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I’m currently just going with the flow but if anyone has pics they’d like to seen done deff message me. Plan to write some stories to post for next month!

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Going Forward.

Hello All.

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted. And as of now I’m taking a break. This old man has been writing for 13 years since I was 18, so I think I might have finally hit my wall.

There’s only so many times you can recycle the same concept from 1 TF idea. But FTM is deff what does the best here so I stuck with it. I felt I started going through the motions and I don’t really feel like doing that anymore 😂

But weirdly MtF and Animal TGs were just not really a hit here and why I always kept them off site

So for now, enjoy the stories on here and I could post from time to time (if I got a spark going on). But I’m taking a seat back from writing and doing my thing for the time being. It’s been a great 3 years here. Talked to some awesome people and this overall was a way better space then on DA! (Aside from the weirdo who told me to kill myself 😭😭😂)

Best wishes. And for everyone I talk to I will still be around and am open to do stories off of here. Those stories and my opinion where I shine way more. And I don’t have to stick with just FTM but can do all TG stories. Cause the variety is what I love and we’re a thrive the best.

One again it’s been a great 3 years on here and I’m happy I could bring some much needed content to a very niche thing in a very niche community. Hopefully someone in time comes and replaces me!

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Phish’d: Losing All the Care

Sandra was overworked, and just wanted a break, she then decided to look on her computer to see a random email that seemed to be a phishing one. “Just don’t want to care about your life anymore we can help you” it said. “What weird ass fish is this” Sandra said as she tried to delete the email. But as she clicked the email, her screen emulated a bright light, and suddenly Sandra was away from her office.

Sandra suddenly appeared in a rundown apartment with barely any furniture, and some sets of weights around the room. “What the hell is this?” She asked herself, as she realized she didn’t have a phone.

She then looked on the counter, as she saw another unknown phone on the counter. As she tried to do anything, she couldn’t get the passcode for the phone. “Dammit. I don’t know” she said holding onto her head.

Her head got fuzzy, as her fingers thickened and grow longer as she held on the unknown phone. Sandra dropped the phone, as both her hands thickened and grew. The mature woman tried to keep her cool, as her stomach cramped in pain.

Sandra’s body thickened, as her womanly curves were straightening, as her body began to gain bulk. She let out a cracked groin, as her hair darkened, and receded. Her neck began to thicken, as her dress started to rip apart from her developing torso.

She let out a deep grunt, as her dress fell apart revealing her much bigger toned body. “Holy shit” she said examining the tattoos that appeared on her body. Her breasts and nipples finished shrinking, as muscle developed underneath his chest. Her heels broke apart as her feet expanded and grew wider. Black hairs appeared on the top of her bigger feet.

Weird headaches began to overflow Sandra, as her face began to contort. “Fuck. What’s this” he said, as a bulge started forming in his tight panties that were constricted by this thicker hairy legs.

Sandra’s face finished shortening, as his features began to regress and become younger. The mild aged woman, was becoming younger as her chin squared, and her features continued to broadened and become more masculine.

Ethan tried to remember thoughts of a successful life, but his life being a aspiring gym trainer was taking over.

Ethan looked at his dingy apartment, and unlocked his phone. He was hoping that someone would get back to him shortly. He knew if he didn’t get anywhere soon, he’d have to make a OnlyFans page.

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Season 3

New Job Hire on Site (Literally!)

Tara strutted confidently down the bustling city street, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any potential content for her Instagram. As an aspiring influencer, she was always on the lookout for the perfect shot that would boost her following. Today, she was dressed in a stylish outfit that accentuated her petite figure—a cute crop top, high-waisted jeans, and trendy sneakers.

As she passed by a construction site, her attention was drawn to a white construction hat lying on the ground. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she picked it up, placing it on her head at a jaunty angle.

She pulled out her phone, snapping a quick selfie with the construction site in the background. "This will be perfect for a 'hard at work' post," she thought, already imagining the likes and comments pouring in.

Unbeknownst to Tara, the foreman of the construction site was watching her from a distance. He was a burly man with a stern expression, his eyes narrowing as he saw her messing around with the equipment. Little did Tara know, the foreman was also a warlock, and he was not amused by her antics.

With a muttered incantation under his breath, the foreman waved his hand, and a spark of magic zipped through the air, striking Tara before she could react. She froze in place, her eyes widening in shock as she felt a strange, tingling sensation spreading through her body.

Tara gasped, her voice trailing off as she looked down at her hands. Her fingers began to lengthen, the nails shortening and becoming more rugged. She tried to move, but her body felt heavy and unresponsive.

The foreman approached her, his stern expression unchanged. "You think this is a joke, girl?" he growled. "Let's see how you like a taste of real work."

Tara's breath hitched as her legs began to lengthen, the muscles becoming leaner and more defined. Her thighs slimmed down, and her calves grew taut and wiry. Her feet grew larger, the toes lengthening and the soles becoming more calloused. She stumbled slightly, trying to keep her balance as her center of gravity shifted.

"What's happening to me?" Tara cried out, her voice already deepening. She looked up at the foreman, her eyes wide with fear and confusion.

