occamstfs - Tumblr blog

[occamstfs]

Start-Up

Gabriel hates the start-up he works for. Though this morning it seems there are more immediate things he should be concerned with as men something strange begins to change men around the world.

Couldn't let all these other authors have all this fun without me! Here's my own take on the theme of Viral Transformation! Now I did muddy the waters a bit by setting my virus story at a social media start up but I think it works haha! Do check out the stories by all the other amazing writers who took part!!! -Occam

There was something strange going on in the city today and Gabriel wasn’t quite sure what the cause was. It’s not like there’s a commotion or anything, on the contrary; the streets were quiet but there was just something sinister in the air. He works for a new social media start-up in the wake of most of the big platforms collapsing, succinctly named Web. Gabriel didn’t have a ton of faith in the app and was growing increasingly tired of dealing with the CEO’s inane demands but hey, as long as checks keep clearing.

Reuben’s, said CEO’s, most recent crusade was banning the use of any competing sites or networks on company property, which unfortunately includes Gabriel’s personal devices. Who knew start-ups could be so draconian, though when the rich boy in charge has a fleet of lawyers and the lowly programmer just needs to make ends meet that’s how it goes it seems. All this to say, Web is thus far incredibly unsuccessful as a news platform and poor Gabriel is unable to see the chaos going on in the city behind closed doors as he walks into work.

The programmer artfully misses chyrons scrolling past telling all men to stay indoors and not to make unnecessary journeys as he mindlessly scrolls on the app he has spent countless hours producing. “Ugh.” Gabriel rolls his eyes as he sees post after post from thoughtless gym bros. Reuben swears this is a massive demographic for them but the programmer has constantly spoken up to the contrary. What could they possibly gain by making yet another platform for men who could barely read. Any indulgence or encouragement towards this demographic was sure to push away more reasonable, serious people.  

Eyes still glued to his phone in search of any shred of news, Gabriel doesn’t notice the state of the receptionist as he wanders past to take the elevator up to the office, “Morning Ron.” Only after a few seconds with no response does the coder finally tear his eyes away to see the young man in quite a disheveled state. He chokes back a gasp as he sees Ron quickly remove the hand that was shoved in his pants as he too only just notices the presence of his fellow man, “UHH Morning Gabe- I was just uhhh, getting something out of my pocket?” His rapid movement sends the sound of fabric tearing through the air as whatever remains of the button up he was wearing falls in pieces to the floor.

Desperate to put this encounter behind himself Gabriel mashes the close door button in the elevator. “Ron can’t have been masturbating just now.” he assures his reflection in the elevator doors. “He’s a good kid, smart kid.” He says of the man maybe five years his junior. Still, at the very least Gabriel is surprised that he came to work wearing clothes that clearly didn’t fit? He can’t help but summon the intimate look at Ron’s body he just received and can’t imagine how the receptionist bulked up so quickly? He can’t think of a single occasion of Ron mentioning going to the gym. 

Elevator clicking ever upwards he figures Reuben must be to blame, first he wants lunkheads using our app and then he convinces employees to waste time at the gym. Ah! That stupid gym! Gabriel punches a fist into his own palm as in the back of his mind he remembers the CEO taking up valuable office space to create a company gym for any employees to make use of. One of the many ‘benefits’ of working on Web. “God I hate startups.”

The elevator doors clink open and Gabriel exits to find the office space seems to be a ghost town. No one is using cubicles and he only sees a few of his fellow department heads have made it in so far. He grumbles to himself, “God-damnit if today could have been work from home I’m leaving now…” Despite his irritation, he enters his office and immediately starts getting to work. Waiting on his desk is a short list of suggestions on how to improve the platform from Rueben, which he promptly discards with little ado. Checking his own to-do list for the day he finds a one on one scheduled with one of the few coworkers he actually respects, Alexander Blainely, head of marketing. 

Most of the other executives were yes men, but Alexander seems to have an actual head on his shoulders. Gabriel always finds their meetings far more stimulating and productive than most other drudgery that goes on in this office. Returning into the open workspace, Gabriel shivers as he feels something in the air yet again. Completely unplaceable, it’s almost certainly nothing, but he remains on edge. His discomfort only grows as he nears his friend’s office and his hitherto directionless uneasiness finds a source. Hearing somethin a little more than disconcerting he whispers under his breath, “what the fuck? Is that moaning?” 

Barely audible when he shuts the door of his own office and wanders into the otherwise silent suite, it increases in volume with each step towards that of Alexander’s quarters. Gabriel grits his teeth and rages in his own mind for trusting anyone in this god-forsaken venture to treat their job with a shred of dignity. Arriving at the door and confirming that the man is clearly exerting himself somehow with a clear disregard to decency in their shared workspace, Gabriel scrunches his face and takes a deep breath. Hesitating at the thought of catching someone he had thought was a compatriot in flagrante delicto, his ire overcomes his usual prudence and he barges in. Never could he be prepared for the sight that awaited him.

Alexander sits on his work desk masturbating with his eyes closed as he rapturously traces over a muscular body that Gabriel flat out knows he has never had before today. Tongue lolling out of his mouth and dripping with drool as if he were a dog, Gabriel can’t help but loose a gasp as he sees with every pump of his cock, with every fervent breath and heady gasp from Alex, his body is continuing to change. 

Seconds pass and his skin browns with an unnatural tan under the LED lights in his office. Meanwhile he continues to surge larger, biceps already larger than when Gabriel stumbled in, the head of marketing’s shoulders pack on muscle as his neck thickens and his whole torso widens with strength. Thighs bulge meatier as his cock quivers higher, stretching inches further into the air as his already massive balls pulse larger. Gabriel’s gasp announcing his presence, the masturbating man opens his eyes and, almost as if it were a defense mechanism he loses control and cums.

Gabriel can’t tear his eyes away from the titan at the moment of his release. Every already massive muscle on his body expands as veins bulge out from the clear stress of the transformation. As load after load shoots out in inhumanly quick succession, Gabriel freezes as he sees facial hair and body hair that somehow already looks shaved begins to decorate his beyond masculine form. Sweat glistening off the man’s sculpted body makes him aware of the aura of musk that has clearly been filling this room, one that is impossibly similar to the general malaise that he has been assailing his senses all morning. Finally realizing what is happening in front of him, Gabriel slams the door shut and sprints down the hall, accompanied by nothing but his own gasps of exertion. 

He doesn’t take a second to think until he’s safe back in the sanctum of his office. The only place since this morning where he hasn’t felt the dreadful haze that he only just became totally aware of. Hopefully safe here, he allows himself a moment of reflection, connecting his brief encounter with Ron and his unfortunate meeting with what can’t have been Alexander. “Fuck it.” He starts to pull out his cell to check the news but before he can make any progress, he realizes there is something warm and sticky on his shirt. Looking down to see what it is he immediately drops his phone and tears off his suit. God. Some of that must-be imposter’s cum got on his button up. He throws the shirt away and scrubs at his skin where the man’s fluids got on him with fury. Using hand sanitizer like it’s a cure he scrubs and scratches until his skin burns red and raw. 

After he’s confident he’s done all he can to remove any trace of Alex from his body, Gabriel grabs the backup shirt he keeps in his desk for just an occasion as this. Or rather, in case he spills coffee on himself or some other accident that makes sense at all. His mind craving any degree of normalcy the thought of coffee stays with him. Oliver should be making it in about now. His pulse begins to quicken as he feels concern for the intern, in fact it’s racing far faster a tempo than it usually reaches at its most accelerate. Putting his hand on his wrist as concern for himself eclipses that of Oliver he finds both come to a head as his door opens and he falls out of his chair in shock.

“Jesus Oliver, knock next time!” The programmer shouts cowering behind his desk. Oliver quickly sets down his handful of mugs and goes to help his boss up, “So sorry Gabe! I just saw you were in and you usually don’t mind at all.” Standing up, Gabriel inches behind the intern and quietly closes the door, he looks Oliver up and down for anything out of the ordinary. “Are you, feeling alright Ollie?” The man purses his lips and pats himself down, clearly not in the same headspace of his usually stoic boss, “Well, I believe I am sir? Is, uhm, everything alright with you?” Oliver’s eyes flicker around the room seeing the discarded clothes and taking note of his boss sweating more than usual. In fact Oliver isn’t sure if he’s ever seen the man really sweat at all, “Did you want me to switch for an iced coffee?”

Gabriel rubs his face and is similarly shocked to find himself sweating, “Ugh. I think this job might be getting to me. Have you seen anyone else in the office today?” Oliver puffs his cheeks and looks at the mugs he set aside, “No actually? Now that you mention it, Ronnie wasn’t even downstairs which seemed weird. I mean he’s always on that grind to try and impress Rueben.” Gabe scratched his beard and grimaced, usually he’s quite adept at compartmentalizing, it’s how he hasn’t blown up at the CEO thus far. But the impossibility of what he saw in Alexander’s office has left him shaken. His heart rate begins to rise once more as his mind returns to that scene. 

In fact, it’s not the only thing that begins to rise. Suddenly his uncontrollable mind latches onto the image of Alexander’s cock expanding and then blowing its load and Gabriel’s own cock begins to stir. His face burns with blush as he can’t help but dart his eyes to see his usually unimpressive cock begin to inch its way larger down his dress pants. For his part Oliver, used to taking verbal cues follows his boss’ eyeline and balks as he sees the man thoughtlessly go to grab it. Oliver is struck speechless as the ever stark programmer bites his lip and begins rubbing his cock through the linen pants, “Jesus, uh- Uhm- Sir!?” 

Immediately alert he wipes his face and sucks up the drool that was apparently beginning to pool in his throat. Gabriel grabs a tissue and wipes his brow, fervently apologizing to the intern, “I am so sorry Oliver. I don’t know what…” Oliver quickly waves him off, not so much bothered by the behavior as surprised. “D- Don’t you worry about it Gabe, er sir. I’ll just be out here if you need me!” He backs into the door before stepping out with an awkward nod, leaving the coffee cups behind. Gabriel debates whether or not he should report himself to HR before he slams his fist against his desk chair as he remembers they haven’t an HR department. 

Rage at his shitty start-up returning at an elevated degree he gets his head back in the game, despite the best attempts of his wanting package and balls growing bluer by the second. Concerned for whatever seems to be going on in this office, or worse in the world at large, he goes to the internet once more. Without much thought at all he opens Web and starts scrolling to find any information of use. Unfortunately for the higher functions in his mind the programmer is immediately assailed by the mindless user base he so disdains, and rather than feeling the ire he always does towards the dullards and hellions. Instead he finds himself possessed with a desire to drink in every last bulging muscle that presents itself.

Coworkers, friends, reporters- Everyone Gabriel has deemed worthy of attention on the nigh-worthless platform he is forced to use, even those who are straighter laced than Gabriel, have been posting smut on main. Industrious man he may be, the programmer is indeed but a man of flesh and blood, and that blood is rushing through him at a breakneck pace to give him the most intense erection he’s ever enjoyed. 

It’s partially why he’s so adamant about diversifying their app, a weakness in himself for the male form; a weakness that whatever corruption that is beginning to rise within him is gleefully taking full advantage of. He tries to stay focused, return to his concerned research, but after taking a gasping breath he realizes that his own body has begun to produce the musky air that must be spreading the impossible changes he’s trying to get to the bottom of.

Staring at the bulging pecs and hairy asses of men he once respected, Gabe struggles to pay attention to anything but the cock begging for his attention as it begins to create a wet spot halfway down his leg. The zipper halfway undone by the growing beast alone is fully ripped asunder as Gabriel can’t help but full on masturbate in his office, just as he walked into Alexander doing but minutes ago. He tears off his button up with uncharacteristic aggression as it begins to impede his jacking off. As soon as his arms are exposed his attention leaves the app and begins to hone in on his own body. God has he always been so hot?

Gabriel flexes his biceps and smirks as he sees them peak higher than he’s ever imagined they could before now. Raising his arms also exposes his pits, a hotbed for musk and whatever impossible contagion hides within it. He forces his neck to crane down into his pit as sweat begins to stain the undershirt that is rapidly filled with new mass. Intended to be deliberately loose, pounds begin to pack onto his chest and push the garment to its brim, the cotton fabric sticks to his chest tight enough that it would be a struggle to get it off over his new pecs, hearing the sound of fabric straining his cock grows even harder at the idea that perhaps he won’t even need to take it off. He’ll just grow large enough that his massive body will destroy it for him.

This thought flitting through his mind, Gabirel loses whatever shred of self-control remains and goes all out in enjoying the changes happening to him. Rubbing his hands across his sweat-covered tank top and feeling the burning muscles building themselves underneath it. The sound of fabric straining and tearing fills him with pleasure he couldn’t fathom before now as he nears his first rapturous release. Sweat drips from his pits as they grow thicker and curls stretch further afield as to be ungovernable, ever focused on the task of spreading his scent. Steady streams of pre trail down his cock, lathering his hand as his whole body quivers with the anticipation of ecstasy.

Before it can arrive however he receives a scheduled video call from the man he wants to hear from less than any other. Clicking accept as he must, the disdain that Gabriel has always held for Rueben quickly comes to a head. Greeted with the image of a more muscular, just as juvenile, version of the CEO filling his screen, Gabriel can’t help but grit his teeth in rage. Hearing him laugh and flex as he begins playing with the special effects in Zoom, Gabriel doesn’t have a moment to realize that he’s continued to masturbate. Instead,  much like when Alexander was surprised, his anger triggers him to cum immediately with no restraint, shooting loads all over the underside of the desk, his still thrusting hand, and the computer screen in front of him. 

Rueben laughs even harder at the sight, his voice duller than ever as he chastises the programmer, “Yo bro huh! Don’t take out your anger on the little guy! You should head down to the company gym and put that aggression to good use bro huhuh!” Gabriel narrows his eyes as veins bulge in his neck. Unhappy that the CEO might have a point, he promptly slammed the shutdown button on his computer and stumbled to his feet, quite off balance from his powerful orgasm. 

