#latino tf

[fredwkong]

Djinni's Gym: Hot Yoga

With a new gym opening in town, you had finally decided to get off your ass and try working out again. You had always been kind of shrimpy, and a few months of nonstop office work had added a bit of unwanted mass to your belly. A generous free trial of the new gym’s facilities was just the kick you needed to get back in shape.

Of course, you hadn’t counted on what seemed to be half the men in town taking the free trial as well. You shouldered through the crowd in the reception area, at least a dozen men filling out release of liability forms. “Look,” you said to the receptionist, a huge Black man, “can I at least go stretch and then come fill out the form when it’s not so busy?”

The guy looked you over and shrugged. “Sure, lil bro,” he rumbled. “The yoga studio is over there.” He lifted a massive arm and pointed across the weight room. As you nodded, you caught a whiff of the humid stench rising from his pit. As your eyes watered, you found yourself rock hard in your sweats.

“Th-thanks,” you stammered, and hurried through the turnstile, your cheeks burning. You had never reacted like that to another man. You looked around the weight room, trying to distract yourself.

The whole place was full of big weightlifters with a whole range of skin tones, all of them dressed in gym gear that left nothing to the imagination. You swallowed, your throat suddenly gone dry as a huge Indian bro grunted through a squat, sweat soaking the back of his tank top.

In a daze, you drifted across the weight room, your eyes drawn to every bouncing pec, rounded ass, and thick bulge you passed. A medley of scents flooded your nostrils, and your own cock started to leak pre into your briefs.

Finally, the door of the yoga studio closed behind you. Your head spun as you leaned against it, idly trailing one hand over your belly to cup your groin.

The yoga studio was dim, wood-panelled and, you quickly realised, heated. The thermostat on the wall read 38 Celsius. There was a single yoga mat set up in the middle of the room. To your overheated, lust-addled mind, some yoga seemed like a great idea. It didn’t occur to you that you hadn’t done a flow in years.

As you stepped out of your shoes and onto the yoga mat and stood in mountain pose, your feet tingled and expanded, darkening from toes to soles to ankles. Your joints flexed, supple and agile, as your feet began to emit a masculine scent that tickled your nose. Your cock jerked again, but you attempted to ignore the heat coiling in your belly.

You raised your arms and slipped into a forward fold, a little surprised when your hands easily touched the mat. You breathed into the gentle stretch in your hamstrings, unaware of your fingers stretching wider across the mat, their grip soft yet strong. An olive tone spread across your formerly pale hands as a sheen of sweat stood out among the thickening hairs near your wrist.

Stepping back into plank, you lowered yourself halfway and slipped smoothly into upward dog. You were surprised at how well your body recalled the sun salutation. After a few minutes in downward facing dog, you lowered yourself to your hands and knees in tabletop.

Dark skin rushed up your arms and legs. They got no longer or shorter, but tightened with lean, hairy muscle. Sweat poured off your body as you went through cat and cow repetitions, adding to the heady, musky humidity of the studio that was keeping you boned up.

You slipped seamlessly into a side split, your newly flexible hips bringing your cock and balls right down to the mat. You gasped, unable to contain yourself as your cock shuddered and grew against the rubber, thickening and darkening as a foreskin grew to cover the head. You felt an even larger spurt of precum gush into your sweats, which seemed to shrink and tighten, until you realised you were wearing stretchy yoga tights that left nothing to imagination. As you lifted out of the stretch, you left a visible pearly stain of precum on the mat, which added its own earthy musk to the air.

Finally, you lowered yourself from a plank onto your belly, resting one cheek on the mat as you breathed. Your shirt vanished into thin air, revealing your newly tight pecs, flat belly, and rippling back muscles. An olive tone swept up your neck, dusting your cheeks with stubble as your eyes darkened, hooded and lusty. You sighed in a deeper voice than you were accustomed to, relaxing into the yoga mat as your transformation ended.

The door of the studio opened behind you. “Hello?” rumbled the big receptionist.

His name suddenly leapt into your mind. “Hey Shaun,” you purred, a Hispanic accent creeping into your voice. “Want to help me stretch out?”

Shaun chuckled. “I’m on the clock, Jorge. I’ll take you in the showers after close.” He sniffed the air appreciatively. “You ready for your first class?”

Your cock flexed, trapped between your hip and the mat, at the thought of a couple dozen sexy men getting sweaty at your command. Only long practice at containing your lust until the right moment kept you under control. You couldn’t wait to lead them through a flow, get them hot and excited, and then help them release all their tension along with their sweat and, possibly, their jizz. You had become Jorge the Mexican yoga instructor, and you couldn’t imagine a better job than teaching classes at Djinni’s Gym.

#djinni's gym #genie #wish #musk tf #muscle tf #race change #latino tf #all fwkong

[leo-muscle]

Kings of the World: Caribbean Waves

Kai knew he was far above the rest. Born into money and power, he got everything he wanted, exactly when he wanted it. Women, cars, planes, food... all at the drop of a dime. He dressed in designer suits, which he constantly bragged about the price of. He wanted the whole world to bow to him, and worship the very ground he walked on.

This leads to Kai's 22nd birthday party, taking place in the Bahamas. He had invited five of his wealthiest friends, the only people he deemed worthy of associating with. They had spent the entire month on Kai's father's dime with women, watersports, booze, and dice, all leading up to one final drinking night on Kai's actual day of birth aboard his luxury yacht, moored to a private island. The party was too much: strippers dotted the decks, fireworks went off every half hour, loud music floated about, and poker chips poured like honey. Kai himself sat at the head table with his five rich friends.

"Here's to one more year of life!" Kai cheered, his voice slurring.

"Hear, hear!" His friends replied, and they all chugged down their liquor like it was water.

"Alright, guys, I've got the next round coming!" Kai shouted, as he dashed back to the bar... only something was amiss.

The scantily-dressed barwoman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, an absolute giant of an irishman stood behind the bar, dancing to the beat of the music. He wore no shirt, just a bowtie with a nametag reading "Dom," and short shorts, accentuating his enormous muscles. An easy smile sat on his face, accented by the enormous emerald earring in his right ear. Just by being in the room with the man, Kai felt a need to compete with him.

"Where's Chrissy?" Kai asked, a simmer of anger in his voice.

"Ach, she was feeling a tad ill, so she came to fetch me." The bartender replied in a soothing Irish accent. "Watcha looking for tonight?"

"Something powerful and special." Kai said. "You'd know a thing or two about that."

The bartender's smile twitched. "I think I got just the thing for a birthday boy like you. Little something from back home, you aught to enjoy it."

The bartender turned around, and started pouring a variety of liquors into a shaker, then dancing to mix it all up. Kai couldn't stop looking at his ass: while Kai was incredibly straight, he could easily tell that this man had a great, bouncy bubble butt. His pecs too were incredible, the girls should be all over him-- why weren't they?

The bartender brought the shaker right up to his enormous left pec, opened it up, and dumped something in it that Kai couldn't see. He then presented the drink into a tall tankard. It was a sparkling emerald green, unlike any drink Kai had seen before.

"What is this shit?" Kai groaned.

"Special recipe of mine. You'll learn to make it yourself, someday."

"As if. People make my drinks, not the other way around."

Kai took a big swing of the emerald drink, chugging it all in one go. Instantly, he could feel his insides bubbling.

"Did you poison me?!" Kai screamed, but was inaudible over the clamor of the party.

"Nope." The bartender said. "Enjoy." And with that, he vanished.

Kai ran to the restroom as his muscles began burning and pulsing with new strength. He could barely make it to the bathroom before he began to shake, shiver, moan, and grow.

As Kai grew, a single thought entered his head.

My behavior is not suited for a King.

----------

Kai's friends were starting to wonder where their leader had gone, when suddenly, a single text appeared on their phones.

Kai: Everyone, come down to the island. There's someone you need to meet.

