it's okay, you're not on campus for a few days for empirical studies anyway.

But you're not as productive as usual. Your new body is keeping you busier than you thought. It feels so good to tense your muscles. Your hard cock is constantly leaking precum and is always half stiff. Shit, after an hour you have to jerk off. Fuck, you make quite a mess in the toilet. You try to clean everything up with toilet paper. When you come out of the stall, a student is standing at the urinal, looking at you and wanking. Get out of here quickly, you think to yourself.

The incident is definitely worth recording. After all, you've never experienced this before. But it was hot. As you type out your thoughts, your stomach begins to growl. So loud that Vicent hisses "Pssst". It's actually too early for lunch. But the canteen is about to open. So you're one of the first in the queue. You can hardly wait. And you heap heaps of food onto your tray. You're so hungry.

The weather is good, you sit down at a table in the sun and, ignoring all the table manners, you wolf down your food. Suddenly you hear a voice shouting "Hey, guys, there are empty seats here with the big boy!" You look up. A couple of idiots from the football team are standing at your table. "Dude, okay if we join you?" asks one of the guys, who seems to be some kind of leader. "Sure thing," you say with your mouth full, spitting a bit of your chicken across the table. "Cool," he replies, giving you a fist bump, which you return somewhat hesitantly and also a little awkwardly. And before you know it, you're sitting in a cloud of sweat, testosterone and stupid comments.

You start talking to the boys more for scientific reasons. They ask if you're Fresman because they've never seen you before. You say that you're actually studying somewhere else, but you're here to work on your Honor's thesis. The leader spits his Coke across the table. "Fuck, dude! You already have a degree? In what? Lifting iron?" Everyone laughs. Very loudly. You too. It's actually really funny with the boys…

The boys go to the gym after lunch. I wonder if you're coming too. You don't even think about it. You just say that you haven't got anything to change into. Everyone laughs and asks if anyone is interested. So you go along. It's a field study, you think to yourself. You're observing everything very closely. You don't want to attract negative attention. The processes seem very simple. You copy what you see the boys doing. You even enjoy it. You work up a sweat. You forget the time. The others are gone at some point. You're still here. You look in the mirror. Your long, sweaty hair falls across your forehead. Your friends all have much shorter hair. It's also more practical when working out. You look at your watch. Shit!!!!! You have to get your stuff from the library before it closes. Trevor, sitting at the information desk, doesn't recognize you either. It's already very empty when you pack up your things. Vincent is still there, mumbling something about how antisocial it is to occupy a space you're not using. You don't know why you're doing this now. But you go to him very slowly. You press his face into your armpit. And say that you had more important things to do. Shit, Vincent is seriously licking the sweat out of your armpit hair now? Pathetic little fucker, your new friends would say now. You're far too surprised. By you. By him. Slightly disturbed, you go home. You throw yourself on your bed and think about your first day as a jock. You fall asleep.

You are actually a person who is always well prepared. But you are amazed at how little you have prepared for this experiment. You have a combination to wear. It's still sweaty after yesterday's workout. But you don't have anything else. So this morning you're not going to the library, but to the paint shop. Shopping. A pair of sweatshorts, a few tank tops, socks and jockstraps, sneakers. A bit of compression gear for training. You pass a barbershop. There are a couple of guys inside who are obviously no strangers to the gym either. Fuck it, you think. Down with the long hair!

You haven't been in the library this late in a long time. Vincent has blocked your seat for you. With a few protein bars. Cute! He winks at you when you come in. You raise your arm and smell your armpit. Shit, you haven't showered! Fuck… Well, maybe the little prick will like that even more…

By lunchtime with the boys, you at least want to have logged yesterday and this morning. And you're looking for some literature on the connection between mind and body. Most of it is ancient. Nothing has been published on the subject for a long time. And if there is, it's more about the effect of the state of mind on the body. Less often on the effect of the body on the state of mind. That's obvious, because normally a genius like you doesn't acquire a body overnight…

The lunch break with the boys was cool. The guys are just very chilled, you like that. No highbrow topics. Just sport, fucking and partying. Unfortunately, a lot of football too. You have no idea about that. After lunch, the boys want to throw some balls on the lawn. You have to go to a colloquium later. And Luke said that you should finally replace those nerdy glasses with contact lenses. The visit to the optician was a good excuse not to embarrass yourself at football.

A whole day without going to the gym sucks! That's why you got up early today. You didn't do your thesis assignments yesterday, nor did you get your muscles burning. That has to change. Shit, you're still struggling with your contact lenses. But it looks a thousand times better. You're screaming alpha with every trained muscle fiber. And that's great! You almost feel at home in the gym. And nobody questions your position. In the library, Vincent provides you with everything you need. He fetches books for you and takes them away again. He has also already offered to help you with your work. What a loser! You don't need to order anything in the canteen after just two days. Your extra large portion of extra protein-rich food is prepared especially for you. Twice. You come once when the canteen opens. And once just before it closes. Your body is a machine. And this machine needs fuel. Lots of fuel.

You sit in the library and document the developments of the last few days. It really is only a few days. Reading through the last few lines almost makes you nauseous. Has your body replaced your mind so quickly? You need to get a grip on yourself. You did your Master's with distinction. You're working on your honor's thesis. You have a chance of getting a professorship at your old college. And you suddenly prefer to spend more time in the gym or with the airheads on the football team? You make a plan. Two hours of gym in the morning, two hours break with the bros at lunchtime, two hours of gym in the evening. And in between, focus on your thesis and your studies. It shouldn't be that difficult. You're an intelligent and disciplined man. So let's get going!

You have made every effort. And you actually come to the conclusion in your thesis that the body of a jock does not automatically lead to the mind of a stupid, arrogant and superficial jock. You have fun with both. Training in the gym and hanging out with the bros. And working scientifically and researching the human psyche. But in a lecture you realize that it's not you who changes, it's your environment that changes you. Since you got this body three weeks ago, no one has spoken to you about your studies. Vincent, who you thought was intellectual through and through, just wants you to let him lick your armpits in the evening. Your bros didn't even ask you what you were studying. And then the day comes when you attend your doctoral supervisor's lecture. Since your transformation, you've only spoken or written on the phone. You sit in the front row. You appreciate your doctoral supervisor for his liberal political views, his rhetorical skills and his incredible knowledge. At the end of his lecture, he looks at you. And asks if the young man, who unfortunately was unable to dress appropriately, understood a word of what he had just said. He assumes you were mistaken in the lecture hall. But if you invest your energy in your biceps and not your brain, that's to be expected.

First you think about whether you are saying anything particularly intelligent. To express your indignation at his insolence. To justify yourself. But then you think about what has been really fun in the last few weeks. And who you really had fun with. And you answer "Nah, professor dude! Dat wuz alot of words n stff u sed. I dnt thnk I need all dat for my degree as a personal trainer. wdut, bro?" You make your pecs dance. The lecture hall laughs. You stand up. Fuck the honor's thesis!

You started studying sports economics again. You also work as a trainer in a fitness studio. And you have a pretty successful YouTube fitness channel. You recently received a call from your old doctoral supervisor. He read through the draft of your honor's thesis again. It was all very promising. Why did you drop out? You say that you obviously have to choose between brains and brawn at some point. And you're grateful to him for helping you decide. And with that you hang up.

[malestransforming]

Chronivac Twins

The moment I saw this AI image, I knew I had to write something. Probably one of the hottest things I have ever seen.

Special thanks to @octuscle for the image inspiration. Here is a link to their original story.

- - - - - - - -

Empty beer cans filled the table in front of the two men. The room was silent, the TV showing the console home screen, and darkness was creeping in from the night. The night was winding down, and the two friends were enjoying peaceful moment before the night truly wrapped up.

Mason breathed a heavy sigh, comfortable in his current state. He was clearly drunk, but happily drunk. He fished around in his pockets, feeling for the recent purchase he had received that day: a brand new Chronivac tablet. He pulled it out of his pocket, powering it on for the first time, watching the screen suddenly brighten, flashing the Chronivac logo. 

“Check it out!” Mason suddenly exclaimed, surprising even himself with his boldness. “I got this new Chronivac in the mail.”

Beside him sat Chris, Mason’s best friend since grade school. Chris was drunker than Mason was, with his eyes closed and his body still, but he too was in happy state of intoxication. 

“Oh yeah? What is that?” Chris slurred from the other end of the coach. The back of Mason’s head was resting on the top of the sofa, leaned back in an almost unnatural position. A massive drunken grin was plastered on his face, highlighting the comfortable state he was currently in.

Mason held up the sleek tablet to an oblivious Chris. A loading screen flashed again as the system booted up. 

“Yeah, it’s a tool that lets me change a part of my body. Actually it will change a part of both of us. They had a deal on the twins package.”

“Cool…” Chris breathed.

“Yeah. I know you have been feeling down lately, so I thought it would be nice to spice things up for you. Plus, you know you’re my bro. We’ve been buds since we were five years old. I figured it was time we made it official.”

Mason began tapping at the screen, swiping at different sliders and dials. There were dozens of different settings with labels like “Hair”, “Muscle Levels”, “Race/Nationality”… Mason balked at the overwhelming choices and options, but forced himself to stay focussed; this was a change he had wanted for a while.

“So I was thinking of doing some kind of mixed race. Hmm. Japanese and Mexican? I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. I bet that would look hot. With jacked muscles, like body builders. And since we’re gonna be twins, you’ll get it too. Sound good to you Chris?”

Chris only smiled and laughed to himself, the way drunk people often do. It was clear he was not fully present in the moment. Mason took Chris’ drunken laughter as a sign of agreement and continued with the settings page. He slid up the muscle slider to the max, added jock personalities and details such as personal trainer and fitness influencer. He double checked the ‘Race’ tab, making sure that Japanese and Mexican were both checked off. Pleased with his work, he continued on to the last section, “Target Selection” and “Transform”. He allowed the device a few moments to calibrate before confirming the two bodies in the room. He double checked that the “Twins” button was selected and hovered over the Transform button.

“All right bro. This is it. See you on the other side!”

And with that he tapped the button. The screen went blank for a moment, creating a quick sense of panic in Mason’s heart, but reappeared with a white, animated progress bar.

Mason looked down at his hands and arms. “I don’t feel any different,” he said. 

He checked the screen again. The progress bar had moved up by one pixel and showed a time remaining of 1440 minutes. 