The foreman crossed his arms, watching her with a cold expression. "You're getting a taste of what real work feels like," he said. "You wanted to play dress-up, so now you get to see what it's like to be a real construction worker."

Tara's hips narrowed, and her waist slimmed down, giving her a lanky, slightly muscled appearance. Her ribcage expanded slightly, and her shoulders broadened, the muscles becoming lean and wiry.

She grunted in discomfort as her breasts began to shrink, the flesh redistributing itself across her broadening chest. As her chest flattened, a small tattoo of a heart with an arrow through it appeared on her sternum, a tiny but noticeable mark.

The foreman shook his head. "Too late for that, Owen," he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "You're mine now."

Tara's arms grew longer, the muscles becoming more defined and sinewy. As her forearms lengthened, a tattoo of a coiled snake appeared on her left forearm, the scales glistening in the sunlight. Her hands grew larger, the fingers becoming more rugged and calloused.

Her neck lengthened slightly, the muscles becoming more pronounced. Her jawline became more angular, and her chin became more prominent. Her cheeks became more gaunt, and her eyebrows became thicker and more defined. Her nose grew slightly larger, becoming more aquiline, and her lips became thinner and more masculine.

"No, no, no!" Tara cried out, her voice now fully masculine and raspy. She looked down at her body, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. She was now fully transformed into Owen, a lanky, slightly muscled punk.

Owen's hair was now a deep brown, styled in a messy, spiky fashion that gave him a rebellious look. His eyes were intense and piercing, and a thin, scraggly beard sprouted from his chin, spreading across his face and down his neck, giving him a punkish appearance. Diamond studs glinted in his ears, and his overall look was handsome but with a trashy, rebellious edge. A tattoo of a phoenix rising from the ashes adorned his shoulder, the vibrant colors contrasting with his tanned skin.

Owen looked down at his new body, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. He noticed the construction hat still on his head and the orange vest hanging loosely across his lanky chest. Underneath, he wore no shirt, showing off his slightly muscled body and the tattoos on his forearm, shoulder and sternum. He looked up at the foreman, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and defiance.

"What do you want from me?" Owen asked, his voice deep and raspy.

The foreman's smirk grew wider. "You're going to work for me, Owen," he said. "You're going to work hard, and you're going to show off that body of yours. You're going to be my star worker, and you're going to love every minute of it."

Owen nodded, his mind already accepting his new fate with a mix of defiance and resignation. "Yeah, whatever, man," he said, his voice deep and slightly dismissive. He picked up a nearby tool, his muscles flexing as he began to work. As he lifted his arm, the tattoo of the coiled snake seemed to ripple, the scales glistening in the sunlight.

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Season 3

Genie Origins: Time Traveling Stripper

Francesca stood before her mirror, her voice filling the room as she practiced her scales, dreaming of the day she would be a famous singer. She yearned for the spotlight, the cheering crowds, and the thrill of performing on stage. She was an aspiring singer, and she wanted nothing more than to be a big star.

One day, while exploring a flea market, she discovered an old, ornate lamp. Intrigued by its design, she picked it up and gave it a good polish. Suddenly, a puff of smoke erupted from the spout, and a mischievous genie materialized before her.

"Greetings, mortal!" the genie boomed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I am here to grant you one wish. What is your heart's desire?"

Francesca's eyes widened in disbelief, but she quickly gathered her thoughts. "I... I want to be a famous singer. I want to be a big star!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement and longing.

The genie grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Very well. Your wish is granted." He waved his hand, and a swirling vortex enveloped Francesca, pulling her through time and space.

When she emerged from the vortex, Francesca found herself in a dimly lit dressing room, the air thick with the scent of hairspray and perfume. She looked around in confusion, taking in the racks of costumes and the vanity mirror lined with bright lights. As she caught her reflection in the mirror, she gasped in shock.

Her long, flowing locks began to recede, shortening and darkening to a deep brown. The hair styled itself into a quaffed look popular in the late 70s. Her once-smooth face sprouted a thick mustache, and her delicate features morphed into a more masculine, chiseled jawline. Her bright, eager eyes darkened to a sultry, smoldering gaze.

Francesca's petite frame began to stretch and grow, her height increasing rapidly. Her slim arms and legs thickened with lean muscle, the definition clear beneath her smooth, tanned skin. Her shoulders broadened, and her waist narrowed, taking on a more masculine shape. Her hips slimmed down, and her once-curvy buttocks firmed up, becoming taut and muscular.

Her breasts, once full and perky, began to flatten and firm, transforming into a hard, muscular chest. Her nipples darkened and shrank, becoming smaller and flatter against her newly formed pectorals. A light dusting of dark hair spread across her chest, accentuating her masculine physique.

Francesca felt a strange sensation between her legs, and she looked down to see her underwear bulging slightly, a penis and testicles forming where there had been none before. Her once-smooth mound became hairier, matching the dark hair that covered her body. Her thighs and calves became more defined, the muscles lean and powerful.

Her clothes shifted, morphing into a skimpy little black speedo that clung to her newly formed masculine frame. The speedo was snug around the crotch, accentuating the bulge that had formed there. She stood there, her lean, muscular physique on full display.

