thatsprettyfckinghot

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

FUCK STICK (BOTTOM TO TOP; FUCKBOY/JOCK TF)

Fucking tops. It's Friday, nearly midnight and instead of dancing I'm stuck in the washroom at a gay club, hiding from some shithead.

"Tops, right?"

Next to me is a tall guy in a flannel shirt. He's pretty hot, but, urgh, he's the last thing I want to be thinking of right now.

"Yeah," I try to sound chatty, but it's clear I'm pretty annoyed "How did you know?"

He turns to me and crosses his arms, grinning, "Oh, you know. What happened? I bet you have loads of guys chasing after you"

It's true. I mean, look at this ass

"Urgh. This guy grabbed me from behind and started grinding against me. Can you believe it?? He didn't even ask, all I did was wink at him."

"Hmphh, you winked at him? Sounds like he was giving you what you wanted. You know, all you bottoms are the same. Needy. Demanding. Seeing real men as just dumb grunting animals. Maybe that guy was trying to do you a favour?"

I groan and turn around to leave "Oh, fuck you." Just what I need, another smug shithead.

He heckles me from behind. "God, twinks like you are so fucking lame. Maybe we're fed up of being nagged all the time?". He sounds kinda angry, but I ignore him, and roll my eyes.

"You know what, grab your dick."

I freeze, and my eyes go wide with shock. Why am I so shaken? That's not the worst thing I've heard at a club. I try to move but I can't, I just sputter, "Wh- what?? I'm not doing that"

He grins, "I'm not asking"

I feel something pull against my pants, but I look down and see it's my own arm

"WHAT THE FUCK! Are you... you're doing this?" My arm creeps down, playfully running my fingers over my tight stomach, and slips down through my waist band.

"Haha, yeah I am bro. So, bottom bottom bottom. What to do with you. What if I open your eyes a little?"

I, I start to shake. Something in me feels good. Beefy guys start to flash through my mind, and whatever's taken over my hand knows what it's doing down there. Athletes, wrestlers, big bulges in tight clothes...

"Here's the thing. There's enough brats like you around here bro. Someone's gotta do something. Think of it like, uh, giving back to the community."

The images in my mind start to change. The models get smaller, swapping out athletes for tight twinks in tighter shorts. Instead of biceps, I'm thinking of big, curvy asses, and my hand... I can't control myself. I wanna grab someone, anyone, and start grinding.

But then, one of my crushes slides by - Jason, a HUGE wrestler on my college team. Biggest pecs I have seen in my life. Thank fuck, finally, a real man. He looks at me with his big, brown eyes and oh my god, my heart flutters. I look up at him and in my mind I start to walk towards him

The guy in the flannels shirt is egging me on, "Go on, do it." How does he know what I'm thinking? Whatever.

I reach out, and Jason smiles. That big, goofy, handsome grin... and then he turns around. He gets down on the mats, on his hands and knees, raising his big, firm ass into the air. I'm looking right at it.

I squirm. "Oh god. No. No no no no no"

"Uh, actually, yes." The guy in the washroom grins. "I want you to be a dumb, grunting animal, you will do that for me. Are you starting to understand?"

I lean down over the sink, but in my fantasy I fall against Jason. I hold him tight, pinning his big sweaty form down against the mats. At first, there's barely anything I can do to control him - he's WAY bigger than me, but soon I start to feel... bolder. Firmer. He tries to roll me over, but I slip my arm around his shoulder and a vein pops up over my bicep. My legs strain and my glutes start to stretch. Fuck, my whole body is throbbing.

I grunt, and slam him downwards, which gives moment to catch my breathe. Does he feel less sweaty? I wipe my forehead. Wait, am I more sweaty?

"Yeah bro. I know what you're thinking, I know how much you love guys after they've worked out. Damp clothes, that manly smell... it's exactly what every bottom wants these days. Now it's yours"

We twist around each other, and I reach my arms across his body. Wait, all the way around? His shoulders have gotten smaller, thinner... twinkier. And, well, mine are the opposite. He lunges, but I grapple him. All the mass has gone from his legs, meanwhile, my biceps are big enough to crack a skull.

"I want to make you a real fuckboy, you know? Someone who just thinks with his dick. Gym, sex, gym, sex, gym, sex... I want you to always be turned on, I want it to control you, I want you to never get a break."

I've got him, firm between my legs. Jason's tiny now, the same size I was 2 minutes ago, and I start to grind my bulge against his soft, bubbly ass. Fuck. Fuck! It's so good. This is the best fantasy I've ever had in my life. I want to fuck him so bad.

My whole body is throbbing, shaking. Blood is pulsing through my, through my everything. Fuuuuuck. I feel almost dizzy. Everything about this almost feels real. I go to lift up my shirt, but it's gone, and I run my other hand over my stomach. It's like I can really feel the abs

I cum. Oh my god, did I just cum in a... a washroom at a night club? And, I was thinking about topping a guy??

"Ahem". I turn to stare at the guy next to me. He looks pleased with himself. Very pleased.

"There bro! How do you look?"

I look in the mirror, and it hits me like a fucking brick. My body... my clothes. Oh my god, everything's gone. THAT WAS REAL? I look like some stupid fuckboy. Am I a stupid fuckboy? Is that a JOCKSTRAP? My jeans are gone, now just a pair of shorts. Very short shorts. Is that it? Is that all I'm wearing? Over the top of my huge pecs I see my converses are gone too, swapped out for some worn down gym shoes.

This can't be real. If it is, my boyfriend is 100% going to break up with me. How do I even explain this? That I'm like, ripped now? No, wait... that's not it. I try to imagine him topping me but, but, fuck, it feels so gross. A total turnoff

"Of course you don't want to let him top you. You're not a bottom anymore... that's kind of the whole point."

But he would never let me top him. But maybe we don't need to have sex for a while. That wouldn't be so bad, would it...

"AHAHAHA, sorry, with your new sex drive? What part of a fucking animal don't you understand"

There's no way he would want to stay with a horny fuckboy, but, but...

what if I am a stupid fuckboy? I'm already thinking of a nice, tight twink. I'm not that interested in him anyway - he's too tall, too beefy. All the guys I saw earlier are racing through my head. The skinny guy I danced with with the great ass, that cute short one by the bar... urgh, he had those perfect legs, that cute crop top, tight stomach... I bite my lower lip and reach down...

"NO!!"

I start hyperventilating. "This isn't me. I'm not a jock, I am ABSOLUTELY not a top. And," I lift up my arm, "there's no way I actually smell like this"

He laughs, like he's having the fucking time of his life. Maybe he is. "HAHA, sorry dude, yeah you do. And, yeah, you are. Think of that fuck stick like a gift, not just to you, but also to every cute boy you see on grindr. You'll get used to it, trust me"

His words flood my head... I imagine scrolling through the app in bed later, looking at the sea of boys all desperate for me... I reach down again...

"NO! Fuck! Make it stop. Why are you doing this to me?!!"

He pauses for a moment, then sighs and shakes his head. His expression... he's looking at me like he thinks I'm stupid. Does he think I'm stupid? No way - this motherfucker!

"Really? I know I fried a few wires up there dude, but you cannot seriously be asking that. Why do you think I'm doing it?"

"I - I..." I can't find any words. I really don't know. I just don't fucking get it. He's ruining my body, my LIFE, and for what? Fun? Revenge?

But he laughs, and looks at me. I'd think he was being pitiful if he wasn't grinning so fucking hard.

"Bro," he says, "I'm doing this because I think it's hot."

My heart sinks. "You're doing this because, because it fucking turns you on? Don't you give a shit about me at ALL?? I'm going to lose my boyfriend, I'm trapped in this horny, sweaty, disgusting body..."

"Just stop complaining. You know, so what if you don't get in a say in this! Sometimes you just gotta take what life gives you, and right now that's a huge fucking cock"

I feel like I'm about to burst out crying. He grabs my new, boyish face, and pulls it up towards his. "So, yah! Glad I could clear that up," he laughs, "Look, ok, this isn't gonna work if you're gonna be such a fucking loser about it. It's also not gonna work out if you don't work out - you gotta be going to the gym from now on. Those biceps, those pecs... you're chiseled like a statue and I'm not gonna let those new muscles go to waste. You need to be in there DAILY."

He gives my cheeks a squeeze, then lets me go. I clutch my face. It feels different, unfamiliar. Am I crying?

"URGH, bro, will you just quit looking at me like that. Puppy dog eyes, I shouldn't have made you so fucking handsome... Look, I'm gonna give you one last chance, ok: cheer up, right fucking now, or else I'm gonna have to do some rewiring. Right now, all your decisions are being made up there", he flicks my forehead, and then he smirks and grabs my crotch. "But, if I flick the switch, this guy gets to do all the thinking. You'll be so dumb, so horny, HAH, you'll be drooling over your own dick. A real fucking animal. Got it?"

If I don't get a grip, it's over for me. But what do I do? I gulp, and try to swallow my tears. I wash my face a little in the sink. He stares down at me, and the two of us stand in silence. It feels like forever, but it must have been just a minute.

I look up at him, and let out a squeak. "Yeah. You're right. I got it"

"No." he says "I don't think you do."

Damnnnnn, look at these pecs. Fuck, what was I doing? Whatever, I gotta get back out there. See if that blonde guy by the bar is taken. Just thinking of him and his ass makes me wanna... I grab my crotch, and let out a moan.

Wait, is that cum? Yoo how did I not realise. I clean myself up and slide my waistband back over my jockstrap, letting it snap into place against my cum gutters. I flex, and light shines off my glistening, sweaty muscles - if someone were to see me now, they'd think I was a greek statue. These strong, firm thighs, the perfect curve of my glutes... these shoulders look like they were made by fucking Michelangelo.

Nah, I'm way better than that. A statue doesn't have a dick. See you at the club, bro

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

Hyperspermia - Part I

Alejo had been gone for the long weekend, and I have to say it was bittersweet. Sure, it was nice to have the apartment to myself, but he and I get along quite well! You would hope after two years of rooming together that you get to a point where there's a sort of balance and understanding between you and your roommate. In my case, it's absolutely true. We've gotten comfortable with eachother, I've gotten used to his girlfriend Bianca coming to hang out on 'Game Night Fridays;' overall, its been a great experience.

So, even though a quick Friday to Monday trip for Alejo and Bianca was nothing extensive, I was extremely excited to see him again. In fact, receiving his text that he'd arrived back safely at the flat had my head spinning with curiosity about his time in Rio. I rounded the corner, and another ping rang from my phone. I look down and my brow immediately raises quizzically. He'd lost his apartment keys? Looking down at my phone as I walked up to the building, I was moderately perplexed. The normally tight-wound, meticulous Alejo would never lose track of his keys, let alone be so relaxed in the midst of it. He was back from an international vacation, however, so I dismissed it as a brain fart after a long day of traveling. Though as I pulled the heavy glass door open to our building lobby, the sight that met me should have dismissed that simple explanation right off the bat.

"Ayy! Dante!" The name caught me off guard. William Dante Alaverdian. That's my name. I always introduce myself as Will, or even William if we had just met. Dante is never the name I use in my everyday life, only a few people would know it- and one of them sat on the top of the room divider looking quite different from the last I had seen him.

"Dante!" He sat on the half wall, grinning from ear to ear. It was indeed Alejo, though not the Alejo that had departed his apartment a week prior. His hair was short and cropped; his arms were covered in ink. Gone were the polos, the khaki shorts, the boat shoes... all replaced with a sweaty black tank top, baggy jeans, and bulky Nikes. This was quite an aesthetic departure from that I had known, and far more than a meager wardrobe change. Even the demeanor in which he sat on the wall belied a strangely rebellious attitude, only further confirmed by the irritated glance of the lobby security guard he so blissfully ignored.

"Alejo... Is that you? Get off that, the guard is watching!" Alejo turned to see the man, scoffing as he hopped off the wall. As he strutted forward, I noticed his stature. He was always a tall guy, but as he approached me it was clear that a couple of inches had been added to his height. He slapped me on the back, pulling me into a tight hug.

"Man, I missed you!" His voice even sounded... off. Relaxed pronunciation of consonants, a somewhat higher timbre to his speech, had he gotten his teeth done? I looked Alejo up and down, completely perplexed.

"You look... Different..." Alejo chuckled, looking at his arms with a somewhat dim grin on his face.

"Ah, yeah. Might have gone overboard with the tatts. But it looks pretty sick, right?" He nudged me, his elbow jabbing into my side and laughing before tossing his arm around my neck. I didn't know how to react. We made our way to the elevator, this newfound stranger acting as if everything was normal. "Sorry I lost the keys, bro. I don't know where my head is these days, huhu!" This jovial tone, if not borderline braindead, was yet another new characteristic which set off alarms within me. Despite our friendship, I'm not afraid to admit Alejo was something of a sour personality, sometimes treading into insufferable territory with his pessimistic outlook on his life and the world around him. Again, I dismissed it as a rejuvinated and relaxed guy who had just returned from a good vacation.

"Yeah, I'm eager to hear about your trip and all of... this." I tried to pretend as if I didn't notice the shift, smiling as the elevator doors opened and we walked onto the empty lift. It began it's slow trek to the eighth floor, and that's when I first caught the scent. Sharp, musky... As if he'd forgotten his deodorant that morning. Yet another peculiarity for such a... perfectionist of his caliber. I try to ignore the subtle wafts from his pits with a subject change. "So... do you know where your keys are?" I hoped he'd be able to suffer through the smell until we were in fresher air.

"Oh, heh! Fuck, bro. I don't know, hah! Probably in the Uber. Maybe Bianca had 'em in her purse. Who knows, bro." I was less than enthused, but willing to overlook it. A quick replacement key made at the keysmith and that would be that. Though as he started to blather on about Ipanema and the girls on the beach... that's when I first noticed it. Perhaps the sight of it was blocked by the bagginess of the jeans at first glance, but as Alejo stood there completely upright, I could see it. A rather considerable patch of dampness on the crotch of his jeans.

"Fuck! Alejo did you fucking wet yourself?" He casually glanced down at his groin, a daft giggle escaping his lips.

"Oh. Nah it's not piss. I'm just a bit leaky today, if you know what I mean!" My jaw hung wide open, aghast at the audacity of what I'd had heard. This display did not go unnoticed by Alejo, who quickly brushed it off. "It's just a little pre, my dude. It's not gonna hurt ya!" The elevator doors opened, the clean air of the hallway rushing into the confined space. I quickly exited the elevator and quickly started to walk toward the apartment door.

Sticking my key into the lock, I watched as a wry grin slithered onto his face as he walked inside. It was only then as he strutted over the couch and crashed onto his back, smirking as he scrolled through his phone that I realized... where were his bags?

"Uh, Alejo... Did you forget something else? Your luggage?" He didn't even look up from his phone- smiling and waving off my concern.

"Craziest shit, my dude. I guess I packed old clothes or somethin', when I got there like half of my stuff didn't fit. So, a couple of cool dudes I met at the hotel were happy to share some threads. Should be gettin' here in a day or two!" Alejo kicked his sneakers off, landing with loud thuds on the floor, showing of his dirty socks. At this point, I can't deny it- something is wrong. A clean freak like Alejo wouldn't be caught dead with dirty, pungent socks on his feet. Especially without a care in the world. I sit there in awe for a moment, confused beyond all confusion before I head into my room to escape the cheesy scent of his sneakers wafting through the air.