“Oh shoot! I set the transformation duration to be 24 hours. Well that’s okay. When we wake up tomorrow, we’ll definitely see some changes! Next time you see me Chris I’ll be be a huge muscled-out bro. And a completely different race. And so will you! We’ll be twins. Pedro and Miguel. We’re gonna be so fucking hot.”

A gentle and rhythmic breathing came from the other end of the couch. Mason turned his head and grinned at Chris who had passed out on the couch. 

“See you in the morning, Miguel,” he whispered. 

-

Bright sunlight was pouring into the apartment. The morning was late, but the day was still young. Chris stirred on the sofa; he was now lying horizontally on the couch, shirtless and in his underwear. He blinked his eyes in the sunlight, rubbing his eyelids with a balled up fist, and stretching against the soft cushions of the sofa. His broad feet pushed against the far armrest, and his arms stretched off behind him. He sat up, and noticed his first change.

Looking down at his chest, Chris saw his pectoral muscles had ballooned out in front of him to a God-like proportion. He cupped his chest, making note of how his nipple had slipped down below his eye line, and squeezed the new muscle. 

“What the fuck?” He exclaimed. “Why do I have tits?” 

Mason launched himself off the sofa and dove into the bathroom. The flickering fluorescent light clicked on, revealing the extent of Mason’s initial changes. Below his chest were the unmistakeable beginnings of 6-pack abs. Mason ran his fingers over top of his stomach, remembering the slight beer gut that had been there the night before. 

He leaned in closer to the mirror and begin poking and prodding his face. His nose seemed wider and his eyes were narrower. His lips were plumping as well, into two thick pillows. He ran his meatier fingers through his darkening hair; it seemed thicker, curlier and shorter than it had before. He pulled a strand and watched it bounce back into place on his scalp. 

The sound of a door slamming brought Chris out of his trance. He stepped out of the bathroom and back into the main room.

“Bro!” Mason called from the entry-way. “Are you up?”

“Yeah! What the fuck is happening to me?” Chris replied in anguish.

Mason came around the corner and Chris immediately became aware that the changes he was going through were also happening to Mason. Mason appeared to be several inches shorter, and Chris noticed that he was roughly eye-level to himself now. His chest and abs were similarly large and muscled as Chris’ were, except Mason’s shoulders and arms were much wider. Veins pulsed across Mason’ skin and over his bulging biceps. His nose and eye shape seemed strangely familiar, as did the plumpness of his lips. Mason noticed that Chris’ hair was shorter on top with a shaved, faded appearance on the side.

“Mason, what the fuck is happening? I pass out drunk and wake up all top heavy like this! And then you waltz in looking like that! What the fuck?”

“Chill out bro,” Pedro said. “And my name isn’t Mason anymore. It’s Pedro. And your name isn’t Chris, it’s Miguel. You’re turning out to be such a hot twin.”

Chris/Miguel was unable to get anymore words out as sharp pains coursed through his arms and legs. He hunched over, wrapping his growing limbs around his torso. In front of his eyes he saw the muscles in his arms and legs double, triple and quadruple in size, into massive slabs of muscle. His trap muscles ached and burned as the fibres inside re-stitched themselves, growing to match the mass of his arms and chest. Across the room Pedro grinned in anticipation, as his adonis belt thinned out, becoming lean and chiselled, into his tight pelvis and butt. 

“Miguel, we’re going to be so hot!” Pedro’s voice was deeper and more coastal sounding. His jock-instincts were bubbling in his brain, overwriting whatever personality he had before.

“Don’t call me that. My name is Miguel. I mean Chris.” Chris stammered. “How did you even do this?”

“Bro, it was the Chronivac. I told you last night. Just embrace it. I paid good money for this twins package.”

“I need to call them. There has to be a way to reverse this.” 

With a wide stride, Chris/Miguel walked over to where his phone was, but doubled over as a burning pain seared through his stomach. He squeezed with his hands, feeling the muscles underneath swell and grow under his touch. Before his eyes his abs went from flat and empty to being completely ripped. His waist got tighter as his adonis belt and hip muscles also tensed and flexed, just like Pedro’s had.

“Bro, I have a six pack!” Chris exclaimed, his voice cracking as it matched the timbre of Pedro’s.  

“They match mine, bro!” Pedro said.

Chris shook his head. If he could just call the company and explain what the problem was, then he figured he could stop the changes. He found his phone and brought it to his face, waiting for Face ID to unlock. The phone vibrated in his dark and meaty hand, refusing to unlock. In the black mirror of his phone, he saw a completely different face than the one he was used to. His nose was wider, and his jaw was leaner. His eyes had narrowed into Asian-like features and his hair was shorter and darker than before. His face was looking identical to Pedro’s, right down to the plump lips.

In a panic, Chris typed in his passcode and Googled the number for Chronivac. The phone began ringing.

“Hello?” said a voice on the other end.

“Hello, is this support? My name is Miguel, I mean Chris. My name is Chris. I don’t own your product, but my brother Pedro — I mean my best friend Mason does. He used the Chronivac on me last night and I woke up with big muscles and my face is looking Japanese and Mexican? And the same thing is happening to him! He says we’re becoming twins. This has to be against your Terms of Service! I didn’t agree to this.”

A dark skin spot formed on the back of Chris’ hand, spreading across his skin and up his bulging arms. His skin was darkening, to match his new ethnicity. 

“It sounds to me like it might be too late to intervene. Our records show Pedro and Miguel Watanabe.”

“That’s right,” Miguel interjected. He was Miguel, not Chris.

“Yeah,” the agent continued. “So your brother got the Twins Package, and since you are legally twins now, there’s nothing that can be done to change back the transformation. But it’s going to be great being a pair of super hot Latino-Asian influencers, right?”

“Yeah,” Miguel replied absent-mindedly, and in a voice that was deepening. “Thanks anyway. Peace.” 

He hung up and tossed the phone aside. Pedro wandered over and wrapped his hand around his twin brother’s shoulder. 

“It’s at ninety-nine percent,” Pedro said, indicating the transformation process on the Chronivac. 

Miguel felt another spasm in his thighs and legs and saw his skin was now completely browned and tanned now. His legs were thick and bulging, and so was the rest of his body. A wave of emotions came feelings rolled over his brain, and Miguel stood silently in place as his brain and personality adjusted to match his new physique. Pedro stood still for a moment too, as the twenty-two year old twins realized they could speak English, apanese and Spanish and had a long history of lifting weights and posting work-out videos on TikTok. The transformation progress bar clicked up one last pixel to one-hundred percent, snapping the twins out of their daze. 

“Bro,” Pedro said. “You wanna get a workout in?”

“You know it!” Miguel said, high-fiving his twin brother with a grin. 

#male tf #male transformation #jock transformation #reality change #male tf story #male body transformation #jockification #ai image #chronivac #race change #race tf #race transformation #latino transformation #asian transformation

[malestransforming]

30 Days - Day 2

My eyes blinked open slowly. There was no alarm to wake me up this morning. I adjusted my underwear, sniffing my fingers afterward and getting caught up in my aroma. Rolling out of bed,  I looked at my thick thighs and tight waist. I was a slim hottie today! 

In the bathroom mirror I was able to confirm my predictions. I remarked at my boyish looks and chiselled muscles. My name is Ethan Miller, 22 years old. Certified jock and current student at the local collage.

I flopped my hair before jumping in the shower. Lathering up my chest and shoulders, I couldn’t help but move my hands down to my dick and rub one out. It felt good.

I threw some wax in my hair and prettied up myself before heading to the gym. I had some time to kill anyway. A buddy shot a pic of me, because I looked extra slutty. I made sure to send it to some girls’ Snapchats.

Class was boring, bro. I spent most of the time checking out Snapchat anyway. I made a plan to meet with a chick after class who was totally down to fuck. It’s fun being cocky and young.

Previous day - Next day

#male tf #jock transformation #male transformation #jockification #reality change #30 days

[malestransforming]

Cop TFs are such a niche. This is a great one.

Shady Unit

ϟ gay to straight tf, muscle growth, cop tf, forced tf, changed by surroundings, mental tf, reality tf, breeder/conservative tf

Peyton accepted his friends' dare against his better judgment; the gaggle of gays had been walking home from their early morning brunch, mimosas fizzling inside their dizzy heads, when they noticed the parked cop car with a wide open door. No pigs in sight, only an abandoned police unit just begging them to come over and snoop around. "Ohhh my god, you have got to let us take a picture with you sitting in the driver's seat, Peyton! That would be so funny!" This made the boy in question frown, blonde curls hanging in his face and obscuring his narrowed, baby blue eyes. Looking at the group, the least straight OR cop passing of the whole bunch would be Peyton, the twink runt, so that just made his friends laugh louder at the thought and push him closer to the unguarded vehicle. "Come on, Peyton, do it! You've got this!"

Making sure once more that the coast was clear, he decided that there was no harm in it. All he had to do was run over, strike a cute pose, and then get the fuck out and go home! He marched his way over, struggling a bit as he pulled the heavy, solid door a little further away so that he could squeeze inside, and then he turned to smile at his friends with flushed cheeks, hands lifted up in a double thumbs up pose. It was just a shame that the car door slammed shut before his buddies could snap their pictures, a faint murmur of gasps and sounds of confusion behind the thick shell of steel as Peyton found himself trapped and silenced within the car, panic rising in his system as he tried and failed to get the door to budge as he pressed and yanked trying to open it. All to no avail.

That was when he heard the rustling on the dashboard, the bulky pair of black sunglasses rattling in place, as if charged with energy and about to combust. He was staring at them in shock and fear when they suddenly leaped forward, opening their hinges and sliding right onto his frightened face, covering his shocked vision in a shield of dim, repressed light. Honestly, the jumping object would have been the most frightening part, if not for the pain that suddenly flared in the space between his temples. He gasped out in pain, muscles tensing, spine locking in place as shocks began to pulse through his body.

Little thoughts began to dance with his begs for mercy, his brain was a battlefield of trying to rationalize what was happening to him, and trying to ignore the presence that was steadily making itself known inside of himself. Another man's casual thoughts were overlapping his own, overpowering them. "Fuck, I can't wait for this shift to be over so I get home to my girl." Peyton grimaced, another shock rolling through him, his jaw stinging as it cracked outward into a chiseled, strong, pitch black stubbled line. The twink was confused and alarmed to hear this gruff voice speaking, especially one that gave a shit about getting home to a girl.