Quickly appraising his filthy condition, he shrugs at the cum covering his skintight clothes. Whatever, the gyms sure to be disgusting anyway, despite just enjoying release his cock bounces at the idea and he bites his lip to avoid smiling in excitement. Something at the back of his mind desperately begs for a second to realize he’s almost lost himself beyond measure. Unfortunately, with another deep breath of his own b.o. the man’s eyes fog over and he lumbers out of his office. 

Turning with an awkward smile as he hears the head programmer’s office open Oliver starts to say, “Hey boss, hope your-” before his mouth falls agape at seeing the disheveled lug that wanders out. Still unsteady on his feet as they begin to tear the expensive leather shoes he had on, the man stumbles forward and catches himself on the intern’s shoulder. “Buh, sorry uh, Oll’” grimacing at the stain he left on the young man’s shirt, he wipes it in further and nods before heading off, “I’m uh… Gonna go check out the gym.” Oliver stares at what he can only guess is cum that his boss just smeared into his shirt before going off to the gym. Rather than confusion at his boss’ behavior or disgust at the surely hazardous substance on his shirt, he can’t help but sniff as something in the air begins to make him feel warm inside. 

Sprinting down the emergency flight of stairs Gabriel leaves a cloud of musk in his wake as he works up more sweat than his body has ever produced before. Each bounding footstep skips an arbitrary amount of stairs as his legs lengthen. Quickly does he lose the few shreds of clothing that remained stuck to his growing form. After his feet finally burst from his shoes he leaves a clear trail of sweaty footprints that could surely be tracked by anyone who wanders past. Though any poor fool who should wander near enough to smell the slovenly detritus in Gabriel’s wake would likely find themselves lacking motivation to do anything but immediately lose their mind to senseless pleasure then and there.

Arriving in the gym Gabriel hungrily eyes the scene and is less than thrilled that he seems to be the only man present. Opting to throw on some clothes for no reason than to feel the friction of fabric against his sweaty skin he finds stained sweatpants littered on the floor and throws them on. After gratuitously appreciating his reflection and adding to the Pollock painting of stains that litter the posing mirror of their company gym, Gabe throws himself intuitively into every machine. He delights in the tension and pull of every straining muscle and grins through the pain as they bounce back larger than with every repetition. 

He doesn’t spare half a thought about wiping down machines, and clearly whatever boorish louts used them previously didn’t either, much to his satisfaction. Each second of his body changing upstairs during his too brief session of self pleasure holds nothing towards the edification, the perfection, he enjoys now as he throws himself into a workout. It’s far more intense than his meager body should ever be able to maintain. Sweat drips from him like a waterfall as hair fans out across his form, rapidly expanding from shaved stubble into fluff that would hold and spread his scent for hours to come.

Taking a break to take a photo of his new beyond exuberant self, as he stands across from the mirror his cock instantly hardens and inches to its almost foot long length down the leg of his sweatpants. Immediately it begins dripping pre down his hairier thigh as he screams in bestial abandon. His brain is so far gone the idea of posting the steamy pics of his sweaty form on Web doesn’t even occur to him. Instead the only thoughts remaining to fill his mind are those to return to the gym and get back to the important mission of increasing his virile strength, or the even more pressing desire to fuck anything that moves. Unfortunately for him he can’t produce a single actionable step towards that end. So he shall simply enjoy his new body by his lonesome until some equally horny man stumbles into the company gym.

“God what is up with me today.” Back on the tenth floor Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose as he is overwhelmed with another headache. Ever since Gabriel paid him the brief visit on his way to the gym Oliver has been getting them with increasing frequency. He removed his shirt, not wanting to wear something fouled by whatever was covering his boss’ hands but the damage was already done. The idea that not wearing a shirt in the office is inappropriate moves further out of reach by the second. The intern scratches the back of his neck and grumbles as he feels a soreness in his arm and traps, paying no mind as his fingers trail through thicker hair spreads down from his hairline towards his shoulders. Typing away at his computer, each keypress moves slower than the last, his hands cramp as they suddenly bulge larger.

Taking the smallest second to appraise his changing form Ollie’s eyes widen as he sees there are two unmissable weights now hanging on his chest, sitting on a small gut that he has been making concerted efforts to do away with. Feeling up the new pecs he blushes as he feels stubble prickle his fingers. Rubbing them and feeling muscle give way to his thicker hands he can’t suppress the grin on his face as he feels the prickly hairs quickly thicken and curl longer, painting his chest with a beautiful forest of hair. His dick immediately surges to the largest size it can achieve in the confines of his dress pants.

Awash in feeling every new inch of his hairier, more powerful body Oliver stands up and gasps as he sees abs clearer than anything underneath the new layer of hair on his stomach. His knees give way as his hips uncontrollably thrust while he stares down at his form growing sexier by the second. He barely catches himself from falling with his right hand on the table as his body continues to hump his pants to no end, while his left trails across his body to discover the new surprises that cover each and every inch. Hesitant to trail towards the package bulging larger in his crotch, he traces his abs back up to his chest and rests on his clavicle. There does he find the greatest surprise yet, barely gracing the tips of his fingers, a beard beginning to push out on a face that has always been unfortunately clean shaven. 

While it took browsing Web and the intrusion of his workplace enemy for Gabriel’s conscious mind to give in to the euphoria of being a new, greater man, the feeling of a beard inching thicker on Oliver’s face is more than enough to give himself over to anything. This alongside whatever corrupting virus is coursing through him to cause these changes, it’s no wonder he falls to the floor and begins thrusting a hole in his pants. His meaty thighs and monumental ass make light work of his dress pants as his cock angles itself upwards, out of the waistline of his impossibly tight underwear. Even while in the process of spraying load after load into the carpet of his office, his balls continue churning, always heavy and ever wanting more release. Ever demanding he find more avenues to spread his changes and heighten his own bliss. 

Now laying on the floor, every exhilarating movement packs more pounds of muscle onto his bulging new body. More pressing than that however is the pelt making its mark everywhere it sees fit to spread. His pubes grow thick enough that no light shall ever touch the base of his cock again before they spread upwards to paint his stomach with dark curls. The deodorant he threw on this morning hasn’t a breath of a chance against the new musk that issues forth from his pits as the bushes therein grow thicker than that on his head before stretching outwards to connect with those new heady hairs he so delighted in on his chest. The hairs around his nipples grow thick enough almost to hide them as he continues frotting against the carpet.

His biceps burn with the effort of holding his body up as veins bulge down the diameter of his meaty arms, thick strands of hair quickly trailing behind to make clear his undeniable masculinity. He feels new curls itching against the back of the elastic band of his underwear as it only just hangs in there. Dark curls reach up the small of his back and quickly race to cover his ass cheeks like fuzz on a peach, creating a seamless jungle of curls from his hairy inner thighs to a dense thicket still inching higher on his back; growing into a forest perfect to be grabbed by anyone lucky enough to ride his prodigious cock.

After an especially vocal release, his shoulders burn as his traps bulge larger, which brings a certain someone’s touch to mind. Sniffing the air he finds himself in a haze of his own musk, though the musk smells awfully similar to that of the man who almost started masturbating in front of him. Following his more sensitive nose, the intern crawls over to Gabriel’s office and confirms his suspicions. Oliver smirks as he imagines that the horny freak is probaly equally wanting of a fuck buddy. 

Pulling himself up to his feet on the doorway, he grunts as his knees wobble a bit and his cock tries to convince him that humping the floor is good enough. Staying strong and holding the human instinct that some things are worth the effort, he walks on feet hairier than paws and wider than flippers to the elevator where he begins a descent to the company gym. Snapping a picture to text his boss he smirks as he thinks despite what Gabriel always says, perhaps working in a start-up has some perks after all.

It isn’t clear precisely what happened on the Fall day when men across the Bay Area began changing into, well, sex-crazed beasts. Some assume it was some strange chemical leak. Others say that it was some spontaneous evolution, though to what end such pleasure seeking changes could help a species is unclear. Some particularly conspiracy-minded folks think the whole thing was a ploy by a Social Media startup that was taking off with men precisely like the ones who changed. Though at the end of the day it doesn’t quite matter how or why they changed but how to prevent it from spreading. Across the nation, men of every walk of life are rapidly changing despite taking the best precautions. 

Closing gyms, quarantining those changing, racing to find any treatment to help those losing their minds and their bodies. Nothing seems to help as every day more men are blowing up with muscle, growing hairier with symptom spreading musk, and losing themselves to their uncontrollable lusts. At this point it’s seeming like there’s nothing that could possibly be done to stop the spread of changes, but hey, at least it seems like they’re happy.

[occamstfs]

Viral Transformation Stories

Here are the pieces written thus far! Terrific stories by equally terrific authors, (Displayed in alphabetical order and to be updated as the other pieces are posted!)

Though every piece is not for every taste; Every one of these stories is an excellent showcase of the talents and tastes of their authors as well as being excellent explorations of my prompt!

HairyJockTf - A Full Dose of Country

All-Star wrestler Cody finds himself enjoying the work of a ranch hand altogether too much after receiving an accidental dose of a bovine vaccine. (Ranchhand TF)

YellowJesterTfs - Agents of Change

Whitman stands guard at the entrance to The Oval Office, never could he expect the horror that approaches in the form of a flawless figure. One surrounded by equally perfect men, men who want nothing more than to spread their perfection as far as they can. (Assimilation TF, MG and MC)

Warping-Realities - Beautiful Things

CW: Corruption- Exchange student Alois keeps hearing a regressive vaguely religious pop song. When his friends begin dropping like flies to be fans of Benson Boone it may be only a matter of time before he counts himself among them, moustasche muscles and all. (Corruption, MG CW: Lib to Con Mental Change)

Eilorow - Gym Selfie - Working Together

Livid with his study partner, Jacob waits for any explanation from the man. After receiving a steamy selfie he finds himself rapidly losing interest in their assignment as well (Jockification)

AlphaJockLover - InstaJock: Going Viral

First person exploration of a man eager to explore the all too alluring world within the InstaJock App. Finally able to poke around himself without succumbing to transformation, he finds a ringleader lurking at the center of all these sinister changes. (Jockification)

MuscleJedi-Tameem - Millbrook University

Doting boyfriends, Jonny and Keegan, prefer to spend their time on pursuits of the mind. After accidentally contaminating themselves they are overcome by new passions and new power. (Himbofication)

MiscTf - Singing a New Tune

Jared is less than pleased about attending the concert of his girlfriend's favorite pop diva. As she gives a performance almost directly to his soul the jock finds more than his music tastes are beginning to change. (Straight to Gay Twink TF)

CaptainMaleWriter - XY

In the small town of [redacted] there's a viral outbreak causing dormant genes and repressed urges to force their way to the forefront. Gym goers find themselves as people anew as their changes begin and the need to spread their condition stirs. (Various, TFs incl. RC and MG)

OccamsTfs - Start-Up

(Non-competing) Gabriel hates the start-up he works for. Though this morning it seems there are more immediate things he should be concerned with as men something strange begins to change men around the world.

Coming Soon:

YourNewBody - Handbook For The Recently Infected

Sanzaibian - That Day When None Cared

Just-A-Jock - Untitled

Brains4Brawn -Going Viral

Link to my usual Masterpost !

Mind, any reblogs will hold the post in its current state. Though likes will carry over any and all edits I make when more writers post!

Barring any complications I should have the poll up on Sunday the 29th to be open for the following week!

(If writers would like edits to be made to their descriptions shoot me a DM!)

[occamstfs]

Viral TF Beginning !

Hey all- Today marks day one of posting for my 2k Celebration ! For readers I’ll most likely reblog all of them onto my side blog to have them all in one place! For writers be sure to add the hashtag #occam2000 which should also help aggregate them :)

Once it gets going and a few people have posted I’ll likely temporarily replace my usual masterpost with one highlighting all the Viral Transformation entries so be on the look out !

The final day to post is Saturday the 28th and the poll(s) for favorites will be up the next day on the 29th !

Also it’s not too late if you want to hop in the event now haha- Just let me know and I’m happy to accommodate !

Yours, Occam

[occamstfs]

Man Of Your Dreams

Wallflower Dylan is gifted a new psychedelic from his friend. Used to watching frat bros from afar he finds the pill seems to affect far more than his mind.

Intended this to be plot light but so it goes! Probably going to take this week off to avail myself to other authors entering my Viral Transformation Challenge! The next story will likely be my own take on the theme so look forward to that next week alongside those from a litany of other stellar TF writers! Until then! -Occam

Dylan was fairly straight-laced, going into his senior year of university he hadn’t strayed much at all from class besides tagging along with his friend from high school to some of the more boisterous frat parties. Said friend Tony was quite more of a wild child, often invited himself because he was the source of some of the more illicit substances to be found at these parties. He’d invite Dylan whenever he’d need a more sober pair of eyes, namely if he was planning on rolling or otherwise getting high on his own supply. Despite his mild manner, Dylan always hopped on the chance, going to ragers was supposed to be part of the whole college deal right? And besides, he didn’t mind the chance to ogle brazen men he would under normal circumstances be fearful of making eye contact with.

Knowing of his friend’s meek disposition, and repressed hunger for the most vulgar of men, when Tony hears of a crazy new psychedelic on the market he has a feeling Dylan might finally let his hair loose. Reviews say the stuff makes reality feel like a waking dream. Anything seems possible and to your body it might as well be. Steamier sources swear that dreaming about sex on the stuff is even better than the real thing. Tony, never concerned about side effects of his material, gets straight to hitting up the usual channels to see what he can get and is able to scrounge up a single pill of the stuff. He wonders if he should try it out himself first before deciding he owes his friend at least first dibs.