Memories flooded back to her—memories of being Maxwell Hardwell, a lean, muscular exotic dancer from the late 70s. She remembered the feel of the stage beneath her feet, the sound of the music pulsing through her veins, and the cheers of the crowd as she danced. She was Maxwell, and she was proud of it.

Maxwell turned to the side, admiring his reflection in the mirror. He flexed his arms, watching as his muscles rippled beneath his smooth, tanned skin. He ran a hand through his short, quaffed hair, a smirk playing on his lips as he struck a pose.

"Well, well, well," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety purr. "Looks like I'm the star of the show tonight."

Just then, the sound of music and cheering erupted from beyond the dressing room door. Maxwell's heart raced with excitement and anticipation. He took one last look in the mirror, adjusting his speedo and striking a seductive pose.

"Time to give the people what they want," he said, his voice filled with confidence and determination. With a final flex of his muscles, Maxwell turned and strutted out of the dressing room, ready to take the stage and captivate his audience.

As he stepped onto the stage, the spotlight shining down on him, Maxwell knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be. He was a star, and he was going to give the performance of a lifetime. With a sultry smirk and a wink, he began to dance, his body moving with grace and precision as he captivated the cheering crowd.

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This is so unhinged I can’t help but laugh. Thank you @ifuckinghateyou2025 for taking out the time 😘😘

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Season 2

The New TV Star - the Bachelor

It was just another lazy Sunday afternoon for Amy. She had been lounging on her couch, flipping through channels on her TV, when something caught her eye. It was a magic remote control, unlike any she had ever seen before. Curiosity got the better of her and she couldn't resist picking it up.

Without a second thought, Amy pressed a button and in a flash of light, she found herself standing in a small, unfamiliar room. Panic set in as she looked around, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She was in a dressing room, but it wasn't hers. It was then that she noticed something strange happening to her body.

Her hands were growing larger and more muscular, her feet were ripping through her socks, and her voice was deepening. Before she knew it, Amy had undergone a complete transformation. She was no longer a young woman, but a man in his mid-thirties.

As her hair shortened and her face changed, Amy realised with horror that she had somehow been transported into the world of television. And not just any show, but the popular dating reality show, The Bachelor.

Amy's identity had been completely altered as she was now Andrew Pace, the newest star of the show. His mind had taken over hers and she couldn't remember her old life. All she could think about was the upcoming filming of the show's opening episode.

Andrew was excited as he got ready for the show. He was determined to find a woman to marry, just like the show's premise suggested. As he walked onto the set, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation and a little bit of nervousness.

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Season 3

PicFlash: The Unmaking of Vivian

Vivian was scrolling through her Instagram feed after a long day at the office, her eyes glazing over the endless stream of images. She paused at a picture of a young man flexing in the gym, his muscles glistening with sweat and his face contorted in an obnoxious grimace. Before she could wrinkle her nose and scroll past, her surroundings melted away, and she found herself standing in a crowded gym, the air thick with the scent of sweat and metal.

"What's happening?" Vivian asked, her voice filled with panic. She felt a sudden heat spread across her body, starting at her core. She looked down and watched as her conservative blouse and pencil skirt began to ripple and change.

Her breasts, once modest, began to shrink and flatten, her bra loosening as her chest hardened and a dusting of brown hair appeared. She gasped, her hands flying to her chest, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of hard muscle and coarse hair.

Her arms began to change, muscles writhing and growing like vines beneath her skin. She watched in horror as her hands grew larger, her fingers thickening and her nails shortening. The skin on her arms darkened slightly, veins popping and pulsing with each beat of her accelerating heart.

Vivian's waist narrowed, her hips realigning with a sickening crunch. She cried out in pain, her legs changing shape, muscles defining and lengthening. Her feet grew larger, her heels rising off the ground as her toes wiggled and stretched.

Her clothing shifted, her blouse and skirt melding into a pair of red gym shorts and a loose black tank top. She could feel the fabric brushing against her skin, the sensation alien and unsettling.

Vivian's hair began to retreat, the long brown locks shrinking and darkening to a short, messy crop. Her face changed shape, her jaw widening and her chin becoming more prominent. Her nose became broader, her eyebrows thicker.

She felt a strange sensation on her face, like a thousand tiny needles pricking her skin. She reached up, her fingers brushing against the rough stubble that now covered her cheeks and chin.

Vivian's eyes, once a sharp green, darkened to a muddy brown. As she watched her reflection change in the gym mirror, she felt a growing pressure in her mind, like a vice tightening around her skull. Her memories, her thoughts, her very sense of self began to fade, replaced by a creeping darkness.

Her posture shifted, her shoulders rolling back and her chest puffing out. She stood taller, her body language exuding arrogance and aggression. She was no longer Vivian, the overworked businesswoman. She was Julian, the 22-year-old aspiring bodybuilder with a chip on his shoulder and a sneer on his face.

Julian grunted, flexing his muscles and admiring his reflection. He was jacked, and he knew it. He was the king of the gym, the alpha male, and he wanted everyone to know it.

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Season 3

A Manly Spa?