The next few days, I watched Alejo with a careful eye. His pristine appearance had all but disappeared. Gone were the days of his pressed and tidy button ups, crisp chinos and Sperries. Instead, every day as I left to go to work, he'd dressed in whatever his Brazilian 'bros' had sent him. Jerseys, baggy jeans, gold chains, high top Chucks, tank tops, crop tops, Nikes... and the now ever present and seemingly growing wet patch on his crotch. I didn't recognize my roommate of two years whatsoever. Even coming home after a long day at the office, he'd be in his room with the door locked with loud music at all times of the night. Smoke would flow from under the door more and more, easily identifiable as cannabis- yet another thing that the Alejo I knew had been vehemently opposed to, and now suddenly a nightly user.

Don't get me wrong, he was always as cordial and friendly as before- if not more. He'd try to invite me to play whatever FIFA game he'd bought in his room, or to go to have drinks at a bar... But the more I observed him, the less I could pin him down. I'd started spending more and more time in the courtyard before heading in to the apartment: finishing spreadsheets for work or just watching YouTube videos. Yeah, I was avoiding him. I'd signed up to room with the old Alejo... not whoever this was. Every time I'd come in late, he'd already be in his room, music blaring and smoke flowing from the crack in the door. He didn't say anything for a while, I assume thinking that I was working later and later. With this newfound dumbass brain he seemed to have, it would have made sense. Though, as I walked through the courtyard doors that Saturday night, that tactic quickly came to an end.

"Dante!" I stopped dead in my tracks, turning to the chair across the pool to see Alejo sitting there with a smirk on his face. "Cmon roomie, let's talk." I approached slowly, noting the gigantic damp patch on his jeans yet again. This time, so wet in fact that one could see the sheen of his slimy pre reflecting on the surface of the fabric. I took the chair next to him, sitting down in front of him quietly, awaiting whatever it was he was going to say.

"Bro, I feel like you've been hiding from me! Where you been?" He spread his legs widely for me, his smelly Chucks landing on either side of my chair. The stain on his groin was fully visible now, massive in fact- almost the size of his entire hand. I could smell the almost chlorine scent of cum mixed with the strong scent of unwashed cock bellowing out of his pants. "It's like you've been avoiding me ever since I got back..." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his face a mere foot or so away from mine. Flashing a sly grin with his perfect teeth, I found myself feeling... objectified. Though his eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, I could feel them roaming over me. "Could it be because you're just taking in the new and improved Alejo? 'Cuz I could get that. Things are a little different now, I'm definitely feelin' myself these days..."

I watched with absolute confusion, quickly shifting to shock as he brought his hand to the wet bulge in his pants, slowly kneading it. You could hear the squishing, slimy sound of his wet crotch... And here's the thing. As a very out and proud gay man, this sort of situation playing out would be very different if it were anyone else other than Alejo. The guy was as straight as an arrow, planning on engaging Bianca in the next few weeks. This Alejo looked at me like a wet pussy ready to be bred. But in that moment, I found myself watching his lustful smirk, pawing at his dripping crotch, even taking the time to bring his finger to his lips- suckling on it.

"I think... it's about time you took me up on roomie time." Alejo leapt up, strutting to my side, his fragrant crotch in front of my face. "Whaddya say, bro?" I suppose the right word to describe myself as I stared at the outline of his lengthening bulge straining against his jeans would be... dicknotized. No rhyme... no reason... just letting the moment come to pass with no hesitation. All my concerns, all of my suspicion melted away as I took his hand and followed him back to the elevator and up to our apartment. We stopped in front of his door for a moment, just for him to turn to me and say, "Excuse the mess, bro. Heheh."

He opened the door, and had I not been completely encapsulated by his flirtatious energy, I would have been floored. The room was a disaster. Dirty laundry strewn all over the floor, the comforter tossed into the corner, sweat stained sheets on the mattress, a gigantic bong on the side table, but above all... condoms. Used condoms, untied and hanging on every surface in the room. A fleshlight uncapped sat on the bed, his spunk still dripping from the clear silicone hole. The room stank of weed, cum, dick, and feet- on the balcony, pairs of reeking sneakers sat piled up.

Each of these things would have turned me off in their own right. Questionable hygiene aside, the state of the room itself should have been enough for me to have legitimate reason to pass on 'hanging out' with him. Yet, that wasn't what happened. I saw him flash those pretty brown eyes, smile with those plump lips, and I couldn't bring myself to say no. I walked into the room as he shut the door.

"Take a load off, bro. I'll pack us a bowl." I did as he suggested, sitting down onto the bed, my gaze subtly shifting between his beautiful ass bending over to tend to the bong and the dripping fleshlight to my left. He turned around, picking up the bong and plopping down next to me. He smiled as he ignited the bowl, taking in a deep breath of smoke before blowing a large cloud into the air with a satisfied sigh. "Ahh, that's better. Here ya go, bro."

He handed me the bong. He fell backward onto his back, his arms behind his head as he waited for me to take a toke. The water seemed mostly clean, a white film seemed to sit atop the basin, but surely nothing to worry about if he'd just taken his own hit. I brought the bong to my lips, flicked the lighter and inhaled the dank, salty smoke that filled the pipe. I coughed as I let out my very first toke of weed. Alejo smiled and laughed.

"Bro! You goin' WILD on your first time out! Atta boy!" I mirrored his smile as the smoke flowed from my mouth. "Here, dude I found a new show for us. We're gonna do roomie time every night, man." Though it wasn't the Alejo I'd known, it was great to have him around again. We continued to smoke as he put on some ridiculous show: four best friends in Boston and their shenanigans owning a bar. As we watched the show, taking turns with the bong, I could tell where the show's tone was headed... The guys were always paling around, roughhousing, just four idiots being idiots; good looking idiots at that. I can't say I was super into the show, but strangely enough, neither was Alejo. I could feel his penetrating stare and smirk from behind me, watching me, roaming over my body. Just the feeling of being ogled was enough for me to endure 'roomie time.'

We finished three or so episodes that night before I had to head to bed. Standing up, I made my excuses and headed toward the door. I exited, and as I closed the door, I peeked through the crack just in time to see him unzipping his jeans and grabbing ahold of the fleshlight. I quickly shut the door, and headed back to my room. By the time I did, the loud music began to bang through the walls. Though, upon listening closer that evening, I could hear him moaning through the guitar riffs.

The next morning, I awoke with quite the headache. The weed must have hit me hard last night. I was groggy, the room was spinning, a sharp pain in my forehead radiating like a screwdriver being jabbed into my brain. I stumbled to my feet and walked toward the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, my eyes were still bloodshot, and I'd been sweating all night long, my underwear drenched in sweat. I brought my hand to my forehead- yup, a fever indeed. I called off of work shortly after and dragged my feet to the kitchen. Alejo stood there shirtless, making eggs with a chipper smile on his face.

"Morning, bro! I made us some breakfast before you go to..." He turned, catching sight of me seemed to take him aback. "Whoa... You look rough, dude. You feeling okay?" I rubbed my face, pain still radiating from my head.

"I don't know... Do you usually get headaches after smoking?" He stood there for a moment, as if he were trying to remember what we had done last night before he broke out laughing.

"Oh shit, bro! I forgot how much you hit the bowl last night! Heheh, yeah I bet you feel like shit. Here, I got just the thing for it." He dropped the pan with the eggs onto the countertop, and strutted toward his room. He waved for me to follow, which I did in my still somewhat inebriated state. The room was even more discheveled if you can believe it, the fleshlight sitting ever present on his pillow. From his top drawer, he pulled out a small bag. "Here, bro, take one of these."

He dropped two small white gummies into my hand. Without hesitation, I gulped them down. Coconut flavor... with a strange peppery aftertaste. Alejo smiled and patted me on the back.

"Best way to cure a weed hangover? More weed, bro. Wait 'til these kick in, you'll be chilled out in no time." I should have known better, I should have asked what they were, I should have just gotten some chicken soup and suffered through it. But I didn't. I just stared at Alejo's bright smile, his beautiful tanned muscles, the huge wet spot on his black pants... I was getting more and more smitten with him by the second. "Bro, the bright side is... we got all day for roomie time! Here, chill here, I'll get the eggs and we can kick it all day long!" He scurried out of the room, leaving me alone in his room.

I looked down at my feet as I walked toward the bed, walking over his condoms and crusty socks with care until I sat down on the mattress. His scent was thick in the room, the sheets had soaked up his sweat like a sponge, and the open balcony door wafted in the ripe scent of his sneakers. The smell was starting to grow on me, for a reason I can't explain, I started to associate pungent scent with the new Alejo... The one I couldn't stop thinking about, the one who I'd all but started to thirst for. I leaned back, waiting for the ringing in my ears to subside, before I realized that something cool and sticky was sitting beneath my palms. Turning around, I quickly sat up upon seeing just what it was: his dirty thong.

I shuffled over to the other side of the bed, staring at the slimy red thong sitting alone atop the stained sheets. I looked at my hand, still sticky... I knew what it was, I couldn't even deny it in my head. Yet, I found myself staring intensely at it. I watched as my fingers creeped closer and closer to my face, until it was right under my nose. I breathed in. Salty, sweet, sharp... I couldn't stop myself from sniffing at my slimy fingers, I couldn't stop myself from letting my fingers slide down toward my lips, I couldn't stop them from slipping past my lips. I heard the squeaking of his sneakers as he approached with breakfast, quickly licking the slime off my fingers before he walked into the room.

"Aiiight! Eat up, homie! Made with love, just for you." He winked at me, handing me the plate, butterflies flying about in my stomach. Just as he plopped down on the futon across from me, the gummies started to kick in. As promised, the headache immediately subsided, but I found myself yet again in a state of light delirium. We sat and ate, laughing like jackasses and joking about our sexual conquests. I couldn't help but laugh as he'd talk about his Latin Leche, and how good it must feel to have it fill a pussy. Little did he know, I'd had a taste of it myself. In my delirium, it made sense to finally ask him about the little friend sitting on the nightstand.

"So... I noticed your new pal over there. What's up with that?" I pointed to the fleshlight on the nightstand, and Alejo immediately grinned from ear to ear.

"Oh, fuck bro. Here, give it to me." I leaned over, picking up the plastic container, surprised at just how heavy it was. I stood up, walking over to him he reached his hand out to take it from me, but I felt frozen as I stared at him. The damp patch seemed to grow bigger and bigger by the day... as did the scent which wafted from his beautiful body. He smiled, chuckling to himself as I stood there, taking in his studliness. Instead of the fleshlight in my hands, his fingers wrapped around the waistband of my sweats, pulling gently. "Heh, like what you see, bro?"

I could barely move, entirely locked in place as his fingers slipped past my waistband and onto my underwear. His grin turned mischievous, a lusty smirk instead creeping across his face as his hand moved further south, past my pubes until the tip of his finger had touched the base of my growing shaft. His eyes never broke with mine as his hand wrapped around my cock.

"Yeahh, homie. You like what you see. I thought so." He slipped his hand out of my pants, grabbing ahold of the fleshlight as if nothing had just happened. I stood there in shock. What did it mean? Did it happen? Was it an edible hallucination? How would I know, it's my first edible? He looked at the sticky fleshlight and laughed. "Nice, right? Bro, it feels just like good ass. Better than ass, man. Milks ya dry." He slipped his fingers into the tight hole, fingering it until he'd gotten a considerable glob of his spunk on his fingers. I was rock hard. Standing there like an idiot, just watching as he played with the slime on his fingertips before wiping it on his crotch. "So... Roomie. Wanna try it out?"

My face flushed. Did I? The hole glistened with his cum, from the sheer weight of it, several loads were in there- and not small ones. The thought of his sloppy seconds sounded strangely hot, and as he patted the seat next to him on the futon, I found myself yet again doing as I was told. I sat down, having no resistance as he pulled my sweat pants down to my ankles. His devilish smirk never subsiding, his eyes not breaking from mine, he slowly tugged on my underwear until my cock had slapped against my belly and into the open.

"Nice cock, bro." His voice was low and sultry as he took my manhood into his hand, slowly stroking me. I could only whimper and moan as he pumped me, closing my eyes in bliss. He worked it like an expert. His fingers circled around my head as he slid his hand up and down my pulsating shaft. As I continued moaning in bliss, I heard the faintest sound of a zipper, then a wet slap. He took my hand into his, guiding it over to him until I opened my eyes to see it slowly wrap around his own cock. It was magnificent. Long, slender, his foreskin covering his dripping tip. The pre flowed like a waterfall, pooling atop his pants. He wrapped my hand around the slimy dick as he moved it up and down. A few seconds is all it took before I was pumping that gorgeous cock, staring at the massive swollen balls slowly undulating below. We stroked eachother for a while, staring into eachother's eyes, huffing as we did. "Here, homie. I got you." His hand slipped off my cock, and I felt the silicone hole press against my head. His loads seeped out of the fleshlight, coating my cock with his cum before he slowly pressed it down.

Ecstasy. I screamed out in pleasure as the fleshlight swallowed my cock, squelching wetly as it did. Up and down, my cock begged for it. His cum slithering around my hard dick as he pumped it. We took turns- just as I was about to blow, he slipped it off with a loud 'shlorp,' slipping it over his own dirty cock and pumping. The pungent scent of sex filled the room for the next two hours of us edging eachother. Our cocks were glazed in our juices, mingling with eachother on our leaking shafts. Soon, we had each blasted our seed into the plastic tube, our foreheads pressed together, fists on eachother's cocks... We collapsed back against the futon, laughing and pumping eachother's knuckles. I felt free... I felt relaxed... I felt sexy... This new Alejo had come back a different person, and I was here for it. He handed me a dirty sock to wipe myself with, a task he'd just completed.

"My boy! This is the kind of roomie time I'm talkin' about, homie!" Alejo slapped me on the back, as I chuckled a soft laugh. We spent the rest of the day just as we did the night before. Shootin' the shit, laughing til we couldn't breathe, laughing about our swollen balls, playin' video games until the sun came up the next day. "Shit, man. Sun's up. You got work today?" I did, but my brain had taken a different route altogether. What harm would another day off be? I hadn't used my sick days, and I'm feeling sick... It's not a lie...

"Eh. I took the week." Not true. It wasn't true. I hadn't even asked, let alone gotten anything approved... But the shit eating grin on Alejo's face was enough of a reason in my mind.

"Ah, shit, man! Boy do I got plans for you." The days went by like a blur. I don't remember it all, just bits and pieces here and there. That second day though, I remember well. I'd made my announcement, my lie, I was to be off for the next six days. Alejo grinned, saying he would pack another bowl for us. His seemingly unending stash had truly surprised me, never without a nugget to be ground. I'd decided to try and wash the stink that had accumulated from 22 hours of roomie time. I remember walking to the bathroom, feelin' odder than usual. I couldn't tell you why, or what exactly felt off... but I can say, my balls felt like bowling balls. I flipped the lights on, looked into the mirror... and I just stood there for a moment. Struck with awe.