Dylan is floored at how quickly he agreed to taking the pill. After initially being standoffish at Tony’s suggestion that he use it to fuck frat bros in his mind, once his friend started explaining what he’s heard Dylan couldn’t pass up the opportunity to really live out his fantasy. He’s not going to outgrow being a wallflower, nor is at all confident that any of the performatively masculine men would fuck him. Staring at the pill the only thing holding him back is Tony’s vapid instructions. ‘Just have a blast dude, fuck your way through those bros hah!’ Dylan’s asking about the side effects falls on deaf ears as Tony just crassly humps the air to try to convince his friend to go out on a limb. Despite his qualms and fears, and the lack of confidence inspired by Tony’s actions, Dylan feels sure that his friend wouldn’t give him something actually potentially dangerous.

Holding tight to that misplaced confidence, as soon as Tony departs Dylan pours himself a glass of water and chokes the pill down. The small tablet leaves a metallic taste in his mouth, quickly hidden by the copious amount of saliva and bile starting to rise in the back of his throat as he immediately feels the urge to vomit. Man of will despite appearances, he keeps it down and just as soon scowls as he thinks about the lack of preparation offered by his friend and prepares to tear into Tony as soon as the trip is over. Standing up he feels the room spinning around and murmurs in shock, “su- surely it’s shouldn- work this… fas-” He stumbles over to his bed and falls face down as he feels his body growing sweaty.

Before his well-practiced anxiety response can rise his mind is flooded with every pleasant hormone it’s able to produce. Every muscle in his body tenses and he feels his cock struggle to force itself erect in the awkward position he’s fallen in. Dylan moans as every sensation sends signals so intense and potent that his mind can barely maintain consciousness. Indeed he finds himself struggling to even hold his eyes open as his eyelids grow weighty. Even perfunctory bodily functions feel erotic as he begins to fade, the burning of cold air in his stretching lungs, the sound of his own heartbeat and the warmth of blood coursing through his veins. Drool immediately pools under his head as he crests into a stuporous induced unconsciousness, far too unprepared for what awaits him in his trip, and the new world he is to encounter afterwards.

Dylan is sitting in a chair across from a man he knows too well and not at all. Face to face with Ben Harrington, president of Beta Delta Alpha, Dylan has to push down the immediate rush of fear. Taking a breath he reminds himself that this is a dream, one that Tony swears he should have pretty lucid control over. As the president stands opposed, leaning on nothing he flexes his arms and the pastel button up Dylan usually sees him clad in changes into a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. He smirks as he pushes sunglasses up his face and speaks in a tone intoxicated, under the influence of nothing but Dylan himself. His raspy voice sends a shiver down the meek man’s spine as he feels himself unable to retreat, “So, uhh, Dylan is it?” 

Approaching enough to touch him, Ben puts an arm over Dylan’s shoulder, exposing his clearly unwashed pit. Dylan takes a deep breath and forces his eyes closed from the burning over-stimulation of this man baring down on him. Still, from the sticky breath blowing across the face it's clear he is continuing to inch even closer, “You want me do you?” Dylan gulps as the man gets even closer, Ben’s lips almost touching his own, “Or do you just want to be me?” This takes Dylan out of it as he steps back away from the imposing man. Eyes opening he tries to manipulate the scene as Tony implied he should be able to. The Ben of his mind tilts his head and tsks, “‘Fraid you’re not the one in charge here after all.”

Ben closes the gap once more and throws his arm around the easily manhandled Dylan pulling his body against his own sweat stained form. He smirks and leans in directly to whisper something into the dreamer’s ear, “and if you do really wanna fuck me, well. You’re gonna have to become something more my type. Yeah?” Dylan blinks in surprise, he’s heard of bad trips and the like but something seems decidedly wrong here. Before he’s able to come to any cogent conclusion the dream Ben reaches down his free hand into Dylan’s pants. His sweaty hand instantly wraps around the smaller man’s balls and squeeze. Dylan hasn’t a chance to scream in shock he feels himself lose control. Of his body, his mind, and the world around him as he begins to fall back.

He’s humping the air as he’s falling into an abyss. He doesn’t feel the fear that this descent should evoke. Usually nightmares that turn this way immediately blast him back to consciousness, instead it fills him with adrenaline that only heightens the delight coursing out from his cock. Sure that he’s now laying face down in a pool of his own semen in the real world, Dylan does what he can to focus on the pleasure as intended. 

The sound of wind tearing past him makes him unable to hear his moaning screams as his clothes are shredded by the searing gale. Rapt in delight, the blaring gusts begin to slow. Air caresses him like a full body hug and suddenly he is deposited onto soft ground. Dylan doesn’t quite repose as his body continues convulsing. Cum begins to sprinkle down on him from the plethora of loads released during his descent and he finally finds wherewithal to paw at his crotch. Grasping at his balls he finds them unmistakably larger, “Wha?” No longer falling, Dylan opens his eyes and seems to be back in reality.

Dylan awakens and blearily rubs his eyes with clearly semen stained hands. “Oh what the, ugh- Am I awake?” His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the lighting of a room that is decidedly not his bedroom. “Can’t be right?” Shaking the mess off his hands without a second thought he stands to his feet with a grunt and feels his cock bobbing, still impossibly rigid. His hands return to this turgid beacon before they almost happenstance fondle his balls. His sluggish mind struggles with how heavy and large they feel, nothing like the ones he has in reality. He smirks as the last words of Ben snake through his mind- “Become something more my type.” Who’d’ve thunk the president was into horndogs.”

Sniffing the air he begins to inspect the room surrounding him. Dirty clothes litter the floor and he finds a pervasive musk filling the air. Something in the back of his mind itches that there should be a can of axe around somewhere to cover it up, which he ignores for a number of reasons. He should be able to will the room to stop stinking. He certainly wouldn't do so with cheap body spray, and for the life of him he can’t bring himself to want to. Each deep breath of the stink he finds himself growing even hornier. Dylan feels his balls churning as he grasps them, he’s already cum a good number of times and yet he still craves release. 

He imagines the firm ass of a frat brother and leans against his dresser he uncontrollably begins to hump once more. Something flickers at the back of his mind yet again and he rips into an open drawer. Throwing clothes onto the pile of dirtied garments already littering the floor, Dylan removes a fleshlight which he proceeds to make exuberant use of. No time for his mind to question why he’s suddenly a top as his cock fills the sex toy more with every grunting thrust. 

Pubes scratch against his thumb as his crotch shifts into one that would instantly render a razor unusable. Likewise hair that has never even had to be controlled on his ass begins to thicken, growing itchy as a true jungle of curls begins to flourish on both sides of his waist. Soon enough his cock grows large enough that the toy is rendered unusable, with a furrowed brow and ungrateful grunt he tosses it to his room leaving it dripping on the floor as he somehow remains just as sexually unfulfilled as when he began, “Fuck I need the real thing…”

The real thing not present Dylan looks down at his cock and gasps as he sees what has become of his package. He doesn’t have a ton of sex but he usually keeps it clean and pretty hairless down there just for his own sake. Beyond the forest of pubes thick enough to get his hand stuck in, he covers his mouth in shock as he sees a veiny cock larger than he’s ever seen on a man with the low hanging massive balls to match. He does his best to focus up on anything besides how horny he is, but as pre continues to trickle from his hardened cock that becomes increasingly difficult. He bites his lip and looks past his throbbing cock at the floor. If he puts it away perhaps it’ll quiet of its own accord.

Dylan doesn’t pay heed to which clothes are clean or dirty as he throws on whatever best could hide his cock from his hands and mind. Nor could he notice just how far cleanliness and decency have fallen as priorities for him as he struggles to fit his package in clearly stained sweatpants. Itching at his waist as his pubes begin creeping up into a treasure trail racing to mee the spreading curls beginning to decorate his chest, his dull awareness finally notices that his whole body has begun changing. His thin arms have clearly put on powerful muscle from his mindless sessions of self-love, veins trailing down them make it difficult for him not to get straight back to masturbating at the thought of his own strength.

Similarly his eyes latch onto a chest that has somehow exploded into pecs without his knowing. Muscle that has never begun to grace his body now jiggles with every movement. He clenches his jaw hard trying to muster willpower not to give into his most basal urges, but as he feels his thighs fill the sweatpants he just threw on he wonders how long he could possibly hold out. His cluttered mind struggles to recall that he is on some kind of psychedelic trip as he fails to remember how long Tony said it would last. Instead swimming through dulling memories the voice of his, er, the frat president speaks up. “Ah god… You’re looking fucking good Big D. How’s your mind hangin’ in there?”

It takes a few moments for the words to sink in before Dylan can reply, “My, unh- mind?” His balls pulse as his eyes dash across the room while he struggles to think. God he’s been struggling to think this whole time. His cock lurches as he’s able to realize that every thought in his mind has been growing increasingly clouded. “Big D?” Dylan can’t help but smirk as his beyond impressive cock strains his sweatpants at being called Big D. He grunts as he tries to shake off the lusty delirium, “Need to chill out. Ugh. Sober up.” He hears the president tsk at him yet again, waiting with bated breath for the mans words his pecs bulge even larger on his chest. “Too late for that bro, just give in. Why have a trip into true unadulterated ecstasy when you can have a lifetime. You can finally be the man of your dreams.” 

As soon as the words of Ben, his president, are spoken in his mind it becomes clear that Big D doesn’t even have the ability to fight back against the ever-present urges that now control his body. He tears off the sweatpants that were barely holding in there as he fully give himself to whatever is calling out for him, the drug, Ben Harrington, whatever. His body bulks beyond measure to become man enough to carry the vulgar package that lies in his crotch. He masturbates into the leg of his sweatpants torn asunder as his torso bulks up, evidence of his endless celebrations as a man of Beta Delta Alpha.

Bestial body hair begins to cover his torso as his beard grows thick and dark. The tangle of hair in his pits thickens and spreads enough that it, nor it’s dominating musk, could ever be hidden. Muscle bulges on his arms large enough to haul kegs and toss out fuckers that get to rowdy at their festivities. Beyond apathetic to manicuring his appearance as he knows he’ll have people lining up at his doorstep regardless of needless things like hygiene or cleanliness he rubs his thick sweat covered thighs and feels how sensitive every inch of his skin has become. 

He smirks as he imagines, recalls rather, how constantly he gets to enjoy the sensual opportunities offered by his new form. He’s got all he needs dangling between his thick thighs and everyone who matters already knows it. The president certainly does. Big D smirks as he thinks of their vacations together on the frat’s dime. He puts his arms behind his head and sniffs his musky pits as he lays in repose, a thick cloud of musky sweat surrounds him as he begins to hear the sound of festivities breaking out on the floor below him and someone’s fervent footsteps racing up the stairs to his den.

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and Big D imagines that some couple is looking for an empty room with urgency. He paws at his crotch excited to join in on their fun. Instead he sees some nervous looking guy who freezes as soon as he sees the behemoth, fear in his eyes. “D-Dylan!? I- That drug, there was something, something s-” He stutters and his hands shake as Big D rolls his eyes and stands almost two heads taller than he should over Tony, one of their frat’s little party drug dealers. Still, he wouldn’t have come up here for no reason. Big D silences him with a finger and slams the door shut behind him. Tony’s brow furrows as he looks around the room in confusion. Even his perpetually drug-addled mind can tell something unreal, something impossible has happened to his friend. “That pill can’t have done this right?” Tony takes nervous breaths and Big D’s musk rapidly fills his lungs, distracting him from whatever petty issue brought him in. Who cares about concern when his small cock is beginning to rise from simply standing near the priapic titan.

Big D’s voice rumbles through Tony, making him weak at the knees, “You wanna have some fun don’t you?” The drug dealer can’t help but nod and swallow the drool pooling in his mouth as the bestial Adonis stands over him, cock dripping ever-ready for another round. Tony isn’t sure if he’s started tripping himself or what, but as he begins making out with the frat bro he finds himself not minding as memories of whoever Dylan was disappear. After all pleasure is the most important thing, and no one is better at spreading heady delight than Big D.

[occamstfs]

Marichismo

Allen, a smug engineering student, finds himself seeking shelter from the storm in a museum for Latin American art. By the time it clears up it's safe to say he'll have a more than healthy appreciation for the arts.

Might've gotten away from me a tad but I think it turned out quite well! Latino Race and Cultural change, MG and language change ahead. Also a couple more people have hopped onto my Challenge since I last mentioned it! Otherwise, espero que disfrutes! -Occam

Allen was on a side of the campus he’s never quite made it a point to explore. In undergrad and in his Masters of Engineering program so far there has simply never been a need for him to venture too far from the engineering building or the architecture library. That is until his partner on a superfluous project requested he venture into the no man’s land that holds the campus’ main library, one that runs absolutely rampant with students he sees as far beneath him.

Even worse than simply venturing beyond his comfort zone, as soon as the pair have wrapped up their progress for the day, heading off on their less than merry ways, it begins to rain. As the first raindrops begin to fall, Allen scoffs at himself for being anything less than optimally prepared. Before he’s able to reflect too deeply, the snobbish student clenches his tech-filled book bag to his chest and sprints into the nearest building, apathetic to whatever space he noisily barges into.

Before his eyes can adjust to the dim light of the new space he finds himself in, Allen hears a crack of thunder as the heavens open up behind him. Sighing in relief at successfully staying dry, Allen keeps his guard up, eying the lobby of whatever building this is that he’s never deigned to step into before now. He grimaces as he finds himself in an art museum. He does not like art museums. It’s not so much that Allen sees himself as above fine art, it’s- well no it is that. Immediately, he begins scanning the lobby for a power outlet so he may continue working while he waits out the downpour.

Head shoved under a lobby bench Allen ignores a caution sign as he forces his charger in, causing an inevitable shock that forces out a less than respectful expletive in this place of introspection. He eyes the empty room around him, slightly grinning at just how barren the lobby is. Clearly he’s not the only one apathetic to this nonsense. Shaking his hand to reawaken its nerves, he hears the clicking of footsteps against the gallery floor as a small woman walks around the corner carrying a stack of books that block her view. Allen eyes a handful of escape routes to hide from the older woman before lightning strikes once more and she trips over in shock, dropping her small stack of books, “¡Dios Mio!”