Rachel’s college life had become a pressure cooker, with late-night study sessions, looming deadlines, and the constant buzz of her phone driving her to the brink. Desperate for a break, she stumbled upon a highly reviewed spa near campus and booked a session, craving a few hours of peace. The spa’s serene ambiance—soft lighting, the scent of eucalyptus, and a gentle trickle of water from a nearby fountain—soothed her nerves as she arrived. When the esthetician suggested a “state-of-the-art skin rejuvenation pod” that promised to erase stress and leave her skin radiant, Rachel eagerly agreed, slipping into the sleek, egg-shaped machine with a sigh of relief, unaware of the life-altering process she was about to undergo.

Inside the pod, a soft hum filled the air as warm, pulsing lights bathed Rachel’s body, the sensation like a gentle massage that quickly lulled her into a deep sleep. But this was no ordinary spa treatment—the machine was a prototype for cellular reconstruction, a technology meant for medical regeneration but repurposed by the spa in a reckless bid to stand out.

As Rachel slept, the pod’s advanced mechanisms began to rewrite her at a molecular level: her slender, 5’4” frame stretched and expanded, bones lengthening and thickening until she stood at a solid 6’1”. Her once-smooth skin roughened, sprouting a thick layer of coarse, dark hair across her chest, arms, and legs, while her narrow shoulders broadened into a chiseled, muscular V-shape. Her delicate hands grew larger, veins bulging under the skin, and her jawline squared off, a dense, salt-and-pepper beard erupting across her face.

The soft curves of her 20-year-old body hardened into the rugged, toned physique of a 40-year-old man, complete with faint scars and a large, intricate tattoo of a raven stretching across her—now his—left shoulder. Rachel’s light brown hair darkened to a deep black, receding slightly at the temples, and her voice deepened into a gravelly baritone, the transformation sealing her into the body of Jarrett, a man who bore no trace of the college girl she once was.

When the pod finally hissed open, Jarrett stirred, his heavy limbs moving sluggishly as he sat up, blinking in confusion. “What… where am I?” he grumbled, his deep voice startling him as he ran a calloused hand over his bearded face, feeling the unfamiliar texture of his weathered skin. His mind was a blank slate, the memories of Rachel’s stressed-out life—her exams, her dorm room, her friends—completely erased by the machine’s neural interference, leaving him with a profound amnesia.

The spa staff, horrified by their error, scrambled to explain, but Jarrett could only stare at his reflection in a nearby mirror, seeing a hairy, muscular stranger with no recollection of who he was or how he’d gotten there. They called him “Jarrett,” a name they fabricated on the spot, and handed him a hastily prepared ID to match. As Jarrett stepped out of the spa, his new body carrying a raw strength Rachel had never known, he felt an odd sense of calm amidst the disorientation, his past life as a college girl lost forever in the hum of the machine that had remade him.

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Season 3

Energy Elixer

Nadia was the quintessential college junior at her university, a biology major with a penchant for routine. Her days revolved around the library, her dorm room, and her pet succulent, “Spike,” which sat proudly on her windowsill. She had a slight frame, standing at 5’4” with long, wavy brown hair that she often tied back in a messy bun, and her wardrobe consisted mostly of oversized sweaters and leggings.

On this particular day, she was weaving through the bustling campus quad on a late spring sun warming her pale skin. She was headed to her next lecture when something unusual caught her eye: a strange booth near the central fountain.

The vendor was an odd figure, a wiry man in his late 50s with a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He wore a faded straw hat and a patchwork vest, and his booth was a chaotic mess of colorful bottles and handwritten signs. “Energy Elixir—Free Samples!” one sign read in bold, jagged letters.

The bottles were a vibrant green, their labels promising “life-changing nutrients” and “a new you.” Nadia hesitated. She wasn’t one to take risks, especially with free handouts, but she’d pulled an all-nighter studying for her microbiology exam, and the exhaustion weighed heavily on her. A quick energy boost couldn’t hurt, right? She grabbed a bottle, muttered a polite “thanks” to the vendor, who only grinned wider and hurried off to class.

The drink was cold as she cracked it open, the liquid inside a shimmering emerald green that seemed to glow faintly in the sunlight. It smelled faintly of citrus but tasted bizarre, tangy with a sharp, metallic aftertaste that made her wince. She forced it down, assuming it was just some trendy superfood blend with spirulina or matcha.

By the time her lecture ended an hour later, though, Nadia knew something was terribly wrong. Her skin prickled as if tiny electric currents were dancing across it. Her muscles twitched uncontrollably, and a dull ache spread through her limbs. Her vision blurred at the edges, and a wave of nausea hit her so hard she nearly dropped her notebook. Clutching her bag, she stumbled out of the lecture hall, her heart pounding as she made a beeline for her dorm.

She barely made it through the door of her small, cluttered room before her legs gave out. Collapsing onto her twin bed, she clutched her stomach, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Then, the real transformation began and it was unlike anything she could have imagined.