He reached up to pull the glasses off, trying to exert control over his spasming limbs, but then he could feel the muscles in his arms tearing apart and stitching themselves back together in an instant, his spindly arms vibrating in the air as suddenly they ballooned out into firm, solid, vascular biceps that were swollen with raw strength. Except now they were forced into a double bicep pose and no longer reaching for the glasses still trapped on his head.

"Fuccck, I just want to get home and flood her cunt. The good book says to be fruitful and multiply, my only purpose in life is to be a traditional man, to fulfill my duty as a male," the low, bovine voice kept talking despite Peyton's inner protests, his newly large and calloused hand reaching down to cup his bulge, lithe fingers fattening into sausages. His rough fingertips could feel a different and more durable fabric where his mesh shorts had once been. But that all paled in comparison to the heat radiating from his crotch, the trembling of his little nub cock as it began to engorge, fattening into a thick, girthy, vein covered shaft.

His cock head flared out into a large purple mushroom that was already leaking pre into his tight and sweaty boxers, a sun kissed hue washing across his pasty skin with every twitch of his bulking up body. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His firm jaw itched as black, wiry beard hairs burst through the coarse skin, making look him manly and intimidating. His blonde curls retracted into a dark black, traditional cut.

With what little control he could muster, he reached up to the driver's side mirror, pulling down the flap and gasping in absolute shock. Or at least he meant to, but now his permanently fixed cocky smirk could only speak with the same voice that was inside his head. "Fuck, I look clean as shit! My bitch is gonna be dripping all over my cock all night long." He watched clear as day as his now douchey, older, masculine face moved on its own accord, speaking without his say in the same dumb, harsh, jock voice he had heard earlier. Now looking at himself in the reflection, unable to control the posing body of the conceited bodybuilder cop he was trapped within, he could see what had become of his clothes. His little rainbow buttons and badges were now deadly gear strapped to his vest and belt, and his cute outfit was now a traditional and crisp police uniform.

Nothing that made up Peyton was left once that door slammed shut, leaving behind a smug and newly minted Officer Dickson sitting inside his very own unit. Flipping on the siren lights, he popped open the car door with a casual lean of his bulky body, Peyton wailing inside his mental prison at the sight of his former friends. This was their idea, and they needed to help him! He just wanted to be set free, safe to go home and far away from this awful, backwards minded brain his essence had now been shoved into.

But the massive man only sneered and glared at the group of fairies behind his dark black, emotionless lenses. "Clear the fuck out, or I'll take you all in for processing." He was okay watching them sprint to run away, vowing to deal with their presence another day. As much as he loved bringing alpha men into this world by changing gay men to serve the police unit, repurposed to better suit traditional society, he would always have a fondness of doing it the old fashioned way. And his wife was certainly gonna end up inflated with a few alpha sons in her belly once he was finished with her tonight. Peyton would just have to get used to the countless flashes of bouncing tits and squirting pussies inside his new cage. Officer Dickson wasn't going to change his mindset for anyone, let alone the skinny little queer he didn't even remember being.

#reality shift #mental tf #gay to straight #cop transformation

[malestransforming]

30 Days - Day 1

My husband is a Warlock, or a Genie, or some kind of magical being. To be honest, I didn’t marry him for that reason. I married him because he’s kind, honest and a good man. I wont lie though, it is kind of nice to have a magical being in the house. He gets the dishes done in no time at all! 

When we were dating, I begged him to use his magic on me, but he always said no. He said he wanted to love me for me. I thought that was really sweet, and so now our relationship is solid because we fell in love naturally. It didn’t stop me from continuing to ask him though, and so to celebrate our 1 year anniversary, he gave me a special gift. He gave me a 1 month magic pass! For the next 30 days, every day, I will wake up a completely new man. I will have a new body, new job, new personality, new clothes: new everything. 

Tomorrow is the first day. I can’t wait to see who I wake up as.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I reached over and turned off my alarm, reaching my arms up past my head to stretch. I realized that today was the first day! I bolted out of bed and dashed into the bathroom. In the mirror I was greeted with a sight.

I was tall, with smooth hazel-tanned skin completely free of body hair. I instinctively puckered my lips and stroked my chin, remarking how bouncy and soft my hair looked in the morning. I rubbed my hands across my bulbous chest and up and down my chiselled abs. That’s right - I looked fucking good in the morning. Chet Alvarez is my name.

There was some time to kill before my shift as a personal trainer at the Gold’s Gym, so I could have a relaxing morning. I reached down for my cock, feeling my cut member with my hand. I slapped my girthy dick against my thick thigh, enjoying the sound echoing around the bathroom. My cock chubbed in my hand, getting thicker and longer as it got erect. 

“Morning babe,” I heard behind me. I turned and saw my husband leaning in the bathroom doorframe. “How do you like the you today?”

“Fuck bro,” I said with a cocky smile. I flexed my arms for him. I knew he liked it.

We kissed, wrapping our arms around each other. And then he fucked hard me. Even guys who look like me like to get fucked sometimes. 

Before work I got my own workout in. Today was my back, and so I did sets of pull ups, deadlifts and rows. I worked up a decent sweat and finished with fifteen minutes on the treadmill. In the shower I fingered my hairless asshole, remembering the sensation of my husband from the morning. 

After work, I went home and ate dinner with my husband. He caressed my hairless thigh, and sucked my cock before bed. I closed my eyes, grinning about the day. I wonder who I’ll be tomorrow. 

Next day

#male tf #male transformation #reality change #jockification #30 days

[malestransforming]

Would love to rewrite this with more details one day.

Becoming My Classmates Brother

My classmate Enzo Ceja was so hot, everyone on our class thought so. He was everything you would expect, he played football, basket ball, and was so attractive. He was 6’3, Mexican, and had a pretty toned body. Me being one of the only gay boys in my class, obviously had a crush on him, and everything about him. I knew he was straight, but I couldn’t get him out of my head.

So one day at my school during lunch I was talking to my friend about Enzo, and how I wanted to be his boyfriend. Little did I know, admitting this crush would completely change my life. The next day when I got to school, I could feel everyone staring at me, and I knew why. Someone over heard me telling my friend about my stupid crush on Enzo.

Enzo’s Perspective

I was leaving football practice when I over heard some of my bros talking about Dan, the one gay boy in my class. Had told someone that he had a crush on me. Ew. I could never date a man, but since rumor had spread around the school. People were shipping us. I had to talk to that boy, and clear this up, before I get clicked of the team. And I know just how to fix this.

Dans Perspective

As I walked into school, Enzo grabbed my head and pulled me into the locker room. As soon as he knew we were alone he started rambling on, about how he doesn’t even like the idea that a man likes him. Then he slapped me, and I lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I felt different. I looked down, and saw legs that we’re definitely not mine, they were darker, and a lot more athletic then my fat, white legs. I got up fast and looked in the mirror.

I looked in the mirror, and instead of myself, I saw someone that looked like Enzo, but older. I was his older brother, I pulled out my id and on it was “Daniel Ceja” Which was definitely not my name before. Somehow I had turned into the older brother of the man I once liked. And I’m not complaining, if I couldn’t have him, being him was just as good, if not better.

“Hey bro get your keys! I’m going to be late for school!”

Obvious, I was Daniel Ceja, and Enzo is my younger brother. I have to give him a ride to school.

[malestransforming]

I gotta get my hands on some of these black market texts.

Insta-Slut

Society is a sick and twisted construct, it makes you feel inadequate if you are not successful, or rich, or just naturally gifted in the genetic lottery. Inferiority and imposter syndromes plague us like some sort of epidemic. You can scroll and scroll through pages of attractive men, wishing, hoping, or even attempt to do things magically, but usually it fails. This is the cycle the TF community seems to live in, and it is sad. That is exactly the cycle Josh was stuck in, masturbating to the idea of being someone else. He was doing anything and everything to wake up and not be himself, gooning with poppers, hypnosis, ancient occult rituals, you name it. He was stuck only able to get hard if he played these fantasies through his head, intimacy made him feel unworthy and disgusted with himself.

Josh Idolized the fit men of Instagram, the athletic sexy types and he followed them on twitter and only fans because the idea of being sexually liberated or “a slut,” turned him on so much. Josh was a desperate man with seemingly impossible desires, but it did not stop him. He spent more money than he had on ancient texts, a vast collection surrounded him, but none held the key to his problem. His bedroom, or now his library smelled of musty books and faintly of ozone which emanated from the books. Occasionally they would faintly flash with eldritch power, but Josh was too absorbed in his quest to even notice.

His most recent acquisition was the original Pseudomonarchia Daemonu, which he procured off the black market. He had hoped to use it to summon infernal powers to reshape him into what he desired. Josh set up his ritual, during an eclipse in retrograde, trying to harness the most chaotic energies he could. As the clock struck midnight, he began his incantation, carefully making sure he had his list of traits and qualities, because he did not want to end up as some airheaded narcissist, no he had his idealized image in his head and written down. Each step of the ritual was planned to the second as he tried calling forth to the powers of chaos and madness. Nothing happened once he finished, so again he cleaned up the ritual, put the book on the shelf next to the rest, and went to grindr just to jerkoff to a few local hotties, wishing he was them.

Before Josh new it, the books surrounding him lit up in an electrical eldritch glow. He tried to get out of bed to investigate but could not seem to move. The energy crackled and glowed and began to shoot across the room akin to a tesla coil. Josh’s heart was racing, scared out of his mind but still immobile in his bed witch his 4-inch cock hardening more than it ever had before. The electricity became more violent as it began striking objects in his room, finally striking his phone with full force. The final strike seemed to release him of whatever bound him, and he leapt out of bed, afraid for his life. Everything had become quiet again, no sign of the magical energies that had plagued him a few moments ago. Josh ran out of his room and headed half naked to the front door, ready to make a quick escape. He was in such a hurry, he did not notice the man on the otherside of the front door standing there, waiting for him. Josh ran straight into the man and fell backward. The man had to be 6’6, in perfect athletic shape, a wet dream for Josh. Josh wasn’t short by any means at 6’3, but he felt tiny in the man’s presence.

“Hey there guy, what’s the hurry,” the stranger asked. Before josh could even answer the man said, “I’m Evan, I’m your escort for the evening, you must be Josh.” Poor Josh was so confused, he just took the hand of the stranger as Evan pulled him up. Josh felt a slight shock, but he was so rattled it did not even register. Evan immediately kissed Josh, something sensual, magical, and fierce and Josh felt like putty in Evans hands.