Judgemental asshole Allen may be but heartless he is not. Setting down his bag with a sigh and a roll of the eyes, the student walks over to help the older woman gather herself. Barely avoiding reflexively chiding his elder as he offers her a hand, he helps her up. The attendant pushes a large pair of glasses up her nose and squints at him with a kind smile, “Ah! Gracias, gracias mijo.” She pulls herself up on Allen’s hand and he cringes back as some kind of aftershock of static goes up his arm. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to affect her. Dusting herself off, she does a double take at Allen and adjusts her glasses, “¿Qué te trae aqui hoy, mijo? (What brings you in today dear?)

Allen hesitates, blowing air as he tries to understand why this woman thinks he knows spanish. Scratching the back of his head he finally looks to see the text blazoned across the front desk, El Gustavo Ramirez Museo De Arte Latinoamericano. Putting two and two together as he is ever so proud of doing, Allen immediately apologizes for intruding. “So sorry uh, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to wander into your, uh, space.” gesturing to the woman and the building around him in a manner to distinguish it not so much as beneath him but as an other. Something that is simply a bridge too far for him to gap. “This place isn’t for me so I think I’ll go ahead and step out.” Thunder peels before he can start to gather his things, immediately reminding him why he is in here at all. 

The older woman also relents, switching to English since, despite some instinct saying otherwise, the man before her clearly speaks only english. “Ah don’t you worry yourself mijo. The museum is for all, para todos. Free with your student ID,” she tacks on with a wink. Allen smiles uncomfortably, baring teeth enough that it could be mistaken as a grimace. 

He can’t just tell this old lady that he hasn’t a thought to spare, in his mind: waste, on the collections behind her. Still he doesn’t want to make conversation indefinitely waiting for the storm to clear either. Fearful of the outlet he’s used thus far he convinces himself there must be one hiding somewhere in the exhibition hall. He’ll just pacify her with entry and go find some place in between ostentatious paintings and droll statues to insert himself and get some actual work done.

Producing his ID wordlessly, he hands it to the elderly woman and she quickly shuffles behind her desk to type his name into some registry. Handing it back with a smile she leaves her hand hanging for a shake, “Wonderful to meet you Allan! Soy Lupe Carvajal. But you can call me abuelita, mijo!” Pocketing his ID with a dismissive laugh he notices not that his name is apparently misspelled on his ID card, instead he packs his charger up and shakes Lupe’s hand. “Hah. Uhm, whatever you say Mrs. Carvajal.” Her hand is wrinkled and frail but surprisingly warm, as if his hand were receiving the full body experience of a hug in but a single shake. 

“You know Allan, I must have thought you know spanish because you look quite like my nieto, my grandson.” Allan puffs his cheeks to bite his tongue, holding a picture in his mind of what this granny’s descendants must look like and knowing there’s simply no permutation that lands at himself. She continues, “Es un joven fuerte! Haha!” She does a little bicep pose which allows Allan to understand exactly what she means without her translating. He shyly smiles looking down at his own thin arms and wondering why this lady seems to be mocking him. After doing her bit, Lupe moves to sit at the desk and pulls a book off her stack, “You just let me know if you need anything mijo, si?” Allan nods and reflexively responds, “Si ab- Mrs. Carvajal.”

Odd taste in his mouth at almost calling this random woman grandmas she asked, he shakes it off and wanders into the exhibit hall, decidedly less worried about using her museum’s resources to his own ends. It has probably been over a decade since anyone was able to drag him into an art museum. Even then was he vehemently against wasting his time visiting. He just didn’t get art, and not for not trying. It’s just, aggravating that some people can get so much from some splotches of paint and he just sees a picture on some paper. Feeling himself get riled up he turns to the exhibit hoping for some distraction, which he finds in an elaborate statue of some dog. himself. 

Allan stands beside a huichol coyote covered in beads about two feet high. Spotlighted in the dim gallery he circles it like a predator, inspecting the bright beaded beast from every angle. See this he gets. This took time, this took care. Leaning in close the warmth of the overhead light pleasantly burns the top of his head. Absorbed by the shimmering light off the beads, Allan is unaware as his hair suddenly begins to lengthen. The buzz he has always kept short for sheer manageability begins to curl over his ears, growing warm even quicker as it tints darker. Not quite black but certainly not the blonde shade he was always happy to keep despite his spending as few hours outside as possible.

Before curls can begin to crest over his forehead, his face is not spared the glare of the spotlight. Immediately as his olive eyes glaze over, absorbed into the intricate stitched patterns they begin to stain darker. The jade he has always seen in his own reflection shades darker ever so slightly. Not brown. No he doesn’t have brown eyes, they’re just hazel? His eyebrows match the suddenly darkened hair on his head as he stands staring at the beast. Not expanding to cover more of his face but growing thicker, denser. Almost as if to shade his eyes from the light. His lips thicken as a grin begins to tinge his face. Reaching up Allan feels stubble begin to prickle his chin and upper lip, as if he spent time shaving this morning. 

Allan moans contentedly as he gives in and reaches fully into the spotlight to touch the coyote. Rules and codes of propriety fall to the wayside as he reaches beyond the realm of rationality to touch the statue of the trickster. His hands burn as they tint ever so slightly darker under the glare of the spotlight. As soon as his middle finger feels the warmth of the first bead he recoils in shock. “Q- What?!” He falls onto his ass, no time to inspect his decidedly browner hands as the commotion made immediately summons Abuelita Lupe. The elderly attendant meanders as quickly as she can into the showroom, “¿Qué pasó Alan?” Alan flexes his hand in shock. Whatever just happened it can’t be his fault.  Surely he didn’t just unprompted mess with some artifact on display. “I, um? No sé?” He pauses, unsure of what he just said, nonsense he thinks. “I mean um, I’m not sure?”

Lupe goes to help him up with what little strength she can muster only for him to wave her off, sure that she would only get in the way. He finds standing takes more effort than usual as he does so with a grunt. Nervously patting him on the back, Lupe asks him if he’s alright after the spill, buzzing around him with concerned pleasantries. Alan doesn't quite hear her as he instead inspects his own body. His clothes are tighter. He stretches and pulls at them, presuming them to just be falling weird on him after the fall. But close inspection shows otherwise. Looking at his cardigan it is clearly strained by his chest and stomach. Blushing at the idea he’s put on weight, Alan crosses his arms and notices how snugly his arms fill the sleeves, how his wrists hang out further than they should, not only that but they are unmistakably darker. Not brown, but without a doubt a few shades darker than his usual porcelain tone.

Recovering from being lost in his thoughts he looks to find Lupe staring, “Oh! Lo, uh sorry. Did you uh, ask me something Senora Carvajal?” Looking down at a sharper angle than he did earlier, he sees the abuela looking at his head with a tilt. “Did you do something different with your hair mijo?” eyes narrowing with concern and suspicion he thrusts his hair into his new curls. He immediately gasps in shock before reconsidering. This is how he’s always looked right? 

Thank god his hair is naturally curly so he can just leave them as they fall without much ado. He smiles and shakes his head at Lupe and she nods happily in return. Reaching up she puts her small hand on his bicep and squeezes it, Alan can barely hear her as he is struck with just how powerful his arm seems next to her small hand as she continues, “Well I like it mijo.” With that she aways and leaves Alan be. Having the floor to himself his expression grims as he pulls out his phone to look for a picture of himself. Something is off. His mind tells him everything is normal. When he looks at his hands he sees them as they have always been right? Why would he have a buzz cut when his hair is so naturally nice? Something in his gut screams out that something unnatural is going on. His camera roll should hold proof. Going through his phone he barely holds back a gasp that would surely summon the docent back as he is immediately greeted by a folder of his own nudes.

“Que chingado…” He whispers under his breath as his face burns redder than the scarlet beads on the coyote. He didn’t take these did he? Zooming in he is once more floored to see tattoos on his body. Looking down at his arm he sharply inhales as there's a sting and suddenly his wrist matches the image on his phone. Or no. He’s had that tattoo for years?

 Aghast at himself he still feels he wouldn’t have taken these photos of himself. Vain in many ways, his appearance is not one of them. He wonders if he’s been set up or hacked or something before he reminds himself no one would be able to do so without his knowledge. He’s a pro after all. Mind going to his technical skills, his chest puffs with pride as it grows to match the one he finds in the nudes soft-core and otherwise on his phone. Alan quickly shoves it in his pocket, finding it a much tighter fit than when he retrieved it. 

Looking around nervously, he walks close to the coyote once more. Narrowing his eyes he feels new memories come to mind from his childhood. Memories of hearing story after story of the trickster, he tilts his head as the slightest whiff of something amiss hides behind them. Staring into the eyes of the beast with suspicion the image of reading Greek mythologies by himself fades away to be replaced by his mother telling him stories from her own childhood. The coyote playing tricks and la Llorona terrorizing their little town just to make sure he stays in line. Alan smiles as he shakes out of the reverie, my mom wasn't morena was she? Headache rising as seconds pass standing near the beast he wanders away, muttering to himself without awareness, “didn’t want him in the main hall anyway.”

His hair continues to thicken and curl darker as he moves deeper into the exhibition space. Scratching at his stubble lost in thought he finds it defining itself into a goatee with a matching mustache. His phone still unlocked in his pocket shifts displays his form as he continues to change unawares. He feels himself begin to sweat intensely as his cardigan grows even tighter. His body decides to ramp up his masculinity as he starts to outright swell with muscle. His whole body twitches larger as he briefly recalls Lupe playfully flexing, “un joven fuerte!” He clicks his tongue and grins as he sees his biceps strain his sweater, almost enough to see his button up through the threads. He fights back a smirk feeling his shirt underneath hug the sides of his chest as his soldiers expand. Feeling his thicker pits start to sweat through said shirt and into the jacket he resolves to remove the cardigan.

His struggled grunts echo through the museum space as he struggles to get the cardigan off over his chest. The sound of fabric tearing rips through the room as stitches finally give way down the whole front of the garment, his pecs bursting larger into the open air. The top few buttons of his dress shirt also explode open as he is finally freed from the constricting sweater, “ayy dios- fuck…” He whispers to himself as he appreciates the ice cold air of the museum on his sweaty skin. The white dress shirt may as well be sheer with his sweat soaking it, allowing any gawkers to easily see tattoos running down his arm and the nipples almost poking through the shirt.

Only briefly does he wonder why he’s not self conscious about being exposed in the gallery before he notices a side-exhibition hall. “Ah si, uh. The temporary exhibit,” he whispers dreamily. Keeping quiet as any respectful museum-goer does. Though he doesn’t quite have the bodily awareness to mute his increasingly loud footsteps, each one growing louder as his upper body expands. He looks up to read the title of the exhibit as the sound of his shoulders widen enough to tear the back of his button up. Marichismo: Taking Back Latino Masculinity. He smirks as he finds the idea compelling, he’s uh, not hispanic of course. Nor has he ever been intrigued by ‘art’ in the slightest, he thinks. But something draws him deeper. Something pulls him further. Something in him begs for more.

His pants creak as he crosses the threshold into the new space, his ass expanding beyond the pale. Similarly does his crotch demand both more room and his attention as Arlad is immediately face to face with a deliberately provocative statue. The blush burning his face is just as soon hidden as his tan grows darker as he’s overwhelmed by everything in front of him. It’s as if Tom of Finland were Chicano. Bulges beyond belief force their way out at every angle. Rigid thick mustaches hang stoic on every face as Arlad feels his own stubble grow darker, thicker, itchier.

The student is torn between instincts, just as he feels increasingly torn between two worlds. His body continues ballooning and his shirt bursts clean off, buttons scatter to the floor and sharp tears launch down his arms. He can’t help but hungrily scan the floorspace as the bright lights bore into him, exposing him as if he were a piece of art on display. He looks down just in time to see his cock burst large enough to blow his zipper out which only addles his mind further, “Tal vez, just a minute…” He wanders into the exhibit hall proper as his eyes finally make the jump into a rich chocolate brown. He trips over his feet, gasping as he feels them stuffed uncomfortably tight in his oxfords before kicking off the shoes altogether. Just as soon do his pants rip off and he is left almost entirely nude in this exhibit hall.

His mouth hangs open as his cock acts almost like a dowsing rod in between pieces. The language in which Arcad thinks rapidly begins to change altogether, already a bilingual medley, with each starved look at photographed vaqueros or bulge forward paintings does English drift farther away. Maintaining fluency in both of course, the man would never let that tongue take predominance over that of his madre y su madre before her. His pecs pump even larger with pride as thick curls begin itching up from his crotch. He scratches at his stomach as he smirks at his body finally getting on brand. This whole show is about displaying masculinity and he needs to be the apex. He needs…

Arcad twitches as these definitive thoughts cut through the fog in which he has been going about. Why does he care so much about this place? He doesn’t like art. Certainly not this uh smut. He twitches as he argues that being provocative is the point, sexualization of the male form is the point. Why could he know that? How does he know anything about this exhibit? Looking around at the photographs he sees men who are almost a parody of masculinity. Fighting back the overwhelming pervasive horniness issuing forth from balls bulging larger he takes a deep breath and ignores the temple to the male form around him. 

It’s impossible for him to notice as his thoughts crest fully into español. After all it simply is the language in which he has always thought, no matter what his teachers demand of him. Back to the matter at hand he is struck with the urge to create. Mierda- this exhibition really inspired him, he should really write an essay about this. Or, no. He moans and clutches at his temples as the shining lights out of sight gleam even brighter, sparkling off his sweaty muscled form as he’s racked with the pain of opposing realities. No, that isn’t right. He doesn’t do essays anymore. That’s not how he creates. 