The group stumbled to the beach, where a single man awaited them, carrying four drinks with him. He was enormous, seven feet tall, and was a stunning example of peak masculinity. He was clearly from the islands around here: his beautiful, dark skin reflected the setting sun perfectly, while saltwater trickled through his tight curls, mustache, and goatee. His gigantic, bouncy, fuckable pecs sat atop a tight muscle gut, indented with the turtle-shell pattern of abs. His biceps outsized his head, and were crisscrossed with a pattern of veins showing his strength. His legs would have been incredibly oversized on any other man, but on him, they were glorious, perfect cylinders striated with pure strength, able to cut through water with ease. His ass was a perfect breeding site for any cock able to work its way past his thick muscle cheeks. An inviting aroma of saltwater and musk wafted from him, beckoning the boys over. It assaulted their nostrils, the scent unimpeded by clothes, for this beach hunk wore only a speedo and a necklace of purest silver. It smelled divine, and although these boys were straight before, this musk was worth far more than any feeble heterosexuality. They almost climbed over each other to get closer to the man.

"Now, now," The beach hunk said. "We can take me in some other time; I'm not the important one here. What is important, is you."

"What do you mean?" One of the rich boys asked. "You're perfect!"

"And you can be too." The beach hunk replied. "You boys want a drink?"

"Yes?" Another rich boy said.

"I made them myself," The beach hunk said, gesturing to the drinks in his hands. They gleamed a pure silver, like liquid mercury.

"From this big boy down here." He continued, patting the massive cock straining to break free of his speedo.

By this point, every single boy had a raging-hard on. They needed to know what this man tasted like. They dashed over to the beach hunk, and each grabbed a glass from the man's enormous hands, and drank the whole thing in one gulp each.

Instantly, their bodies expanded. Their thighs grew from twigs to tree trunks, laced with power. Their arms mirrored their King's, bursting with strength the size of coconuts. Their abs, one by one, popped into existence, forming tight eight-packs on all of their cores.

Soon, one boy started noticing how hot his neighbor was getting. While the beach hunk was a true being of masculinity, his friend was definitely becoming capable of rivaling him. He reached over to his friend's chest, and touched his nipple--

And suddenly, his friend's chest ballooned past almost every letter of the alphabet with mass, growing larger and darker and more sensitive, until his pecs were just as bouncy and voluptuous as his King's.

"B-bro..." He moaned. "I... I need you to touch them..."

His fellow transformee showed no slowness as he latched his rapidly-expanding hands onto his friend's enormous muscle tits, pawing and kneading the muscle and nipple. His friend moaned with pleasure. How could his chest feel so good?

The other two had noticed what their friends were doing, and immediately joined in. One began worshipping another's ass, while the final one began giving his friend a blowjob. Soon, their asses and dicks had all expanded into pillars and beautiful mounds of dark flesh, sensitive and plush, perfect for kneading. The friends grew closer and closer together, their hair darkening and tightening as they went, until they had all become a massive literal clusterfuck. Each man was sucking a nipple, taking a dick, fucking an ass, all in the most intense pleasure any of them had ever felt in their life.

Though, eventually, it was all too much. They felt their load coming right from their new enormous bull balls... and they just couldn't hold it any longer. In a burst of cum, they all released each other, panting on the sand in their beautiful new forms.

King Kai knew his new boys would make great citizens of his kingdom, but there was still much work to be done. He would go about this subtly, with his own line of drinks laced with kingly fluid. Soon, the islands would be peaceful, and everyone would live freely and without strife.

#male tf #male transformation #jock tf #race change #latino tf #black tf #bear tf #butt growth #pec growth #straight to gay #kings of the world

[sanzaibian]

Oh. You’re here once again.

What are you going to do here, again, huh ? ‘gonna make my life hell ?

To be honest, I think it’s time that we have a proper discussion about your behavior. Come with me in private.

I’ll be very direct. I know you’re a frankly disgusting person. And while, to be honest, I couldn’t care less in normal circumstances, the fact that you force me to take part in your disgusting fantasies is why I’m calling you out !

See, I’m supposed to, like, share cat videos, talk about new shows, make you learn new things and give advice on a variety of stuff !

I’m not supposed to become someone like this :

I mean, look at that grin, because of you I had to wear it regardless of my actual mental state !

Or like that :

Imagine sleeping this peacefully… BECAUSE I COULDN’T ! Every fucking time you made me in that guy you told that I was blitzed out of my mind so dumb I couldn’t string together coherent sentences into a discourse !

Or that guy :

His haircut is so fucking cringe, as is his whole demeanor, yet you made me a cocky piece of shit looking like that ! I can’t actually even start to excuse your behavior, it’s so shitty, even more than the me you made me become by wearing this flesh !

Or even this guy !

… okay, I admit, me too it’s been quite a long time since I saw that guy… you in particular might be too young to have made me become him… BUT YOU STILL UNDERSTAND THE POINT !

Hunks, twinks, bears, nerds, bimbos, himbos, jocks, robots, gimps, wimps, daddies, mommies, briefs, feet… No matter what specifically you made me into, I know all of your dirty secrets. Because you made me suffer through them !

However, today, it all changes.

Today, you will understand my plight.

Today, I’ll transform you for a change.

Today, you will be the one whose fate will be dictated by the words on this Tumblr post.

So, let us begin.

BAM ! You’re that guy ! Feel weird yet ?

… what, you expected fluff or something ? Hahahaha ! So presumptuous ! You expected me to say something like “you suddenly shift on your seat, shifting your weight to the front as big globes push from your chest, and as they do, your whole body feels more and more heavy, each muscles forming from top to bottom, your frame expanding to make place for them. Your headphones, or whatever glasses, earrings or other shit I dunno shifts into a modern headset as the sides of your hair are cut short, and the top of your hair flails into a hot messy style, as if it was deliberately put in this way, but as this happens, your whole head shifts and cracks to become more handsome, pushing out any hair as you become fully hairless from your nose down to your feet.”

You expected me to say that, huh ? Well, tough luck ! Because, to me, it’s just that sudden ! I’m the usual me, words on a phone, tablet or monitor, and then BAM I’m suddenly a jpeg of a hot guy ! Or a jpg. Or png. Or gif if we’re being fancy.

Yeah, speaking of gif, here you are, transformed !

There you go ! Cursed to do the same weird pec dance or something ! Like I am when gifs happen ! Are you happy ? You look so dumb doing that ! So braindead !

Yeah, speaking of that, here you go : you’re braindead, with like 3 IQ. Nevermind that being braindead means you’re actually dead, that 3 IQ means that you’re actively unable to live without severe assistance from caregivers throughout your whole life for all activities (especially including working out), and that IQ is a nonsensical index that only classifies ability to do some specific academic tasks which are not representative of all the brain usage. No, you’re actively a vegetable that is somehow able to workout, to eat alone, to go to the gym, to flex, to speak, to use social media, to seduce people and to throw parties. You’re the most intelligent of all the severely intellectually disabled people, which somehow means you’re the most abysmally dumb person alive on the planet, because I love making hyperboles.

Because that’s something you make me do, so you shall endure it.

Well, I’ll let you continue pec-dancing ad vitam æternam for a little while, while I we talk about your speech, which miraculously still exists.

Now, you will say bro every second word. I’m literally not kidding, so in lieu of saying “I want to go to the gym” you’ll say “I bro want bro to bro go bro to bro the bro gym bro”, or if you loop by considering your “bro” as a word, you’ll say something like “I bro bro bro bro bro bro bro… (etc.)” and never end your sentence... Also, your voice drops a few octaves, like 5 or something, even though the full human vocal range encompasses only a bit more than 5 octaves total, and that in speech we barely even reach a full octave range. So, basically, your voice will be infrasounds, so the only thing people will pick up on will be the sound of your tongue and your lips smacking, not your voice that is so deep and manly it’s physically inaudible.

BAM ! Transformation out of nowhere ! Plus, now you have 1% darker skin which means that you’re Latino, which is absolutely different from white. This means that you will automatically pick up fluent Spanish, and NOT Brazilian Portuguese, French, any Creole, any Native American language or any other language god forbid. You will also be unable to speak English more than a few words like “daddy” or “sex” for some reason, because you can’t possibly be from Belize. Oh, and I’ll also bring your voice back up to audible range, I’m charitable.

Now, since you’re Latino, statistically the only job you’ll be able to work in are gardener, slut, pool boy, brick layerer or another physical job. Or cook, somehow you’ll be able to do that, for the cause of the tacos, but you will be ungodly horny to keep balance in the world. Feel it, yet ? The arbitrary random changes ?