“But, but I didn’t order an escort,” Josh said, almost whimpering. “Sure, you did guy, how else would I be here?” retorted Evan. Josh tried to think about it, but it felt hard to make that logical connection… “Yeah, that does make sense,” replied Josh. Evan grabbed josh by the wrist and lead him to the bedroom. Upon arriving in the bedroom/library, Evan commanded Josh to strip, which he did, almost like he was on autopilot. Evan knew had Josh and decided it was time for the big reveal.

“Now Josh, I know what you want, what makes you tick, what makes you, you. I see the brilliant potential you have in that old soul of yours, how you will transcend the dimensions and the power you could wield. See, I am here to relieve you of this burden and thanks to your vast collection of power here, I can now give you what you want.”

Josh stood there powerless, seemingly petrified, unable to talk, looking horrified. He did not ever think anything like this would work, it was a fantasy, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be…he thought.

Evan put his hand on Josh’s chest, as it started to glow the same color as the electricity form early, it felt like Evan was pulling his very essence out of him. The power came to the surface and integrated into Josh’s body, where it settled. Josh felt even more powerless, he felt kind of empty almost.

“Good, now where to start,” Evan pondered out loud. Evan quickly moved behind Josh and began giving him the most sensual and amazing massage ever. Along with waves of euphoria, josh felt some kind of vertigo, he didn’t realize he was losing centimeters of height.

“I like a shorter guy,” laughed Evan as he continued to rob the height from Evan. Inch by inch Josh’s perception came closer to the floor, as he shrunk to 6 feet, 5’11,5’10, and so on, settling at 5’8 and a half. The vertigo stopped finally, leaving Josh looking at Evan’s diaphragm instead of his upper chest.

“What do you think,” Sneered Evan.

Josh’s tongue was released, and he proceeded to beg Evan to stop, “No, please, don’t do this, what about my life?”

Evan continued to sneer, “Some life gooner boy, don’t worry you won’t have to worry about wasting that potential once I am done with you.” With that Evan shoved Josh onto his bed, taking Josh’s hard four inches in his mouth. Josh could feel something strange as it felt like his balls were shifting, almost growing and he could feel his cock expanding and swelling. He wanted to protest but the pleasure was too much, and his thoughts were all jumbled and foggy. Before Josh could come, Evan abruptly stopped, taking his tongue all over Josh’s hairless body. Josh could feel an itchy sensation everywhere Evan’s tongue had been, his abs, chest, and pits were filling out with thick, but well-defined hair.

“now for my favorite part,” smiled Evan. He lifted Josh’s legs into the air, spit on his own godly dick and impaled Josh.

Evan fucked Josh slowly and carefully, each pump fill Evan with warm euphoria, something you can’t experience on this earth. “Listen closely, I want you to remember your life, remember it as clear as day, and as you hear my voice you will understand that those memories are false and never happened.”

Josh was filled with horror and fear, but the warmth of the ecstasy had him conflicted.

“Josh, you have always needed attention, which wasn’t hard because you just won the genetic lottery. It never felt like enough, so at the age of 13 you began working out. It consumed all of your time, your focus was never on band or theatre, no, you needed to be more like the athletes you admired.”

Josh’s lean from began to swell and grow, defining itself from years of hard work. His arms exploded as his abs tightened, traps, delts, legs, thighs all grew to utter societal perfection.

“DO you remember playing baseball, basketball, and competing in weightlifting? You should because they kept your focus far more than schoolwork. I bet you can remember a few head injuries too, it really helped empty out some of that excess thinking, letting you focus on what was important, your body.”

Josh could feel his mind slow down to a hazy speed, one that did not make him the dumbest guy ever, but nothing more than slightly below average.

“Thankfully everybody wanted you, you let it go to your head, didn’t you Clayton?” said Evan with an evil look in his eyes. Josh was confused, he was Clayton, why was this guy calling him Clayton?

“With a body and face like this and a sex drive that is borderline uncontrollable, it makes sense you started an only fans as soon as it was legal. The money poured in, and it just allowed you to focus more on your social media, your body, and the sex that fills that gaping hole where that potential used to be.”

Everything poured into Clay’s head, like a flash flood, shoving everything else out. “You know, you are quite the switch hitter, but I know you like to be fucked and face fucked the most. Men’s cum is like ambrosia to you, which is probably why you whore yourself out in bathrooms, bathhouses, and public parks.” As the words echoed and Evan fucked the truth into Clay’s ass, Clay could vividly remember how many men he had let fuck him, which did not feel like enough especially for the 34-year-old slut.

“Now a few final touches,” said Evan. How old are you, Clay? “

“I umm, I’m 34,” he replied between pants and grunts.

“Ahh good, I thought you looked about 22, I am glad I was right,” replied Evan.

Clay could feel the age fall away, and it made more sense he had only been with as many men as had had so far. His sex drive was increasing as his precum production became almost constant.

Evan leaned down as he fucked Clay and kissed him deep, shoving his tongue down his throat. “Tell me again how old you are,” cackled Evan.

Clay went to speak but his voice cracked violently down about 3 octaves and his vocabulary to basic bro level, “I UMMmm aM 22 bro.”

Evan came torrents inside of Clay, filling the missing potential with his demon seed, cementing Clay in this new form.

“Clay, I want you to remember, you are a social media slut who needs sex almost daily, you need external validation for your body and looks. You love to be dominated and fucked, being fucked gives you a sense of worth and purpose. You obsess over your grooming and the gym, there is nothing else about you that makes you interesting.”

With that, Evan sucked off Clay one last time ripping anything left that could allow Clay to redeem what he lost.

Clay woke up in his tiny studio apartment with a raging hard on and need for sex and the gym. There was one less light in the world and one more basic bro to fill that space.

[malestransforming]

Is this a curse, or a blessing? You decide.

The Curse Continues

You wait for an answer for a few hours, but hear nothing, so brush it off. Later that day, you catch a ride in a Uber to meet some friends at a restaurant. You pull out your phone to let them know you're on the way.

The driver looks at you in the rearview mirror and says.

"You asked about the curse?"

"Excuse me, what did you say?"

"The curse."

You make eye contact, then realize it is an entirely different driver. Instead of the smallish man you met earlier, you see a huge, muscular hairy man with a beard. His shirt is off and he looks at you with a grin.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Can you stop and let me out," you say in protest.

"Too late," he says. He turns off the highway and heads towards an industrial park on the edge of the city.

"Hey, where are you taking me! What's going on!" you shout. But the driver keeps going. You sink back in your seat. You feel a relaxed heaviness spreading through your arms and legs.

Suddenly, your seatbelt tightens and you begin convulsing and flexing. Your arms and shoulders swell up and burst the seams of your t-shirt. Your chest grows massively and your back widens. Thick black hair spreads over your whole body. You feel the stubble on your chin grow into a think beard and your jaw seems to slacken and relaxed.

The drivers turns into a parking lot or what looks like an abandoned warehouse.

"We're here. Welcome. You'll need to stay here for a few months until you've adjusted. Your old friends and family won't recognize you. And you'll soon forget them too. You belong to a new brotherhood now."

Once inside, you realize there is a whole group of men living here. There is a gym, a kitchen, bunk beds -- a whole facility for recruits. Eventually, they tell you that you can return to the outside world undercover, but for now it's nothing but training. You will pack on more muscle, you'll worship alpha cock, you'll learn to live with and enjoy the curse until it comes time for you to share that curse with others.

#male tf #male tf story #reality change #jockification #male body transformation #muscle growth

[malestransforming]

I see this as a win, personally. From a nobody into a somebody.

Henry had felt hazy ever since going into the locker room at the gym. The blonde twink never had the urge to try and take a shower there before, he was too shy and timid amongst the crowd of burly masculine men, nervous about his lithe figure being judged or his feminine manners being laughed at. But he had really worked up a sweat today, and he hated feeling gross and sticky. As soon as he pushed open the doors and strolled in, he was assaulted by the pungent odor of protein farts, fetid and spicy and reeking of digested tacos. It shot up his nose, made his head start to ache, and he couldn’t help but assume the two large, bulging Latino fuck boys chatting off to the side were the source of the stench.

He plugged his nose as he sat his items down and started to undress, ignoring the muscled men as they laughed and called out to him, their language lost on him. But he understands the word gringo, white boy, and that causes his pasty skin to flush with embarrassment.

As quickly as he could, he jumped into the shower, closing the curtain behind him, washing and lathering until the banter of the bros finally stopped and faded into silence. He sighed in relief, running his thin fingers through his pale hair. When the coast was clear, he stepped out from behind the curtain, and he gasped in shock.

His old gym outfit and his fresh change of clothes had been stolen from his bag! He made sure all his other belongings were still in tact, and then he gazed to the side to see… an entirely different outfit laid out. A douchey get up of gym clothes, reeking of that same spicy, musky aroma, sweat stains around the pits. He couldn’t just walk out of here in a towel! Panicking and embarrassed and just wanting to go home, Henry squirmed into the outfit, hating the feeling of the damp sweaty fabric touching his clean skin. He pulled on the oversized tank top, the baggy black shorts, even slipped on the ball cap because it was available and maybe he could use it to hide his face.

And then, quickly and quietly, he rushed home.

He was so embarrassed and flustered that on the drive home he didn’t realize his hand switched the station over to some Hispanic tunes. He only lived fifteen minutes away after all, and the last thing he cared about was jamming out. The underwear he had put on felt warm and slick against his tiny, bubbly ass, wedging between his cheeks, making him wince in disgust from the sensation. The smell seemed to be flooding his entire car, and he was sure the ball cap was making his hair stink, too. He would shower again when he was home, throw these clothes away, and… he felt so itchy!

He rubbed his jaw, mind hazy and foggy as he felt the rough bristle of hairs breaking through the harder, more chiseled skin. The more he rubbed the scruff, the more his initial fear turned into pride. Wouldn’t he have always rocked a beard if his genetics allowed it? Why would he be afraid right now? He licked his upper lip, the burn of peach fuzz scraping his fattening tongue, a black bushy chinstrap completing its hold around his lower face. His cock twitched inside the sweaty underwear, engorging and pulsing against the damp fabric, shaft sliding up and down against the filth.