Memories of long hours at the lab and in dark rooms sitting at a keyboard dissipate. Haughty superiority over fields and forms he deems insignificant thankfully blast away as images of the photographs and artworks around him come to mind with an ease that makes him uneasy. Creeping in from the edges of his lived memory are other exhibits, many that he has visited, some that he has put on of his own accord. 

Tattoos continue to drip down his arm as his treasure trail rushes onto his chest, blooming out to cover his pecs. The space in between his mustache and goatee is quickly filled, as are the entirety of his cheeks as his eyes shut even tighter. Independent muscle groups twitch as his body struggles to forge him even larger, to be more. The lengthy curls on his head fall away as his head returns to a buzz cut, this time black as the night. This time impossibly deliberate. 

Arcadio buzzed it himself, he loved his curls. But he knew for this exhibition he had to sacrifice. Anything for his art. The phrase burns across his mind, Marichismo. It, it was his exhibition. Arcadio opens his eyes to find himself standing across from an oppressive statue staring down at him in disdain. His blood boils as his fight or flight activates. Though staying strong he just clenches his fist as his body bulges larger one last time. “Papa.” He made that statue, he isn’t about to be shoved around by his own art. The feeling of confidence filling him at standing up against the domineering statue is more than he could have held within him as Allan. Reverbs of confidence go through his psyche as he finally gets it. Turning around the confidence that fills him rapidly dissipates as he sees a man posing like a dog.

He exercised complete creative control of the exhibition, but did he take this? Memories of being behind the lens of the camera dance through his mind for most of the images, this one seems obscured. He ignores the cold sudden sting of a nose ring as he leans in close to inspect it, smirking all the while. Who’d he get to model this? Looking at the jockstrap he nods approvingly, mierda it is certainly hot though. His underwear stretches to its absolute limit as he forces his large hand down to paw his cock at the image. Looking down at his hairy forearm he gasps as he sees the tattoo on his forearm perfectly matches that of the model. 

At that moment his underwear burst free from his body and he suddenly realizes that being nude in this space is far worse a breach of etiquette than touching that coyote. Arcadio sprints to his bag and digs around for anything he could possibly use to hide his still bulging cock at half mast. “¡Gracias a dios!” he whispers under his breath as he wraps a towel around his waist, perfectly mimicking a photograph behind him. He smirks at the man thinking how proud Jose will be when he gets to see himself on a gallery wall. Arcadio grunts and clenches his head as memories of the man ahead of him fill his mind. Lightheaded he leans against the wall grimacing as he leads a sweaty handprint on the pristine white wall.

Turning around seeing the exhibit hall as a whole he almost falls over with a rush of memories. Advanced math and the life he once lived as Allan are dust in the wind as his childhood growing up the son of first generation immigrants in San Antonio rises to take their place. Living alone with his mother before his abuela moved up from Mexico to help raise him as if he were her son. Understanding himself and the world around him as he discovered who he was and what he had to do. Finally achieving success, winning grants, booking galleries as an artist. Not too bad for a maricon eh? He winks at the statue of his father, smirking as he feels his power as a man and artist grow.

Looking down at some engineering homework scattered from his bag the last pangs of a headache buzzes through him before he shakes his head and the work is gone. The last shreds of a life he once lived dissipate. Walking out into the lobby he sees his abuelita. She smiles at the massive man before adjusting her glasses and shouting out, “¡Ay! ¿Qué estás haciendo? ¡Ponte algo de ropa! (What are you doing! Put some clothes on!)” Arcadio laughs and waves her off, knowing the museum is closed while he preps his exhibition for opening tomorrow. 

His new voice is rich on his tongue as he speaks up, “Espero que les guste. La universidad no sabe lo que pagaron ¡ja! (Hope they like it. The uni doesn’t know what they paid for ha!)” His abuelita clicks her tongue, she loves her grandson more than the world but boy if he hasn’t made her old beyond her years. She digs through the lost and found next to her for something that might fit her larger than life grandson and throws it at him. The man laughs and his abuelita can’t help but join in the reverie. She wouldn’t dream of going through his exhibit- que obsceno, que cachondo! But he could do no real wrong in her eyes. So far he’s blown her expectations out of the water with his success and she can’t wait to see what Arcadio gets up to next.

[occamstfs]

Look Your Age

Monty can't believe how old his followers think he is! After stewing on it all morning he finds himself not minding the extra years as time goes on at a breakneck pace. Age Progression/Bear TF with a less prominent Persian RC on top!

For anyone who missed it I announced participants in my 2k Follower Challenge! Got some writers with extensive catalogues and others who are fresher on the scene, check them out! As ever, I hope you enjoy this story! -Occam

Monty was trying not to let the thousands of twitter gays clamoring in his replies get to him. He just posted a thirst trap with a cute caption about going back to uni for the semester only for hordes of faceless profiles to swoop in on him like vultures unto carrion. He didn’t even mention his age in the post! So why are there dozens upon dozens of interaction-bait threads suggesting he looks half a decade older than he is. Looking for an upside, the adage of all press being good press floats to the top of his mind as he sees the post continuing to garner heat before he sets his phone down and gets on with his day.

“Maybe I can flip this into opening an OnlyFans?” He muses to himself quietly as he moves to start making breakfast. At twenty he’s well above the age to post on there. Though not nearly as old as those cretins suggest! He considers he’d better cash in while he still looks young, “I mean fuck! Where do they get off!?” Unable to tear his mind away from his still pinging phone he checks it one last time as he opts to toss it into a fully different room. On the way he reads the top reply now reads, from @twunklckr: nahh he’s 25 atleast lmaooo look at that body hair n muscle def

He clicks his tongue before throwing his phone on the bed. Sure his mustache makes him look a little older, and he has pit hair like literally any guy over 18, but his chest is fully hairless and his skin is smooth! He ignores the urge to scrub the thirst trap pixel by pixel looking for anything out of place before remembering that he left the stove running. So he instead turns the other cheek and returns to the kitchen, striving to stand above any perceived haters. His steps are ever so slightly heavier as he returns, his decidedly present pecs bounce with more gusto than he recalls them doing before at every stride. Monty half smiles as he thinks of the second half of that tweet, he’s always been quite the twink; but if some rando on twitter is complimenting his build, regardless of his implications, that time at the gym must be paying off.

Cracking eggs into a bowl Monty throws himself fully into his cooking and is finally able to remove his mind from the cause célèbre of his twitter feed. Though as soon as he realizes that he’s successfully distracted himself, he wants to pat himself on the back and immediately returns his mind to the cesspit of drama. Rather than chiding his naysayers though, he congratulates himself on being the bigger man. “Guess I’m finally acting my age!” He says to himself with a wink as he starts bacon on a pan. Even yesterday he’s sure he’d fully be on his phone replying to faceless profiles all day, guess now that he’s 24 he’s a whole new man!

The thought flies through his mind with no issue. He scratches at his chest paying no heed that there is simply more mass hanging there for everyone to appreciate. Nor does he notice hair beginning to pepper the whole of his chest. Nipples widening as itchy recently shaved curls begin to blanket his weightier pecs. Monty simply hums to himself as his arms grow veinier while scrambling eggs and maneuvering bacon in the pan. Stretching his shoulders as they widen and leaning back as his hitherto tight abs begin to grow thicker layers of muscle he shouts as bacon grease begins to pop out of the pan onto his shirtless torso. “Fuck! Why am I cooking shirtless!”

Recoiling as his breakfast begins to fight back, Monty notices not that his voice has ever-so slightly deepened. Instead his ears are drawn to a tearing sound that issues from his underwear. There is an unmissable hole torn just under the waistband of his briefs, and the cause is immediately clear. His cock has grown to absolutely fill his underwear, feeling himself up he is shocked to find himself not even beginning to chub, his cock has almost doubled in size without being erect in the slightest. Though that is changing as he starts to appraise his body’s apparent new details. Reaching over the burning pan he grimaces but stays strong as his arms too are burned by oil. It’s nothing compared to the glee of seeing his new defined forearms and intense biceps.

Feeling as if he’s in a waking dream, Monty rubs his hands up his row of unmistakable abs and pulls at the hair now decorating his pecs. He then pops them just to see if he can and blushes as he sees them do so with ease, his cock is similarly bouncing as it begins to push his briefs off. Despite his newfound maturity Monty immediately runs to his bedroom to update his followers, this is absolutely a body that people would shell out cash for. His eyes glaze past his bio now labeling himself 24 and instead return to the thirst trap he posted earlier.

His mouth is agape and his face burns with embarrassment as he sees he posted a picture of himself with his cock basically out. Stammering as he races to delete it Monty quickly changes his mind as he sees how much more traction this post has received. “Oh fuck…” He whispers to himself as his chest and cock both puff up with his pride. 

Monty bites his lip as he sees post after post praising his new body. Beginning to feel himself up to the praise from his apparent adoring fans, his moans grow deeper as he feels pleasure more intense than ever before, he is just as soon thrown off course yet again. Punching the bed Monty again sees people talking about his age, “What is up with these fuckers! Why are they obsessed with how old I look, talk about my dickkk!” 

His thicker brows furrow as he finds a trending thread saying no way he’s twenty four. His fingers hovering over his keyboard preparing to tear into the poster he instead skips to the first reply from @HungIrani: persian men just look oldr XD dadash pbbly had to start shaving before he could drive lmaooo- fckin hot tho 

Monty squints his eyes at this, Persian? He’s not? He’s fully white, unmistakably white. Gets sunburned on cloudy days white. Aimlessly scrolling through tweets once more he clicks on that thread specifically and finds himself in a rabbit hole of people hypothesizing about his cultural identity as well as his age. Landing on 25 quickly enough, which Monty lets slide as being close enough, he can’t help but focus on their assigning him a persian identity. How could they know that? It’s fully a picture of his torso.

His uh white torso? Monty’s mind struggles to produce images of his parents as they change in his mind. Growing older as their pesar does, rapidly becoming immigrants who moved to America before Monty was born. He rubs his face in confusion and grimaces as he finds it suddenly overtaken by stubble. He does need to shave pretty often to stay hairless, or rather he would if he tried. His dad certainly always had facial hair growing up, to say nothing of body hair that was like a pelt.

Rubbing his face quickly shifts to scratching at the stubble he didn’t even notice he had as it continues to grow thicker and darker. The mustache he’s always stubbornly held onto now perfectly matches the wiry hairs growing up his cheeks and those now burying his jawline. Staining as onyx black as the dense persian forest on his head. Monty ignores how he now self-assigns himself the Persian identity as his mind trails to the still pressing pressure in his briefs. Promptly he tears them off and releases his beast, now surrounded by thick dark curls that he’s not seen on his hairiest hook-up. Cock unfurled, he leans back and languishes in his new body, his phone still vibrating with every reply and like that only drives him further towards ecstasy.

Mehdi’s bed frame creaks underneath him as likes continue to stream in. Settling into his new identity both as a Persian prince and a newly twenty five year old. The extra year puts a good deal more meat on his bones. His biceps bloat with strength as his hands rub through his sweaty treasure trail, the thicket of curls swiftly spread across his widening torso. Abs that in his mind he’s always diligently endeavored to maintain are suddenly hidden behind a growing gut that issues forth with a moan that resounds deeper from his heavy chest. His pecs bloat larger as hair spreads out from his nipples and up towards his never shaven neck.

One meatier hand rubs his new powerful gut, healthy weight layered over dense muscle that he spends a good chuck of time strengthening. The other hand grabs behind his thick neck onto his sturdy headboard, exposing a jungle of sweaty pit hair that Mehdi can’t help but turn to indulge in. He takes a deep breath and murmurs with delight at how every inch of him is becoming more virile, more masculine, more powerful with each passing moment. Each increasing year. Feeling his broader cock bob untouched, Mehdi’s glazed over eyes are again drawn to the flashing notifications on his phone. Someone launched a poll in his thirst trap on his age and “Not a day under 30” is running away with the contest.

He doesn’t let it bother him, so what if he looks a year or two older. 27 is just one of those ages, he thinks as hair grows thick in the center of his chest. Playing with his pec as his beard itches denser and lengthens into a clearly defined point off his masculine chin, he reconsiders. He’s not 27 is he? Clenching his eyes shut  as his head feels full and his thoughts slow down. Didn’t he just turn 28? Curls inch up his meaty forearms and begin to cover his biceps with fur. Likewise as he rubs his sculpted beard in thought his chest hair begins spreading upwards to conquer his shoulders. Smirking at how hot he looks in his reflection he remembers when he first started getting hair on his back. It was last year at 29. 

Mehdi grimaces as he remembers his fans complaining about how hairy he was getting, how much weight he was putting on. As if he fucking cared. He was a man. He was powerful. He wasn’t about to let the thirsty twinks or jealous twunks get him to feel bad about his appearance. Holding his thirst trap in his mind his hands rub down the jungle of curls now trailing the entire front of his body before beginning to explore the densest tangle around his cock. It is not long before they find themselves wrapped around his still expanding package, one that is rapidly bringing him into the new world of pleasure. His dominant hand clenches itself around his larger cock allows while the other struggles to cup his massive balls. 

Hearing his phone still blowing up he groans as the distraction prevents himself from truly enjoying the exploration of his new body. Er, well he’s always been this hot. Still it’s his first day in his thirties and he wanted some time to himself away from his reply guys and rather than just silencing his phone he decides to leave it once more and go to take a bath. Checking one last time, Mehdi is instantly reminded why he needs some me time as he sees a notif form @BetterBearlieveIt: dnt know why hes lying about his age, girl we know ur 35

Rolling his eyes, Mehdi grunts as he feels a bit bloated on the way to his bath. His deeper voice rumbles as he makes his way into the bathroom and starts the tub steaming. Looking in the mirror he smirks and is barely able to make out his mouth under his uncannily thick beard. He rubs his bloated stomach as it bulges larger. Thankfully he’s torn off his underwear long ago or his significantly larger waist would have surely blown them off with a good deal of fanfare. 