It started with a burning sensation in her core, as if her very bones were heating up from the inside. Nadia gasped, her hands flying to her chest as she felt her ribcage expand, the bones creaking and shifting beneath her skin. Her shoulders broadened with an audible pop, the muscles in her upper back swelling and hardening until they felt like slabs of iron. Her arms, once slender and soft, began to thicken, veins bulging beneath her skin as her biceps and forearms grew, the muscles rippling with each involuntary flex.

Her hands, too, changed her fingers lengthening, her palms widening, and her nails shortening as her grip became stronger, almost crushing the edge of her mattress as she clung to it in panic.

The transformation moved downward, her waist narrowing while her abdominal muscles tightened and defined themselves into a chiseled six-pack. Her hips, once softly curved, squared off as her pelvis shifted, and her thighs ballooned with muscle, the quads and hamstrings bulging until they strained against her leggings.

Her calves followed suit, becoming thick and powerful, the kind of legs that could run marathons or deadlift hundreds of pounds without breaking a sweat. Even her feet grew, her sneakers splitting at the seams as her toes stretched and her arches reshaped into larger, more masculine forms.

Nadia’s skin itself seemed to change texture, becoming rougher, more weathered, as a thick layer of dark hair sprouted across her chest, arms, and legs. Her smooth complexion now bore the faint scars and tan lines of a man who’d spent years outdoors. The hair on her head receded rapidly, the long, wavy strands falling away until only a short, salt-and-pepper buzz cut remained, coarse to the touch.

A prickling sensation spread across her face as a beard grew in, thick and wiry, framing a jawline that had become sharp and angular. Her nose broadened slightly, her brow thickened, and her eyes still a deep brown carried a rugged intensity she didn’t recognize.

Her voice was the final piece to change. Nadia tried to scream, but what came out was a deep, gravelly growl that echoed in the small room.

“What’s happening to me?!” He roared, the sound so foreign it sent a shiver down his spine. As the transformation slowed, a new name surfaced in his mind, unbidden but undeniable: Diego. It felt right, as if it had always been his name. He staggered to the mirror above Nadia’s desk, his movements heavy and unfamiliar, and stared in shock at the reflection.

Diego was a man in his early 40s, standing well over 6 feet tall with a physique that looked like it belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine. His chest was broad and covered in a mat of dark hair, his arms were thick with muscle, and his abs were a perfect grid of definition.

A simple black cord necklace with a small pendant hung around his neck—a detail Nadia didn’t remember owning. His face was handsome in a rugged way, with a strong jaw, a neatly trimmed beard, and piercing eyes that carried a quiet confidence. He flexed his arms experimentally, watching the muscles ripple, and a grin spread across his face. He felt powerful, unstoppable—like a completely new person.

His clothes, however, were a problem. Nadia’s oversized sweater and leggings had torn at the seams during the transformation, hanging off him in tatters. He stripped them off, feeling oddly unselfconscious in his new body, and rummaged through the dorm room for something to wear. In the corner, near a pile of laundry, he spotted a pair of discarded shorts, black with red trim, left behind by his roommate’s boyfriend after a recent visit.

They were a bit snug, but they fit well enough, hugging his muscular thighs and sitting low on his hips. He tied the drawstring tight, the red accents of the shorts contrasting sharply with his tanned skin.

Diego took one last look in the mirror, running a hand through his short hair and admiring the sheer strength of his new form. Whatever that vendor’s drink had done, it had erased Nadia and given him a second chance as Diego. A strange sense of freedom washed over him, and he grabbed Nadia’s dorm keys, deciding to step into the world as his new self. Shirtless and unapologetic, he left the room, his broad shoulders filling the doorway as he stepped into the hallway.

The dorm was alive with the usual chaos of college life—students chatting, music blaring from open doors, the faint smell of instant noodles in the air. But as Diego walked through, the noise seemed to die down. Heads turned, and whispers followed in his wake. “Who’s that guy?” a freshman girl whispered to her friend, her eyes wide.

“Why’s some 40-year-old dude walking around shirtless in a dorm?” a guy muttered, shaking his head as he scrolled on his phone. Diego didn’t care. He stepped outside into the warm May afternoon, the sun glinting off his toned body as he stood tall, ready to embrace whatever came next as Diego—a man reborn.

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Season 3

Beach Faery Saga: Part 333

Monica skipped along the shore, her petite frame bouncing with each excited step. The sun was high, the waves were crashing, and she was ready for a day of fun with her friends. She checked her phone, a slight frown crossing her face as she realized they were running late. Sighing, she plopped down on a nearby rock, her legs dangling over the edge as she watched the waves roll in.

Unbeknownst to her, a mischievous faerie fluttered nearby, hidden among the beachgrass. The faerie, with a playful smirk, watched Monica's annoyance grow. With a flick of her wrist, a spark of magic zipped through the air, striking Monica before she could react.

Monica vanished from the rock, reappearing on a secluded part of the beach near the forest edge. The waves crashed against the rocks, spraying her with a fine mist. She looked around, confused and disoriented. "What's going on?" she murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of the surf.

Suddenly, her body began to change. A warm, tingling sensation spread from her toes to her head, and she looked down to see her petite frame starting to expand. Her legs lengthened, the muscles thickening and becoming more defined.