He felt more itching and stinging across his chest, but a glance down at his body revealed he was still smooth and neatly shaven. He glanced up too early to notice the douchey Roman numerals etching themselves across his chest. Each intake of air, of that fetid aroma, seemed to make his pecs grow wider and fatter and thicker with muscle. His traps pulled at the straps of the tank top, pulling the sweaty strip of fabric taut around his torso. The hands gripping the steering wheel had become veiny and large, fat sausage fingers gripping the plastic, holding it firmly. He let go with one hand, running it down his torso and his chiseled abs as he felt his biceps blowing up with muscle, so thick and juicy his skin chaffed and rubbed against itself. If he looked in the mirror, he would see beautiful chocolate brown eyes clouded in lust, sun kissed skin taking over his pale complexion.

The bushy chinstrap and caterpillar eyebrows on his face were now thick and pitch dark, and his blonde bangs had pulled up under his sweaty cap and turned the same black shade as his forest of body hair. He bounced his pecs, a large meaty hand reaching into his damp shorts and pulling out his cock, a cross necklace manifesting around his neck and bouncing between his jiggling mounds of muscle tits. His fat cock- wait wasn’t it less than aver- his leaking horse cock was standing at attention, pre dripping down his thick fingers, veins pulsing against his calloused palm. He ignored the itch of thick, dark, sweaty pubes scratching his hand, wasting no time running his large hand up and down the bloated shaft. His waist stretched the band of his shorts as it widened, his thighs and legs bloating with muscle and fat, bones cracking as he grew taller and taller until the top of his head lightly touched the roof of his car. As he stroked, Henry had one final moment of brief panic. Was he really jacking off? What if he came all over himself and his car? Wasn’t he just anxious because he already felt so dirty?

He could feel his fat, muscled ass blossoming beneath him, wiry hairs itching between his crack, his once pink hole now brown and rank and tightly sealed, trapped between the jiggling, juicy globes of jock meat. His outfit was freshly drenched from the gym, proof of his hard effort. He was a man’s man, sculpted to perfection, every Latina mama’s dream guy to take care of her daughter. Or breed her, at the very least.

He was thinking about sexy Latina tits and pussy when his fat cock finally spewed its seed, blasting out the remains of the former Henry with it. The twink's last cry for help was drowned under the man's low, satisfied moan. Enrique panted in ecstasy, shoving his still wet cock into his already ruined underwear. Now his car smelled like cum and sweat, but he didn’t give a shit. That was the musk of a proud Mexican man, and he had no shame. He was only rushing home so he could text one of his bimbo bitches to come over and be bred by him. His hand had nothing on slick pussy.

Leaning to one side, about to pull into his driveway, Enrique wasted no time adding one more foul smell to the car. He rocketed a loud protein fart out of his fuzzy Latino ass, the final traces of Henry’s fears and confusion sputtering out with it. PRFFFFFFFFT!

He couldn’t wait to hang with his bros at the gym and make fun of gringos together again tomorrow.

#male tf #muscle transformation #jock transformation #race change #race transformation #latino muscle

[malestransforming]

Someday I want to rewrite this whole story with a detailed transformation. That AI image is yew!

Hello, is this support? I’ve been trying to find your contact info for the longest time now. My name is Chris, I’m not the owner of your product, my best friend Mason is. He and I got into our first huge fight a few days ago. I’ve been pretty down lately and he was trying to encourage me, but nothing he was saying was really working. So he got fed up, pulled out your Chronivac product, and used it on me! I didn’t feel or notice anything at first, but now that a few days have gone by I’ve noticed that I’ve been getting taller, my skin has been darkening to this golden tan, and my facial features look more and more Japanese rather than Mexican. I… I think he’s turning me into him! I showed up at his house earlier today to confront him about it, but when he answered the door his muscles were huge! His clothes barely fit him! And he’s gotta be taller now too! I felt a tingle in my chest and watched in real time as my pecs expanded right before our eyes and he just looked at me with lustful excitement, saying something about how I’m “turning out to be such a hot twin.” Surely this is an abuse of your product and goes against your Terms of Service! He can’t just turn me into his twin and grow us for his pleasure!

Now… First of all… I'm afraid… I'm probably too late to intervene. Pedro and Miguel Watanabe. Fitness bloggers, personal trainers, and models. Whether you wanted it or not… Fate isn't so terrible now, is it?

As for your actual question about the legal situation, it's actually a bit tricky… Your brother took out a family license when you were not yet brothers. It can only be used by family members. So before the transformation was completed, his actions were actually illegal. He transformed you against your will, but then cured it legally.

If you don't want to shake up the world of influencers as a super hot Blasian, please contact us again. I am sure our legal department will come up with a solution. But seriously, is this really what you want?

[malestransforming]

Here's a request from @physical-lust

Sorry it took so long! Hope you like it!

-- -- --

Alec sighed as he logged onto FaceTime, getting ready to talk to his classmate, Van. 

The two of them had been close friends back in high school, however, they quickly drifted apart when they went to college. Despite going to the same school, Alec had received a baseball scholarship, and therefore tended to hang out solely with his fellow teammates, living it up as the stereotypical American jock. On the other hand, Van had opted to follow in the new, mysterious paranormal tract at school. The diverting paths had caused the once close buddies to become strangers.

Which was why Alec wasn’t too keen on asking Van for some tutoring help with his Biology class. Due to his focus being on partying and trying to fuck all the girls on Sorority Row, Alec had let his grades slip and he was at risk of losing his scholarship. Van had always had impressive grades all throughout high school, so he was the one Alec had contacted.

It didn’t take long for the app to connect, and Van popped up on the screen. 

The physical differences between the two young men was also noticeable. Whereas Van was slender and wore thick glasses to help him read the numerous textbooks for his advanced classes, Alec’s body was blessed with toned muscle. Alec had a perfectly proportional body with toned pecs and a perky butt. His shaggy brown hair and sparkling blue eyes made him look like a model ripped straight from an Abercrombie & Fitch bag; and he made sure to use that to his advantage. The jock had scores of women falling over at his feet (and a few men, but he didn’t pay them any attention). Even now on his FaceTime chat with his tutor/friend, he wore a tight t-shirt that displayed his impressive chest.

“Hey there, Alec,” Van happily waved on the screen. “Long time no see, right?” In the background, Alec could barely make out a treasure trove of large books, all of them looking ancient and like they’d take years to finish. The lighting was so dim that he couldn’t make out the rest of Van’s dorm, but he could see a fancy-looking candle flickering on the desk next to Van’s open Biology textbook. There were ornate carvings on it, and the way the yellow flame danced was almost mesmerizing and Alec had to snap himself away from staring at it.

“Yeah, hey, how’s it goin’?” Alec mumbled, trying to keep this tutoring session quick so that he could go nail the girl in his English class. He snatched his textbook and flipped it open to the chapter on the citric acid cycle. “So I was having some trouble with—”

“We have plenty of time for that,” Van said, waving a thin hand dismissively. “How’s your year been going? I’ve been really busy with my studies, but it’s totally worth it. One of my professors even asked me to be his personal assistant and we’ve been studying all sorts of ancient artifacts that have been used in all of these ceremonies.”

“Wow, that’s so interesting…” Alec huffed, trying not to let his annoyance show since Van was technically doing this for free.

“It really is,” Van blabbered, oblivious. He paused, a slight smile on his face. 

The candle flickered in intensity, the yellow light growing in fervor and shining even brighter. 

“Y’know,” Van began, “I’m actually really liking your new look. Blond is a good color for you.”

Blond?

Alec cocked his eyebrow in confusion, knowing that his hair was brown, not blond. He shrugged it away and chalked it up to Van’s thick glasses not really helping his sight. Poor guy. “Uh, sure,” he muttered. “Thanks.”

The two of them began to go over some of the notes on the science chapter, with Alec having a difficult time keeping up with Van’s teachings. Much to his chagrin, Alec was starting to feel a little slow, having a hard time grasping the highlights of the section in his textbook. He scrunched up his face as he stared at the chemical formulas, none of them making even the slightest bit of sense to him.

Alec scratched at the back of his head in irritation, trying to not let his frustration show on his face.

Van could pick up on it through, and playfully said, “Don’t worry, Alec. I know that some things are a little hard for you to understand.”

The fog seemed to deepen in Alec’s mind, completely destroying any chance of him understanding anything during this tutoring session. The more Alec looked at the textbook, the dumber he felt. He struggled to piece together the information in the book, but could barely recall anything he’d learned at all in class… that is, when he bothered to go to class.

Van shrugged his thin shoulders. “At least you have a deal with the professor,” he added. “It’s nice of him to pass you just for a daily blow job.”

Alec jerked back in his chair in shock, confused by what Van was saying. He didn’t have some sort of sexy deal with his Biology professor. The teacher was a large man in his early fifties, with a trimmed beard and thick salt-and-pepper colored hair. He was a total daddy of a man, always dressed in suits that showed off his nice muscle gut.

Memories of himself down on his knees, with his face shoved into the older man’s crotch started to filter into Alec's mind. His heart starting to speed up in his chest, Alec ran a shaky hand through his hair as he easily pictured himself moaning loudly under the desk as he sucked off his professor, eagerly swallowing down his entire load that he shot down his hungry throat. 

Despite himself, Alec squirmed in his seat as he felt his own cock start to harden at the memory. His impressive seven inches plumped up to full size, tenting out his workout shorts noticeably. It throbbed with want under his desk, and Alec had to fight with himself to keep his hands above the desk.

“I, uh, I didn’t know many knew about that,” Alec heard himself mutter, blushing at the words that left his mouth.

Van chuckled. “Everyone knows that,” he laughed. “You love to show off and act like a total slut in front of everyone, remember?”

The candle flickered some more.

Alec paled as his cock throbbed even more. The hunk began to squirm around in his seat as he suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. The fog in his brain seemed to intensify, and all of a sudden Alec wanted nothing more than to peel out of his overbearing clothes— just being so covered up felt sweltering. Even though it was autumn, Alec feel as if he were wearing a parka in ninety degree weather, and he tugged at the collar of his t-shirt, stretching it as low as he could.

“Everything alright?” Van asked, a smirk detectable in his voice.

“Um, y-yeah,” Alec stammered, still unable to relax. Something deep in his gut told him that he shouldn’t be getting undressed in front of another guy, but he’d already torn his shirt away from his chest before registering it. 

The mere second that his pecs were out in the open, Alec felt leagues better. The cool air in his dorm made his nipples perk up and a dull grin formed on his handsome face, and before he knew it, his hands were already shimmying his shorts down to the ground. 