He poses in the mirror, making sure he appreciates every angle his body can muster. Mehdi’s always looked older than he is, but he feels confident he finally looks his age, and 33 doesn’t look bad on him. Pausing a second he laughs and blushes, not that one could see it under the majestic beard. He just turned 35! He winks at himself as his powerful stomach shakes with laughter, must be looking pretty good if he himself thought he was two years younger than he actually is.

His bath finally drawn Mehdi gets in. After embarrassingly finding it far too full for his powerful new form with water spilling out and soaking his bathroom floor he throws a towel down and gets to relaxing. Mehdi delights in the boiling water dancing across each and every curl of hair and sensual curve of his soaking body. He rubs his hands through his pubes as the water struggles to penetrate the curls and smirks as his cock pokes out above the waterline, immediately stimulated beyond belief. Steam curls above the bath and condensation immediately soaks every surface it can latch onto as Mehdi’s deep moans echo through his apartment. 

His mind finally free from the concerns of social media, Mehdi finds himself delighting in every tantalizing inch of his new larger body. His calloused hands dance across every curl, pull his own beard and twist his larger nipples as his musk infuses the dense air with his masculine scent. Every breath brings him deeper into a trancelike discovery of impossible new delights that his aged self can offer him. Away from his phone Mehdi isn’t aware of how discourse on his age has continued to progress.

Eyes shut in steamy reverie, nor does he see the white hairs beginning to speckle his beard. His jungles of body hair similarly suddenly begin to shift to salt and pepper as estimated ages continue to tick up in his replies. It’s of no matter to him of course, he’s well past the age where he is concerned with what his followers think of him. Let alone whatever age they perceive him to be. Decades past in fact he laughs as smile lines creep across his eyes. After loosing a few loads in his bathwater Mehdi thinks it time to get out before the whole pool grows milky. 

Taking a shower to rinse off he groans as he stands to his new height. Almost two hundred pounds heavier as he smiles at himself in his slowly revealed reflection in the still steam-covered mirror. Popping his pecs and flexing his biceps he’s chuffed as ever at how well he’s kept it tight despite the years. Chubbing up again as he sees water drip through his curls. Mehdi throws a towel around his waist as he wanders out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam and his own musk trailing in his wake. He grumbles as he walks around the apartment, deep enigmatic sounds that only make sense to a man of his wizened age. Each step fills his mind with years of experiences as his trip back to his bedroom becomes a speeding trip down memory lane.

Months spent at the gym, countless flings with men of every walk of life, making money off his ever in demand body. He walks with his arms behind his body and feels every tight muscle bulge larger with every new experience that is apparently under his belt. Mehdi sits down with a grunt on his bed, the frame of which creaks from just the daily wear and tear from a man of his prodigious size. He’s unconcerned with water still dripping from his thick beard as he grabs his phone and throws on his readers. Though perpetually unbothered by the predilections and discourse that always fills his replies, Mehdi can’t help but look to see what they’re arguing about today. 

He laughs and laughs as he sees the petty mess his latest thirst trap has stirred up. Hearty laughter fills his bedroom and joy burns clear on his face as he sees people arguing about how old he is. The most popular among them suggesting he’s 40! Mehdi is beside himself as he sees these clueless men arguing that he’s so much younger than he actually is. You’d think the grey hairs would give it away but Mehdi’s certainly not complaining. He's quite happy to at be perceived about as young a bear of his esteem can be.

Drying off completely, Mehdi feels his cock stirring yet again at his audience’s needless flattery. Opening his camera roll he looks for something special to post to keep them at the edge of their seats. Looking at his reflection right now he thinks again, why not make something fresh for them. After all, he’d love to show them what all these years of experience has to offer. He smirks and pats his powerful stomach, wondering just how he is going to show himself off. How he’s going to keep them coming back for more just as he has done countless times before.

[occamstfs]

Viral Transformation Writers

Hi all!

Hope you've enjoyed my last few stories! In other news, I'm happy to announce writers who are currently planning to write Viral Transformation stories for my little 2k shindig:

✦ MiscTf

✦ YourNewBody

✦ HairyJockTf

✦ Just-A-Jock

✦ MuscleJedi-Tameem

✦ YellowJesterTfs

✦ CaptainMaleWriter

✦ AlphaJockLover

✦ Sanzaibian

✦ Brains4Brawn

✦ Eilorow

✦ Warping-Realities

In the meantime check them out! They're all such stellar writers and they have quite widely varied styles/TF themes. I’m so excited to see what they all end up penning for my prompt!

Also, although I’m throwing this up now, until the poll is posted on the 29th anyone still interested is free to throw their hat in the ring! If you want to be added to this list just let me know!

Cheers! -Occam

[occamstfs]

AL:IV Everycop

Streamers everywhere have a chance to try out Auto Larceny: IV before it drops. After being forced into playing as a police officer in game Ethan Davies finds himself fitting the shoes more by the second.

Back to a longer story here's my take on a Cop TF- Sorta sucked into a video game Ethan rapidly becomes an ephemeral everyman of a cop! MG, mental change, and corruption abound! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Auto Larceny: IV was supposed to be the game of the year. It wasn’t Ethan Davies’ standard fare but the streamer simply couldn’t miss out on the revenue bubble that’s sure to occur when the game first drops. Honestly he wasn’t sure why he got an early access copy of the game but he’s so early in his career that any shortcut to get ahead had to be taken. Still, he’d need to familiarize himself with the game before going straight to streaming it, which is where things began to go off kilter.

The intro cinematic to the game was fairly rote, the franchise was so massive that even disinterested parties were aware of the tone and gameplay. Ruffians driving down the sidewalk being chased by helicopters, wide shots exploring some amalgam of every city in California, drag racing down every major thoroughfare, Ethan was well familiar with the action movie parody tone of the world despite having not picked up the remote to play any game in the franchise before now.

Expectecting to click through menus and make his character, Ethan is surprised to instead be greeted by roulette wheel and a message: ‘In this edition of AL player characters and story modes will be randomly assigned to keep the game fresh! After completing story mode feel free to start New Game+ where you can choose from any of the hundreds of hand-crafted player characters!’ Ethan grimaces, quite a lot to ask of the player to jump into a rpg with absolutely no choice as to who you’re playing. It really doesn’t seem on brand to take player agency totally out of the players hands and there are certainly a good number of roles that he personally would prefer not to play.

Still, contract signed, he does need to stream the game at some point. Tired of being waylaid from playing the game proper he quickly clicks through terms of service and gameplay warnings, accidentally mashing himself right into rolling the wheel of AL:IV characters. Druglords, regressive women, and larger than life drag racers rush past in a circle as the wheel begins to slow with an sonically unpleasant clicking sound. Almost stopping it slowly twirls past Mike Malone-Midtown Vigilante before it slowly rolls onto, Emile Brighton-Billionaire Playboy. He purses his lips thinking how both of these experiences sound pleasant enough before the wheel clicks forward one final time. Ethan immediately clicks his own tongue and complains, “Oh what the fuck. Literally who is this in the game for…” Ethan has been assigned the role of Peter Clarkson-Cop.

Before the game has a chance to explain who his character is Ethan decides in no uncertain terms that he’s not playing as a pig in AL:IV. This game is infamously about playing criminals and ruffians. Even ignoring his IRL issues with the police he wasn’t about to spend any amount of his life walking in their shitty shoes. He resets the system and waits for the game to power back on so he may take another spin of the wheel. They know their fanbase, there literally has to be a way to game the game to play as who you want. 

In the meantime Ethan browses his phone while the system begins starting up once more. Oddly enough he sees a few fellow streamers already tweeting about their time in the game which is more than a little surprising. Even more peculiar, a few of them seem to be putting on affectations to shill for the game? Even some of the straighter shooters are getting into characters Ethan couldn’t imagine them choosing to do. Seeing his friend and fellow streamer Chris Walters tweeting like a surfer bro Ethan scratches his chin wondering if he accidentally missed some bizarre lines in the contract he signed to do promo for the game.

No time to worry about that now though, as his game is finally spinning up once more. The AL:IV logo flashes red and blue as a siren blares and the intro begins once more. Only this time, the whole cinematic seems to have a decidedly more cop-forward tone. Opening in what is unmistakably a police cruiser there's a laptop jutting out from the dash with lines of text soaring past. The thick, suspiciously veiny arm of the driver clenches at a wheel as he chases a speedy scofflaw down the road before following the reckless driver onto the beach. He hears a deep raspy voice bark orders from a receiver on his belt which he quickly yanks to his mouth to shout his own mumbo-jumbo into.

Before the second frame hits Ethan is filled with a desire to shut the game down yet again. Unfortunately, before he can act on that instinct of self-preservation his attention is irrevocably drawn to the cinematic as if he’s possessed. Finding it more engaging than any piece of copaganda he’s seen before, Ethan is completely rapt as he sees the patrol car slide to a stop on the beach, somehow creating a steam trail against the sand. The camera twirls before zooming in onto a figure eating a donut sitting on the hood of his car. Ethan can’t quite make out any details of the man’s face, it’s ephemeral and yet every shifting angle and foggy detail is unmistakably masculine and powerful. He hears the officer’s voice shout Auto Larceny VI, Officer Peter Clarkson reporting for duty.

“Okay. Well I’m not playing this.” He says, shaking off his delirium as he wanders through menus and looks for the way to delete whatever paltry save date that has him pegged to play Officer Clarkson. He pauses for a second slightly shocked that he’d refer to the character by his title rather than take another jab at the pig, er, cop. He exhales from his nose and chides himself, joking about how taken his subconscious must be with the vaguely hot parody of a parody of a cop. Ethan then scoffs as he successfully navigates through the deliberately obfuscated settings to find the ‘Erase All Data’ button greyed out.

Growing rapidly irate at the game doing everything it can to put him in the leather shoes of a man he’d never deign to play as, Ethan dials the customer support number given to him by the developers in the hopes they’ll help him out. He taps his foot impatiently as he hears jarring ambient noise from the game, rather than kitschy hold music. Eventually as sirens blare he groans and accelerates his tapping, unaware that he has begun to sweat as the temperature begins to unnaturally rise in his room. The noise from his phone similarly  begins to increase, or at least it seems it does which only exacerbates the man’s nerves. Feeling his shirt begin to grow damp from sweat and stick to his back he discards it and begins whinily cursing to himself. 

“God why did I even agree to play this shit! I knew it was a bad idea.” Head in hands his glasses begin to steam as his body grows warmer with each passing second of irritation at the game and himself for agreeing to stream it. Before his sour mood could develop any further he flinches back like a loaded spring at the sound of a representative from the company. Shouting once more in shock as his body releases tension he was shocked to find himself carrying at such a low-stakes moment, “Fuck!”

There’s a moment of pause before the voice on the other end speaks up once more, her voice robotic and  uncaring, “Excuse me Sir, this is Kayleigh Moore with AL:IV did you need assistance with your copy of the game?” Ethan’s face tinges red with embarrassment, coupled with his already burning body his eyes almost water as he clears his throat to answer, “Uhm so sorry about that, Miss.” He tilts his head at reflexively calling her Miss, “I was wondering if there was a way to start over, I think my copy’s glitched out or something?” Kayleigh quickly responds, “Of course, for the record is this Pethan Clavies?” 

Ethan pulls the phone away from his ear, her calling him Pethan was unmistakable. Still it’s not like she’s going to pull his leg right? She’s on the clock, it must just be a genuine mistake, “So sorry Mi- Kayleigh, did you say Pethan?” emphasizing the out of place P. “That’s right sir.” Ethan rolls his eyes, obviously that’s not a name, let alone his name, he clears his throat again to hide his still present irritation, “No, my name is Pethan, Pethan Clavies.” Tonelessly she responds, “Right sir. That is what I said.” Pethan’s voice catches in his throat. That’s not. He’s not? God it’s so fucking hot in here.

Getting lost in his head for a few seconds Kayleigh, ever cordial and acting on information Pethan clearly doesn’t have, she gets back to work. “So sorry Mr. Clavies but unless you have a genuine problem with your game I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. Enjoy your day officer.” Mr. Clavies. Officer. Pethan fights the urge to throw his phone against the wall before realizing how out of sorts he must be right now. I mean, he forgot his name Pethan after all. Even now thinking that to himself, his neck reflexively clenches and one of his eyes slams shut as a headache stings. 

Then it hits him. He’s burning up, drowning in sweat and has hair trigger rage. All signs suggest that he’s just come down with a fever. One he wanted to take out on that poor chick, er. God what’s up with him. Still, he sighs in relief at figuring it out, some tension leaves him though he is still racked with soreness. Stretching an arm he finds the pleasurable burn that usually follows workouts. Or that would follow his workouts, he’s not really one to workout. He thinks. Walking to go sleep off the fever he scratches at his chest and halts as he feels muscle at all where there should be none. Furrowing his brow he sprints to the restroom and clasps at his mouth when he sees his figure.

God he looks fucking hot. Something swimming through his mind knows this can’t be right, it must be the fever. But as he feels rows of sweaty abs under his fingers how could he dispute the evidence. Scratching at chest hair spreading towards his nipples and a treasure trail now inching well past his belly button he struggles to understand how his fever is also making him hairier. Nor too does he understand the dark green stains on his arms that seem like tattoos he’s never gotten. Mmm they must just be bruises he’s missed, convincing himself just enough as he flexes a new bicep at himself in the mirror and begins to chub up.

Somewhere in his fever-ridden head a streamer still kicks around and, unsure if he can trust his own eyes, he takes out his phone to snap a pic of his hard new body. He groans as he wonders who he should send it to. Stumbling to his bed his mind produces an answer, who else but his fellow streamer Chris Walters. He mumbles as his body temp continues to rise, “Chris’ll- huh?” Checking his contacts he struggles to find his friend. In fact a number of his online friend’s contacts seem to have changed, he shakes his head and his clumsy fingers accidentally click on the number for Chase Waves. Oh duh. He laughs at himself, embarrassed for having forgotten his friend’s name, before sending the shirtless selfie off and collapsing into his bed. Swiftly conking out in a pool of his own sweat and snoring as drool snakes out of his mouth onto a cheek that will be itchy by morning.