Her thighs bulged, and her calves grew taut and strong. Her feet grew larger, the toes widening and the soles becoming more calloused.

The transformation moved up her body, her hips widening and her waist thickening. Her belly, once flat and toned, began to swell, becoming rounder and softer. Her ribcage expanded, and her chest heaved as it grew larger and more muscular. Her breasts, once pert and youthful, began to shrink, the flesh redistributing itself across her broadening chest.

Monica gasped as her arms began to change. Her shoulders broadened, and her biceps bulged, the muscles becoming thick and powerful. Her forearms grew more defined, the veins becoming more prominent beneath her skin. Her hands grew larger, the fingers thickening and becoming more calloused. Her nails shortened, becoming blunt and square.

Her neck thickened, her face fill out. Her nose widened as her chin softened. A beard began to grow and thicken on her face as it began to cover her aging and fattening face as she grunted.

Her hair began to change, the long, dark locks lightening and shortening. It became a deep brown, cropped close to her scalp in a messy, rugged style. Her eyes, once bright and youthful, became more intense and piercing. A thick brown beard sprouted from her chin, spreading across her face and down her neck, giving her a rugged, masculine appearance.

Monica's swimsuit began to change, the fabric stretching and morphing to accommodate her new form. The top became a black and pink floral speedo, struggling to contain her new, more substantial frame. The bottoms became a pair of matching trunks, the fabric clinging to her thick, muscular thighs.

As the transformation neared its completion, Monica felt a strange sensation between her legs. She looked down, her eyes widening in shock as she watched her feminine parts retreat, replaced by a thick, masculine member. It grew larger and more prominent, the shaft becoming thicker and the head becoming more defined.

Monica, now Eddie, grunted in confusion and discomfort as his body finished transforming. He looked down at himself, his eyes widening in shock as he took in his new appearance.

"What the fuck just happened?" he muttered, his voice deep and gruff. He noticed the speedo and chuckled, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "Well, this is new."

Eddie stood up, his massive frame towering over the beach. He took a few tentative steps, getting used to his new body. Despite the initial shock, he felt a strange sense of exhilaration. He was bigger, stronger, and oddly enough, happier. Memories of a new life filled his head, memories of being Eddie, a goofy, carefree beach bum who loved nothing more than running along the shore.

With a laugh, Eddie took off, his powerful legs carrying him swiftly across the sand. He felt the wind in his beard, the sun on his back, and the joy of pure, unadulterated freedom. The faerie watched from her hiding spot, a satisfied smirk on her face as Eddie disappeared into the distance, his laughter echoing back along the beach.

His chest and belly jiggled slightly as he ran, the extra padding bouncing with each stride. His strongman physique was on full display, the muscles in his arms and legs flexing with each powerful step. The black and pink floral speedo clung to his body, the fabric stretched tight across his thick thighs and prominent bulge. Eddie was a sight to behold, a goofy, carefree beach bum running along the shore, living his best life in his new, transformed body.

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Season 2

Those Pants I Found

Monica had been going to the gym for a few months now, trying to get in shape for her upcoming wedding. She was determined to look her best in her wedding dress and had been pushing herself hard during every workout. As she was changing in the locker room one day, she noticed a pair of compression pants left behind by someone else. Being the curious person she was, Monica decided to try them on.

As soon as she put them on, she felt a strange tingle all over her body. It started in her feet and slowly worked its way up her legs, making her feel like they were growing and expanding. Monica looked down and was stunned to see that her feet had indeed grown larger and looked more manly. She tried to take off the pants, but they seemed to be stuck to her skin.

Panicked, Monica looked up and noticed that her whole body was changing. Her arms were becoming muscular and her chest was expanding, giving her a more masculine appearance. She could feel her shirt getting tighter, almost suffocating her. Suddenly, her shirt ripped off, revealing her newly formed muscles and tattoos that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Monica was in shock as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had been transformed into a man, with a completely different body and identity. She couldn't believe what was happening to her. She tried to scream for help, but her voice had also changed into a deep, masculine one.

Barry had no memory of his past life as Monica. All he knew was that he was now the new instructor at the gym. As he made his way to the room where his first class was about to start, he couldn't help but feel excited and confident in his new body.

The class began and Barry effortlessly demonstrated each exercise, impressing all his students with his strength and agility. He felt alive and powerful like never before. As the class ended, Barry caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and couldn't help but smile. He had never felt more confident and comfortable in his own skin.

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Shorts: Fighting Temptations

“Need to fight this” Stella said to herself in his deeper voice. He looked at his hairy body, as he found his newly dominating personality taken the formally bookish girl to the gym to work on his body. He looked at the machines and ladies around him, as he felt thoughts he was trying to repress hard taking back over.

“Fuck I need to show these ladies what I can do. These scrawny fucks are nothing” Steven said, as he flexed in the mirror. His dark hairy body on display, as he saw a queen looking at him. His hormones were raging, as Stella was fighting to get control back.

[abstractvanity32]

Season 3

Strange Brew

Holly was at this bar, and was in a mood. She didn't feel like being there and her friends left her alone.

The bartender annoyed by her attitude decides a special cocktail could maybe remedy this. Holly being 21 doesn't pass up a free drink, and quickly chugs it down.