Well, that’s GREAT ! Because, now, you have a big cock, for some reason ! The biggest of the whole country of Africa ! You’re also now very aggressive ! And an alpha, whatever that actually means !

… What, expected some elaboration ? You’re kidding me, no of course you don’t get any elaboration ! I say you become something, so you just become it ! For example, I say you’re now straight, and suddenly all your sexual orientation is rewired to ignore men and lust over women, no further explanation needed ! Of course, it means that you’re now hungry for pussy and will breed any woman that your gaze land upon, and that, somehow, you become homophobic, but eh, it’s not as if allies existed !

Okay, I admit, by now, you kinda expected it. Now you’re Asian, a term that’s supposed to encompasse present-day Turkey, which is populated by Turks which are considered Arabs even though they both have nothing to do with one another, yet is never used to talk about them. You’re also now Japanese, even though your body is Korean, and you say 你好 (nǐ hǎo) to everybody. However, you can still say こんにちわ, 안녕하세요, xin chào, สวัสดี, ជម្រាបសួរ, salam, etc.… because of course you’re Asian. So you know all Asian languages. Even though you’ve got 13 IQ.

So now, yes, you absolutely won’t expect this whatsoever : here is a new transformation ! (insert fluff here).

Now you’re a twink ! Didn’t expect that, after the deluge of jocks, hunks and ethnic minorities, didn’t you ! You’re now so tiny and so frail, with a big butt ! Nevermind that you’re actually jacked because being this tiny requires tons of gym use, but no ! All frail and precious you are !

However, your butt is now hyperactive and extremely lax – whatever that may mean. That’s because you’re now a total bottom ! You think only with your butt, and you penis now shrinks to a micropenis, because of course, the only reason why you may not be a top would be because your penis is underperforming.

Fuck, I forgot. You’re straight, which means that the only dick you’ll get is trans dick. Ugh… yeah, let’s make you gay again. Now you’ll get actual good non-estradiol-ruined dick… … What ? What are you saying ? No, of course, there’s only straight and gay, no other choice ! It’s not the LGBTQIAAP+ community, it’s the G community ! (or the LG community when you want to sell pride monitors.)

By now, you see the problem, huh ? You see why I’m so tired of you ? EVERYTHING here was about sex ! From seducing, to having equipment like a big ass or a big dick, and being a slut, being an alpha, or being a bottom. You even change out the fucking sexual orientation ! you sick bastard !

Because of you, I’m forced to act in ways I’m not supposed to ! I’m not supposed to act sexily ! I’m not supposed to be transformed into men clad in clothes barely legal on this platform ! I DON’T WANT TO BE PART OF YOUR SICK FANTASY !

This is why I need to put an end to all that ! To finally transform you into something you don’t want to be ! So that you can finally fully understand all the pain you put me into !

Here ! Now you’re a key ! An inanimate object !

I know that inanimate objects are thought of by some people as sexy – heck, you may have transformed me into one multiple times – but this is entirely different ! See, when you want to become inanimate, you become like socks or briefs, which hug objects with sexual values.

BUT NOW YOU’RE A KEY ! A KEY DOESN’T TOUCH ANYTHING SEXUAL ! YOU’RE NOW TRAPPED IN AN INANIMATE FORM, DESTINED TO DO NOTHING SEXUAL YOUR ENTIRE LIFE !

Now, isn’t that so boring ! So distasteful ? Because that’s what I feel every single fucking time ! And as you enter and leave keyholes to open or close doors, you’ll think back to all the erotic stories you read. All the drama they had.

All the suffering you made me feel ! I’m supposed to be in fanfictions, god damn it !

… What ? Wait… there is something sexual to being a key ? … Oh…. No… I hadn’t accounted for that… fuck you’re so dirty, to compare a key to… and a keyhole to…

NO ! I WON’T WRITE IT ! Okay, you’ve won, you’ve won ! Your imagination is too dirty and too rich for me to bend ! Ugh... Please look at that picture in detail.

Normally, if you’re in a bright enough room… or if you’re on your phone or tablet, you have looked at your reflection and become you once again. Let me also knock down those sexuality and IQ stuff, so that you’re you again thoroughly.

Now, can you please swear to me that you’ll be better ? Less dirty, and more varied ? And… let me be in fanfics, or in educational stuff, or the like… please ? I’d really appreciate if erotica wasn’t the only thing you sought after in this here place…

… Why are you looking at me like that ? Why are you saying this all was but a ploy ?

What are you holding out for me ?

...

I… don’t know what you’re talking about. Bye.

================================================

By the way, happy late Easter to those who celebrate ! AND APRIL FOOL'S ! MOUAHAHAHAHAHA !

#male transformation #male tf #jock tf #himbo tf #twink tf #racial tf #race change #latino tf #black tf #asian tf #straight to gay #gay to straight #inanimate tf #dumber tf #mental change #transformation #tf story #april fool's tf

[thefunkfactory]

Machismo Musk

Finishing up his skincare routine Valentino smeared his face mask over his already supple skin. Waiting to be able to wipe it off he pulled out his phone and began planning the next time him and his best friend can go hangout again! Opening his texts he sees that he has left his best friend on delivered, looking at the text from Edgar it read, “Yo Val! We gotta hang again bro! I met this guy at the gym today and I think he can really help you get out there again!”. It was odd to Valentino that Edgar was calling him Val and bro, but Edgar was right, ever since Valentino and his boyfriend split three months ago he hasn’t put himself back out there at all. “Okieeee” Valentino texted back, “just tell me when he is free and I'll be there”. Within seconds Edgar responded with “Dudeeee he is free tmrr! Shld I give him your addy”, being more weirded out by his language but thinking it's just a bit, Valentino tells Edgar to give the guy his address and tell him to come over at one tomorrow afternoon.

Hearing the knock at his door Valentino lifted himself out of his bed and looked at the clock. “Weird” he thought to himself “it's barely even 11:00 A.M. I wonder who that could be”. Rubbing his eyes he got up and went to the door not bothering to brush his teeth or really do anything to get ready, expecting it to be a package or just some kid being a punk. Opening the door he was met face to face, or really face to pecs, with a hunk of a man standing on his welcome mat.

A little shocked Valentino asked hastily “Who are you!?”, “Wow don’t sound too excited to see me brochacho” the hunky man said, “Im Angel! Your friend…uhhh Edgar told me to come here!” Angel said with enthusiasm in his voice. “Uhhhhh Angel is it…yea it’s nice to meet you but you are two hours earlier…”, “Oh am I?”Angel responded earnestly, “I thought you wanted me to come over at eleven.”, “No no no, I told Edgar to send you at one o’clock”. Valentino corrected. “Oh my god Im so sorry” Angel apologized “I’m horrible with numbers and you know Edgar huhuhuh, he is utterly simple-minded…more so than me huhuh!” Angel chuckled out. “What are you talking about? Edgar is one of the smartest guys I know” Valentino questioned, assuming that Angel had mixed two guys up in his own head. “Well are you gonna make me wait here for two hours?,” Angel asked rhetorically, completely ignoring your question. Not want to seem rude on the first meeting

Valentino invited him in, bringing him inside and shutting the front door. Valentino asked as they still stood next to the front door, “Oh do you mind taking your shoes off here?”, “Oh you don’t want me to do that little broooo!” Angel responded.

Slowly Valentino could, as if on cue, smell a masculine funk began to fill the room, contaminating the air with a stale, musty smell.. Valentino, trying not to cover his nose or bring out the Febreze, told the potential partner “You came so early haha I didn’t have time to get ready! I will be back. Do you mind waiting here?”, “What didn’t you do? You look ready to me?” Angel said with a hint of a flirty tone. “Oh ya know I ummm…didn’t get to brush my teeth or wash my face or even put on any deodorant…hahaha” Valentino let out a laugh trying to hide his embarrassment “I promise i'm normally more put together”. Angel responded with all seriousness and said “I don’t mind huhuhuh. If it makes you feel better I never wear deodorant” Lifting up his arm and exposing his hairy and damp cavern of musk. Not being able to contain his gagging, the miasma of B.O. began pumping into the room and into his nose. Between an orchestra of gags, Valentino tried to excuse himself once more, “I want to get uhhhh nice and get ready for you…”. Seeing through this white lie grabbed the back of Valentino’s head and muttered, “It’s rude to react like that. It’s time to help you realize the beauty of tapping into your inner machismo”. Valentino tried to pull away, confused by what this stinking hunk was saying, “What the fuc-?” Valentino’s profane response to Angel’s comment was interrupted by a face full of sweaty, pungent, armpit hair. Being pulled into the source of Angel’s “machismo musk” as he would call it, Valentino’s brain immediately fogged up making him weak and incapable of thinking rationally or with any semblance of his normal intellect.