---

STAY TUNED FOR PART 2!

Will be posted on Blogspot as a single story, conclusion to come after my birthday!

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

DUMB

I had always been a smart guy. IQ 180, an all As student, summa cum laude graduate, one of the youngest scientists in my faculty.

That is, until I was challenged by one of the jocks from my old school to listen to his favourite song. I had always looked down onto him for his simple taste in music and now he dared me to listen to it without giving in to the beat. ‚You cant judge what you don‘t know, right? That‘d be so stupid!‘, he mocked me when I hesitated, not knowing what I could gain from listening to something else than Mozart or Vivaldi.

I couldn‘t leave this challenge without reply, so I took the bet and listened to that tune of some guy called ‚Timmy Trumpet‘. https://youtu.be/D4m737SW2yc?si=upG5zB5Y_HKoKA9y After just one second I knew I hated this style of music. But I had to keep going to not lose the bet, so I decided to just endure this test.

‚I play my games, you work away the day! You’re blowing up your brains for something smart to say!‘

Yes, that‘s me.

‚But I don’t wanna know it, rather focus on the fun!‘

Yes, that‘s him.

‚So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

I‘d definitely do that.

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

Did they have to repeat it so often? I just counted 26 times! Well, I think that‘s because the typical audience of that supposed ‚artist‘ can‘t memorise more lyrics than that. But just as I was thinking that, an image of said artist flashed before my eyes, looking at me as if he was swearing revenge for insulting him.

‚But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun! So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

34! I caught my feet going with the beat and instantly stopped it. No chance he was winning this bet!

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

55! I suddenly felt like I had forgotten something. But I couldn‘t figure out what it was.‘

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

76! I recognised that strange feeling was connected to a drop. A drop? A drop of what? A drop of temperature? No, it was actually getting rather hot and I felt the urge to pull of my shirt.‘

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

97! Was it the beat dropping? Hell, yeah! Timmy Trumpet always dropped the beat like a pro! I didn‘t even know what dropping the beat meant, being new to all this, but who cared?

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

118! I suddenly realised what was dropping, but it was too late. With every ‚dumb‘, my IQ was dropping down! Something told me it had to be… like… half a point per repetition? Damn, that sounded like math… how many ‚dumb’s had there been? Divided by two… damn, this is hard… and subtracted from… and… 121!?! That‘s barely scratching the mark for being highly intelligent! Come on, this has to be a bad joke!

‚I’m just a jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

123. A jerk. One, two, three. Just a jerk. Yeah, these are numbers I can work with. A jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb. I couldn‘t stop going along with the lyrics while my old class mate smiled at me like a silly jerk.

‚I’ve got a worth in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

128 ‚dumb’s and my IQ dropped down to 114, only one standard deviance over average. No, I can‘t let him do that to me! I’m special! I have a worth in the world of the smart and educated! I‘ve got inventions to create and discoveries to make!

‚I won’t be the one you want!‘

Right!

‚If you can’t be one with dumb!‘

Oh, damn! I have to be one with dumb! Wait, that doesn‘t even make sense grammatically!‘

‚Cause I’m just a jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

134! Ha! One, three, four! Haha! Did I forget one number? Hahaha! Who cares? I‘m just a jerk!

Suddenly I found myself singing out loud along with the song:

‚I play my games you work away the day! You’re blowing up your brains for something smart to say!‘

Stupid nerds wasting their time with work and learning when there are weights to be lifted, parties to be held, holes to be filled!

‚But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun!‘

They‘re the stupid ones. I‘m the genius, because I don‘t waste time trying to be one!

‚So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!

And my jerk bro joined in, both of us jumping and partying like idiots:

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb! But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun! So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

169! Hahaha! 69! So good! I laughed. I didn’t even know why. I just had fun. I didn’t even count anymore. And the beat dropped, and my IQ dropped, all down to 95, and we dropped our shirts and showed off our jock bodies. And while all of it dropped down, Timmy Trumpet bowed down, as an artist having finished another masterpiece.

And I bowed down in front of him, thanking him, laying my drained out IQ points to the ground before him, giving my life to him to never have any goals again than getting swole and partying half naked to his great songs.

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

And as the song faded, my favourite song from my favourite artist, my thoughts faded into simplicity, my IQ settling at a comfy 85, one standard deviance below average, right before the beginning of a light learning disability. Not that I was interested in complex stuff like that anymore. Or even able to comprehend it. All I knew was that I had reached the jerk spot, that sweet spot right between your everyday stupidity and concerning imbecility, where I was still able to manage my daily routine and training plans, but was assured to get a headache from hard stuff like… doing equations and reading science stuff. So I think I‘ll make sure to stay far away from that shit from now on!

I put the song on repeat to make my IQ click into place and lock it where it was to make sure I‘d never lose that silly happiness and fun a jerk like me enjoyed. And I proudly sang along:

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

Please, tell me I’m not the only one to have seen this. Tell me I’m not crazy.

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve noticed something weird happening in the neighborhood. There seemed to be an influx of young influencer-type guys, all with some cringy “brush” hairstyle. At first, I thought nothing of it, except that perhaps my neighborhood was becoming hip – and likely more expensive – but my whole outlook changed when I seemed to recognize one of those “new” guys. Indeed, one day one of them made me think of an elderly guy that lives a few houses away from mine, and ever since I noticed that, I see more and more similarities between those guys and people from the neighborhood. And that elderly guy, you know ? I haven’t seen him since ! But really, the reality of the situation crushed me today when I went to the grocery store, and saw that guy.

That guy looked exactly like a young beardless version of Mr. Shree, our older local grocer, and with that same haircut I just see everywhere I go around my place. When I talked to him, he had the same accent he had, except he had a bit of a dumber, more bro-like tone. Worse, he even flirted with me ! Just what is going on !

God, I really need to move out. That neighborhood now creeps me out… Even now when I go back home, I feel like I’m being watched everywhere… Look ! That guy !

I’ve seen him everywhere today, and every time he’s glaring at me… And now he’s right on my path to my house. I… decide to go on the other side of the road. Everything creeps me out, I don’t want to risk anything.

I get back home, and breathe a sigh of relief. At least, here, I won’t be in danger from… whatever is happening. I settle in, turn the coffee maker on – I’ll need that for the night of thesis-writing – and take my laptop out. I look online at house listings. We’re right inside the university year, so of course there isn’t much reasonably close to college… and whatever there is is either at an outrageous price, or is unlivable… I’m going to have to make do, there is no way I’m staying in this creepy neighborhood any longer.

As I’m looking through the listings, I get a notification. An e-mail. I look at it and… Oh, yes, I’m supposed to get a package today. They apparently put it in my mailbox… great, I’ll need to go out again, if I don’t take it I’ll have a hard time writing tonight…

Reluctantly, I dare myself out of home, not without looking in all directions before stepping out. Seeing no one, I hurry to the mailbox, keys in hand. I unlock the mailbox, finding my package, and turn around when I see that guy yet again.

“Olá ! How are you doing, bruh ?”

Oh no. He hailed me. That guy hailed me. I’m done for. But… my house is just near… I can make a run for it !

I suddenly go for a sprint, trying to whiz besides him.

“Oi ! What the fuck are you doing, bruh !” He shouts, running after me.

Fuck, he’s following me.

I reach the door. Finally.

I get in the house, and close the door violently.

Yes ! I’m free from him ! At least, for now… I lock the door. I can wait the whole night without problem… though I’ll absolutely call the police when I can catch my breath. I check three times that my door is well-locked, and start turning when a low and dumb-sounding voice rumbles.

“Bro, that’s not nice, bruh. You should act better with a bro, brah !”

“How did you do that !” I shout, in more than utter shock.

He shouldn’t have been able to enter ! I… made sure that I closed the door as soon as I was in the house ! And he was behind me ! Granted at the end I was looking at my feet…

… He overtook me right at the end ? I… guess I’m very out of shape, but still, I thought, that…

“I dunno, bro, I ran. But guess what ? You-”

Before he can continue, I try tackling him. I know I’m not strong, I know I’m not athletic, but I must try what I can… to stay myself. To stay alive.

When I make contact, it’s as if I’m encountering a brick wall with a bit of a cushion on the side of it. No matter the momentum, nor my desperate steps trying to push him, he doesn’t budge a bit. Although it didn’t hurt, this attempt will be remembered as one of the most pathetic acts I took in my whole existence.

“Look at you, bruh, you’re so excited you went right into the arms of papai !” The low dumb-sounding voice exclaims, before laughing.

I unclasp him. I can’t overpower him. Better to go outside and find help… somewhere. Plus the key is still in the lock.

But I don’t even have the time to turn that he is the one to clasp me, now. With both arms I am taken hostage. I look up at that dumb grin on a handsome face ruined by a terrible hairstyle.

Disgusting.

“So, bruh, wanna leave ? But I haven’t even told you the good news, brah ! - Are you going to infect me ? Like Mr. Shree ?” I spit, showing all the hate I can possibly fill my diction with. - Huhuhu so funny, bro ! No, I’m not infecting you ! I’m curing you, bruh !”

I look in horror as he licks his lips.

“C-Curing me of what ? - I dunno.” He answers me, looking empty inside for a second before taking back his mischievous look on. “Man, I can just smell you need curing, it’s urgent.”

Then, without warning, he locks my hips with his legs, and takes my head in his hands. I try to free myself, but it’s of no avail.

He makes my head look up, as he approaches his to mine.

And then, his lips smash mine.

No, he actually kisses me. Not only making them touch. He then removes himself from my face, as I stay unable to move in any way. My first kiss was actually… stolen by a weird sick guy ?

“Now, bro, let’s cure you !”

His rumbling shake me as he puts his right hand inside my hair. I just can’t move as he pulls my hair higher and higher. As he does that, it also seems to… stay up, somehow. And I absolutely can’t move any muscle, weirdly, even as he shifts his position to free me from the grasp of his legs. No matter how much I try, nothing in my body wants to move, and I’m just stuck there, staring at him in much the same way as he used to stare at me, as he takes out clippers.

Then, the sound of buzzing. He continues grasping my hair, pulling on it and seemingly shaping it with his right hand, while his left hand expertly directs the clippers on the side of my head. I sense the mass of hair falling down, my mind going down with it. I feel more and more dizzy, as he continues pulling on my hair in an experience that becomes strangely more and more euphoric, and as tufts of it fall down. Like… what is happening ? What is he doing ? What am I doing ? The questions that were already there before become even more pronounced.

The buzzing comes finally to my other ear, and I feel the wind breezing through my skin on the back and front of my head, as a big mass holds on top of my head. Squeezing it. Squeezing my brains. Squeezing my mind.

I feel that guy undressing me, touching me on all sides, but as I am squeezed, I just feel that my mind is… leaking somehow. Like… I dunno, stuff like my thesis… big writing thing, its contents or, like… smart stuff, I guess ? It feels like it leaks through all over my body, and as that guy takes a hold of my pecs, he uses the leaks to make them… stronger or something ? Ugh, I feel so squeezed down, I can’t think clearly. I even think like I’m bigger, stronger and taller, how ridiculous !

Like, I guess I have abs, pecs, biceps, triceps, calves, a butt and all that, but all that feels… big. And bigger as it leaks. Yeah… bigger… bigger… BIGGER !

Suddenly, that guy comes back in front of me, and his big hand comes closer and closer. I feel him fiddling with my lips, which feel bigger than usual… god, have I got botox or something ? And then, he squeezes my face for a while, until we can hear cracking sounds. He smirks.

“Bro, you’re looking good, like ! - Huh ? What ?” I manage.

Looking at me in disarray, only barely managing to move my fat lips, he smiles harder. The voice that left my lips was weird, like… it was deep. Too deep. It also feels like I’ve got like… an apple ? in my throat ? that makes me unable to speak correctly.

“Repeat after me. ‘Bro.’ - Bro.” I repeat in my low and slow voice, unable to think under all this weight. - ‘Bro.’

- Bro. - ‘Bruh.’” He changes. - Bruh.” I follow. - ‘Bruh.’ - Bruh. - ‘Brah.’” He changes again. - Brah.” I follow again, still unable to think properly.

We continue like that for a good long while. Like, bruh, we continue doing that, and brah it feels like my brains become more mushy, bro, more squeezed, bro. We then make brah combinations, like bruh, and it feels like other words are burned, brah. Only bro, bruh and brah remain, bruh, and, like bro, even now when we’re finished, my brain still feels weird, bro.

I just stand there, bruh, thinking, though, bro, it’s hard with all that weight squeezing me, brah.

“Ya good, bro ?” That guy asks me. - Yeah, bruh.” I answer him, smirking in the best way I can. - Great ! And what d’ya wanna do, brah ?”

As he asks that, I just pause. Like, bro, it’s so hard to think ! I dunno what I’d wanna do ! I’m like, too dizzy bruh !

“I dunno, bro.” I answer him. - You’re so dumb, bruh ! You should, like, wanna put stuff on the ‘gram or Tiktok, bro ! Or get laid, or cure people so there’s more bros, bruh !”

His words hit me like a truck. Of course I want to go get laid, bro ! And of course I wanna put stuff on the socials ! That’s the way of the bro, and I should try curing people, brah !

“Então, you better, bruh ?” That guy asks me. - Yeah bro ! D’ya wanna have sex, bruh ?” I answer, sure of myself. - Huhuhuhu ! Later, now I’ve got something important to do, bro.”

As he says that, he shows me a metal chain.

“It’s your chain, bruh ! It’s a sign you’re a real bro, brah ! Put it on, and be proud of it, bro !”

He approaches it to me, and locks it when it circles my neck. As it clicks, something clicks in me at the same time. Like I’ve found my peace, bro. My hair doesn’t squeeze me anymore, it feels just right, brah. Everything seems… just right, bruh. And I feel like… other people should feel that too, bro. Yeah, let’s cure them ! I want everyone to feel just right, brah !

“So, bruh, wanna see your hotness in the mirror ?” He points to a mirror in the entrance.

When I look at myself, at my big hair, and at my chain, I can’t help but take it in my mouth. That’s hotter, bruh.

“Fuck, I’m so hot, bro !” I say, not noticing that I said it out loud. - So hot, bruh, vamos !”

I smirk, letting my chain go. Yup, nobody can resist me, bro. Nobody can resist my way of life, bruh. Nobody can resist my hotness, brah. And I’m gonna make sure everyone’s in my league.

I take some hot clothes, and leave my house with that guy. Fuck, there’s so many dweebs in the street, it’s an infestation, bro ! There’s so many people that need curing, a good haircut and a good workout, brah !

Thankfully, I’m here to help, so that in the end, there will be nothing wrong with this neighborhood, bro.

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

Cheat Day

This is a rewrite of a story I read like a year ago and forgot to bookmark in any way. Please sent a note if you know where to find the original… Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

Michael stared at the door. There was still time to back out. To go back home and accuse Tom of cheating. Although Michael was assertive, tough even, he didn’t like confrontation. Not real, emotional confrontation. As soon as he saw the text he knew it wasn’t just another Grindr hookup. He and Tom decided very early on that sex and love were two very different things, and whatever they did to each other in the bedroom would only get better if they had inspiration from other encounters.