Alec’s face scrunched up in confusion as he sat at his desk, wearing nothing at all since he usually freeballed. His still throbbing cock bobbed in front of him, a bead of precum forming at the head. No matter how wrong he felt this scenario was, he couldn’t deny that there was a spark of excitement that rippled through him.

Van’s eyes got bigger as he looked the jock up and down.

Alec noticed that he’d been bouncing his pecs, blushing a little when he’d been made aware… but he didn’t stop.

The two of them continued to go over a few more science problems in the textbook, Alec having immense trouble concentrating. All of the long words on the pages seemed to blur together and he’d quickly get distracted by flexing a bicep or crunching his abs for the camera on his laptop.

The candle’s light shined brighter.

Van cleared his throat as Alec ran a hand over his pecs. “Lookin’ big there,” he commented. “Those tits are getting some serious size.”

If he hadn’t been watching, Alec wouldn’t have believed that his pecs would magically grow. However, the stunned stud went slack jawed as he witnessed his toned pectorals shudder before ballooning out from his chest. They grew larger and rounder as they jutted off of him. Even his nipples enlarged, going from tiny and perky to huge and nubby.

“Wh-what?!” Alec panicked as he palmed his giant muscletits, wincing at how they filled his hands and how he couldn’t see anything below them as they blocked his view. “What’s happening?!”

His heart raced in his chest even faster as he groped his large chest, his cock still throbbing despite his fear. His slow head started to piece together what was happening: all of his weird behavior and foreign memories.

Alec stared up at Van who only grinned from ear to ear on the screen.

“You son of a bitch!” he growled. “What are you doing to me?”

Van simply shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious, Alec?” he teased. “I was growing tired of being ignored by my supposed friend, so I decided to turn you into my own personal himbo.”

“Himbo— ohhh!” Alec snorted before getting distracted by accidentally brushing his hand over an incredibly sensitive nipple. The stud couldn’t hold back his slutty moan, and before he could react, he reached up with his other hand and thumbed his nubby nipples, all the while moaning loudly for the whole floor of his dorm to hear. He knew that he should be angry and demand that Van stop turning him into a himbo, but the pleasure was too much for his dimwitted mind to ignore. He couldn’t stop playing with his chest and pursing his lips like the slut he was turning into.

“See?” Van laughed. “It’s not so bad. And just think about how great it’ll be with that big booty of yours.”

“Uughhh!” Alec moaned as he squirmed in his seat, feeling himself lift up higher as his butt grew bigger. The altered hunk shoved himself away from the desk and stared into the section of the app that showed his own camera feed.

Alec paled as he examined this new reflection. His pecs were massive and the huge nipples they were capped with made him look like some morphed pic off of a fetish site. Not to be outdone, his ass was massive! The meaty cheeks had to have grown at least three times their normal size, rounding out and creating a perfect shelf from his back. As he swiveled his hips, he watched his booty jiggle and shake, in constant motion. The handsome jock had gone from toned to curvy in a matter of seconds. He also noticed that his brown hair was now a bright blond, just as Van had mentioned earlier.

And his hard cock spasmed as he looked at his new himbo form.

“Y-you can’t leave me like this!” Alec pleaded as he envisioned himself out on the baseball field, running around with his huge pecs and bubblebutt hindering his every movements. But then he thought about being in the locker room with all of the other jocks, showing off his warped body in the showers and having all of them either fuck him or let him suck them off— and his cock throbbed even more at the thought.

“I won’t leave you like that,” Van smirked. “Besides, there’s nothing hotter than a slutty himbo jock who’s a strict bottom. So…”

“Hnnghh!” Alec grunted as he tensed up, his pecs and ass bouncing in tandem as he came. His large seven inch cock spewed out cum. It twitched as he came, throbbing and spasming from his orgasm.

But then the jock went wide-eyed as he kept cumming, and his cock kept throbbing— and at the pinnacle of each throb, his large cock yanked itself back into his body, drastically dropping in size.

“Ugghh! Whaaat’s happening to meee?!” Alec moaned as his previously sizable cock dwindled out of sight, his large pecs blocking it from view. The stud reached down and gasped as he felt his rod get smaller and smaller in his hand. He couldn’t see them over his chest, but even his balls grew smaller, starting to look more like little grapes that were tight against his skin. His little cock settled on a pathetic three inches, looking incredibly out of place on Alec’s muscled frame; but as the himbo jock continued to cum, he relished in his pleasure, all fear evaporating from his dim mind.

A dull grin formed on Alec’s handsome face, and Van knew that the changes were about done.

Where a toned baseball playing jock had been just moments before, was a total slutty himbo who was built solely to get other men off. His massive pecs, big bubblebutt, and tiny cocklet illustrated that he was now the perfect bottom on campus, eagerly taking cock after cock.

The altered hunk swayed on his feet, the fog in his brain growing thicker by the millisecond and making it hard to think coherently. 

“Well, well,” Van smiled, admiring his work, “it looks like my little experiment was success. You’re now nothing but a dumb himbo. I don’t think that people will recognize you anymore, Alec. So why don’t we call you something else, huh? How about Brad? Brad the Buttslut? How’s that sound?”

Alec screamed on the inside as he felt himself being locked in a tight box, Brad the Buttslut taking over. The slutty himbo smiled widely and couldn’t help but flex his large arms above his head when he noticed that he was on camera. His pert little nub went hard, almost concealed by the stud’s big thighs.

“Why don’t you come over to my dorm and I’ll fuck that big slutty butt of yours?” Van beckoned.

“I’m on my way!” Brad happily agreed, snatching an unfamiliar jockstrap off of his dresser and yanking it on. The front pouch was loose and baggy, but the hunk’s enormous bubblebutt jutted out the back noticeably. Brad then thrusted his chest out with pride and sauntered out of the dorm and out onto the hall, loving all of the eyes that locked in on his himbo form.

Nobody could tell, but Brad’s tiny cock was rock hard as he waddled down to the hallway to his best friend, Van’s, dorm, throbbing as he anticipated getting his big butt stuffed full. Brad was such a huge buttslut, and he loved every second of it.

[malestransforming]

Another god created. From an athletic boy he turned himself into a prime muscle beef.

[malestransforming]

I would like this to happen to me, ngl.

Rosa's Cafe

Here's a longer Racial TF set in a coffee shop, Best! Occam

Matthew had clocked up more hours of overtime for his company than they were willing to pay him. He assumed that their guidelines weren’t so rigid and that he would be fine to get ahead early. These days you really need to go above and beyond to get ahead and Matthew was determined to get in the good graces of the big bosses.

Unfortunately working so hard was a misplay. His direct boss was forcing him to take Paid Time Off in lieu of the overtime pay for the past year. Now he sits at home with next to nothing to do, twiddling his thumbs until he can return to the grind. He loved back when he was a barista in college? Maybe he can get back to customer service?

Reflecting on this he takes to LinkedIn to see if there are any managerial spots open for a cafe. Something needs to scratch his itch for administration and he night as well pour coffee while doing so. In a stroke of luck, or perhaps something more deliberate, as soon as he logs in to check listings he sees a manager position at “Rosa’s Cafe.”

He auto-submits his resume to the restaurant assuming he’s overqualified before even reading the listing’s qualifications. Glancing through them he sees that they’d prefer someone fluent in Spanish. Matthew struggles to recall what if any Spanish remains in his head from taking it in both high school and college. He starts to pull up a language app on his phone before seeing that, jarringly fast, he has already been advanced to an interview for this cafe. Rosa herself sending him a message to come as soon as he’s ready. 

Matthew then sprints to check himself in a mirror. He has certainly not slacked in his hygiene since he was asked to stop coming into work, partially in hopes that they’ll need him to come in any day. Today though he throws on some cologne and drives off to Rosa’s Cafe. He doesn’t stop to question how odd it is to already be on the way to an interview, minutes after submitting his resume. They must just really need someone?

As soon as he arrives Rosa is there at the door to greet him, smiling wide and welcoming him into her establishment.

“Hola Matthew! So glad for you to join us, your application was outstanding! Solamente, I was wondering why you wanted this job given your current one?”

Matthew blushes and explains his situation, struggling not to sound like a maniac for wanting to work despite the relatively cushy situation he is in. Although Rosa hears this and is impressed at his ethic, his crave to work. Rosa was more than happy to take advantage of his situation.

“Uhhh there was just one thing though, Miss. Oh uh, lo siento. Señora Rosa.”

“Sí, sí. You aren’t quite fluent en Español, are you Matthew?” He averts his eyes but before he can answer Rosa continues on, “Esta bien. You will just learn on the job sí?”

Putting on an air of determination Matthew pumps his fist “Sí, Sra Rosa! Uh claro que sí,” he attempts, stepping to the limit of the Spanish remaining in his head. Rosa gives him a look like an owner watching a pet as it tries to show off, offering an ambiguous smile before explaining her stance.

“Claro que sí,” offering a knowing nod, “I’m sure you understand why I would want a manager to speak Español, yes? En esta ciudad, in this city, there are very few places where Español is the default. I would just like my cafe to be one of them. The job is of course yours, I would be a fool not to take the opportunity. But while you’re here, mientras estás aquí, please work on su Espanol,” tacking on, “I can’t imagine it will be too long before you’re called back to your job eh? Una estrella como tu” 

To her point there are clearly not a lot of people speaking English in the cafe. Matthew would guess he is probably the only native English speaker present making him blush, although after being flattered by Rosa he was ready to accept. After all he had been meaning to practice his Spanish anyway. He puts his hand out to shake her hand, “when can I start?”

“Well, mi pequeño gerente, why not start training now?” Turning around she calls over the barista Juan to introduce the two, talking to Juan at a speed that made it clear to Matthew that she was quite dumbing down her language in their conversation. She then bids farewell to the two, “adios Matthew! Tengo que ah, cόmo se dice, file your paperwork. Hasta mañana!”

“Hola Matthew, it is nice to meet you! Rosa said to show you around,” Juan smiles offering him a cup of their house roast. “Espero que, ah, I hope you don’t mind but I added canella, cinnamon.” Matthew graciously accepts the cup. He may be a world removed from his time as a barista but instantly returns to his first coffee tasting.

It smelled quite strong, darker than he usually prefers and he can see cinnamon swirling through the cup as the cup steams in his hand. He begins to bring the cup up for a closer smell although as soon as the movement begins the allure of the drink overpowers him and he drinks almost too quickly. It was delicious. He always, almost performatively, drank black coffee at his old job. Or no, his real job?