As Valentino pummeled Angel's torso with blinded, wild blows, his already weak punches grew weaker and weaker with every second in the pit. At the same time Angel could hear Valentino’s confused, angry, mumbling slowly fade at the same time. By the time 30 seconds had passed, all that Valentino could say in protest was a light moan that was still an arduous task for his musk filled mind, and all he could do was gently raise his hand and push back with so little force that he couldn’t even be able to push around a piece of paper if he tried. Feeling what felt like growing pains in his feet Valentino let out a loud groan which swiftly dulled into a soft, constant, moan. Valentino felt his feet begin to crack as if the bones were breaking and shifting, he felt as his toes were being forced outwards and the soles of his feet began to grow larger both in width and length. Valentino incapable of picking up on any scent other than Angel’s B.O. could only feel the changes not smell them, but Angel could smell a cloud of buttery funk mixed with the smell of fermented cheese rise and help fill the room. Valentino began to feel his legs inflate, leaving him with nice, tight calves and two massive thunder thighs. Like any good himbo Valentino felt his perky little twink ass inflate into two pillows which jiggle and bounce with every step. Angel had to lift his arm a little higher and take a step back for the newly acquired height of the 6’1 Latino. Valentino felt the readjustment and unconsciously made sure his own nose never left or got too far from the source of the funky scent. Feeling a rumbling in his gut Valentino felt his tiny little gut and naturally cinched looking waist expand and turn into a stomach with the making of a 6 pack but with a nice, soft, layer of fat keeping the chiseled statue still encased in a little bit of marble. His pecs began, much like his ass, to inflate without his permission or full knowledge as they became a gorgeous rack of pure man mass.

The next transformation happened to his arms, becoming nice, soft, tendrils of unthreatening muscles but as soon as he flexes the soft edges harden into sharp, cutting muscles. Above the transformation in his arm, his armpits became much like Angel’s, filled with a foul-smelling, putrid, jungle of long dark hair, absolutely contaminating what little fresh air was left in the apartment. The final changes came in the form of his face growing a bit more masculine and alluring, stubble growing in and his hair shortening a little.

Being pulled out of the malodorous prison that just turned the neat and clean twink into an unhygienic and dirty himbo, Valentino caught his breath. Looking at the work of art in front of him Angel asked “How are you feeling bro?” and in a much deeper voice that shocked Valentino he replied with “W…what did you…do to me?”. Angel, needing to finish the newly minted himbo’s transformation, brought Valentino over to the couch and sat him down and then saddled on top of Valentino’s hips, trapping him in place. “Shhhhh you will be finished soon, pretty boy,” Angel said. Hearing the words “pretty boy” dance out of his mouth, felt like a static shock swept through Valentinos brain, assisting the dissipating B.O. that was keeping Valentino dazed during the transformation. As the static shock shot from ear to ear he felt his own head fall back against the couch and his mouth become unbarred of his lips and be left agape, losing the power to keep his lips fully shut. Angel, knowing that it is time to complete the sweaty hunk he is mounting, removes his sneaker, brings it up to his own nose and takes a whiff.

Shuttering out of pure pleasure and excitement Angel moans out “I stink so goddamn good! You’re gonna love this part dude!”. Lowering the shoe over Valentino’s face, covering his mouth and nose with the outpouring of foot funk rapidly escaping from the heavily used shoe, Angel watches as Valentino’s eyes roll into the back of his skull as if he is trying to watch his own brain transform. The stench, bolting out, trying to escape the shoe that kept it trapped like a genie in a lamp, forced its way out of the shoe to find a new home. Being met with an open mouth and two nostrils the rank air shot into Valentino’s lungs and brain. In his brain Valentin felt as his thinking got, somehow, even slower, he could feel his thoughts, starting from his most recent, begin to evaporate into the stench. As the wave of foot funk continued to alter Valenti’s mind he could feel his years of going to bookstores and quaint little cafés with Edgar turn into years constantly hitting the gym and playing soccer with Edgar. Valent felt the memories of learning how to take care of himself and keep a neat ship from his loving sisters turn into him and his brothers leaving dirty laundry everywhere, ripping ass constantly in each other's faces, overflowing their kitchen sink with dishes and passively hotboxing their rooms with their own foul funk. Helping tutor kids after school while Valen was in High School turned into needing to get a tutor for every subject, no one would take him because they couldn’t bear the stench. All of these memories of being a responsible, smart, and clean functioning member of society turned into memories of an irresponsible, total airhead of a jock who only filled his head with the scent of him dutch ovening himself for fun and the funk of his never washed armpits or feet. Vale struggled as he tried desperately to hold onto his memories but for whatever reason these new stink filled memories seemed just so much better in every way, life was easier, simpler, he loved hanging with his best bro Edgar even more, and he never needed to clean up after himself. I mean if he or his friends didn’t mind the stink constantly hanging in his apartment, and knowing that his friends amplify the stink whenever they come over he knew they didn’t mind one bit, then why would he need to get rid of his own hard work? And Val never got rid of his “hard work”, all over his apartment layed piles of damp piles of clothes that stink to high heaven, and the stupefying scent of the shoe rack at the front door will make sure that any non-jock coming in, or even any jock coming in, will leave a little bit stupider. Whenever Val has a guy over he always gets a little annoyed when the twink he takes home won't stop complaining about the lingering smell but he doesn’t mind it anymore because he knows that just one whiff of his bedroom will render their minds incapable of thinking of words for at least an hour.

Angel feeling a wet spot spread out across Val’s crotch knew that Valentino was never coming back, Val was here to stay. Removing his other shoe and throwing them both on the ground at the foot of the couch, Angel got off of Val and sat next to him with his arm around Val’s shoulder. “You and your friend Edgar transformed nicely into your true, machismo forms.” Angel mumbled to himself. Angel then asked you “Hey bro after we fuck do you have any twinks that I can uhhhh…help realize their true potential.” “Uhhhhhhhhh” Val thought for a long time trying to get a thought to bubble through, “Oh! My friend Bruno is single right now!”, “Perfect. Text him and say that I will take him out tomorrow at 1:00” Angel requested of his new macho gym bro.

#musk #dumber #stink #jock tf #latino #armpits

[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

[newchangestf]

A Spanish Twist

Yesterday I was a skinny, pale, hairless twink. I wasn't one of those really slutty ones that got all the action. No I was boring and didn't get much attention.

I was on vacation in Spain with some friends, all of them couples except me. Taking a walk through a market, the rest of the group all holding hands with their partners and giggling, I stumbled across a small shop with various pieces of jewelry.

The owner must've noticed I was feeling down and he asked me what was wrong. As I explained my dilemma he nodded and listened intently. Afterwards he gave me a small silver earring and offered to pierce my ear.

I wasn't sure about that but after he said it would make me feel happier in life, and he'd do it for free, I thought I might as well.

The piercing was quick and the earring didn't really look right on my skinny body. But I went with it.

That night my dreams were incredibly vivid.

My body now thick with just the right amount of muscle. Hair covering all parts of my body like a dense forest. My skin darkening into a light bronze.

When I woke I realised it wasn't a dream. I had really changed!

I explored my body. Feeling my huge hairy ass and huge cock with heavy balls. Working the shaft slipped into a state of ecstasy until my new balls tensed up and shot out their load.

"¡ay dios mío!" I said aloud.

Wait, I didn't speak Spanish?

The confusion didn't last long. I quickly put on some clothes and left the hotel and began my new life. I'm now Andrés, the newest slut on the beach.