Still, looking at the door it felt like cheating. He had been pacing the apartment for minutes in a mix of emotions. Sadness, anger, jealousy, disbelief. He had opened all the hookup apps he had in an impulsive fit of desperately seeking a revenge fuck. A revenge fuck with someone else. It was only minutes later that he had found Jonathan, who appeared as eager as him, nearby, and with a matching profile. Gay bottom who needed a quick fuck.

Now in front of the door he wasn’t at all as sure anymore. Standing someone up wasn’t cool either. At the very least he should say sorry in person. He rung the door.

Almost instantly the door flung open and a revealed a good looking guy a year older than Michael, according to his profile. “Hey, big dude”, he said and placed a long, sloppy kiss on Michael. There wasn’t really any size difference between the two. In fact, apart from their faces they looked pretty much alike. Two skinny guys in their late twenties with a few days shade, similar haircuts and tattooed sleeves that looked the same if you squinted a lot. They even dressed alike, tight jeans and casual, high quality untucked shirt, rolled sleeves and not buttoned all the way up. ”You’re really gonna like this.” he said when he finally peeled away from the kiss. Michael could nothing but agree.

“I’m Michael. I guess I should ask if you are Jonathan, but with that greeting I would be very disappointed if I had to leave.” Jonathan smiled a wry smile. “Trust me, you are not leaving without my permission”, and he placed another slobbering kiss.

“I like your hair. I guess you need something practical with all the gym time you clock. Fits with the whole dumb jock image you’re going for.” If Michael had a dumb look, it was because he had no idea what Jonathan was talking about. He hadn’t been in a gym for months. He could live off donuts and coffee and still not put on any weight, try as he might. Jonathan’s hands were all over him, while he kicked the door shut. “I bet it takes a lot to keep such a muscled body. I bet you meal prep twice a week, eat five times a day, and stay off all processed food, all sweets, all alcohol. That takes some serious dedication.” Oh! Michael could see what he was doing. He was setting up a role playing scene.

“Lifting is life, bro” Michael tried. “There’s my fucking gym bro. It’s all about the gains and looking good naked. That’s why you shave everything below the nose, right? To make the muscles show better.”

Jonathan smiled and kissed Michael deep again, while his hands where all up inside Michael’s shirt. Michael had never shaved anything except for his face, and recently he hadn’t bother with anything but running a trimmer a few times a week.

“It’s time for your post-workout shake, right? Best time while you still have that after sweat glow. I have it ready in the kitchen for you.” “Thanks. Sure is, bro”

Michael couldn’t remember when he last had one. Years ago at least. It was chalky and not at all something he would ever ask for again. He followed Jonathan into the kitchen, and as soon as he entered Jonathan threw a plastic shaker at him. “Catch! Chug it! You’ll love it.”

It tasted like vanilla. Strangely he did like it. Had he even had lunch, or was that forgotten too in the whole text message and cheating business? Something about Jonathan made both his dick and thinking really hard. No other bottom he’d met had ever been so assertive, so in charge. But bottom and sub were different things, and he couldn’t deny that it made him want to fuck his brains out all the more. So when Jonathan led him to the bedroom he was actually worried the amount of pre-cum would show.

“Let’s stop cosplaying and get this shit off you!” Jonathan said and ripped Michael’s shirt open, sending buttons in all directions. “What the hell, bro?” “You know anything with buttons are too inconvenient. You never use them.”

He unbuttoned Michael’s jeans for him. “Get naked and get in bed.” Confused he did as he was told and kicked off his shoes and slid down his jeans and boxers. Not only was his dick and balls slippery and shiny of pre-cum, but all of his body was glistening of sweat in the dim bedroom light. As he stepped out of the pile of clothes he realized he was completely smooth. Not a single hair as far as he could see. It made sense, since he was playing jock and it would make the muscles really pop, but something about it wasn’t right. He reached for the socks, but Jonathan stopped him. “That’s enough! On your back!”

Michael might be playing a dumb jock, but he knew something was terribly wrong. Very slowly he sat down on the bed. His arms looked pathetic. The rest of the body too. But that was just disappointing, not really something to be alarmed about. Jonathan stepped forward, grabbed both his legs and raised them from the floor, forcing Michael on his back.

“Let’s fuck you into shape, shall we?” he said and thrust his dick into Michael’s ass. Michael wasn’t prepared at all for the onslaught and sounded an indiscreet yelp. His brain was going through questions, looking for the right one. Why was he lying down while Jonathan was standing up? And again, a second thrust. Why was he almost naked while Jonathan had only unbuttoned his jeans? A loud belch escaped from him. He could feel his stomach churning. Why was he the one getting fucked and not Jonathan? As the third thrust hit he could feel an ache reverberate through his whole body.

“Tom likes being the big spoon, doesn’t he? He likes that while you are the one bossing him around, he is the bigger one, the one that protects you while you sleep, even though he doesn’t have much muscles.” Wave after wave of pain was flooding Michael. He felt like he really ought to know who Tom was. It was somehow important. Jonathan was fucking him with, deep, slow strokes. “He doesn’t like big, bulky muscles. They gross him out. The upper body is the worst.” Michael wanted the pain to stop. It felt like he was being stretched on a rack. “Big, bouncy pecs that puff up and out the chest. Big delts that makes the shoulders look wide and clumsy. Huge traps that misshapes the top of the shirt. And worst of all, big, bulging biceps that strains the fabric of any normal sleeve, and risk tearing it if you bend your arm. He hates it all.” The pain was ever shifting for Michael. The bone crushing pain mutated into a burning sensation. He let out another long burp. What was Jonathan talking about again? It was so hard to concentrate.

“And legs! Big, thick thighs that makes it impossible for you walk properly and pushes your junk out, so it looks obscene whatever you do. Tom would be disgusted. The massive body and legs makes your average dick look small. Your massive balls just makes it look even smaller. And veins. Big irregular veins snaking up and down the arms and legs, like an erect dick.” Jonathan was pumping furiously now, getting close to climax. Michael’s head was spinning. He was just happy the pain had subdued into a tingling sensation. Then Jonathan just stopped and there was a second of calm where Michael couldn’t think of anything. Then they both exploded, Michael pumping squirts after squirts of warm cum up in the air, while at the same time he could feel Jonathan emptying his load inside of him. Both of them appeared to have limitless supply. Michael felt something else as well, how the body was shifting. It felt like he was moving around, or like the sheet was being pulled from under him.

No, he wasn’t moving. He was growing, he realized. It was as if Jonathan was inflating a balloon with his cum. He himself was emptied his balls all over himself in an uneven smattering of sticky frosting. He realized everything Jonathan had said about Tom was true. He was rapidly turning into the kind of body Tom would laugh at. Mock. Be repulsed by, even. “Please. Please stop. Whatever reason you think you have for doing this, it’s wrong. This is all wrong.” Jonathan raised an eyebrow while shooting a last few shots of cum into Michael.

Jonathan withdrew and stepped back a step, panting and clearly exhausted. “Yeah, this is wrong.” With his dick still out of the jeans he climbed into the bed next to Michael. Michael wanted to shrug back, to get away, but his body just laid there like a sack of whey. Without hesitation Jonathan placed his hands around Michael’s throat and started to squeeze. “No! Please! Don’t kill me! Please, stop doing this.” The pitch of his voice was slowly going up, until the last two words when it crashed down octaves. “Please, just stop”

Michael’s voice was deep, touching on African American, but still somehow youthful. “That’s better. Now, sit up beef boy, I want to show you something.” Jonathan slapped Michael on the shoulder with a wet and meaty thud, got up from the bed, and went to the wardrobes along the wall. Michael sat up in the bed, noting that he was not only more muscled than anyone he knew, but quite a bit taller than before. Jonathan opened one of the wardrobes and revealed a full length mirror mounted on the inside of the door.

Michael didn’t see himself in the mirror. Somehow the sum of the parts made a bigger impact than just seeing and feeling them on their own. He was surprised how young his face looked. Barely twenty, he would guess. It looked utterly wrong on top of that massive body. Young, dumb, and above all immature looking. Like he went to gym instead of high school and juiced his way to his twenties. If you wanted to lab grow the antithesis to what turned Tom on, this would be it. “Why are you doing this?”

Jonathan’s face twisted into a snarl of contempt, took a step back and grabbed Michael’s head between his hands, pressed the palms into his cheeks until the lips parted and forcefully spit a glob of saliva into Michael’s mouth. He then leaned down and made another long kiss. “I’ll tell you, Brad, why I’m fucking doing this.”

Brad? Michael was sitting, slacked jawed looking up at Jonathan. He glanced down, seeing his reflection in the mirror behind Jonathan. For a short moment he expected to see Michael in the mirror, but of course he didn’t. He’s Brad. Anyone can see that. Jonathan stepped in, replacing his view of the mirror with Jonathan’s erect dick.

“Suck it! You love sucking dick more than anything, you cum guzzling bottom slut! You worthless piece of shit. You were never good enough for Tom. He’s supposed to be with me! You never appreciated the way he looked at you, the way he changed to accommodate you, to be part of your life. You’re were too fucking stupid to get that! Now you are too dumb to read a newspaper. Too stupid for any joke that isn’t practical, like pantsing someone in the weight room or squirting bronzer in their butt crack.”

Jonathan still held Brad’s head with both hands, moving it back and forth to forcefully pump his dick down Brad’s throat. Brad wanted to help, to please, but there was very little he could do, beside making gagging noises.

“You don’t remember what Tom looks like anymore. You can’t remember where you met, where you used to eat together, where you lived together. You don’t even think of love or relationships anymore. You can’t plan more than to your next meal prep, fucking loser. Your life only revolves around gym, sports and sex. Those are the only things that matters, the only things you plan for, the only things you talk about.”

Jonathan let go of Brad’s head, and was just standing there panting, dick in mouth. Brad could finally start to take an active part, letting his tongue play over Jonathan’s cock head. He started to slowly suck the dick in long, deliberate motions. Jonathan collected himself, somehow relieved to have revealed his feelings for Tom, and suddenly almost surprised to be in the middle of getting a blowjob. He sounded much calmer as he continued.

“You don’t like how you look naked. You think your dick looks ridiculous and tiny next to your giant balls, so you prefer to always be fucked wearing a jock strap.  You try to keep other clothes on, like you are wearing socks now, to take attention away from the jock strap. You try to have sex where and how being partially clothed makes sense. On the bench in the gym. In an alley outside. In the bleachers. In the dugout. And your massive balls are pumping so much hormones into you, you’re horny almost as soon as you’ve cum. You’ll swallow so much jizz you put it in your weekly macros.”

Brad was fully erect again, with a dollop of viscous pre-cum visible at the tip of his cock head. Jonathan was resting a hand on his head.

“Your body is never good enough. There is always more lifting, tanning, running, shaving, bulking or cutting to be done. You always want to look ready for gym, showing off what you got. Wearing bright clothes that makes people look. You want to be noticed, the center of every room you go into. How else can you get the attention to get everyone to fuck you? Loud, happy, clueless, obnoxious.”

With no warning Jonathan came again. Only a few pumps this time. Brad could feel something warm inside of him, but unlike a coffee or cocoa, it quickly spread out into all his body, and up his neck into his head. He let himself fall backwards into the bed, leaving a trailing string of cum and saliva between his lips and Jonathan’s dick, before it broke. His head was spinning. What was he doing here again. He was having sex with someone, wasn’t he? But he was still so fucking horny. In the corner of his eye he watched the guy leave the bedroom. He grabbed his slippery dick and started to masturbate. He needed to cum so badly.

The guy came back into the room with a pile of clothes, and threw it on his sweaty and cum sticky stomach. Brad felt caught and embarrassed and put both hands over his dick.

“Here, get dressed.” “Bro, you need to like fuck me.” “Sorry dude. Not my type.” “Not cool bro. I sucked you.” “Get dressed and I’ll help you find someone.” “How you’ll do that, bro?” “I’ll set up some fuck app accounts for you. I’ll even take pics and write a bio for you.” “Dope. Hurry tho. I’m so fucking horny.”

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

Makeover

Mortimer not only had a shitty old-fashioned name, he was also simply shitty and old-fashioned. His clothes were actually often inherited from his father and grandfather. His speech was affected. And yet he was nothing but a small and insignificant clerk at the tax office. Totally career-minded. A pedant. A pain in the ass. Like his father. Like his grandfather.

But Mortimer was also a lickspittle and a pussyfoot. He never had the guts to provoke any kind of trouble with big taxpayers. Trouble only meant more work. But with small private individuals and small businesses, he loved to torment them when checking their tax returns. Especially those who didn't have a tax advisor had beads of sweat on their foreheads just holding his letter in their hands. And when they opened it and read it, they turned pale. Mortimer could almost jerk off at the thought. In fact, his little cock got hard at the thought.

The punks from the tattoo parlor were outstanding victims. The tax return was probably largely correct. But it was full of minor formal errors and implausibilities that could have been overlooked. But that was no fun for Mortimer. So he bombarded the owner of the studio with questions and requests to submit additional documents. As I said, the tax authorities would gain no further advantage from this. But Mortimer was able to exercise his little bit of power. But this time he would regret it. Bitterly regret it.

The conversation with his superior had been unpleasant. Pete, the owner of the tattoo studio, had made an official complaint. For arbitrariness, abuse of authority and a few other things. Probably one of the perverts who were his customers was a crooked lawyer, Mortimer thought. He didn't have much to fear from his boss. One crow didn't peck out another crow's eye. Nevertheless, he had been ordered to make a personal appearance at the tattoo parlor to clear up the loose ends. What a humiliation. He would get revenge for that too.

The studio smelled of tobacco smoke, leather, sweat, whiskey and disinfectant. A terrible combination that almost made Mortimer want to vomit. He went through the documents he had in front of him. No chance, everything was correct. Still, there had to be something. And quickly. It was Friday morning, he wanted to have his report written by 2 p.m. at the latest and leave for the weekend. The employees all looked like freaks. He asked Pete for all the employment contracts from the last 20 years. Pete looked at Mortimer… With piercing blue eyes. He took Mortimer's chin very firmly in his tattooed calloused hand, almost stroking Mortimer's face with the other. And then he moved his hand slowly towards his crotch. And then he gripped Mortimer's balls firmly. "Listen, you office boy! Everything is fine here. Got it?" The grip on his balls did not loosen. But his erection became painful. Mortimer nods. The grip loosened. Mortimer packed up his things. At the office, he would report the store to a friend from the health department. Pete had made a big mistake.

It was almost 11:30 when Mortimer arrived at the tax office. Lunchtime. People were running along the corridors and streaming towards the canteen. Mortimer actually wanted to eat straight away. But the call to the health department was more important. He had almost reached his office when his boss stood in his way. "So, all the problems with the tattoo artist sorted?" Mortimer was just about to answer when his boss laughed. "Mortimer, I wouldn't have put it past you. You and a piercing? Did you get that pierced to appease the taxman? Well, because it's Friday. But Monday without it again, please."