Juan sees Matthew continue to gulp down the cup of coffee waiting for reaction, though he sees very little sign of his mind processing the drink at all. Matthew’s just staring ahead, his eyes ever so slightly glazing over as he finishes the cup. He grins as it almost looks like the coffee has stained Matthew’s upper lip, offering a napkin before asking, “te gusta hermano?”

Matthew snaps back to his senses, staring at Juan as a small ring of brown starts to stain the center of his icy blue eyes. He struggles to even find the words to describe how profoundly he enjoyed the coffee. It was a passion too great for him to even begin to capture in English. “Juan, that was, cómo se dice? Is there some word better than delicioso?”

Juan laughs putting his arm around his new manager, “Ay hermano! Maybe that’s what you should do now! You just go work on your Spanish and I’ll bring you some samples! Ah, aqui, the employee handbook is in Spanish, practica perfecta!” He brings over another cup and the handbook and Matthew starts struggling through it. 

Matthew figuratively bashes his head into the handbook, it’s not dense but it is per cierto not written with beginners in mind. Smirking as he notices he just reflexively thought in Spanish, going to get another drink only to find the cup emptied once more. He hasn’t been drinking nearly as much since he left the office, bargaining with himself as Juan comes to refill his cup. He can cut back his intake later, he needs to get this through this work.

And work at it he does, caffeine is not making him feel wired as usual but sensual as he continues to page through the booklet. He starts to stretch just to feel the strain in his muscles and the tension in his clothes. He looks down and sees his shirt is fitting much better than he thought it did. It’s not tight but anyone who looks can see there is muscle under there. He stares at his own body feeling strength he does not remember cultivating. Suddenly he notices it’s not only his upper body that’s filling out, as a growing package begins to demand attention under the table. These jeans were clearly not designed to handle this and Matthew is barely able to stop himself from flexing to see just how much he truly can fill this outfit and he attempts to switch gears back to working. Urgently feeling adverse to thinking any further about his body.

Struggling to find any way to distract himself he remembers being historically shit at actually speaking in Spanish. This is as good a chance as any to practice his pronunciation. Matthew begins to mouth the words in the handbook, feeling his tongue in unfamiliar ways that he swears he has done a million times before. Matthew attempts to raise his practice to a whisper and immediately goes into a coughing fit. Hope that coffee didn’t burn my throat he thinks clearing his throat and finding a much deeper voice on the other side. One that announces his Spanish progress to the whole cafe shockingly loud for a whisper though Matthew doesn’t notice. What is immediately apparent to him is how expertly he rolled an R. 

He knows he could never do that, and not without trying. He probably spent half an hour practicing it his sophomore year. He reflects back on how hard he worked on Spanish in the past as his eyes start to glaze over once more. Something is off here, his hand raising to his face not notice a moustache and sloppy goatee start to push out of his face. He foes feel itchy elsewhere though, scratching at his chest and stomach, averting the more animalistic urge to scratch his pits and crotch as Juan begins to walk over.

Matthew quickly tries to meet him halfway, standing to a height just taller than the one he thought he knew to be true. His bulge grazes the bottom of the table which causes his body to convulse in pleasure. His feet are caught on the table as he falls knocking his coffee all over himself and the floor. “Mierda!” He shouts before going dark.

He awakens to Juan wiping coffee off his face, his clothes now certainly stained brown and spelling of rich coffee and cinnamon. Helping him back to standing, Juan makes sure he is alright, “quite the fall amigo! Tal vez we call it a day?” Matthew hastily agrees feeling impossibly strained and weary for what little work he has actually done. Juan continues, “Rosa said the paperwork should be good for you to start tomorrow if you can!” Stumbling to his feet Matt knows he agrees but the rest of his night is little more than a blur. 

He sees Juan wink at him and knows he is going to start tomorrow. He must drive home after that since he is now looking at himself in the mirror brushing his teeth. Something seems off, he is clearly too tired to put a finger on exactly what it is. He flexes his bicep noticing he must have completely disrobed. He thought he shaved his pits recently. He scratches at his crotch realizing that his now heavier cock is also out, pawing at his pubes and feeling his bulge expand even further into his hand before forcing it into some briefs and continuing his audit. 

Didn’t he have a tan? Looking at himself up and down he feels like he isn’t supposed to be this pale right? Isn’t he from? Matthew feels lightheaded and begins to collapse once more before being jarred back to reality smelling the coffee and cinnamon scent still hugging his chest. Using this second wind he stumbles into bed, neglecting to change into his nightclothes and he quickly drifts to sleep.

Matt falls into a dream that feels realer than the reality of his previous life. It’s the middle of the rush and he sees himself working at an espresso machine with Juan. He looks down seeing his body expertly maneuver around the bar, tossing cinnamon into drinks, chatting with customers in truly fluent Spanish. He pauses in this dreamscape to notice the tan he was so sure he had earlier. He sees the tattooed arms he has known for years, he worked hard enough for them after all, might as well show them off on the clock. He raises the hairy arms to flex at Juan and say something clever in his native tongue before being jarred back to reality by a sunbeam.

Matt awakens hearing his morning wood stretch his briefs to their near limit barely able to keep himself together before seeing the time and once more shouting “mierda!” He is already so late for work, they’ve been open for hours. It’s his first real day and he has already jod- he’s already fucked it up! He quickly inspects himself once more, seeing the true version of himself he saw in his dream. Seeing his recently shaved chest he quickly realizes he doesn’t have time for a shower. He smells his pits just to see how bad the damage is. His voice rumbles in his chest, “joder…”

He smells again even deeper, it reminds him of? Oh it is just on the tip of his tongue, which he begins to reach out before remembering his predicament. He throws on a dress shirt before giving one last whiff to his pits, flexing his pecs as he does so. It is so fragrant, almost spicy. Matt postpones the mystery after concluding it should certainly be covered by the smell at Rosa’s and rushing out the door. Not seeing as his chest pops off the top button of his shirt and his neat goatee begins to grow even thicker.

Matt rushes into the door and is greeted like a regular, which he is of course to be now, as the new manager. He feels a warmth in his chest as Juan brings over his first cup of the day. “Buenos días Juan!” Matt offers before going to meet the chef, Benito, as the plan was today.

Making his way back to the kitchen he smells something even more distracting to him than his body odor this morning. Benito runs over with a plate full of arepas that Matt recognizes instantly before Benito greets him, “buenos dias jefe! Rosa said you wanted us to start serving arepas sí?” 

“Rosa? She said, I asked for these?”

“Si! Desde su ciudad natal no?”

Matt’s mouth is overcome as he starts to clearly drool for the plate in front of him. He has no choice but to tear into one which immediately brings him back. He loved these when he was a kid, but? Didn’t he grow up en los estados? Wasn’t he from? He fails to finish the thought in his head before it is wiped away as if fireworks are going of in his mind. 

He beams at Benito as his eyes glaze over and fully darken to brown. He feels an urge to burp which he chokes down with another cup of coffee. “Ay this takes me back amigo, estos son exactamente como, like the ones mi abuela había before nos pequeños…” Matt pauses as he feels a pervasive warmth starts to grow distracting in his chest as a similar itch begins on the outside.

He doesn’t notice as his inner monologue begins to entirely shift away from English, as it should of course. He may live in los Estados hoy, but he was colombiano born and bred. He remembers how hard he worked as a child learning English as his biceps start to clearly strain the already tight dress shirt.

Matt remembers fighting for his place to get a degree at a university that did not respect his native country or tongue as he feels his voice deepen beyond baritone and into a strong bass. He remembers trying to find a place in this mierda ciudad before meeting Rosa as his chest bursts open shooting any buttons remaining off his shirt. 

Rosa then enters the kitchen to see how her new hire has progressed and slyly smiles seeing his progress. She tosses a shirt at him saying in Spanish now effortlessly understood “Oi Matteo! You’re in the kitchen put some clothes on!” 

Matteo shuffles to the restroom to change as he looks one last time in the mirror and sees the flawless trajabador he sees every time he checks himself out. He puts on his nametag flexing to see just how much he can strain his shirt before returning to the cafe, ready to conquer another day in the life he has worked so hard for.

[malestransforming]

Wouldn't It Be Funny?

Back again with a longer military tf, Hope you enjoy! - Occam

Curtis and Joseph were bored out of their minds. After growing disenchanted with university life the two were well into a gap year and have been finding progressively less stimulating ways to waste away their time. Without assignments piling up and biweekly mandatory lectures they were firmly adrift as the days of the week blur together. Curtis continues scrolling on his phone while Joseph, phone ever-so-recently dead, tries to think of anything to do while it charges back up.

“Wait! I think my brother left a stash of beer last time he visited!” Curtis looks up and squints at his friend, “the best thing you think we could be doing right now is day drinking alcohol your brother left here months ago?” Joseph makes a motion inviting Curtis to produce a better idea which goes unanswered as he rolls his eyes and gets up to accompany Joseph on this ignoble quest.

Joseph leads Curtis to the hall closet where he had apparently thrown everything his brother, Nick, had left after staying over for a couple weeks. There is some deodorant and other toiletries scattered about although the floor, first and foremost however, what catches Curtis’ eye is an army uniform laying in a heap, in the corner of the closet. There is just something about it. Any time he starts to move his attention away from it another question pops into his mind requiring a deeper inspection of the jacket. He wonders how durable the uniform actually is? It looks as if it's never been worn though he knows that Nick has certainly done some training in it. He simply must have a closer look.

Before he could act on that, the jacket he so craved was chucked at him as Joseph found his bottled quarry underneath. “Score! It’s almost full too, we can have two each and rock, paper, scissors over the last one.” Joseph heads to the kitchen well on his way to some palatable lukewarm beers as he continues to chat busily at Curtis. His roommate doesn’t hear him however as the only thing on his mind is the scratchy jacket in his arms. 

He almost blushes looking down and feeling it in his arms, quite a bit heavier than he thought it would be. Surely he should toss it back with the rest of Nick’s things but it’s such a nice jacket. Quite a shame it's gone so long just sitting in their unworn. Maybe he’d just toss it on as a prank. Yeah Joseph would love that, seeing his friend in this massive jacket. His body acts quicker than his mind though, swiftly putting it on, pulling the hem down to straighten it out and pulling the sleeves up so you can just see his hands out the end.