Indeed he woke up scratching a sweat and drool covered beard that he shouldn’t be able to grow in a million years. His hand briefly gets stuck in the thick new tangle on his face before he wrenches it out with a crunch. Before his eyes are open he stretches, moaning as his bones have put on years of aging and over a foot of height overnight. Consciousness slowly loading into his heavier new body he feels his meatier hands bump against the wall and his sock-torn feet hanging off the edge of the bed. “Bwugh, wuzzat!” He shouts alarmed at nothing as he sits up with a start in his bed, rubbing his thinned hairline and scratching at a treasure trail as thick as his pubes. 

Pethan stumbles to his feet, his head throbbing with a headache as he adjusts to his new height and struggles to ignore new instincts boring their way through his mind. His hand yearns to reach for something on his belt only for him to scoff at himself. He’s of course not wearing a belt, having only gone to sleep in his compression shorts. He ignores his bulging dick and heavy balls to instead check the phone sitting on his bedside table, barely remembering he texted Chase through the haze of his mind.

Checking again he smirks as he sees the picture of himself he sent, “Heh always a stud.” Pethan ignores that he apparently sent this message in a dating app rather than as a standard text. So too is he unable to realize the picture displays him a completely different man than when he went to bed, and even further away than what any image he should recognize as himself. Any conclusions on the matter that could be made however are shelved as he tears his eyes away from admiring himself to see Chase’s response, “Heyyy Brah~ Huhuh, u know what i think fckr!! ACAB LMAOOO good luck finding sum other sucker 2 fuck pig”

Indignation burns bright in Pethan’s chest as he grumbles at the message, anxiety at getting this message from his, uh his friend? He thought they were friends? Pethan furrows his brows and groans at the mismatch, his voice sinking lower as his eyes keep rereading the surfer’s dimwitted message. His hands clench and veins pulse larger as his arms threaten to grow even larger in his rage. Two diametric ideas vie for dominance in his mind, the former just falling short, an angry yet self-pitying ‘upstanding citizens can’t get any dick anymore!’ loses out to the realer concern burning through Pethan Clavies’ mind. One that he shouts at the top of his larger lungs, “I’m not a fucking cop!” Forcing his hands down to his side in a petulant manner he springs up yet another inch in height and is struck lightheaded from the vertigo.

Pointedly moving on from his being shot down by a degenerate he isn’t sure he could label a friend anymore, Pethan stumbles into his living room in search of something. What exactly? He isn’t quite sure. Digging through his mind what for only brings confusion to the forefront, just need a cup of joe and a donut, he shakes it off and grimaces. Need a protein shake before the gym. Need my uniform and my service pist-. Jaw cramping from how hard he’s clenching it to put down these thoughts the, perhaps still, streamer turns on a speaker to blare out the voices in his head as his deeper breaths begin to give way to hyperventilation. Pethan turns into his streamer room which unfortunately brings him no peace. 

His eyes glaze over as they alight on the game, AL:IV still playing. Somehow in the meantime it has abandoned the looping intro video and begun playing proper. The officer he was penned to play as idles in the lobby of the police station as Pethan unconsciously meanders towards the screen. He is less than aware of his movements as he goes to pick up the controller, his clumsier sausage fingers accidentally pause the game, bringing up the character’s stats menu. The first thing he reads is the character’s name: Officer Petan Clarison. His whole body twitches as he instinctively reads it and feels it overwrite his identity once more. That’s not what it said yesterday was it? Well of course it is, he typed in his own name didn’t he?

His head twitches to the side as a wave of old memories are now locked behind his new reality. Unaware of this Pethan endeavors to grasp something hard of his past self to hold onto. Unfortunately any attempt just releases a brief stabbing pain, almost to deliberately discourage Petan to dig deep enough to remember himself. Looking across his stats he finds himself quickly losing interest in the game despite his being unnaturally drawn to it. His eyes glaze over as he looks at his low intelligence, something inside him says he usually maxes that out. After a pause he questions that. When would he have ever even done that before? He’s not even that much of a gamer is he? His neck twitches again as if some neuron tries to fire but can no longer connect. 

He shrugs moving on to see low charisma as well. Petan grimaces before deciding who needs charisma when you have authority. Pride burns in him as he puffs up his chest. Were he wearing a shirt the noise of straining fabric would surely sound as burgeoning pecs begin to bulge. He doesn’t need to persuade or to sway, he simply needs to state. His words are. He is the Law. Or, god. No. He groans as he finds his ability to dispute the assertion increasingly tenuous, “I’m not a fucking pi- not a p- not an, urgh, police officer.” He clenches his jaw finding himself not even able to call himself a pig. Or no, cops at all pigs. Not himself. Cause he’s not, he’s not a cop.

Petan forces his attention back to the game with a good deal of effort as the loud sounds and bright lights begin to actively deter his interest. His investment absolutely does a 180 however when he sees his strength stat not maxed out. Seeing red and exhaling in indignation he looks down at his own body compared to the one slowly spinning on the screen and sneers. Why does he look like a shrimpy little punk. Ignoring the dozens of pounds of muscle he’s put on thus far, Petan quickly tosses the controller down, done with stupid games forever as he makes for the nearest gym.

Keys in a bowl on the counter shine and glisten, somehow asking to be picked up and he thinks about grabbing them before feeling existential fear at discovering what they might unlock. He convinces himself it’s better to get cardio in on the way anyway, god knows he’s not going to step foot on a treadmill. Sprinting out the door he sees a black and white Challenger and his cock pulses at the sight. Before any further thoughts, or other substances, can spill at seeing the vehicle. His vehicle? He grunts and tears his eyes away from the pristine cruiser and sprints away, clearly hard cock bouncing in his athletic shorts. Off to the races Petan purses his lips wondering if he knows where the nearest gym is actually?

Oh, well there’s the one at the station? Groaning to himself at  how quickly that idea sprung to his mind he picks up speed running towards a building with a massive veiny bicep hanging over the door. Hands adroitly cutting the air in front of him as if he were chasing a perp, ugh, running for fun, expertly. As one does. He forces his lips into a tight line as a mustache grows thicker out of his beard and tattoos stretch further across his large arms. He feels something shift in himself as he crosses the threshold into the gym. His beard thinning into stubble as his face shifts and hardens. More importantly his body begins to surge larger, straining his workout attire before he even touches a weight.

Petan stretches at the entrance, seemingly deliberately blocking the doorway as his body rapidly puts on weight simply from entering the gym. Once again immediately damp with sweat his chest packs on weight. Hitherto present but undefined mounds on his chest become two massive muscled pecs, apparently recently shaved. Scratching at his now stubbled face he wonders where his beard went, mumbling something to himself about regulation before he saunters into the gym. Taking wide steps as he adjusts his gait for the heavier package dangling loosely in his athletic shorts. 

He takes a deep sniff in the air which makes his cock even more noticeable as the musk of the gym brings him pleasure immeasurable. The massive man ambles around the place, hooking his thumbs into the elastic band of his shorts, sneering as he feels there should be something harder there, something leather keeping his pants tight above his admirable defined ass. Grumbling to himself as he meanders about the gym as if he owns the place, ogling at the other burly men working out. All of them seem vaguely familiar, and jarringly stereotypical. Burly men wearing oil stained wife beaters arguing at the free weights, playboys with platinum blonde hair pouring water over themselves on ellipticals, some greasy hackers in the corner seemingly out of place, though they’re decidedly more shredded than any man in the van should be.

Petan fights the urge to assert himself over these groups. His chest thrums as he forces his legs to still as there’s a desperate pull to go brawl with the rowdy men. To force the suave white collar criminals if they don’t fork over some cash to him. To just go shout at the mousy sure to be cybercriminals and hope they piss themselves. He sneers at the idea and is really only held back from doing any of them by the desire to do all of them. The rising lust for action, to dominate and enact his rotten will trips whatever sense of self, whatever shreds of Ethan remain and he shakes his head, eyes widening at how much he seems to be losing himself as he feels a weight growing in the pocket of his athletic shorts. 

His eyes then light on another perp, er, civilian. One he knows without a doubt. He sees Chase Waves and nods his head. Keys jingle in his pocket as he swiftly heads over to the man, something deep within him, growing deeper by the second, suggests that is a man he can trust. Seeing the hulking figure saunter over, chest forward, Chase rolls his eyes and puts up his guard. Head down and smile uneasy he speaks up before Petan can issue an order, “Heyy brah, er officer.” Flinching back as he feels treating the man before him with anything but respect would break bad quick.

Petan furrows his brow at this odd intro. Why is this man so on edge? His lips twitch as instinct swirl, he’s my friend, or was my friend, right? Why does he not trust me. Various muscles within the no-longer streamer twitch and grow as he begins to lose whatever ground remains. The surfer must have done something wrong. Petan’s body inches taller, wider, veins bulge down arms as they bulk. His chest presses against his workout shirt as it begins to darken. 

Sleeves quickly appear as the garment shifts black. He grunts as a collar presses out of the neckline before performatively clearing his throat and speaking up, his voice dry and perpetually on edge, “Why’re you so nervous son?” His hair straightens into station standard as he sneers down at the surfer who audibly gulps. He feels his shorts begin to hug his ass and crotch as the fabric grows rigid, thickening as they expand and lengthen down his defined calves.

Waves responds, “We’re just uh, surprised you’re here is all uhhh, sir? Usually your type keeps to the station unless there’s trouble.” Trouble. Petan’s jaw hardens and widens as he looks down at the man, his tennis shoes rapidly thickening into a dark shined leather as the heels raise him even higher over this obvious delinquent. He clears his throat as he feels the cotton sleeves of his workout shirt grow firm and hug his massive biceps. Flexing just to hear his arms strain the tight sleeves he hears fabric tear down the whole front of his shirt as his pecs burst it wide open. Just as soon as his now hairy chest is exposed, buttons pop into existence and struggle to close it back up, still hugging impossibly tight. Trouble. What is there in this gym other than trouble.

Still wordlessly staring he can’t help but feel delight at the discomfort he has evoked in the typically chill surfer bro. Living a life almost deliberately to avoid men like Petan and yet, face to face what can he do. His memory lights to this morning when this twerp DM’d him ACAB, is he just going to let the punk say that to him? Petan’s brow hardens as his shoulders hunch and his back widens. One hand clenched at his side ready to reach for something on his waist that’s not there, the other scratching at his stubbled, or no, bearded face?

Seeing sweat trail down the blonde’s tanned face as he almost shivers in fear of the cop backing him into a corner, some impossibly frail shred of conscience cries out and fills Clarison with disgust at his domineering actions. Fear in his own eyes Petan steps back which only sets Chase more on edge. The surfer bumps into some equipment as he backs away. Hands raised as he speaks up and eyes an escape route, “Ah sorry for the trouble officer! Hope you have a pleasant day!” He sprints off into the locker room and Petan turns to see the commotion he’s raised, every patron in the gym now turns to look at him scowling. His hands once more go to his waist only this time he finds the leather belt he has been so craving to wear.

Biting his lip as weight begins pulling the belt down at every angle he struggles between pleasure and fear as bulky black items begin to appear from nowhere on his belt. Each new yank on the belt fills him with contentment as he finally has the tools of his trade, pepper spray, his trusty taser, his receiver. He audibly moans as he feels the weight of his service pistol finally arrives on the scene. Anyone keeping even half an eye on the officer would see his cock throb through his uniform pants as he does so.

Standing in the gym moaning in delight and struggling not to fondle his crotch only draws more attention to the out of place cop. Men as large as himself begin to rise across the gym and eye the officer with suspicious and disdain. Knowing when it’s time to beat feet Petan makes a note to rub one out later, when he uh? Gets back to the station? Twitching larger as he lets that slide without dispute he shakes off his masturbatory plans and sets to the crowd. Petan shouts over the din of clanking weights with bluster and authority that shall never leave his tongue again, “Yew all can return to yer business. Keep it clean and we’ll have no trouble.” He makes a decidedly not commanding expression as he looks so uncomfortable at the volume and weight of his words. Despite this everyone seems to listen and obey, cock throbbing once more as he sprints out the door, new car keys already in hand.

He clicks the keys and his pristine patrol car sounds off, he hops in the Challenger the station yoinked from some drag racer and speeds off. There’s a badge hanging from the rearview, P. Clarkson. Peter without a thought or hesitation yanks it off and throws it on, comfort filling him as he feels he just found the final missing part of himself. Leather seat creaking under him as his huge form shifts larger yet again, clearly unhealthy veins bulge down his arms as he speeds down a thoroughfare, unconcerned with the other drivers as he goes to the only place he can think of. The only place that matters to him. The station.

His face shifts yet again as he enters a different part of the city, smiling as he nears what may as well be his home. It is his home. Tattoos shift in the same ephemerality that apparently encompasses the whole of his form. Some other scofflaw runs a red light and his hand flashes to press a button that activates his sirens. Shaking head to stay on target he instead uses the sirens to run the red light himself before simply keeping on his way to the station. Each inch closer he finds himself drifting permanently away from the streamer he once was. Good riddance he thinks, twerp probably pirated games anyway.

Theme music from AL:IV begins playing from his game stereo and he smacks it until it begins playing the theme of Officer Peter Clarkson, that of the police force as a whole. Shifting in his seat as his bulge hardens and fills his pants and his butt forces him to sit higher in the seat. Officer Clarkson swerves across lanes and finally pulls into the station, expertly drifting to a stop. His eyes take a few seconds to adjust as he hops out of his car, as if the world were loading in around him. He gets out to sit on the hood of his car and his form shifts again. Body mind and face becoming one of a million combinations that Peter Clarkson is to embody. In the game Officer Clarkson doesn’t quite matter. He’s a grunt. He’s a sheriff, he’s the chief. He is whatever the role the force needs to fill, and some unfortunate sod had to take that bullet.