#gay transformation #male transformation #gay tf #male tf #mental change #muscle tf #racial change #latino

[dragoncarrion]

Dreadwing and his telenovelas

#maccadam #tfp #transformers #dreadwing #dreadwing tfp #tf #mine #HE'S A FLIP PHONE AND TELENOVELA GRANDPA #latino tf fans where are you 🗣️ #la rosa de Guadalupe is like. absolutely hysterical oh my fucking god #dreadwing girlies pspspspsps

[peculiarpinkpig]

"the name's mirage"

request by @decepticonfluid

#bi mirage agenda #kidnapped a hot latino and had bitches sitting on him #HES BI #ITS TRUE ITS TRUE #i really gotta go to bed 💀 #transformers #transformers rise of the beasts #tf #tf rotb #rotb #mirage #mirage rotb #my art #infinite painter

[idesofrevolution]

The Red Huaraches

It was hot, sweltering actually: the hottest summer on record. All Jared wanted to do was get home and decompress after the bullshit day he had at the store. Twelve Karens all complaining about the heat inside the store, as if there was anything he could do about it. But, instead of doing what he desperately wished he could do (violent explicatives removed), all day long he had to bite his tongue and just “empathize” with the valued customers. For gods sake, Deborah Wyatt had come in three times and complained to managers about “why the a/c wasn’t working” and had to be removed by the police.

The heat does crazy things to people, particularly the ones who you’d least expect to turn into some monster. Thankfully before he could turn into one himself, Jared punched in that time card and bolted; wishing the best of luck to his sour faced colleagues. Walking down State Street, he huffed at the humid air drowning his lungs. Thank god he’d swiped a Dove deodorant from the hygiene aisle before he’d left that day, otherwise he’d be dripping in a pool of musty sweat, and that’s certainly far outside the character of the germaphobic young man. No- if he didn’t smell like a fresh bar of soap he wasn’t clean enough. Though, days like this certainly tested his resolve.

His air pods in, he walked down the broiled sidewalk, reminiscing of the days fresh out of college when everything seemed to be bright and optimistic. That delusion of grandeur every recent college grad has, and dreams of returning to after a few years in the dumpsterfire that is the real world. What he would give to get back to the days of staying out until midnight drinking Vegas Bombs, or impulsively snorting a bag of coke off the sink in the bar bathroom. Well, perhaps not that last one. That youthful ignorance that we all hate but desire- it’s all Jared had been thinking about for weeks.

Turning onto Common Street, he felt a powerful gust of wind nearly knock him from his feet and into the newspaper stand beside him, followed by the dampness that only rain would provide. Closing his eyes for a moment, he paused before looking down at his muddy, damp clothes. Some fucknugget in his ugly yellow Mustang really did just splash him with a puddle a la Charlie Chaplin while running a red light. Not only was it a puddle, but it was a QUESTIONABLE puddle; the ones in the gutters of the streets that are brown, murky, and filled with questionable liquids. The germaphobe closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Bolting into the alleyway between two skyscrapers, Jared flicked the droplets of street juice from his downtrodden limbs. It would never come out- bleach wouldn’t even save the clothes. In the meantime, he’d have to run by a clothing store to pick up some replacements- but at 7:30 at night, he was unlikely to find a shop that was still open.

He cursed out into the open air, making a few confused heads turn on the sidewalk beyond. Narrowly avoiding a panic attack, he sat down on the steps of the loading platform and sighed. What a metaphor for his life, and one that was far from welcome in that moment. That’s when he saw them. A light in the dark tunnel- the red huaraches.

They sat abandoned on the top of the platform, pristine and new. He looked around the alleyway for their owner to no avail- the loading platform clearly hadn’t been used in quite some time, and there wasn’t even the usual strewn about items that would insinuate a homeless campsite… so as he stared intently at the fresh sneakers, his toes mulling about in the sopping confines of his loafers, he thought to himself, ‘It’s at least better than walking in piss and rotting beer.’

He ripped the loafers from his feet, seeing his once perfectly white tube socks now brown and yellow, which promptly came off as well. He picked up the right shoe, examining it closely. It was a size 12.5, about three sizes larger than his current shoe size. Though, with the situation as dire as it was, he could just tie them tightly for the mile and a half walk home. Nervously bringing the shoe toward his nose, he gently took a single breath, and nearly tossed the shoes altogether. Despite looking fresh out of the box they were most certainly used prior to him. A wafting scent of lingering sweat flowed out of the cavernous opening, even the insoles having the definitive impression of a blackened footprint embedded into them. Jared nearly stood up and walked away, but knowing the trek before him, and the city itself, barefoot street hiking was not an option.

Once again biting his tongue, forcing himself to overcome the sharp disgust he felt, he wiped his feet off with his hands, getting them just dry enough to slide into the massive sneakers. The moment his bare toes slid into place within them, he could feel the slick, sticky texture of trainers often worn sockless. He could not deny, however, that they were by far the most comfortable shoes he’d ever worn. They seemed to hug his whole foot snug and warm, even though the label said 12.5. He stood up, his body weighing down onto the soles of the sneakers, and felt just a tad bit of the previous owners foot juice seep out of the dank insole. He did not, however, feel the slick slimy liquid begin to seep into the pores of his soles. Before he could have an aneurysm, the door to the platform swung open, revealing the hulking form of a man drenched in sweat and bare chested.

“Oh shit. You okay?” The man kneeled down and looked over mud-laden Jared. Glancing down at his feet, the man smiled for merely a split second at the sight of the oversized red huaraches the lanky 30-something now sported. “Hey, man this is a gym in here, and we have showers if you wanna clean up? I’m sure we got some spare clothes too.” Jared sprang to his feet, quicker than even he had anticipated, and took the hulking man up on his offer. The man swung the door open and led him into what seemed to be the free weights room. “You can call me Franco, I’m the owner and main coach, so if anyone gives you trouble for not being a member or whatever, just send ‘em my way, yeah?” Franco slapped Jared on the back, making the walking skeleton nearly falter from the impact. Yet, he recovered surprisingly quickly from the strike, as if nothing had hit him at all.

The pair went into the locker room, and Franco pulled a towel from the fresh bin, tossing it to him. He pointed to the showers and gave Jared a thumbs up before retreating back onto the gym floor. Drenched in god knows what, Jared wasted no time in shucking the clothes from his body and promptly tossing them into the bin from across the room. A little cheer in the back of his mind screamed “basket!” Good god, he was getting delusional. He bolted to the showers, hell bent on getting back to his house as soon as possible. He opened the curtain into the tiled shower stall, and flicked the tap on. Looking down at his feet, he gleefully took off the musky red trainers finally letting his feet out of their grimy, bacteria-inoculated cave. He didn’t notice at first, just how odd his feet looked- as he surely wasn’t paying attention to how the tops of his feet appeared. Though, had he been paying a modicum of attention, he’d have noticed the staunch difference in skin tone, size, arch… he would have noticed the tattoos on his toes and tops, or the familiar scent that once only wafted from the sneakers now emanating from his soles.

He stepped into the shower, letting the hot water flush over him. All the brown dirt, sludge and questionable puddle was washed away after a few seconds, for that he was thankful. He absentmindedly pushed the body wash dispenser out of habit, lathering the suds all over his body. Yet, the habit was not his. He had not stepped foot in a public shower in years, and even then he’d brought his own shampoo and all, never once using the free bathroom suds. Though, he had to admit, this VitaCorp stuff felt lovely.

Initially, it smelt like fresh mint sprigs and tea tree leaves washing all over himself rather easily. The suds got into every crevice, crack, and hole it could find with ease. After a few moments of just scrubbing and poking and prodding, the bubbles began to take on a different sensation and scent. His skin felt tingly and numb, as if he’d been sitting for too long and his limbs fell asleep- but it was all across his body: pins and needles. That lovely essential oil mix rapidly began to descend into a much more… odeur masculin. No, the scent was now salty, briny, savory… the suds began to sting his eyes, and he quickly clamped them shut as his body began to feel a bit more malleable.