Mortimer turned pale. Yes, there had been something on his lower lip. He felt carefully. A cone protruded from his lower lip. One was through his nasal septum. And under the cone was something else under his lower lip. In a panic, Mortimer ran to the washrooms. He looked in the mirror. He looked like a freak! He no longer even noticed that he was unshaven. Mortimer reached for his cell phone and tried to call Pete's tattoo studio. Only an answering machine. Mortimer ran into his office and put on a face mask. He told colleagues who came by that he wasn't feeling well and wanted to protect them. They wished him a speedy recovery. But it didn't get any better. Mortimer nervously drummed his fingers on his desk and wondered what he should do. Then he noticed the tattoos on his knuckles. "Fuck" and "Yeah". In Gothic letters. Mortimer ran back to the washrooms. And threw up.

He didn't actually have to call in sick. He would have finished work in an hour anyway. But he had to get out of here. Immediately. He walked to the bus stop. It was a warm spring day. Nevertheless, Mortimer drove to Oxford Street first thing and bought a pair of gloves in the first store he saw. Should he go to the tattooist? But not now. The streets were full of people. And he looked like a freak. No, off home. And tomorrow at the crack of dawn to see that asshole Pete.

Something was different in his apartment. There was a half-full ashtray on the coffee table. And the fridge was full of beer. Surprisingly, this didn't strike Mortimer as odd at all. He took a beer, lit a cigarette and threw himself onto the sofa. What a terrible day. He began to cry with self-pity. And he fell asleep crying.

It was already dark outside when Mortimer woke up. The beer was warm and stale. But Mortimer finished it. The fag had fallen out of his hand as he fell asleep and had left another burn mark on the shabby old leather sofa. Mortimer burped. He was drunk and stoned. The piercings in his nipples felt good. Mortimer began to wank. He squirted on his Sex Pistol T-shirt. And fell asleep again.

The next morning, Mortimer woke up with an insane hangover. His apartment was a mess. Full ashtrays, empty beer cans, dirty clothes. What the hell had happened here? Mortimer collected the garbage while still half asleep and put the bin bags outside in the hallway. He had to pee. No, he had to piss. He went into the bathroom. He looked in the mirror. He ran his tattooed hands through his greasy hair. He urgently needed to go to the hairdresser again. But first he had to piss and then take a shower. He pulled his 20-centimeter cock out of his no longer completely clean underpants. The scrotal ladder clacked as he did so. And the mighty Prince Albert shone in the light of the bathroom lamp. Mortimer felt dizzy.

Yes, the first thing he wanted to do was go and see Pete. But for some reason, his apartment was a mess. Mortimer took a shower first. He had to admit that the feeling of the piercings in his nipples, scrotum and cock was very sensual. But the steel had to come off. And he also had to do something about the tattoos. His fingers and the backs of his hands were covered in tattoos. He hadn't even seen his back and neck yet. When he felt clean again, Mortimer collected the dirty laundry. He made the beds fresh. He wanted to turn on the washing machine. But it was gone. Not just the washing machine, but the whole alcove. His bathroom was somehow smaller. And there was no washing machine or dryer. Mortimer stuffed the washing into an IKEA bag that he didn't know where it had come from. He collected the rest of the garbage. He washed the dirty dishes, because his dishwasher in his much smaller kitchen was also gone. It was almost 4 p.m. when it was finally clean and tidy again. Mortimer was satisfied. All he had been able to find in the way of clean laundry was a shiny red Adidas tracksuit, a pair of white Calvin Klein shorts, a white fine-rib undergarment, white socks and white sneakers. He looked silly. But it should be enough for a visit to the laundrette. He took the dirty laundry and the garbage bags and left the apartment.

The hallway smelled of cold tobacco smoke, beer and piss. The walls were covered in graffiti. From time to time, the roar of violent arguments could be heard from the apartments. Shit, this is a crazy dream, Mortimer thought to himself. This must be a crazy dream. The elevator was broken. So he walked the eight floors to the laundry room. Thank God there was a free machine. Mortimer took a laundry token out of his trouser pocket. He stuffed his dirty laundry into the machine. Damn it, he didn't have any detergent. A skinhead was sitting on one of the rickety plastic chairs under the no-smoking sign, reading a sports magazine and smoking. "Excuse me, could I borrow some washing powder from you?" Mortimer wanted to ask. But he said "Oi, sorry mate, could I nick some washing powder off ya? And a fag while you're at it?" The skinhead looked at Mortimer. He licked his lips. "Got yer tongue pierced too, you dirty pig?" Mortimer stuck out his tongue. And the skinhead took his cock out of his bleached jeans. "Then get on your knees and earn both!"

The skinhead only had a modest PA. Nevertheless, it was a pleasure for Mortimer to work his cheesy boner with his tongue. The skinhead steered his head into his curls with a firm grip. From time to time he pulled Mortimer's head far back into his neck and snotted in his face. Mortimer's cock built a tent in his pants. The skinhead squirted down his throat. Mortimer squirted into his pants. And the washing machine rumbled. ""Oi, cunt, fancy a proper haircut? Can't see any of them sick tattoos on your skull." Mortimer took a quick breath. What was happening here? He was standing in a full-weight tracksuit in the laundry room of a public housing complex, had just swallowed a skinhead's sperm and now wanted to get a haircut from the skinhead? Shit, how had he ended up in this situation? "I'm in 639, got beer and fags. Bring the rest, mate!"

The laundry didn't get really clean in the old washing machines. Mortimer threw everything onto his unmade bed. His apartment was a mess. But it was his home. And he was about to get a free haircut. Mortimer was rolling a cigarette when Liam knocked. He had brought the rest with him. The rest was a long hair clipper, a wet razor, shaving foam. And three buddies who couldn't wait to piss on the freshly shaved bald head.

Monday morning. Pete had asked Mo to take the missing documents to the tax office. Mo had actually worked at the tax office in the past. He knew his way around there. But he had been fired because Pete had allegedly bribed him to be gracious during the tax audit. In return, he had gotten some piercings and tattoos for free. But that was a hell of a long time ago. Now Mo was one of the most talented piercers in town. In the hottest studio in town. Actually, Mo could have afforded something better than the shabby place in the run-down high-rise complex a long time ago. But leaving his mates in the lurch? Not for the life of him!

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

Cal's change

(story: hypnogear)

(AI pics: thx to @aismoker, you have done an amazing job with those pics!)

Cal had always been disgusted by smokers. Everytime he waited for the bus to go to uni he had to breathe in that disgusting smell when a guy next to him lit up his cigarette. It was always the same guy: bald head, aggressive aura and black boots. A proper skinhead. One of these days, as Cal was waiting for the bus, the skinhead lit up his cigarette and Cal couldn’t help, but comment: “You know, it would be nice to think of the people standing next to you when you are smoking.“ He threw the skinhead a disgusted look, but he just looked at Cal with piercing eyes.

Wait. Were they glowing red? Cal shook his head. Luckily the bus was coming. But why wasn’t Cal getting on it? Why was he standing there almost paralyzed. He couldn’t move. Suddenly the skinhead was standing next to him and smirked. The cigarette was dangling from his mouth and his piercing eyes were glowing red. Then his mind went foggy. The next thing he remembers is standing in front of a warehouse.

Another skinhead was looking at him with glowing eyes “You the new recruit?“ Cal nodded. Wait, new recruit?. Why did he nod? Something was really wrong here. Cal felt his body moving into the warehouse following the skinhead. He led him into a room with a chair. Without knowing why, Cal obeyed and sat down. The door was closed and the lights went out. Suddenly a red spiral appeared in the room.

Cal was fixated. He kept watching the spiral. He didn’t even notice the smoke that was pumped into the room or his eyes starting to glow red. The only thing he focused on was the spiral and some deep voice telling him to obey and breathe in the smoke. “Let it change you. Become one of us."

Soon Cal’s eyes were nothing but red glowing spirals. He was repeating the mantra and his mind was changing. His face grew stronger, harder as he surrended to the smoke.

Soon the old Cal was gone, not a nerd anymore, but now a strong skinhead sitting in front of the red spiral. A skinhead that needed to smoke.

A few weeks later Cal had adjusted to his new lifestyle. He loved everything about it: his new family, his new clothes and the smoking.

Nowadays he waits around bus stops with his new mate.

Who knows, maybe they have already noticed you…

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

Quite The Hangover

The last one was a tad cerebral so I went a little more physical for this one! Twink to impossibly horny jock, hope y'all enjoy ! -Occam

Foggy memories slowly rise to the forefront of his mind as he pours himself a glass of water and starts a tea kettle going. He stares at the outfit on the floor in shock as it is definitely not the usual attire of the men he sleeps with. Also, why on Earth is his whole outfit here if he apparently departed before Mattie woke up?

Mattie looks down at his body as he shivers and realizes he should probably throw something on, as he continues to wake up and start to steep some green tea he notices a definite soreness start to burn within him as he finds confirmation that he definitely bottomed last night. “God that fucker better have used a condom!” He twists and turns to inspect his body before getting dressed and finds little of note besides the soreness and a sporadic bruise or two.

Mattie decides if he left his clothes here surely this man left some identifying information and despite his incredible hangover he begins to groggily sleuth through the man’s abandoned clothes. There’s a tank top and a visibly filthy jockstrap lying over the couch, Mattie grimaces and wonders what on Earth could have had him bring home someone so far outside of his standard fare. Inspecting the jockstrap further that he thoughtlessly picks up only to find it stained with pre that now similarly mars his own hands. “Eugh god what was I thinking! Clearly I wasn’t, ah-”

As he raises his voice his headache piques once more, his vision goes white and he leans against the couch for balance, hands planted on the sweaty shirt and jock. Eyes slammed shut he makes a labored return to the kitchen to grab his tea. Before anything else he needs to at least try and get back to a base level of functionality. Uncharacteristically he neglects to wash his pre-covered hands before grabbing the steaming cup. 

He begins to drink his tea holding out for any modicum of relief, psychosomatic as it may be, and as he does so he finds a pleasant warmth begin to grow within him. Not in his stomach or chest as expected though, instead it starts to spread outward from the soreness in his ass before it begins to surge in waves into his crotch. Mattie grunts as a strange powerful pleasure begins to overcome him. His hangover immediately disappears as he sets down his cup of tea to palm his crotch.

He feels as his cock pulses with the waves of pressure surging from within him. It immediately pulses into the hardest erection Mattie can recall. His cock struggles against his briefs as they feel tighter than they have ever been before, almost as if they’re fully sizes too small. He moans loudly before covering his mouth with his other hand, absentmindedly getting this mystery man’s pre all over his face, impossible to miss as its odor begins to overload his mind, this pleasure, this warmth is the only thing that matters to him.

The sound of a tear rings throughout the room as his cock grows beyond its containment. Mattie falls to the floor as he is overcome by pleasure beyond reason resounding in mind from every corner of his body as his balls swell and pull up and he shoots a load larger than should be possible onto the kitchen floor. His eyes flutter and roll back as he returns to unconsciousness once more, lying in a pool on the floor as a warmth grows deeper within him and begins to work its influence on him.

As he lies there he dreams of a man's beard scratching his face at a bar as they make out. He feels his body leaning against this larger man, sweaty muscle rubbing against his smaller body. He feels something start to soak his shorts as he looks down to find himself sitting in the man's lap as pre began to pool. Street lights pass overhead as he pulls a behemoth in the direction of his apartment, arm straining as two two stumble towards their destination.

Mattie wakes up on the cold kitchen floor groaning as the heat has decidedly been replaced by a pervasive soreness, he stretches still face down on the floor feeling his torso slide on something wet and he feels a cock much weightier than it should be bump against the floor. He promptly rolls over and looks at his crotch, finally prescient enough to see that it has indeed expanded in every regard. He blushes and looks down at it, dumbstruck that he now has pipe large enough to put any man he’s been with to shame. Not only that but he suddenly has pubes thicker and darker than they ever should be. He had just shaved before going out had he not?

He continues to inspect his crotch, though his eyes do not notice the treasure trail that grows well into his torso. Instead his mind is suddenly preoccupied as a memory emerges, he has seen a cock exactly like this one. He is exactly as hung as the man he brought home last night. As soon as it does his mind is once more struck, as if a flashbang went off, and he feels the impossible weight of a hangover once more. 

He groans and stands once more, stumbling as he finds himself standing ever so slightly taller than he was before his collapse. He feels new hair scratch between his thighs as his pubes begin to thicken and fan out even further from his crotch. On the other side his ass has clearly grown significantly plumper while he was conked out on the floor. Hidden from his eyes he does not see the forest of hair that is absolutely pouring out of his crack and rising up his back. He even scratches at his expanded butt, though notices nothing out of the ordinary beyond a pleasurable itch.

He slams his hand against the wall, struggling to find the switch as his arm swings at a distinctly different angle than he’s accustomed to. After a few attempts each with more force than the last he finally gets the lights, his eyes take time to adjust and as they do he stumbles against the wall in shock. His soreness immediately makes sense as he sees a body that has spent more time in the gym in a week than he has in his life entire. 

He sees as his chest grows weighter, tracing desperate patches of hair from where he laid in his own cum as the anxiety of his changed body begins to force heat through him once more. He inspects his face as he sees patchy stubble begin to poke out where he spread the mystery man’s pre earlier. His upper lip itches and tingles beyond reason as a mustache bursts out of his perpetually clean shaven face.

 His jaw begins to sharpen underneath and he grunts to hear a deeper voice reverberate through him. He stretches his shoulders as he feels them uncomfortably pull against the wall behind him, they spread larger as he does and he mouth tries to form a cocky smirk as he takes his body in before the shock and stress return anew. He twitches as his body forces him into a standing crunch as abdominal muscles push out of his ‘til now formless core as his pubes stray thicker towards and above his stomach. 

It has to be that guy, maybe it’s an STD or something. It’s gotta be an uh, hallucination or something for sure. He tries to find any reasonable excuse for what’s happening to him, doing so though his mind begins to grow foggy as rationality becomes an increasingly difficult target to hit. Each new thought, every attempt to find reason, to press onward, to remember who he is falls flat as his anxiety triggers an all too pleasurable to ignore feeling in his crotch. 

“No urgh, not again…” He grunts out, each word deeper than the last as he slides down to the floor, his thicker ass and thighs cushioning his fall as the scratch of his tiled wall sends pangs of intense desire into his mind. As he lies there trying not to touch his surging crotch as his balls demand attention, an image appears in his mind. He sees the face of the man- He strains to focus his attention to the image, doing so only increases his lust before he notices. Wait, is that? Is that not his face?

He feels stubble scratch his hand as he rubs his sharper jawline, one all too similar to the man in his mind's eye. He feels a pang of something deep within him besides the lust, something crying out and encouraging him not to give in. Though how can one voice win out when everything else in his body compels him to seek pleasure. What a simple act to follow as well, his cock hanging in the air in front of him, if he just hammers out a quick one he can get right back to uh, what was he doing? 

He stares hungrily at his pulsing dick, seeing pre stream down it in a fashion it has never done before. Or has it? He sees countless jockstraps soiled flash behind his eyes as if it is indeed a regular occurrence. He motions to give in, but before even laying a hand on his cock he loses control once more, shooting load after load onto himself, staining his hair as his mind goes totally numb to the pleasure. His eyes go dark once more as but a moment passes.