After 15 minutes, Holly felt off. She didn't realize her hair was receding, and darkening. Her hairline was receding upwards. Holly went to get to the bathroom, and felt really off. She felt a giant weight in her stomach suddenly, and locked herself in the private bathroom. Holly was horrified to see the changes.

She began to breath heavily, as her dress tightened. Her body began to grow and gain muscle, and fat.

Her hairline receded more, as her hair began to show grays in it. Her hands got larger and beefier, as her grunting was getting gruffer and deeper. She looked to see her arms gaining a thicker layer of hair. She was mortified.

Holly felt her stomach expand more, as a hairy belly bursted out her dress, as it plumped and rounded more. Her chest deflated, as her torso was covered in thick hair.

His legs thickened, and widened, as his new weight and growing feet caused his feet to break and burst out of them. A thick beard began to grow on his aging. He grunted again, as his new cock formed between his hairy legs.

Lewis looked at his face as it finished aging and changing, as this big hairy bear was left almost naked in his shredded dress. Lewis looked to see a pair of briefs there, he had no shame he put them on and just admired how big he is.

"Fuck I'm hot" he said smirking. With the more admiration he did to himself, and his big body. The less he could recall why he was at this random bar.

[abstractvanity32]

Season 3

TF Blurb - Transformative Hike

Julie tightened the straps of her backpack, sweat trickling down her neck as she squinted at the overgrown trail marker. The humid coastal breeze did little to cool her as she wandered off-path, drawn by the sound of crashing waves.

Her white tank top clung to her petite frame, her denim shorts riding up uncomfortably. She’d regretted this solo hike instantly—until she stumbled into the clearing.

A gnarled cypress tree twisted toward the sky, its branches framing a vista of turquoise water and sun-bleached rocks below. But it was the object dangling from a low branch that caught her eye: sleek black sunglasses with mirrored lenses, glinting like a dare.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice swallowed by the salt-heavy air. No answer.

Her fingers brushed the sunglasses—and the world hummed.

Julie gasped as her pink-polished nails yellowed, then cracked, hardening into rough, masculine cuticles. Her dainty feet thickened, tendons and veins snaking beneath skin bronzing to a deep olive. Sandals materialized—black flip-flops—straps digging into widening arches as her soles flattened against the earth.

Her calves bulged, muscle fibers knitting into corded knots beneath a dusting of dark hair. Denim seams groaned as her thighs swelled, pressing against fabric now deepening from faded blue to rich maroon. The shorts tightened, riding higher as her hips narrowed, pelvis grinding inward with a series of wet pops.

Julie clawed at her tank top as her waist thickened, soft curves replaced by rigid obliques. A burning heat spread across her abdomen—ridges forming, one by one, until a six-pack gleamed under the sun.

Her shoulders cracked outward, broadening into a V-shape that tore her shirt’s seams. Fabric disintegrated, revealing pecs swelling into firm slabs, nipples darkening and flattening against the new muscle.

Delicate fingers knotted into meaty palms, veins roping up forearms that doubled in size. Biceps swelled against invisible weights, triceps sharpening as her elbows calloused. She flexed involuntarily, a deep, unfamiliar laugh rumbling in her chest.

Her heart pounded as her jawline squared, cheekbones sharpening beneath stretching skin. Soft lips thinned, her nose broadening slightly. A prickling sensation crawled across her scalp—her auburn ponytail shortening, darkening to a crew cut as if devoured by shadow.

The sunglasses levitated, snapping onto her face. The lenses flashed, searing her eyes hazel-to-brown, her vision sharpening as the world saturated into hyper-clarity.

He inhaled—a deep, chest-expanding breath—and grinned.

“Damn,” his voice boomed, rich and amused. He rolled his shoulders, marveling at the way sunlight danced on his sculpted chest. The maroon shorts hugged his powerful thighs perfectly; the flip-flops felt like they’d always been there.

[abstractvanity32]

Season 3

Hockey Brutality

Susie’s fingers trembled as she adjusted her oversized glasses, the library’s fluorescent lights reflecting off her chipped black nail polish. She shoved another stale vending machine granola bar into her mouth, crumbs dusting her Sailor Moon hoodie.

Finals week had reduced her existence to highlighters, energy drinks, and the increasingly tempting fantasy of being anyone else—anyone whose biggest worry wasn’t organic chemistry formulas swimming out of focus behind smudged lenses.

"I wish…" she whispered to the calculus textbook’s margins, doodling a stick figure with muscles bursting through its shirt, "...I could just wake up as someone who doesn’t think for once. Someone…simple. Someone who takes what he wants."

The air conditioner kicked on. A pamphlet about study abroad programs fluttered off the desk.

She didn’t notice the way her hoodie suddenly felt tighter across the shoulders.

Her collarbone splintered first—a wet, grinding pop that made her lurch forward. Susie gasped, but the sound emerged deeper, harsher, as her trachea thickened. Her hands flew to her throat…only to freeze at the sight of stubby fingers swelling like overstuffed sausages. Knuckles split with audible snaps, widening into meaty paws dotted with coarse golden hairs.