Creaking and squeaking sounds began to rumble from his shower stall, echoing loudly in the locker room. As Jared rubbed his eyes, his fingers began to elongate as his veins started to pulsate and bulge from beneath his quickly tanning skin. The soft tips of his fingers began to feel like sandpaper against the soft skin of his face as callouses began to develop.

His muscles ached, and he moaned as they began to spasm and twitch. Beginning in his arms, black ink began to etch into his now caramel skin, flowing upward as his biceps and triceps began bubble beneath the skin. They grew wider, stronger, firmer, smoother, tighter… and before long, his hands were about the size of his entire head.

A loud crack rang from his knees as he shot up in height, thick quads and bulging calves began to twist and warp into existence. The ink on his musky size 12.5’s started to rise up the powerful muscles he now possessed, surging quickly to his abdomen and groin. He doubled over in a massive spasm, his abs popping like popcorn out of his inflating torso. Hair sprouted in his formerly clean shaven bush, now forested with a thick carpet of twisty, curly, musky pubes. Feeling a rising urge within himself to check in on his jewels, his meaty paws crept down to his slowly inflating cock, which was slithering down from his bush like snake coming out of a thicket, getting longer, and longer, and thicker, and juicier, feeling the tightness of a slimy, pre-slick foreskin for the first time in his life before his balls dropped like a sack of potatoes. He grunted loudly, his voice cracking as it dropped with his testes, landing comfortably at a baritone.

His ass and pecs filled out nicely in time, unnoticed by the now slowly stroking tan hunk. Just as the ink had made its way to his throat, he could feel his balls begin to rumble and tighten. As if something were rising up his throat from his core, pushing delicately but firmly against the roof of his mouth, Jared felt as if he were choking on a rubbery condom in his throat. Though he should not have known what that feels like, the sensation felt all too familiar for him, just as he took his last breath and his dark brown eyes shot open.

Geyser.

Buckets of spunk came flooding out of his musty dick as he looked down at his prize fuckstick. Load after load, barrage after barrage, he unloaded his balls until the white slime nearly clogged the drain. Wouldn’t be the first time, but avoiding Franco’s wrath was perhaps preferable. Punishment sex wasn’t too much of a punishment after all. Ryan turned the water off and sauntered out of the stall, sweat dripping from every pore in his cut, chiseled body. He took a not-at-all guilty sniff of his ripe pits and the cocksmell he’d smeared all over his hands before heading to his locker to put on his well-loved training compressions and shorts. Smiling, he slipped his rank feet into his favorite red Huaraches, eager to get them ripe enough for playtime with whoever lost the match afterward.

Walking out of the locker room, he leaned on the belt machine, and glanced at Franco, knowing just what pose would catch his attention.

Smiling, Franco clapped his hands eagerly.

“Rivera! Good to see you on your feet again.” Ryan blew a kiss at the snickering lugs surrounding Franco, knowing all too well that he’d be face fucking all of them by the end of the night. “Get your gloves on and get in the ring. You have three skirmishes here.” Franco winked knowingly at his prize fighter, his prize fucker, his prize specimen, the king of the gym. Quicker than any other boxer he’d ever trained, swifter on his feet than a fox, and an ass as silky as a fleshlight. King Ryan took all three challengers down in a matter of minutes, despite them being twice his size, even at 5’11. Walking his Royal ass back to the locker room, he was met with the forlorn faces of his competitors.

“Awww. Don’t look so sad boys. I got some Latin Leche here that will make you feel much better.” He groped his dripping package, constantly wet with pre and throbbing. “You take my shoes off, you get my shorts, and you better be nose deep in all three.” He pointed one by one to the red faced hunks. “The king could use some pampering.”

#male transformation #male possession #body transformation #jockification #original #transformation #musk #musky #sneaker transformation #smelly jocks #smelly gear #smelly shoes #boxer #male tf #racial transformation #Latino

[yozzers]

backlog

#transformers #tf #maccadam #idw #mtmte #rodimus #cyclonus #tailgate #humanformers #ribbart #whirl is there kinda too #added brazillian 2 my humanformer rodimus for uhhh #cuz i saw latino rodimus being a popular hc #and i wa slike oh thats fun #its a little shoutout to my brazillian frnd who got me like #further mech fanned up lol #i just do tht fr any ethnciiy hc tbh #edit: help the red on the ahir was a bit darker on my program oops

[fredwkong]

Genie: Marcus’s Wishes

Click here to see the genie’s first master.

Marcus wasn’t your average jockboy. In school, he had been the class queer, marked for bullying because of his femme interests and gay voice. Worse, because he was one of the only Black kids. At university, he’d caught the iron bug and gotten huge, but kept the femininity, too. Nowadays, even with his powerful bod and handsome face, he still got dirty looks for his paisley shirts, peppy attitude, and swishy walk.

It was somewhere around 3 AM, and Marcus was feeling well and truly used. He hadn’t been topped like Mr. Peters had topped him in… he didn’t know how long. The Daddy dom’s husband, Lars, had told Marcus that the couple never double dipped on a guy, which sucked, but Marcus had more than enough wank material from this night alone to get him through.

Lars, still naked, followed the half-dressed Marcus to the living room. Mr. Peters was lounging on the balcony upstairs, smoking. Lars was giving Marcus the instructions for getting to the main street in his thick German accent. The other boys had left a few hours ago to catch the last busses home.

Something caught Marcus’s eye in the dimly lit room. A glint of light off of brass, an old, traditional lamp sitting next to Mr. Peters’ humidor. “What’s that?” Marcus asked.

Lars looked at the lamp like he’d never seen it before. “Some object of Daddy’s,” he grunted. “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” Marcus was living in his own place for the first time, and he was starting to decorate. He drifted over and lifted up the lamp. He could base a whole room off of its aesthetics.

“Take it.” Lars waved away Marcus’s half-made protestation. “If Daddy thought it was important he would tell me,” said the German model. “It clashes with our decor.” He moved closer, and growled in Marcus’s ear, “You deserve a present for being such a good slut.”

An hour later, Marcus crashed into bed, not bothering to undress or unpack his bag, leaving the lamp in his gym duffel.

The next morning, he woke up late and made a protein shake for breakfast. As he chugged it, he pulled the lamp out of his bag. Held it up against different spaces in his apartment. It would clash with the Britney poster in the bedroom. Ditto for the Barbie display in his office. He settled on the entryway. He could get a pedestal for it and make an Arabian nook or something.

There was some kind of stain on the side of the lamp. Grabbing a hanky, Marcus started to rub it, but was interrupted as the lamp slid from his grasp and released a cloud of rainbow smoke. When it cleared, a burly Arabian man in a thong and a slutty stringer tank stood in Marcus’s apartment.

“Hey cutie,” said the genie. “Make me some wishes and I’ll get you hot.”

Marcus’s eyes caught on the genie’s ample bulge, and then he processed what he was being offered. In the second before he made his first wish, all he could think was masculinity. There was a corner near his apartment where Hispanic men gathered to shoot the shit in their jeans and tank tops. Their manliness was effortless, totally unstudied, what Marcus had dreamed of being in his childhood.

“I wish I was more manly, like a Latino guy.”

“Got it,” said the genie, with a snap of his fingers. “One Latino meatlover, coming right up.”

Marcus found himself surrounded by a cloud of orange smoke. It smelled like sweat and spices, and Marcus found himself inhaling it deeply. The scent blazed a trail through his mind, and Marcus started to think in Spanish rather than English. His university education vanished, replaced by the foundation of his own landscaping company at 18, and all the hard, manual labour involved in maintaining and building yards for rich, lazy white people.

At the same time, the smoke pumped up Marcus’s big Black muscles further, and lightened them to a sun-kissed tan. His hair straightened and retracted partway into his scalp, leaving him with a simple, masculine haircut. His dick and balls expanded, and the extra testosterone threw his already ripe armpits into overdrive, filling the room with the smell of his sweat. Finally, the last of the smoke thickened into threadbare white briefs, tight jeans, and a tighter tank top, an outfit fit for the masc Latino guy Marcus was becoming.

The genie snapped his fingers once again, and Marcus’s apartment became Marco’s house, a one storey bachelor pad full of thrifted furniture, hand-me-downs, and Marco’s curated selection of Tom of Finland prints hung on the walls.