He remembers lying on top of this massive man on his couch. He sees a smirk on his face and Mattie reflexively matches it in the present. He sees the man’s cock surge just as his has done oh so many times this morning alone. He sees himself sitting on it as he recalls going at it for what seems like forever. Before he is simply back in his bathroom.

He towels off his mess neglecting to see his hair has pulled into something far shorter and more masc than he ever would choose and his beard has filled out outright. He feels the burning on his chest shift to something more soothing, instilling him with confidence alongside his insatiable lust. Hair grows dense and dark across his whole body and he barely catches himself before he starts drooling at his own reflection.

He remembers he had something important to do this morning, he disrobes of his torn underwear as he leaves the bathroom to see a jock lying on the couch. He isn’t sure if it’s his or uh, whose else would it be yeah? He guesses he must have laid these out for himself right? He throws them on before hearing his phone chime. Oh duh, surely if it’s something important he would have set a reminder yeah?

He struggles to remember his phone password as his mind grows sluggish, finding the pace at which he is to think at from now on. He holds it up to his face and it immediately opens, deep in his subconscious this bothers him though as he is greeted to a twink's nudes he can’t find it within him to be bothered by anything. He gets a text from some trade looking guy named Lou. “Sup Bro!!! Hows it hangin this morning lol”

Matt can’t help but smirk as he clicks to see an image of his bro’s cock, as hard and familiar as his own. He laughs as he realizes that he somehow had forgotten his #1 fuckbuddy. He feels a lust begin to grow within him and realizes that evermore his hunger can never truly leave his mind. He texts back immediately, any memories of who he once was streaming out of his mind as pre spills in his already stained jock, “kinda hard already bro, u wanna go find a twink to tagteam” 

Not too far away Lou stares at a perfect partner for them both, a twink tearing up, having just been stood up for brunch. Lou shambles his way, struggling to walk straight as he makes his way over to an easy fuck, texting, “b over in five dude, hope your ready to have another bro lol”

Not too far away Lou stares at a perfect partner for them both, tearing up having just been stood up for brunch. Lou shambles his way, struggling to walk straight as he makes his way over to an easy fuc, texting, “b over in five dude, hope youre ready to have another bro lol”

Matt struggles to keep himself together as the thought sets his passion aflame. This finale message sends one last rush of turmoil in his mind. What exactly does Lou mean by that, another bro? He sits there unaware he’s subconsciously crossing one last threshold. Before any further moment can be spent however he burps and tastes cum, which sends him spiraling, awash with lust and pleasure, laughing at the idea of Lou bringing someone home for the two of them. He alights to get the apartment ready for company before guffawing and remembering he couldn’t care less for appearances, he just sits and waits on the couch. Staring at the door eager to bring another overthinking man into his world reigned only by an insatiable lust.

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

Skater Stench

Inspired by Anon Ask

Clay was walking to work on an empty street, looking down at his phone he suddenly saw in the corner of his eye someone quickly moving towards him. All of a sudden, just as he was looking up from his phone, some dude on a skateboard crashed right into him knocking the both of them down. As the skater bro laid right on top of him Clay heard the guy start profusely apologizing, “Oh my gawd duuude im so sorry like I wasnt paying attention at all!”. Getting up first the skater held out his hand to help Clay up to his feet, looking down at himself Clay realized that his outfit was ruined from the fall. As the skater pulled him up Clay began to berate the guy, “How stupid could you be?! Some of us have actual responsibilities like work and I cant show up looking like this!”, etc etc. The skater obviously annoyed that Clay was getting so heated over an accident tried to apologize again, “Look man I am real sorry I-” Clay cut him off “I dont care if you’re sorry! How exactly do you plan on fixing this?!” The skater tried one last time to amend the situation “Look we got off on the wrong foot Im Apollo.” he held out his hand inviting Clay to shake his hand. Clay pushed Apollo's hand down and again just was insulting and berating the guy. Tired of this douchebag yelling at him Apollo furrowed his brows and pushed Clay back down to the ground. Falling on his ass Clay yelled out “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!?!”, Apollo responded “Dude you definitely need a reality check, i'm just helping give it to you”. Quickly turning around so that Clay was looking right at Apollo’s ass, Clay was assaulted with the stench of Apollo’s obviously unwashed ass “You smell so fou-” “PPPPPPFFFFBBBBBBBTTTTTTTT” Apollo interrupted Clay with a boisterous butt blast. “What….the…fuuuuuuuuck…” Clay said as the eggy stench that Apollo just shot into his face began to make him feel weird. Clay heard as Apollo said “Sorry man but I really think you need this” “FFFFRRRRTTT” another gust was inhaled by Clay. “...this…feels……wrong…” Clay was having an even harder time speaking than before. Turning back around and squatting to get face to face with him, Apollo held Clays head in place and told him “Look bro im gonna change you okay? You are gonna be waaaaay more chill once im done” Apollo watched as Clay gently nodded his head. “PPPPPPFFFBBBTTT” Apollo let out another fart and watched as Clay’s light brown pupil turned into swirling green spirals.

“Good boy” Apollo cooed out to Clay. “Skaters enjoy farting out rank clouds of gas, its the funniest thing to us” “FRAAAP” Clay felt as his nose began to like the fetid smell that was filling the air around the two boys. “Skaters don't mind getting knocked down, it’s part of skating” Clay felt as his anger and annoyance towards the fact the Apollo knocked him off his feet quickly rushed out of him. “FRAAAAP” those feelings quickly rushed out of his ass, producing a disgusting stench Clay would have normally been grossed out by but for some reason he found the meaty smelling fart humorous. “Skaters dont mind wearing ripped up and distressed clothes, in fact they like it” “FRAAAAP” Clay suddenly felt that his clothes were actually pretty cool, his temper would no longer rise if he was seen in ripped up clothes. “Skaters like spending their days skating and fucking other skater bros, its the best way to live” “FRAAAP” Clay’s mind grew lighter as his previous responsibilities evaporated into a smelly fart and were replaced with the desire to waste his days skating around and making his skater bros feel maximum amounts of pleasure. “Skaters are dumb mindless idiots whose brains have been replaced with their own ass stank” “BRRRRAAAAAPPPPP” Clay watched as Apollo recoiled due to the malodorous fart Clay just produced, feeling even more light headed than ever Clay began uncontrollably chuckling, “huhuhuhuhuhuh…” Apollo stood up and held out his hand and helped Clay up to his feet. Letting out one last fart Apollo watched as Clay’s eyes returned back to normal and he stood there with a goofy grin on his face. “How you feeling bro?” Apollo asked, “huhuh I feel… BRAAAP- sniff sniff gooood” Clay chuckled out. “What are you doin today duuuude?” Apollo questioned Clay, “Uhhhhhh skating…duhhhh…what else would I pfffbbbtt be doin?”

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

The Grind

Todd really did enjoy working from home. He loved the perks of getting to roll right out of bed when his alarm went off, and he loved not being stuck in traffic every morning and evening on his commute. But recently, he was starting to feel like he couldn't focus. It was important to him to succeed at this job, so he could keep rising in the ranks at his ad agency, but there were too many distractions that weren't allowing him to prove himself: chores to do, food to eat, noise from his neighbors. Dear God, the noise!

The window of his home office opened right out onto the alley behind his apartment. It was summer, so he needed the windows open in order to snag that cross breeze and keep from boiling to death, but the teenage skaters that seemed to swarm the alley during summer break were out and about in full force.

He tapped his chin with his pen, trying to come up with a good word that a cat might use to describe the delicious new treats Todd's client was going to feed him, but he found himself distracted yet again by the noise from the skaters outside. He wondered how they didn't get bored, with their endlessly repetitive roster of lame-ass tricks that all sounded the same.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

That's all Todd heard all day, over and over, with metronomic regularity. If he could harness one-tenth of the passion that these burnouts used when trying to learn ollies or whatever, he would be CEO within the week.

God, if only. He felt like he was working himself to the bone, with no results. A mighty headache was threatening to rear up and throttle his brain, too. He had been chugging Pedialyte, hoping to at least make it to the end of his shift. If he used even one sick day, he worried he'd seem like a slacker who wasn't committed.

OK, staring at his laptop screen wasn't working. He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. Sometimes physically writing things down helped his creative juices flow. He tapped his pen on his chin with a maniacal rat-a-tat rhythm. It didn’t help. He sighed and hung his head in his hands. He just wanted to rise in the ranks. To get a better life for himself. Why was this so difficult?

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Todd tapped his pen on his chin more slowly. Was it just him, or were the skaters kind of perfectly timing their tricks? It sounded almost like the percussion on one of his favorite classical compositions. He strained to listen.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Yeah, there was definitely a meter to the noises, so precise that his brain felt like it could slot perfectly into them. He realized the predictability of the noise would be beneficial in terms of helping him ignore the skaters and focus back on work. As long as he internalized the rhythm, it would just fade into the background.

He pulled the paper toward him and began tapping with fresh vigor, trying to let the noise sink into the back of his brain.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The sound was still present, but it was already becoming more like a gentle hum he was only vaguely aware of.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

That’s right. He felt the noise begin to flow through him. It was just like living in an apartment by the freeway, he thought. You can ignore any noise if it becomes familiar enough.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Familiar… Familiar… Family! He scribbled on his notepad. “Your cat is a part of the family…” He sucked on the end of his pen. He couldn’t figure out what to put next, but it was a start. He stared at the paper for what felt like another ten minutes, continuously drawing a blank. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck, that headache was building again. He knew he was only feeling bad because of stress, but how was he supposed to de-stress when he had a deadline? He stared at the paper intensely, willing words to appear on it.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

A particularly loud thud jolted Todd out of his reverie. Fuck, he was getting jumpy. Maybe he should take a ten minute break. As soon as he figured out the end of this tagline. He sucked on the end of his pen once more, but as he did so, something weird happened. There must have been a hole in the clicker of his pen, because he felt it break open, releasing a hot, gaseous substance into his mouth.

He gasped in surprise, accidentally forcing the gas into his lungs, which began to feel like they were burning. He gave a panicky cough and a plume of smoke trailed weakly from his mouth. What the fuck? He closely inspected his pen, but everything looked totally normal. Perhaps the end was a little damp from him sucking on it. But he saw nothing that explained what had just happened to him.

The burning sensation still tickled his lungs, but it was quickly mellowing into something… something quite nice, actually. His toes felt a little tingly, and a sense of calm washed over him. He felt his muscles relax somewhat as he slumped back into his chair. His headache was even receding a bit. If he could get it to go away entirely, maybe he could finally finish…

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Yeah, fuck it. He was gonna try again. He put the end of the pen in his mouth and took another deep breath. Once more, the top of the pen opened up and expelled smoke, which he took into his lungs and held there, enjoying the warming sensation before blowing it out in a tight stream.

That’s the ticket. He felt the headache recede entirely. He finally felt well and truly relaxed. He flipped his hoodie up over his head and drew the drawstrings. Wait, he hadn’t been wearing a hoodie, had he? Fuck it, he didn’t care. He was now warm and cozy, inside and out. He felt better than he had in a long time.

But it was still too hot under the hood. It felt right to be wearing it, even in summer somehow, but he could feel sweat glistening on his forehead. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, but he still felt himself grow hotter and hotter, yet strangely lazy and unwilling to actually do something about it because he was SO relaxed.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He began to sweat so much that his perfectly coiffed hair started to wilt, dangling down in front of his eyes. It then just… kept going. It extended down over his face to the point that he thought the sweaty strands might poke him in the eyes. His normal instinct would have been to sweep it back, but in his addled state, he instead gave a practiced flick of the head, gathering the hair at one side. The color began to change from a strawlike dirty blond, to brunette, to dark brown, to a black so concentrated it must have been dyed. But he never dyed his hair, had he? He liked being a natural blonde.

Fuck, it was SO hot. Why had he chosen to wear this hoodie? A memory blossomed of him putting it on that morning. Well, of course he had worn this hoodie. It was his favorite hoodie. He wore it every day, whatever the weather. Sure, he could do to wash it. It stank of sweat and pot smoke, but it was his and he loved it.

He needed to cool down something fierce, though. He made a move to pull the hoodie off from around his head, but his hands unconsciously ignored his intention, opting to flip up the collar of his open button-down instead. As he adjusted the collar to look perfectly mussed and careless, the material of the shirt turned coarse and thick as it became a battered denim jacket.

He was totally unaware that he hadn’t perfectly executed his plan, still feeling relaxed and a little fuzzy from his vape pen. That’s what it was, of course. A vape pen. He wasn’t sure why he'd thought it was an actual pen, like for writing. He chuckled softly. Suddenly, being confused about things felt like it came more naturally to him, somehow. At first, he was confused about that, but then he wasn’t. Being confused isn’t confusing, is it? Is that confusing? Shaking his head and laughing, he took another hit off his vape pen and blew a perfect smoke ring, letting the warm fuzziness flow through him.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He decided to return to his brainstorming. Although he was hot and not entirely clear-headed, he felt a burst of creative energy all of a sudden. He began to scribble on the notepad, working furiously as sweat began to pool on his forehead once more. He only noticed when it began to trickle down his face, tickling his cheeks and dripping from his chin onto the page. He scrubbed his face with his hand, not noticing that, as he did so, the hairs of his neatly trimmed beard were wiped entirely away, vanishing into thin air.

As he continued to scribble, his newly clean-shaven face grew pockmarked and yet more youthful and supple at the same time. His mustache, the only thing unaffected, began to recede into his upper lip, slowly shrinking back until it was just a dotting of stubble that suggested he’d been trying to grow one out but this was as far as he ever got. As if to compensate, his eyebrows thickened, darkening to a deep brown that better matched (but not entirely) his new hair color. He didn’t even notice the dark black strands hanging down over his eyes anymore, or the careful flick of his head that he gave periodically when he needed to concentrate.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The warmth around his head eventually made him feel sleepy and dull, and he couldn’t stop yawning. So, after a couple more minutes, he sat back and looked at the perfect tagline he’d been working on, only to realize that he’d just been doodling little cartoons all around the edge of the page instead of actually focusing on work.

“Dude, get a grip,” he said out loud. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dude? Since when did he say dude?

He decided to take a break, cool down, and grab a Perrier sparkling water. Returning from his fridge with the green bottle, he unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig. His tongue was suddenly awash with the taste of sugary battery acid, and he had to fight not to spit it out. What the…?

He looked down and saw that he had accidentally grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew, not Perrier. He didn’t remember buying Mountain Dew, but maybe his nephew had left one behind when he had come to visit last? He thought about going back to the fridge to swap out the drinks, but it suddenly seemed so far away. And now that he knew what flavor to expect, the taste wasn’t all that bad, actually.

He took another swig of the soda, the sugary concoction lighting up his insides.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

His skin began to feel itchy. Was he having an allergic reaction to the soda? He lifted up the hem of his hoodie and scratched at his stomach. As he did so, he felt the light blonde hairs of his treasure trail wriggling back into their follicles, leaving him perfectly smooth. What the fuck?