"Wh-what the—?!" The plea died as her jaw unhinged with a sick crunch, cartilage reforming into a square block of bone. Her chin thrust forward, dimpling with the first shadow of stubble. Cheekbones sharpened beneath stretching skin as her skull remolded itself—forehead flattening, brow ridge jutting forward with Neanderthal dominance.

She tried to scream. Her tongue slapped against emerging molars, now large enough to grind gravel.

The hoodie exploded first.

Susie—Ricky—stared dumbly as frayed threads rained down around deltoids that now bulged like cantaloupes. Her once-sloped shoulders broadened, trapezius muscles surging upward to form a bull’s neck. The sports bra beneath split next, straps snapping as pecs ballooned outward—thick, hairless slabs of meat that cast shadows across his swelling abdomen.

“Fuh…FUH-CK," he rasped, the voice boxy, Midwestern. His spine crackled like popcorn as he shot upward—5'4" to 6'2" in three nauseating seconds. The waistband of his leggings dug into hips that were widening, pelvis groaning as it reshaped to carry monstrous quadriceps.

A hot, intrusive pressure bloomed between his legs.

His clit surged, thickening into a fat, veiny shaft that shoved aside cotton panties. Testicles dropped with a heavy slap against thunder-thighs, the leggings’ crotch seam bursting to release a swinging 7-inch beast. Ricky’s new hand—broad, calloused—instinctively palmed it, a guttural groan rumbling from his barrel chest.

"Hhhnng—yeah, that’s…fuck, that’s right…"

The mental fog rolled in like arena smoke.

Memories of all-nighters and anime marathons dissolved like sugar in whiskey. New ones flooded in—checking opponents into plexiglass, post-game beers with the boys, the satisfying thwack of a slapshot denting the net. His tongue probed the gap where a tooth had been knocked out sophomore year.

"Fuckin’ rights," Ricky smirked, the last syllable warping as his nose broke and reset—crooked, masculine, with a scar across the bridge. Above it, his hairline receded rapidly, strawberry blonde strands shedding to reveal a sunburnt scalp. What remained thickened along his jaw, sprouting into a Viking’s beard trimmed neat for the helmet.

[abstractvanity32]

Season 3

Own Stunts

Michelle’s agent hadn’t returned her calls in six months. The last audition she’d booked was a cat food commercial where they’d replaced her with CGI halfway through filming.

So when the email arrived—“URGENT: Lead Role in Indie Action Flick”—she didn’t question why the director’s name was redacted or why the meeting location was an abandoned Costco parking lot at midnight.

Desperation smelled like stale popcorn and industrial disinfectant as she stepped into the hollowed-out warehouse, her heeled boots echoing between rusted shelves.

The director stood beneath a flickering floodlight, his silhouette too elongated, his face obscured by a hat pulled low. “Michelle Clarke,” he rasped, voice like gravel in a blender. “You’ll play… Kane.”

She opened her mouth in confusion about to object but something suddenly felt off.

Her ribs cinched first, corseted by invisible hands. Michelle gagged as her waist compacted, organs squishing upward into her diaphragm. Her blouse strained against sudden bulk, seams shrieking as her shoulders erupted outward—deltoids ballooning into cannonballs, triceps engorging with thick ropes of muscle.

“W-wait—!” Her protest morphed into a baritone grunt, vocal cords thickening like overcooked pasta.

The director watched, unblinking, as her legs began to pulse. Michelle staggered, clutching at her thighs as denim split like wet paper.

“No—no—!” The plea dissolved into a choked laugh as heat flooded her groin. Her clit surged, thickening into a fat cock that ripped through her panties. Testicles dropped with a visceral thud, swinging heavily between tree-trunk legs. Michelle—Kane—gawked, meaty fingers instinctively wrapping around the shaft. A guttural groan escaped him. “Fuckin’… hell…”

The director tossed him a grease-stained tank top. “Costume’s on you now.”

Memories unraveled. Nights crying over headshots, the sour tang of rejection emails, the sting of being called “too old” at 28—all dissolved like sugar in diesel fuel.

New ones replaced them: motorcycle crashes choreographed to millimeter precision, stuntman buddies ribbing him about his “pretty boy” scars, the intoxicating rush of catching fire just long enough for the perfect shot.

Kane scratched at his newly dense chest hair, grinning as his pecs flexed. “This the part where I thank you?”

The director pointed to a camera crew materializing from the shadows. “This is the part where you work.”

Reality bent. Crew members nodded as Kane strutted onto set, already sweaty from a workout only he remembered. “Bout time, pretty boy!” shouted a gaffer who’d never met Michelle Clarke.

Between takes, Kane goofed off, dropping into a wide-legged stance. “Kaaaa…meeee…” he growled, palms cupped at his hip, channeling a childhood spent glued to Dragon Ball Z marathons Michelle had never watched. His biceps strained as he thrust his arms forward. “HAAAAA—!”

The crew cracked up as a pyrotech fake-exploded behind him. “Save it for the scene, dumbass!”

“You’re just jealous!” Kane shot back, flexing so hard his tank top split. His laugh boomed, louder than the explosion.