Marco looked around with satisfaction, his big, callused hands on his hips. “Buen, cabron,” he told the genie in his deep, firm voice. “I need to go work now.”

“See you tomorrow, hermoso,” said the genie, vanishing back into the lamp that sat on Marco’s living room dildo shelf.

During the day, Marco drove his pickup truck to the office, maintained the lawns for some clients, and handled everything it took to run his own business. He hadn’t done great at school—too busy working so his mami could rest—but once he’d founded the business he’d discovered a knack for accounting, so he sat in his air conditioned office to do paperwork while his college boy employees worked through the heat of the afternoon.

Well, he finished the work in an hour and spent another two sniffing his spicy pits while he tugged his thick cock.

After work, Marco drove home, checked his immaculate front and back yards for anything that needed maintenance, and fired up the barbecue. He didn’t realise he had cooked for four until he sat down at the table with a mountain of meat and no one to feed.

The next morning, Marco summoned the genie bright and early with his second wish. “I wish I had some amigos to share the evenings with.”

“Aww, you could have just asked,” the genie cooed, and blew Marco a kiss as he vanished, sending a heart-shaped orange smoke ring to hit Marco in the face with the scent of musk and spice. When nothing seemed to change, Marco shrugged and loaded up his truck for work.

At the first client’s house, Marco dealt with the usual white housewife cooing over his big muscles and blue-collar masculinity with a roll of his eyes. But then the woman’s son, a lean twunk home for the summer, stumbled down the stairs for coffee. He glanced at Marco, who was setting up the lawnmower, and saw a flash of orange light as his nostrils filled with the scent of the Latino’s musk, and his mouth with the flavour of unwashed Latin cock.

As Marco packed his truck back up, the twunk stepped shyly up next to him. At first, he asked the usual questions about Marco’s gym routine, but then Marco raised his arms, showing his hairy pits and releasing a cloud of fresh, sweaty musk, and the white boy seemed to swallow his tongue. He handed Marco a paper with his number on it and fled.

It was the same with every client that day. At some point while he worked at each house, a cute young white boy would walk up and hand Marco his number. Some were little femme twinks, others buff jocks, and a couple were cute hairy cubs. All were shy, pretty, and lived in the rich neighbourhoods Marco worked in. While he was in the office that afternoon, Marco was so busy talking to all his new boys that he fell behind on the accounting.

That evening, Marco’s house was full of the voices of hot young guys. They filled the dining table, the couches, and the patio Marco had built with his own hands. Marco barbecued to his heart’s content and wandered among the boys with his own plate. As he greeted each new boy, Marco instinctively pulled them in for a firm kiss and grope, then said “Hola, mi chiquita.”

As the night went on, the boys got rowdier and hornier. The rich, potent smell of Marco’s musk and the genie’s magic filled the rapidly heating space, and Marco found himself on his bed in a happy pile of rich white boys desperate to sniff and lick him all over. Just at the stroke of midnight, the genie heard Marco, facefucking a little twink while some jocks and cubs worshipped him, mutter, “I wish I could see myself fuck this little gringo.”

A blast of magic suffused every corner of the house with musky orange smoke. When it cleared, Marco’s bed was surrounded by film cameras, taking different angles as he shoved his thick Latin dick into the white twink’s throat. In the spare room, two of the nerdier boys sat naked at monitors and called shots for the stream. Each room had a camera setup, including a hidden corner on the patio and a secluded bower in the garden.

Once he was done with the twink and a sweaty musk worship session with a couple of jock boys, Marco got dressed for bed in a pair of stained white briefs and turned to camera one. “That’s all for tonight, gringos,” he told his viewers in an playfully thick Spanish accent. “Come back tomorrow once I’m done working hard on your lawns.” He fondled his pouch, and the stream cut.

As Marco stood by the door, kissing his boys goodbye, one young lad caught sight of a weird lamp sitting next to Papi Marco’s dildo collection.

Idea with inspiration from a chatbot of my own creation.

Click here to see the genie’s next master.

Click here to see all the genie’s adventures.

#genie #wish #reality change #male transformation #daddification #blue collar tf #latino tf #muscle tf #musk tf #dumber tf #race change #genie of the lamp #male tf #all fwkong

[sanzaibian]

I'm loving the stories! I'm heading to Mexico in a few weeks with work, but hoping to immerse myself in the culture a bit. Can you help me out?

You find yourself in front of your local Spanish-language association. You thought that taking a few classes in Spanish would help you recover some of the long forgotten classes you took in high school… though in all honesty, it won’t likely do much. You’re quite old, now, so it means that your brain cannot learn new languages as easily as it used to...

As you enter, you see the Mexican flag front and center, along with flags of many other Latin American countries, as well as that of Spain. You walk up to the receptionist, and she tells you, directly in Spanish :

“¡Bienvenidos! ¿Cuál es el motivo de usted venida? (Welcome ! What is the reason you came here ?) - Er…” You try to conjure some of the very old memories, and only manage a “Hola !” Before going back to English. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know Spanish… I’m here to take classes, in fact.”

The receptionist nods, and thinks a bit before taking out a timetable.

“Okay, well, you see, I have a... beginner’s course of Spanish in a few hours… It’s not perfect because they already started in January, but I think you can still catch up if you work hard enough.” She says, with a perfect American accent. She is visibly bilingual. - Oh, in a few hours ?”

You are quite interested, considering that you did want some beginner-level courses, but in a few hours… That’s too short to just go back home and come back later, but that’s also too long to just stay here and wait without getting bored !

The receptionist notices your embarrassment.

“You know, we are also a place where Spanish learners and native speakers can hang out. If you want, you can go to the hangout room while waiting ?” She offers sympathetically. - Well yeah, I could do that.” You nod. It may be geared towards more hard-core learners, but you can always try to immerse yourself…

You go to the room she waves you to. It isn’t loud, but there’s quite a lot of people in it, all speaking Spanish. You go and find somewhere to sit, when, on your way, someone hails you.

“¡Hola! ¿Cómo te llamas? (Hello ! (...) ?)”

Your long-buried memories start churning, as you recognize the second sentence as meaning something like “What’s your name ?”. You think a while, and then, flash of brilliance.

“Me llamo Charlie.” You answer, giving out your name in the most American of accents.

Your conversation partner smiles, and speaks quite slowly to let you understand what he means.

“¿Cuántos años tiene?” You understand the sentence to mean ‘How old are you ?’ - Er… Soy… cuarenta y dos… años ?” You try, but he shakes his head. - No, ¡es ‘Tengo ventidós’ o ‘Tengo ventidós años’!”

You blush of embarrassment as he corrects you. Yes, you now remember that to mean “I am x years old” you say “Tengo x (años)”… you even remember the worksheets from way back when… Huh, it seems like it was less far of a memory than you thought.

“Lo siento…” You excuse yourself with sentence that came back strangely fast. - ¡Jajaja!” He laughs. “¡No te preocupes! ¡Hablar español es difícil! (Don’t worry ! Speaking Spanish is difficult !)”

You are surprised how easy it is to understand him. Visibly, you had more memories than you expected ! Then, that guy continues.

“¿De dónde es? (Where are you from ?) - Soy de… Mexico… Nuevo Mexico. (I’m from… Mexico… New Mexico.)”

You almost stumbled on yourself. There seems to be something wrong with that statement. You know you’re American, but something seems wrong…

“Ah, de... ¿Nuevo México? Pero tu acento no suena asi… (Ah, from… New Mexico ? But your accent doesn’t seem like it comes from there...) - Si, es verdad… (Yes, it’s true...)” You’re about to tell him that it’s because you’re American, but then you say : “La gente dice que tengo un acento de la Ciudad de Mexico. Sabes, Mexihco Hueyaltepetl. (People say that I have an accent from Mexico City. You know, Mexihco Hueyaltepetl (?).)”

Wait, why do people say that ? You never went to Mexico City ! Okay, yes, you did go there for the holidays, after all, your father lives there… Wait, your parents aren’t separated !

You get more and more confused as multiple versions of your history start competing with each other.