Finally, the shock of what he had just felt pierced his newfound love for the hoodie and he ripped it off, along with the denim jacket. He rushed into the bathroom, arriving in front of the mirror just in time to see his sparse blonde chest hair receding back into his skin. He ripped off his chinos as well, panicking as he saw the hairs on his legs vanishing into thin air. He did a quick 360 and checked in his underwear, noting that the only hair that remained on his entire body was his pubic hair and armpit hair, both of which seemed thicker than usual and were quickly darkening to a deep brown as though they were in a time-lapse video.

He watched this happen in horror, but even with his hoodie off, his head still felt warm and sleepy. His senses felt dulled, and he struggled to think of what he could possibly do next. He began to breathe faster in his panic, his belly jiggling slightly as he did so. Breathe. Jiggle. Breathe. Jiggle. Breathe… Nothing.

As he watched, his soft tummy had begun to recede as well, revealing cobblestone abs like the tide pulling out over a rock formation. His doughy chest began to firm up as well, shrinking into a pair of lean pecs, his round nipples shrinking and popping out from their perches on the hardened mounds as soon as they were finished forming.

“Holy shit, dude, I’m ripped!” he said, letting the slang tumble breezily out of his mouth without a second thought while he rubbed his abs with both hands. The ridges of his stomach made his fingers tingle and his arms shrank, lean muscles emerging from the surface while his legs followed suit, the thighs shrinking into the perfect fit for skinny jeans - where had that thought come from? - while his calf muscles rippled and stretched, their new bulging shape accentuated by his hairless, pale skin.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

Todd felt the noise from the alley reverberate around his head. It sounded like someone out there must have fucked up a crooked grind real bad. ‘Gnarly,’ he thought, imagining how much pain they must be in. His mental image grew more and more clear and vivid. Somebody falling onto the asphalt on their elbows.

He felt a slash of pain across his elbows and held them up, seeing red in the mirror before it faded into a pair of scarred, scabbed patches that he felt like had always been there. He returned to his reverie. Somebody skinning their knee after narrowly avoiding hitting a tree. Another slash of pain and the skin on his knee suddenly looked knobbly, like it was still healing.

As potent mental images flitted one by one through his brain, scars and scrapes began to dot his body. Slash, slash. Two more long scars on the left knee. Slash. A long red scrape along his right pec that looked dope as hell. Slam. His palms became pockmarked and gravel-scraped.

Not even noticing the pain anymore as his skin toughened and ever-so-slightly tanned, he stood up straight to his full height, admiring the effect of his newfound musculature. He was too busy trying (and failing) to pop his skinny pecs to notice that his “full height” was a couple inches shorter than it used to be.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The sound of the skaters outside brought him back to the present. Wasn't he supposed to be doing something, other than checking himself out in the mirror? He got dressed, throwing his hoodie and jacket back on. He could have sworn he’d been wearing a different pair of pants earlier, but all he found crumpled on the bathroom floor was his favorite pair of joggers. Oh well, he threw them on too.

He was halfway out the door when he remembered he was supposed to be doing something at home. Where the hell did he think he was going? He shook his head, trying to remember. He still felt sleepy and slow, his thoughts inching along as he tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

He reached into his pocket for his vape pen and realized he’d left it on his desk. His desk! That’s what he was doing! He was still on the clock! He needed to work!

He wandered over to his desk, took a drag from the vape, and stared in consternation at the notepad in front of him.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He knew he was supposed to care about this dumb shit about cat food or whatever, but he really wasn’t feeling it. Something in the back of his mind told him that he’d get money if he finished it though, so he decided to give it a shot. He sat back in his chair and found himself falling, the chair’s seat vanishing beneath him. Before he hit the ground, however, he was caught with a soft flump in a squishy, slick mound.

He looked down and saw that he was in a beanbag chair. Something was wrong here. He could feel his brain slowly whirring. Was it the chair? No, it’s the one he’d brought from home when he moved in. He saw his initials carved crudely into the fabric on his right side.

What was wrong, then? Was it his desk? No, he didn’t have a desk, did he? He looked up and saw his entertainment unit in front of him, his XBOX still glowing green because he’d forgotten to turn it off earlier. No, all that looked normal.

So what was wrong? Was it the fact that he was worrying about money?

Whirrrrrrr-thud

His parents paid for whatever shit he wanted as long as he kept his community college grades up, so there was no need to worry.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

No need to worry at all, really. About anything. Or think, even. He barely ever went to class. He just wanted to hang with his friends at the skate park. But as long as he flirted with his professors the right way, he passed with flying colors. He was a studied flirt, even if he wasn’t a studied anything else.

Anyway, his parents would let him drop out once he proved he could make money as an X Games champion. He rubbed his dick through his joggers, not noticing as it plumped up a few extra inches while he fantasized about all the tail he’d get once he was a skateboarding champion with endorsement deals and shit.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

No, he had all the money he needed. He just wished he was 21 already, so he could buy weed for himself at the dispensary. Then everything would be perfect. Just two more years, he reminded himself. He could survive on stealing shit from his older brother's stash at home until then.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Todd leaned back in the beanbag and reveled in that sound. His favorite sound. He loved it so much. He never wanted to stop hearing it. With his eyes closed, he didn’t notice the rest of the room change around him. The tasteful Pier One art being swapped out for posters of busty babes and retro Tony Hawk video games sloppily scotch taped onto the walls. The cream-colored couch he’d saved up for was now scuffed, stained orange in patches from crushed Cheeto dust, and stank of weed.

The wall that formerly held potted plants was now devoted to a rack of the sickest custom boards anyone had ever seen. Not that he’d made any of them, he didn’t have time for that shit. He just paid other people to bring his dope-ass ideas to life.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

Todd was rubbing his dick absent-mindedly again and came in his underwear. Fuck. He hadn’t prematurely ejaculated in months, now. As he changed his underwear, leaving the cum-drenched boxers on the floor by the beanbag, he worried about doing that in front of a babe he wanted to score.

He needn’t have worried. Todd didn’t know it, but he would never have worries again. Inside that underwear, which would remain on the floor forgotten for the next two weeks, contained the last vestiges of his previous life, expelled through pure pleasure at the life he got to live now. What he left behind was a person he would never remember and who he would shudder to think had even existed in the first place.

No, he was destined for a dope life. In a clean pair of underwear and his favorite kicks, he wandered his way into the back alley, watching his friends Tate and Landon practicing tricks while offering them tips and taking a hit off his vape. The grind was over for Todd now, though that word already meant something entirely different to him at this point.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

Hotel room: filthy chav tf

It was an imposition. An absolute imposition. Having to spend the night in a youth hostel was unbelievable. But in a triple room? Without your own bathroom? Using a communal shower room? That had to be a joke. Yes, his company had to cut costs. There was a new travel policy that banned five-star hotels and business class flights. All well and good. But a youth hostel?!?!?!?!! He called the travel agency and insulted his colleague in the worst possible way. She just replied dryly that everything else was fully booked because of the trade fair and that she had even written Alexander an e-mail asking if the booking was okay. And he had replied with a curt "yes". Unfortunately, there was nothing more she could do, he was still on the waiting list for two hotels. But if there was no answer by now…

Alexander moved into his room. It smelled like a lad's changing room in a community school on a council estate. Of course, he had no idea what it smelled like. But that's how he imagined the stench. Without greeting or acknowledging the teenager lying on the bed playing with his cell phone, Alexander went to the window and pulled it open. "Oi, did someone crap in yer head, mate? Shut that window, innit?" the chav yelled at him. "I don't understand a word you're saying," Alexander replied and began to unpack his suitcase. I don't know how the chav could live like this, he thought to himself. He needed order. He then changed into his bedding, which he saw as a further humiliation, and lay down on the bed. The chav was listening to music so loud that Alexander could clearly hear the bass. He found it more than annoying. But he tried to ignore it. He put on his headset and called his fiancée. Alexander assumed that the chav lying in the bed above him couldn't hear anything, as loud as he was listening to music. So he complained without a care in the world and blasphemed about the young man with the disturbed relationship to personal hygiene and the impossible haircut. "Honey, I have to stop, I have to get out of here and have lunch somewhere civilized." Alexander ended his phone call. He looked up. And he was looking at a dirty white sock.

"Oi, I'm Callum, but me mates call me Cal. So you call me Callum. Did ya just say my smell's botherin' ya? I thought posh gits like you love the scent of real man's feet." Alexander almost threw up. Without saying anything, he jumped up, grabbed his coat and left the room. He had a lunch date with an old school friend at a trendy steak restaurant. It was supposed to distract him and save the evening as much as possible. As he stood in the subway, he wondered what the devil had possessed him not to take a cab. It smelled almost as bad here as in his hotel room. Suddenly he realized that the smell was coming from his armpits. Damn, had he forgotten the deodorant this morning? The journey seemed like an eternity. People wrinkled their noses. My God, that was embarrassing. In the restaurant, he went to the toilet first, wet a towel, took off his shirt and jacket and wiped his armpits. In the stress, he didn't even notice that instead of a white microfiber undershirt with a V-neck, he was wearing a worn-out, yellowed fine rib undershirt. The waiter eyed him a little disparagingly as he brought him to his table. His friend was already sitting there and stood up to greet him. Alexander gave him a fist bump. His friend looked irritated and returned the greeting. "My best man, what kind of ghetto attitudes are these? At least it goes with your casual footwear." Alexander looked at the floor. He was wearing rather expensive-looking sneakers. And white socks. He stammered something about a suitcase that had gone missing and that he'd been a bit stressed. His friend grinned a little disparagingly and poured Alexander a glass of red wine.

The conversation was somehow wooden. Marcus told stories from their school days. But Alexander couldn't remember any of them. The wine was quite tasty, the steak was too rare for him, but he didn't dare complain. With lots of ketchup, it was fine. When the waiter asked if he should pour more wine, Alexander replied with his mouth full "Oi mate, gimme a big beer, yeah? And some mayo with them chips." The rest of the meal passed in silence. All you could hear was Alexander smacking his lips. And after he had finished, a loud and passionate burp. Marcus looked horrified at first. Then he laughed uproariously and burped at least as loudly. "Blimey, mate! That was a good one. Now off for a fag and a fart outside?" "You can proper bet on it, mate. Got a spare cig for us?".

Marcus and Alexander had to put their last few pounds together to pay. The waiter looked disgustedly at the stale bills. "You got a problem, mate? Our money not good enough for ya? What's it gonna take for a blowie, eh? Would ya prefer that?" Alexander could barely stop Marcus from starting a fight with the waiter. He waved for security. A few minutes later, the two chavs were thrown out the back exit.

The evening was still young. Alex called Cal to see if he would like to have a beer in the pub at the youth hostel and watch the game. Cal replied that he had just taken a punter up to the room and had to fuck him first. Blimey, Cal was always lucky. Mack suggested he stand by the mess hall exit. Maybe you could pick up a customer there too. Alex looked in his wallet. He was broke again. He could do with a few pounds. They had at least managed to scrounge two fags from a passer-by. The evening was off to a good start. And at some point it would end with a hot threesome in their room.

Pics found @maennersneakersockenfuesseskins and @belgiquecuir

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

Ugh, I Hate Bongs.

Switching it up slightly! Here's a more subtle TF as a straight edge busybody finally tries to stick it to his stoner roommate. -Occam

Chris was not going to let his roommate smoke in their apartment anymore. He was tired of the couch smelling like smoke which is reason enough, but beyond that his roommate, Nate, had fully broken two broken two bongs getting ashy water all over the work Chris had left out in the den. Hearing a telltale gurgle coming from the living room could only mean Nate had now brought a third bong into their shared space. Chris felt almost bound to act.

As soon as he opens his bedroom door he feels a wave of thick smoke blow through him, clearly getting the skunky smell he hates so much all over his clothes and bedding. This was something Chris could not let stand. It’s bad enough that he’s doing this in the apartment at all now it’s now going to start seeping into the only place he had left. He sees Nate on the couch taking in a deep breath preparing to lay into him. But? What was he mad about anyway?

Standing there continuing to breathe in smoke from Nate’s session he remembers there was definitely something he needed to do. He was in his room, then he heard his roommate, and now he is in the living room? As he continues to aimlessly circle through these seemingly insignificant events he doesn’t even notice as he stops smelling the weed in the air, before seeing Nate take another massive bong hit on the couch. Seeing him out of his room Nate smiles, breathing another wave of smoke into the room.

“Yo dude! Are you coming to join?” Nate’s eyes are bleary and red as he offers the bong and lighter to his roommate.

That’s what it was, Chris remembers as he sees the bong. He was pissed that his roommate was using a bong! It was, annoying for some reason? I mean it looks a little dirty right? “Didn’t I say no bongs dude?”

“Oh yeah dude! That’s why I rolled you a joint?”

This throws Chris for a loop. What a kind thing to do but he can’t help but feel something amiss going on. The smile briefly fades from Nate as he grows concerned seeing Chris struggle. “Woah everything good dude?”

“Yeah, sorry? My head just feels like it’s pounding,” Chris rubs his face in discomfort feeling his face grow flush and his eyes begin to dry.

“This’ll straighten you right up dude, come on just try a hit.”

Chris, upon being directly asked, puts out a hand for the joint and immediately lights it up like he has done it a thousand times over. He takes a hit like an expert, breathing slowly and naturally as to not cough. Only after doing so and realizing he had no discomfort he starts a coughing fit. Of course, he has been breathing progressively more and more smoke since stepping out of his bedroom, so this fit is almost performative. Something he is doing only because it is something he should be doing, or he thinks he should be doing? He doesn’t usually smoke, right?

This thought quickly flashes out of his head as feels lightheaded, collapsing onto the couch right next to Nate. His body growing leaner as he almost liquefies into the cushions, “See Chris what did I say, one hit and you’re already cured.” His glazed eyes look over to his friend as he takes another hit. He sees his friend’s stubbled face and wonders if he should grow one of his own. Shaving is more effort than it’s worth anyway. He exhales as he too starts to add to the pervasive smoke filling the room.

He scratches at his face as a scraggly beard starts to push out. Pausing to feel as much as he can in his body before taking another hit. Pushing his back against the couch, rubbing his arm down his chest and stomach, Nate watching as his roommate finally lets loose. Chris takes a third hit as Nate sees his hair get greasier as his pubes push out beyond the bounds of his holey underwear.

Chris launches into another coughing fit as, unbeknownst to him, he finishes the joint and starts to burn the filter. Seeing this Nate reacts as quickly as he can, clumsily putting the bong down on the table reaching out to check on Chris, rubbing his roommates back in a way that seem decidedly intimate. “Y’okay dude? Your hits were way too big but ‘s chill ‘s chill. You didn’t want any more did you?”

Sluggishly working through the words Nate just asked him he finds he doesn’t need to search for his own answer. Why wouldn’t he want more? Everything just feels so much better as he stretches, feeling his tendons and muscles expand and contract, “Mmmmm yeah I could do a little more.” Before he remembers that with his joint now impossibly consumed in three hits the only weed ready to smoke is in the bong’s bowl, still vaguely unpleasant to him.

Nate then has a masterful idea. He would shotgun the weed to Chris! Why would he be averse to that? They’re friends right? Chris, numbed beyond reason, is more than happy to give it a try. He’s sure that he's drunk after Nate before right? Or? Have they kissed before? It’s hard to tell, the benders they go on its truly impossible to say.