Curtis hears his friend opening bottles in the kitchen and grins as he pictures the look on Joseph’s face as he sees him wearing this. He zips it up and struggles to get wrinkles out of the pockets before the grand reveal. No reason to not try and look legit. For it to really be funny it needs to look good. As soon as the thought that this would be funny enters his mind however he has a sharp headache and groans. No longer able to recall the incongruity of the situation as he steps out to see his friend.

Rounding the corner Curtis quickly starts what is meant to be a comedically poor salute but instead executes one with the precision of a machine. This only heightens the comedy of it all from where Joseph is standing however, halfway through a bottle of beer he chokes and spits up the beer all over the counter. He takes a moment to recover from this waste of beer before looking up once more and laughing so hard he can’t stand up straight.

Curtis in turn clenches his fist hard enough to pop a joint as he feels aggressively defensive. Why is his friend laughing at him. His back tenses with more effort than he has sustained in months, and more strength then he has wielded in a lifetime, as he cannot let this slight go unreciprocated. “What’s so funny, Kid.” Joseph looks up to see Curtis with an expression of rage more genuine than any emotion he had seen of his friend in months. It is immediately met with a flinch and a recoil as Joseph can’t bring himself to his friends’ burning gaze, “Jesus Curtis is everything alright? I thought you were doing a joke?”

A Joke? Curtis’ neck spasms breaking him out of his statuesque posture and upon rubbing a neck more muscular than he thought possible, he remembers, of course he was doing a joke! Why else would he be wearing Nick's Jacket! Smiling as he remembers how good it landed, he heads over to his friend, “Sweet you already opened a bottle for me! What’s the move now, did you want to game?” 

Joseph, shell-shocked by this return to spirits, assumes that the whole thing was now some shit joke, hands his friend a beer and heads to set up his PS5, “sure whatever dude, can you get the lights?” Which Curtis quickly does, not noticing his arms definitively stretching much further out of the jacket than they should. Waiting for his friend to finish the setup Curtis paces behind the couch, each step louder than the last as he grows less careful of his footing and he continues to ever so slightly grow into this jacket.

“Can you chill dude?” 

“Oh! Sorry did-”  

“And why are you still wearing my brother’s jacket!”

“Your brothers-” Curtis pauses to look at the name stitched onto his chest and is also shocked that he’s wearing Nick’s jacket though decidedly not for the same reason that Joseph assumed. “Woah sorry kid? I guess I was cold? Do you want me to throw it back in the closet?”

“Just take it off dude! And stop calling me kid,” puffing as he sits back on the couch and starts to play some game Curtis feels like he should recognize before taking off the jacket and heading to put it in the closet. He scratches at his chin as he tries to work out what feels so off right now. Hanging up Nick’s jacket, sure not to leave any creases, he remembers that he’ll probably need to shave soon so he doesn’t get a mark at the next inspection, his rougher hands feeling around his sharper jaw to check the damage.

Returning to the living room he trips over what he assumes is his own feet but is embarrassed to find; Ah! It’s his jacket! Thank god he let his discipline slack here and not back at base. He picks it up as Joseph turns around hearing the stumble and begins to hurry him back before instead asking, “did you do something with your hair?” To which Curtis tilts his head like a dog before Joseph shouts once more, “Dude! Are you wearing my brother’s socks!?”

“No of course not they would never fit.” He says looking down to see the same army green socks he always wears, not Nick’s. “Well my feet do seem larger than I thought they were.” continuing as he bends down to inspect his feet, Joseph scrambles over to do similarly, though neither notices as they slowly inch even larger across the carpet. Instead Joseph is immediately thrown for a loop hearing a loud groan from his friend as he stands back up. Now almost a head taller than he was before bending down.

“Fuck dude you’re so tall!” Joseph reaches up to put his hands on his friend’s shoulders. Curtis was always taller, a fact Joseph was already none too pleased with, but this was ridiculous. He almost has to strain and as he does finally get his arms up he immediately finds thick traps under his friend’s strained shirt, “Asshole! Have you been working out without me!?” 

“Of course not. When would I? Or who would I even-”

“I mean, with recruiters right?” Joseph offers forth without the thought even consciously entering his mind. It made no sense to him but it was true. Suddenly it's as if some form of static fills the minds of both the men, a warm static buzzes through Curtis’ mind and body as he starts to unconsciously put the newly reclaimed uniform back on himself. Joseph experiences something far harsher in his own mind, the static is unbearably cold and punishing. He claws at his head, no longer able to hold two ideas of who Curtis is in his mind. And it is clear which reality is prevailing as Curtis slides his thicker arms into the jacket, flexing to make sure his uniform is fitting just right.

As he begins to zip up the jacket his pecs begin to make themselves well more than apparent. His decidedly larger nipples poking out as the apparently nylon shirt hugs his defined chest and he struggles to get the zipper closed without being uncomfortably tight on his pecs before deciding to just leave it unzipped for now. “Why would I be working with recruiters, lil’ dude?” He looks confused at his friend, or his friend’s little brother? Before smirking and seizing the chance, “If anything you’re the one who should be working with them, gotta be bigger than that to join up with us!”  He puts a hand on Joseph’s head messing with his hair, jolting Joseph back to this new reality.

“Curtis! Do you not think something weird is happening here!”

“Oh? Did your brother not tell you I go by Curt?”

“My brother? Fuck dude! It’s his jacket! You’re wearing his jacket again!”

“Ah no lil’ dude this one here is mine, check it!”

Joseph looks at the clear name tag on his chest clear as day with Curt’s last name on it, not noticing as he seamlessly uses Curt’s apparent preferred name. Instead he stares at a symbol over the center of Curt’s chest clearly also different than the one on his brother’s uniform. Curt smirks as he points to it himself, “Impressed kid? I’m already a Private First Class, not too hard to outpace Nick though. I mean love the guy but come on! Show some hustle! We enlisted together for a reason dude!”

Suddenly Joseph feels that this statement was a bridge too far. He feels a pit in his chest as he feels he has just lost something greater than he can understand going to slap the exemplar of a man in front of him, “Snap out of it!” Before even nearing a strike however his wrist is snatched out of the air and held fast above his head. Curt stares daggers into Joseph at this sign of aggression, this challenge. His eyes darken as his stubble grows out even more. Joseph feels Curt’s grip grow even darker watching as the hair on his arms darkens spreading out from the sleeves. He brings in Nick’s little bro closer to his face as his warm, heaving breaths distract Joseph from the pain in his upheld wrist before he lets go and guffaws, “You’ve gotta be quicker than that kid if you want to enlist with us! Where is your brother anyway? ‘S why I came over right?”

Joseph is perplexed as Curt lets him go, also unsure as to why this mammoth of a man is in his living room. They are quickly assuaged as Curt gets a text from Nick. “Oh you need a ride did ya kid? No problem! He just wants you to bring over the jacket he left over here and we’ll head on out.” Curt struggles to shove his feet in his combat shoes before finding himself distracted as the shoes push out to fit his ever larger feet.

Joseph’s mind remains a battlefield but it is clear which side is soon to rout as he heads to the closet where he just wanted to grab some beer. Inside he finds not only his brother's jacket, expertly hung, but a second one that looks almost supernaturally comfortable. He pauses before reaching out, feeling an existential aversion to the jacket hanging in his closet. before there’s a brisk breeze through the house and he shivers. Joseph quickly grabs his brothers and slides into the latter jacket, a tad too big but the world around him feels much warmer now that he has it on.

After suiting up Joseph quickly rushes back to his brother’s friend, quite wanting to make a good impression on the private first class. As he rushes his footsteps quickly grow in volume as his tennis shoes thicken into pristine combat shoes and grow far wider as his feet race to keep up, filling their increased space. Barely avoiding tripping over his now massive feet, he sees that Curt is of course not a private at all but his Corporal, as he freezes and salutes. His biceps straining his sleeves as his stained white shirt begins to slowly make room for the soldier’s expanding muscle. “At ease Joe, Let’s go ahead and head on out.”

Curt leads Joe out to his lifted truck and has him get in before loading a few more things into the bed of his truck. There is a load of clearly dirty towels in the back seat as Curt clearly has an issue bringing in laundry after his workouts. Although he doesn’t make it a habit of driving recruits so it’s not usually an issue. Sitting in the musky cabin does immediately cause issues for Joe however, as he puts the seatbelt on he feels his body start to expand in every direction it can. His pecs push against both his shirt and the seatbelt. He pulls his tight shirt down, straining it to the brim as he feels a sudden itch in his crotch. His hand already down there and finding it impossible to bring his attention anywhere else he sees his bulge push out, almost doubling in size as he scratches his increasingly overgrown pubes. He struggles to cover the impossible to miss bulge forcing his brother’s jacket over his crotch, the added pressure and warmth overwhelms him as Curt notices from outside

Curt watches as his new recruit’s shoulders broaden and his jaw widens. He slightly shifts in his seat, almost gyrating, running the hand not shoved in his pants through his hair, leaving behind a respectable high and tight demanded of any respectable recruit.

Curt slowly opens the door giving the recruit the briefest of chances to at least perform decency. Immediately wrenching the hand from his pants to salute, shouting “Sir!” towards his Corporal, eyes growing deathly serious as he touches a visibly sweat covered hand to his brow. Curt’s eyes glint as he notices the action flung Nick’s jacket off and exposed Joe’s still expanding bulge and unzipped pants. The two feel a hunger starting to grow in their chests as Curt hops into the driver's seat. Adjusting his rear view as he juts up once more in height, his jacket making it apparent to all he is now a sergeant, Curt begins to drive off towards the base. 

Curt puts his hand on Joe’s inner thigh, overstimulating the private who roughly clenches his jaw trying to keep it together. He feels pre start to soak through Joe’s fatigues as he starts to rub his thigh. Grunting as he too feels a powerful stirring in his crotch, his cock forcing itself further down his leg. “Wouldn’t want to stop at my place first, would ya’ Joe?” Joe stares at the sergeant ahead of him with a lust deeper than the can understand, and a hunger to grow even larger. Curt chuckles, “gotta release some of this energy before we break the new to Nick anyway.” He turns his car and begins to race towards his apartment on the base. 

As the heat in the car begins to fog up the windows the two men could not remember anything besides who they were since joining the army. After an anything but quick fuck, they would get back to work on the base. Curt distracts himself as he commands his troops and Joe gets ready for his promotion ceremony, ready to rub it in his brother’s face that he was already going to be higher ranked. The two follow orders flawlessly as they always have, performing their duties with rigor. The only thing more present on their minds than dedication to their fellow soldiers being the excitement for the next time they are to fuck.