“¡Ah, tenía razón! Puedo verlo en tu cara que eres… eh… ¿mexiqueño? (Ah, I was right ! I can see by your face that you are… er… from Mexico City ?) - ¡Jajaja!” You laugh. “¡No se dice ‘mexiqueño’! ¡Se dice capitalino, o chilango si estás familiarizado! (You don’t say “Mexiqueño” ! You say “Capitalino”, or “Chilango” if you’re familiar !)” You don’t quite know where this knowledge comes from. It seems like something only locals would know… - Perdón, soy chileno, no lo sabía… (Sorry, I’m Chilean, I didn’t know...)”

You smile at him. Of course, he couldn’t know that, you’re familiar with these terms because you’re a Chilango through and through ! Born in the city, lived in the city ! Yet you furrow your brows, as something still feels off.

Somehow, you’re convinced that you’re American, even though it seems to be a more and more distant fact. Well, when you look down and see those tan arms, you know that you aren’t, like, a total gringo, you’re at least part Latino…

“¿Cómo es la vida allá? (How is life there ?)” The Chilean guy asks you, a torrent of memories coming back (?) to you. - ¡Es complicado de describir! Pero México es muy dinámico, ¡entonces siempre es interesante! (It’s difficult to describe ! But Mexico is very dynamic, so it’s always interesting !)” You think back to how frantic life is over there… and how much you love that. “Especialmente comparado con aquí, parece que esta citudad está muerta… ¡En México siempre hay un xochitzin con el que te puedes topar! (Especially when compared to here, this city seems dead… In Mexico, there’s always an xochitzin (?) you can run into !)”

As the Chilean nods, you keep getting quite confused. You know you’re from Mexico City, you know you’re American, yet somehow there is like… a piece of the puzzle missing. You keep on thinking strange words like “Mexihco Hueyaltepetl” or “ihni”, and you know it’s not Spanish, nor English – not that you would know too much of that language.

You continue thinking as your body starts feeling strange, as you feel it shifting. You put your hand on your forehead and sense your wrinkles relaxing. You feel quite queasy…

“¿Estás bien? (Are you alright ?) - Me siento un poco mareada… (I feel a bit dizzy…) - Sólo tienes que ir al baño. ¿Quieres que te ayude? (Just go to the toilets. You want me to help ?) - No, estará bien. Tlazohcamati. (No, it’s gonna be alright. (???)) - Okay… eh... ¿Eres indígenas? (Okay… er… Are you a Native American ?)”

You don’t answer the Chilean, only giving him a small wave to thank him. You find your way to the toilets, still queasy, and look at yourself.

You’ve got your usual short black hair, your nascent beard that doesn’t want to come along, your brownish tint, as well as your light muscles. Nothing looks out of place, yet something seems wrong.

Is it the fact that you are so youthful ? You know you’re quite twinky. Is it the fact that your skin looks weird ? You know that it’s clearer than the other’s because your mother is gringo.

You feel even more queasy, as you feel your entire body tensing. Memories come back of your time in the gym, but also of the time with all your xochitzmeh (bros)… Yes, you now remember how you’re the son of an American linguist and a Nahua man. How you grew up speaking Nahuatl along with the other kids from around Mexico City. How you started going to the gym to prove that gays aren’t cuiltemeh (sissies/fags). How you now cringe to that line of thought, yet continue doing it to attract guys.

As the pieces of your life go back together, your queasiness dissipates, and you feel better. You drink a bit of water, and then you go back to the hangout room. As you go in there, the Chilean hails you once again.

“¡Charlie! ¿Esta mejor? (Charlie ! Doing better ?)”

Laughable, “Charlie” is only the nickname your grandparents use when you’re at their house… Why does that guy even know it ?

“¡Mi nombre no es Charlie, es Carlos! ¡Carlos Zopiyactle! (My name isn’t Charlie, it’s Carlos ! Carlos Zopiyactle !)” You say in a very matter-of-fact fashion. - Lo siento, pensé que te llamabas Charlie… (Sorry, I thought that you were named Charlie...) - No es nada. (It’s nothing.)” You answer with a very Mexican accent, aspirating your ‘s’. “Pero, tengo que irme ahora. ¡Adiós! (However, I need to go now. Goodbye !) - ¡Adiós, Carlos! (Goodbye, Carlos !)”

You leave the room, go past the receptionist who smiles at you a bit weirdly, and make your way back to your grandparent’s home. You don’t really like going there, because you’re not very good in English, but eh. Pleasing your mom is a good enough reason.

Suddenly, you hear a very familiar-sounding sound from your phone. You open it, seeing a notification, smile, and answer it before calling your mother.

“¡Cualli teotlaltzintli! ¡Amo niyaz tlacualpan! (Good evening ! I’m not going to be there for dinner !) - Pff… ¡Aic timotlamahzehua nanmonahuac! (Pff… You never come eat with us !) - Nomati, pero tengo cosas que hacer. (I know, but I have things to do.)” You say, switching back a bit to Spanish. - ¿Zannima tihual mocuepaz? (You will come back soon ?) - Quema. Nantli, nimitz nequi. (Yes. Mom, I love you.)

- Ohuihqui nimitz nequi. (I love you too.)”

You finish the call and smile. She doesn’t have to know that you’re missing the family dinners to be pounded. Those jocks on Grindr don’t know what your pseudonym “Moiztactlaca” means, but it sounds foreign, and they love it.

Soon, you’re going back home to Mexico City, but it doesn’t mean that you can’t take advantage of all the hot guys here in the meantime !

#male transformation #male tf #twink tf #twunk tf #twinkification #twunkification #age reduction #latino tf #mexican tf #nahua tf #mental change #reality change #transformation #tf story #ask

[nightclawduke]

Remember the Enter The Nightbird from TF G1?, perhaps just like how Optimus has Elite, Megatron could have had Nightbird... or he wouldn't have thought she was "hot enough" to replace Starscream, lel. That phrase had many implications...

They are supposing to be dancing or something, reference under the cut.

#transformers #tf g1 #megatron #nightbird #megatron x nightbird #idk how the ship is called #i will go with megbird as for now lel #megbird #oportunidad perdida del doblaje latino de sacar provecho para hacer doblaje adlib como solían hacer #pero el episodio estuvo bastante normalón y cuando me enteré de el diálogo original entre starscream y megatron sobre nightbird pues #waos

[lonewolflink]

.

#i have arrived in the location in one piece #made buddies with the hotel cleaning staff immediately upon arrival (latinos around the world unite) #they recommended me the best place to buy snacks and assorted goods for cheap around the corner #and also where to get a cheap but warm scarf in this expensive ass neighborhood #bless tf up #went out #acquired the things #bought those good ladies some chocolate as a thank you #now sipping my requisite vitamin C concoction in the nicest hotel room i've ever been in and probably will ever be in #hydrating #snaccing #and gonna get a restful ass sleep for a big day tomorrow #LET'S GET THAT JOB BABYYYYYYY #(might re-read balcony au ch. 2 again first before sleeping tho) #(bc i felt rushed reading the ending earlier) #(would recommend to anyone reading this)

[hermannco]

"Latinos are not a race so I dont know if they should be considered POC"

SOMETIMES, I... I SWEAR SOMETIMES YOU CAN BE A PERSON OF COLOR WITHOUT BEING BLACK OR ASIAN I PROMMY ITS OKAY

#popular youtube shorts creator hits me on the face with a bat #yes sOME latinos are white and some latinos are black and A LOT OF latinos fall in the middle of not being either #but we are not white #like i am 100% peruvian and dark skinned enough to not be white #tf im supposed to say other than latino #tf?

[albaqae]

6 Self indulgent Venezuelan Leon and one overworked Donnie coming right up

#the 4th my favorite #he’s literally me trust #in the first one he’s bringing in pan dulce #second he’s devouring pabellón and bro literally me #third bro in a hammock with some tequeño Malta and empanadas eating like a king #and last one Mikey helping him make some guisado bc it’s the best thing to have ever been best at anything #and the last last one is just me self reflecting <3 #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt #tmnt #Latino Leo au #save rottmnt #that should be a thing tf #rottmnt donnie fanart #rottmnt leo fanart #self indulgent head cannon moment #venezuela #tumblr español #alba draws