Chris watches as Nate takes a massive hit of the bong. Water gurgling for full seconds before he reconsiders, one last time feeling unease, he isn’t the to go on benders right? He’s so type a he wouldn’t even think about it. Continuing to question himself as he leans towards Nate, finishing his inhale as he too leans towards Chris. He opens his mouth letting the cloud of smoke leak out of his mouth, lazily gazing into Chris’ eyes expecting him to finish the job.

Seeing this Chris is unable to resist as he stumbles forward pressing his mouth to Nate’s.

Nate falls backwards, once more narrowly placing the bong on the table, as Chris crashes into him. The playful second hand smoking quickly dissolving into an aggressive grinding session as Chris hungrily slobbers over Nate’s neck. Maybe he is this type of person. Nate pulls Chris’ shirt off letting their torsos touch skin to skin as Chris begins dry humping his roommate. The two stoners continue in this regard as their cocks swiftly demand attention as sweatpants are pulled down and the two have at each other outright. Lean arms flailing in the air as they pull on each other's unwashed hair. Faces shove into hairy pits in lieu of smoking any more weed, besides of course the haze still filling the apartment. The pressure quickly mounts as Chris is inches from finishing all over his roommates’ hairy chest before he shifts and his left leg flings into the table knocking over bong number three. “Shit dude!” he cries as he does indeed finish missing Nate’s chest for his face. Coming down from their ecstasy the pair stumble off the couch narrowly avoiding glass shards as they try to clean up Chris’ mess.

“Maybe no more bongs yeah,” Chris giggles at something he can quite understand as he watches Nate struggle with a broom. His eyes shift from the unground weed on the table and his still unclad roommate as he starts to work himself up once more. Hungrily awaiting what comes next, he prepares for session two.

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

FML: Overbaked

I’m playing around with the format on these a little bit. This story has two endings, one of which is here and the other of which can be found here: FML: Underbaked

Consider this the more corruptive ending.

I’ll say up front that this one is on me. My boyfriend and I had been going steady for a while now. He was cute and smart, but after a few years he just wasn’t the kind of guy I could see myself spending the rest of my life with. Things had just gotten… bland. We hardly ever went on dates, spent most weekends apart doing our own hobbies, and sex was a bit like going through the motions. I wanted a change. So, I ordered one. A new “white noise” machine. But it did a bit more than that. You just adjusted the settings and in a few nights it could grow, shrink, age, add hair, add muscle. I think I even saw a setting for a gender flip. It cost a pretty penny but I figured it would be worth it. I ran it for a while with no settings, just so he would get used to it. But, when I had a business trip that was going to take me out of town for the weekend, I figured it was a perfect time to see what it could do.

Before I left I opened the hidden panel and decided to start pretty simple. I would just program it to make him bigger. More buff, more masculine, maybe a bit more dominant. Could be a nice change to get taken care of when I got back. I dialed in the knobs, said my goodbyes, and flew off for the weekend. Meanwhile, back at home, my sweet boyfriend dozed and grew, none the wiser to his changes. And there were some changes. By the time I flew in Sunday night, a whole new man was there to greet me.

“Hey babe, you miss me?” In just a few days he had ballooned in size. His biceps were thick, easily picking me up into an embrace. His pecs were strong and juicy as I held onto them while gazing in his eyes. His kiss was strong and assertive, as he slipped his tongue in my mouth. He tasted like whiskey and smelled like fresh cut sandalwood. And his cock was girthy, as I felt it slowly swell and press up against me. I gave in as he pushed me down to the bed and unbuttoned his jeans. My pants were on the floor in a moment as I laid back in just my jockstrap, ready to receive him.

He pulled me down to the end of the bed, and slowly massaged my puckering hole. I don’t know if the machine somehow taught him how to handle me but as he worked is fingers inside it was so easy to relax and let him stretch me out. He replaced his fingers. I felt his cock, firm and throbbing, as it slid into me. I squeezed as I adjusted to his new size. I felt so full, but it just kept sliding in. As he began to hit my prostate a surprising moan escaped my lips.

“That’s right babe, open up for me.” He leaned in and gave me a kiss. His beard was soft, his lips pillowy. I felt every motion of his body, every little adjustment sent a throbbing through my body. “You’re so cute like this. You ready for daddy’s cock?”

I could only let out an anticipatory whimper as he slowly began thrusting. With one hand he caressed my torso, the other he held my shoulders in place. I was anchored down as he picked up steam. Soon both hands were on my shoulders as he put his weight behind the thrusts. I tried to tell him to slow down, but something about how assertive and confident he was kept the words from my lips. And then it hardly mattered, as he found my prostate and my mind dissolved. He was destroying my ass as all I could do was try not to drool all over myself. All thought was consumed by pleasure as his balls slapped heavy against my ass.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy. Your ass is so tight. Fuck it feels amazing.”

“Huuuhnuh…ahhh…uhhhhhh…fuck…meeeeee”

I could feel it coming. I tried to ride the waves of ecstasy but he was not letting up. Suddenly he inhaled sharply.

“God, I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum.” he cried. He made no signs of slowing down.

“Cum…cum in-me.” I was about to burst.

He let out a deep growl as with a final thrust he plunged into me and the floodgates opened. At the same time I saw stream after stream hit his chest. We came at the same time. Panting he ran his finger down his chest and popped a thick glob in his mouth

“Yeah, you even taste delicious.”

This time I pulled him to me, kissing his beautiful face as he slowly pulled himself out of me with a wet pop.

And that should have been it. It should have stayed that way. It was supposed to be amazing. But, somehow, life always gets complicated.

It started with work. Maybe it was a side effect. With how he carried himself, he couldn’t help but turn heads when he entered a room. He would talk about how well respected he was, how all of a sudden people gave a shit when he said something. I guess it came with the territory. But that respect turned into a promotion, and that promotion had him working later and later hours. Plus, with his new body, he had to maintain it. He spent at least two hours at the gym, lifting and running and stretching. He would come home smelling musky, and I would basically be waiting in the bedroom to suck on his sweaty cock. Those nights were some of the best. But then he made friends, gym bros to hang out with, and he would get home well into the night, too tired to do much but watch TV before passing out. Then, my work project turned south at the end of the year. Our client was furious and I had to fly out almost every other weekend to some meeting to plead for time or try to get the project back on track. It felt like we just kept missing each other.

“I know it’s been hard to manage time but can we please have this weekend,” he begged one Thursday night, “I miss you. I miss us.”

I sighed, “I can’t. We just have to make it to the spring when we launch and it should be good. But until then I have to keep up with these clients.”

“I know, I know but can’t they send someone else?” He came in close and began to stroke my hair, “I need my good little boy here.”

I flushed and turned away, “You know I’ve been working for years to close this project out. I can’t just leave it when we are this close to the finish line.”

He looked hurt, “So instead you’re just leaving me behind?”

I snapped my head back to his, “You’re one to talk. I feel like I haven’t seen you in months. One promotion and suddenly you want to lecture me on my career? Plus all the time you spend with your gym buds. Enjoying the sauna together?” The moment I said it I knew I crossed the line

“…I’m going to bed.” He slammed the bedroom door behind him.

“BABE! No, that’s not what I meant. Please-” I jiggled the locked handle. No response. Dejected, I turned towards the couch, collecting what throw pillows and little blankets I could.

I tossed and turned all night, yet when I woke up he had already slipped out without a word. I wandered back to the bedroom and tried to find solace in the shower. Warm water ran down my back as mulled over the prior evening. When did things get so tough? It felt like just yesterday we were just some freshly graduated kids, now we hardly saw our friends or each other, just crunched all day at the office. Things back then were so… simple. That’s it! I shut off the water and quickly dried off. In the bedroom sat the machine. We had kept using it just for the white noise. Worked like a charm, who knew? It may have been what caused all this, but maybe it held a solution. There was the knob I was looking for: simple. I took it and cranked it up. I needed change and I really needed it quick. Two nights would perfect. If it was anything like last time, by the time I am back Sunday night this could all be solved. I threw a bag together for my trip and went off to the airport. Today I would give him space, and by tomorrow I had a hunch the problem would practically solve itself…

I woke up the next day, groggy from the flight and meetings yesterday. I was not looking forward to another full day today. Just then, my phone buzzed next to me. A text came through from my boyfriend:

got a long day ahead babe. miss u 😘

He looked so… care free. There wasn’t a bag under his eyes. And he never just texted to say he missed me. He never seemed to have time. Seeing him with his arm frown back and that stupid little smirk got me going more than I expected it to. I texted back:

I miss you too. I hope you aren’t too bogged down with meetings today. Love ❤️

He responded: no meeting’s, boss had a safety talk last week. just work

Safety talk? Whatever, I’m sure he would be fine. Probably one of those cyber security talks from the 2000’s. Either way, I couldn’t dwell on it too long. Had to get ready for this team meeting.

The weekend was a blur. Meeting, crunch, eat repeat for two days straight. I hardly had time for myself, much less checking in on my boyfriend’s progress. But he seemed to be coming along nicely, and I could surmise a bit. His stressful job in engineering had been replaced with construction site manager, then just a regular blue-collar worker. His texts had become more casual, and when I talked with him for a few minutes Sunday morning he was kicking back with some friends having a beer. He even took a nap Sunday afternoon, speeding him along maybe a little further than I would have liked. He sent me this text when he woke up as I was on my way to the airport:

Mmm, I miss u, gonna need ass when ur back

The next text was just a picture of his rigid cock. I chuckled a bit. I definitely had gone a bit too far but we could adjust that later.

I miss you too babe. You should probably get up. I’ll be home in a few hours and you can have me then 😉

Little did I know.

I hopped out of my cab and began working through airport security. I made it to my gate with plenty of time to spare. While I had made it to the gate, the plane, evidently had not. Winds and snow out of the northwest had delayed it. It was supposed to be an hour delay. But as one became two, the storm system had moved south.

Passengers of flight AM267, we regret to inform you that your flight has been delayed. With the current storm system, we are not projecting to be able to leave till tomorrow at 8:47am. On behalf-

I tuned out as my mind began to race. Tomorrow? That would throw off my whole work week! And the product launch would have to be delayed even further if I’m not there…

I began crunching the numbers on how far back this would set us as I hopped on a shuttle to the nearest hotel. With the sudden influx, it took a few hours before I was checked into my economy room next to the elevator. I had made the necessary calls to my team letting them know about the situation and… oh shit. I didn’t even call my boyfriend! He’s probably still waiting up for me. Quickly I fired off a text letting him know what was up. The day had been exhausting, I wouldn’t be up for much tonight anyways. I didn’t even change out of my jeans as I passed out on my bed.

The next morning the storm had passed, so it was back to the airport to catch my flight. We were luckier than most, I figured it would take them at last 2 days to be fully back on schedule. Still, everything had been thrown out of sync with the delay. It was almost 2:30 by the time I was sliding my key into the front door. I walked upstairs to throw my luggage in the bedroom when I stopped outside the door. Inside, I could hear a faint crackle, like the fray of a radio. Just the sound gave me a headache, and I felt an itch in my teeth. And then it clicked, and my stomach dropped. I threw open the door and immediately turned off the machine that had been running all day. A faint breathing was behind me. I turned and my eyes went wide.

There he was, still laid back on the bed, hat on his head, wide awake. The thousand yard stare said it all. He had been listening all night and all day.

I tried to shake him awake to no avail. He was lost in whatever fog had dulled his brain.

“Need… ass… need fuck…” he mumbled. Drool started to drip out his mouth.

I turned back the machine and pried off the back panel. I began urgently analyzing switches and knobs, trying to determine which would reverse the changes. Even just a way to turn the damn thing off. It just kept buzzing and buzzing and buzzing… I felt a tight grip around my waist.

“Come babe, you want cock?”

My boyfriend had come out of his stupor, but not much. His cross-eyed stare had set itself on my body. His paws were rested firmly on my hips as he drug me closer to him.

“Let me go, I need to figure this out”

“No,” he slurred, “I need you.” He leaned in for a sloppy kiss. He tasted salty and sour. His beard was far more unkept and rough. He smelled virile this close, musky and horny. “You like simple,” he said. No, not said. Commanded. All that daddy energy he brought before was somehow put behind those words, and for a moment I felt submissive to him. And he only needed that moment. “Come.” He lifted his arm and stared into my eyes. A wave of stench rolled down and hit my senses with a crash.

His gaze, the smell, and the buzzing in my ears. It was all too much as I was drawn towards his pit. I resisted for a moment, giving a hesitant whiff under his gaze. He made no movement. He didn’t have to. I was soon buried in his pit as I huffed his stupefying scent. In the back of my mind I knew this wasn’t right, that I was supposed to be fighting back. But a different whisper entered my mind:

Didn’t I want this? Wasn’t this my choice? Who was it that wanted it to all be so simple?

He pulled me out for a moment to slip my shirt off before I dove back in. At this point I was practically drooling, and I began cleaning him with my tongue. He stroked my chest and back, squeezing my pecs. They felt soft beneath his firm grasp. He soon switched me to the other side and muttered to me:

“Good boy. So horny.”

I was. I was so horny. The more I licked the more my crotch throbbed. My cock was rigid at attention as he pulled me out of his pits.

He’s so hot. Need him. Need cock.

No, no my brain tried to scream, but it sounded distant. A thick fog was between me and my thoughts. Maybe it should stay that way…

My boyfriend stood up and I fell to the floor. Slowly, he began pulling off his jeans.

I instinctively turned over to receive his cock. My ass was already slick, wet in expectation. Even having sex was so simple. As he pressed his cock against my hole it slid in like a key in a lock. It just felt right. And as he gripped my shoulders and began to fuck me, each thrust felt like a thought was popped in my head. He growled a deep, primal growl as the last thoughts I ever had washed away in the waves of pleasure radiating through my body. My brain felt like the static from the machine. The only thing I had left was instinct. And instinct was telling me to ride the man behind me.

“Fu-uck- m-me- up- da-ah-ddy”

He only grunted as he increased the pace. It felt like hours as the ebbs and flows of our libidos managed to keep us both on edge, so close but never finishing. Till finally, I couldn’t take it any more. I could only manage a moan as I came all over the bedsheets.

“Fuck that’s so hot.” he said, and with one final thrust filled my guts with his dumb cum. Hehe. Cum. As he slid out I couldn’t handle any more. I passed out face down ass up on the bed.

The next morning I was horny again. And then by lunch. And then by bed time. Days blended together as we fucked, ate, worked out, and slept together. The machine next to our bed never got turned off. Wasn’t there something I was supposed to do with it? Eh, it was too complex. Best to leave it alone as I had my brain fucked out for the third time today. I don’t know how we got by. We never moved out of our house. We always got food with no problems. Anyone who came by would just do whatever we asked. The few times anyone came inside they quickly learned that it was a lot easier to simply give in. If they resisted, babe would simply take them back to the bedroom until they changed their minds. They would come out all smiles, agreeable to whatever we needed. It was as simple as that.

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

Your last like is your new body. Who's winning?

Dumb muscle himbo for me it seems!

[thatsprettyfckinghot]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How old are you, Santana?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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