Uniform shifting military green as his torso alone bloats heavier than the whole of Ethan Davies’ body once took up. He thoughtlessly shoves his pistol in his pants for easy access as he goes to sit on his hood and eat a donut as prophesied in the officer’s intro, rather, his introduction cinematic. He sits and waits as the cracks of who Officer Peter Clarkson is begin to fill just enough that he can indeed become anything demanded of him within the world of AL:IV. Oozing authority and dripping with unearned condescension his mind goes blank enough be anything from intro mission cannon fodder grunt to the stogy commander of the department as a whole.

Flashes of his programmed life, of his shifting lives, sear through him. Basic enough to fit any dreamed role as needed, thorough enough that anyone who cares enough to inspect the officer would find substance. Officer Peter Clarkson leans back on the hood of his car as he feels his potential, smirking and fondling his bulging package as the hood creaks underneath him. Bad cop, ‘good cop,’ new blood, hardened detective. Brawny, bulky, wiry, wounded. Officer Peter is a blank slate for the programers to work like putty. Each one of course having the chauvinism and fragile masculinity that they saw fit for the character to embody. 

Officer Clarkson feels in his the roles that he is perfect to fulfill. Overtly virile officers to spar with vigilantes and players who prefer to play as seedy criminals. Goody-two-shoes fresh faced straight shooters who step in to apprehend those the good guys wish to see behind bars. Perhaps preferably for the man he once was, the game was rated M for a reason after all and on the more erotic side of things Peter steps in to be the cop stripper that any male-interested players can see fit to ogle or play with to their heart’s content. Perfectly sculpted body speckled with as much or as little body hair as they so choose.

AL:IV is at the cutting edge, a truly living and breathing game. One that is made more perfect with each and every player. Thanks to fame seeking steamers like Ethan eager to immortalize themselves online, the developers have ensured that even the least compelling characters and storylines are teeming with personality. When time comes that the litany of waivers and contracts signed by any parties involved in the making of the game are up, any content creators ready to move on are absolutely free to return to the lives they lived before. Though who knows, at that time AL:V is sure to be right around the corner.

[occamstfs]

Out To Pasteurize

Calvin learns the side effects of Bro-science first hand after accidentally drinking some Raw Milk.

Read some real mind numbing takes about drinking unpasteurized milk and here we are! Hope you enjoy, in other news I’m going to throw up the post announcing the Viral Transformation participants soon! -Occam

Having been priced out by rising rent at his old place Calvin was in quite the pickle. Fate smiles upon him however as his sister’s ex, Derrick, is in sudden need of a new roommate. They run in quite different circles, Calvin the sort to stay in and read while Derrick probably has more hours at the gym than some people spend awake. Though as he’s lacking any other options Calvin is more than happy to move in with the jock. Time spent working out is time out of the apartment and Calvin has always enjoyed as much personal space as he could get.

As hoped, the living situation is not too bad at all. Derrick stays out of Calvin’s hair and he has more than enough time and space to work from home. There are few better relationships between two diametrically opposed people than one with only incidental interaction. Their lives together are not to continue without a hitch however as one unfortunate morning Calvin runs out of coffee creamer and rather than just drinking it black he decides to sneak some of Derrick’s unlabelled milk.

He shrugs as he’s sure his roommate wouldn’t mind, they’re quite amiable and Derrick’s always offering him protein powder and trying to get him into the gym, spotting him some milk is surely equivalent. Hearing his roommate’s bedroom door open he quickly pours a bit more than he meant to into his cup in a rush to get the bottle back into the fridge surreptitiously. Sure, Derrick wouldn’t mind but Calvin would prefer to not have any interaction on the matter if possible. He stirs in the milk and grimaces as it brightens his coffee to a far lighter shade than he typically prefers.

Derrick wanders into the living room, still halfway pulling up his shorts before stretching as he prepares for his favorite only pastime. Calvin smirks behind his mug at pulling off the pettiest larceny one can imagine before he takes a large gulp of his coffee. As soon as it hits his tongue Calvin is struck with a taste incredibly vile, and yet one that demands he drink more. As such he is torn between spitting up and forcing it down. In the end he’s just able to swallow it before the aftertaste of milk sour and spoiled spreads through his mouth. Regretting his decision he begins gagging. Seeing this Derrick quickly runs over shouting in concern.

“Yo bro! You good!? Do you, uhh, should I call for help!?” He stands behind and puts his massive arms around Calvin’s torso, preparing to do whatever he thinks the heimlich maneuver is. Feeling the warm body behind him as steam rises off his smooth, slowly swirling, mug of coffee Calvin pauses as he realizes in the commotion the taste is gone from his mouth. He feels the hot coffee settle in his stomach and at just that moment he is overwhelmed with a creamy sweetness unimaginable. Inches away from breaking one of the smaller man’s ribs Derrick feels his body stop struggling and go limp with a small groan, “Uhhh ye- yeah? I’m okay. I’m good.” His hands go to his head as he feels the tinges of a headache begin to come on, involuntarily he licks his lips and his eyes dart back to the mug.

Derrick backs away and returns to the other side of their kitchen island, his eyes still painted with concern and adrenaline making his hands slightly shaky, “Promise you’re good bro?” Calvin nods as he far too quickly convinces himself that that rotten taste must have been in his head. He just wasn’t expecting the milk to make his coffee taste so good, yeah. That’s it. He takes a second sip and lets it sit in his mouth, as he tries to make out the taste. It almost seems thicker than heavy cream he thinks, coating his teeth in a thin film as he swishes it around before swallowing. Calvin pauses and bites his lip before deciding to just level and ask what kind of milk it is as the desire to use it again later begins to stew. “Hey I, uh, hope you don’t mind Derrick but I used your milk for creamer.” 

Concern immediately vacates his roommate’s eyes as they grow wide in shock, he opens his mouth to respond but clearly the slow-turning gears in his head can’t quite decide what to say. Not even an Uhh spills out as he stands there. Seeing this Calvin speaks up to try and keep it light, “sorry if that was an overstep, um, dude. Though it’s some of the best I’ve ever had! If you wouldn’t mind telling me what kind it is I’d love to get some myself! Is it like heavy cream? No way it’s a non-dairy!” Calvin takes another sip and lets it again dance on his tongue, he can barely taste the coffee underneath as the milk’s creamy taste grows more prominent by the second.

There is another pause. Derrick’s eyes follow the cup and he grimaces before swallowing hard and bucking up. “For sure for sure lil’ bro. Uhhh, promise you won’t be mad though.” Calvin tilts his head and Derrick responds before he has a chance to swallow and respond, “It’s from my guy at the gym. It’s um, raw milk.” Calvin’s brow furrows quicker than a heartbeat as he hears this. His mind races with memories of the brain-rotted arguments he’s read from the most barbarous gym bros about drinking the bacteria ridden garbage, for quite literally no good reason. After that, memories flash of health reports that followed soon after, detailing the bird flu outbreaks in the community. Despite this, and despite himself, he doesn’t immediately spit take. Try as he might his lips open slower than his throat as he swallows yet another mouthful of what he now knows to be unpasteurized poison.

“What the fuck?” He says quietly, staring daggers into his roommate who is shaking his hands and head quickly. “Nonono bro bro just chill! My trainer fuckin’ swears by this stuff and he’s completely fine! If you saw the results you’d be- Uh? Dude?” Derrick pauses as he sees Calvin start to raise the cup to his lips again, he had just intended to inspect it bit. Give it a sniff or something, but it’s like his body’s on auto pilot. His hand tilts the mug and his mouth falls ajar. His throat similarly opens unnaturally as the whole of his cup, only just cool enough to drink, pours straight down his throat. His eyes widen in fear as the desire to drink overpowers every rational thought crying out for him to stop immediately. 

Slamming the mug down after essentially shotgunning his surely pathogen filled cup of joe, Calvin finds himself frozen in place. Clutching his mouth he’s lost in thought as everything in him begins to accelerate. Chugging his coffee seems to have filled him with even more energy than usual as his mind races even faster than his accelerating heartbeat. He struggles to focus on any meaningful course of action, and couldn’t possibly come to the idea to induce vomiting to eliminate the source of whatever this hysteria is. Instead, he’s struck with a deep rooted need to move, to sweat, to work hard. He is immediately twitchy as every individual muscle in his body has an urge to stretch, to burn, to grow.

This desperate need is clear on his face and when he looks up to see his hitherto antsy roommate Derrick, he simply smiles wide, wordlessly understanding what is about to happen. Calvin can’t hear whatever he says over the buzzing in his head, but as Derrick brings out his smallest gym clothes he’s able to put two and two together. Filled with impulse alien and energy unbecoming, still clearly driven by whatever strange autopilot that brought the raw milked coffee to his lips, Calvin finds himself getting ready for a horrible gym session with his roommate.

Concern at just how bizarre this situation is falls by the wayside as he feels the soothing burn of stretching. Thoughts and worries of being sick vacate immediately as he instead focuses on whatever’s going on in his body. Mumbling to himself about needing to stretch more, he allays the discomfort in his stomach as he sees just how excited Derrick is about finally getting him to go to the gym together. “Bro let’s go! Your first pump is gonna be killer! Especially after having some of my trainer’s special stuff!” He adds on, slamming his massive hand into the back of Calvin’s shoulder with enough force that should send the typically meek man sprawling.

Instead Calvin simply stumbles forward a single step, grunting as he rolls his shoulder and flexes his arm. The burn from the smack swiftly transitions to the burning soreness of exercise, before even lifting a weight lactic acid sears through his arm and veins bulge down his bicep. Calvin turns with a cocky smirk, arm raised in a bicep flex and Derrick stands beside himself with excitement, he shakes Calvin by his shoulders, “Brooo! Let’s run! We gotta make the most of your first dose!” While his body races with energy his mind slows and his eyes glaze over, not quite able to understand whatever Derrick’s implying. At any rate the two men race out the door. Calvin trails quite far behind at the start but with each surging step forward he feels himself picking up speed as his legs begin to bulge larger.

Once inside Derrick immediately sends the newbie through the wringer. Mind clouded, he’s putty in the expert’s hands as he’s ushered into machines and through techniques he should be struggling to complete. Instead every lift, every push, every pump, sends pleasure immeasurable through him. His body burns. His body grows. Gritting his teeth as his biceps fill the sleeves of his shirt and for the first time muscle begins to amass on his flat chest. Derrick’s mouth may as well be watering as he sees Calvin’s insane gains. His own pulse accelerates as he pushes Calvin well past what his breaking point should be.

“Fuck bro, you look fucking killer!? No way this is your first time at the gym.” Derrick says through a smirk as he positions Calvin at a mirror so they can take some thirst traps. Awkwardly posing as he begins to feel a comedown from both his workout and whatever concoction he unfortunately enjoyed, Calvin feels some sort of sense begin to return to his mind. Seeing himself shirtless in public he feels his lungs take brief panting breaths as he begins to hyperventilate. Inspecting his reflection he’s thrown off course, he does look killer. That’s impossible!? That’s not how working out works right? He leans in close to see pecs have somehow bulged onto his chest. Traps above and arms that could lift more weight than he could previously dream at their side. He balks as he sees his body has somehow become something beyond admirable.

He typically prides himself on his rationality, but as he sees these impossible changes he knows there can only be one cause. He gulps as he looks at his first workout partner wandering off into the gym, feeling an emptiness in his stomach that there is now a desperate need to resolve. He needs more. Calvin’s eyes continue tracing every new powerful curve of his body while he waits for his roommate to return. Somehow two steps ahead of the usually astute Calvin, Derrick returns hiding something behind his back, “Guess what I got bro!” Calvin’s breath catches in his chest as he stares at his roommate with hunger newfound.

Derrick tosses him a bottle with a smug smirk at having totally convinced the man on raw milk. Catching it, Calvin doesn’t hear the recommendations offered or see the look of shock on the jock’s face as he opts to down a good chunk of the quart then and there. “Woah bro?” Wiping milk off his face with a sweaty arm he releases a burp louder and deeper than he would ever have allowed himself to do this morning. Derrick pats him on the back once more with a laugh. Excited at having another bro to workout with, he doesn’t spend a second questioning the changes in his roommate as his stomach bloats and his pecs almost seem to grow weightier immediately. 

Returning to their apartment Derrick talks Calvin’s ear off about macros and strategies that Calvin agrees to without even half-listening. Feeling the not quite cold jug of milk in his hand he knows he has everything he needs already. While it filled him with energy inhuman this morning, drinking it after a workout has unearthed new sensations. Under his new bloated abs he feels his cock begin to stir in his pants, only now realizing that he’s wearing borrowed compression shorts he notices that he is already chubbed up. Feeling his dick stretch against the nylon fabric he bites his lip as his balls pulse beneath it. Seeing him adjust his gait Derrick fully looks down to see the man’s package suddenly bulging through his shorts.

He laughs loudly as he addresses the not-quite elephant in the room. Eyes glazed over even more now that his growing balls have arrived on the scene, he doesn’t quite hear Derrick explain the broscience behind NoFap. Converted already on drinking raw milk he continues nodding along as his balls do their best to demand his attention and immediate release. 

Crossing the threshold into their apartment Calvin feels himself tempted to already throw in the towel and enjoy the fruits of his new labor. He’s heard that masturbating after working out is a heady delight, or perhaps it was the other way around. He puts his head in his hands, groaning as there’s a drive in him to stay strong. Sitting on his bed he realizes a lifeline in self-control that sleep presents and simply lies back. Whatever happens while he’s unconscious is out of his hands he thinks with a smirk as sleep finds him quicker than it has in years.

His new changes continue their advance while he rests in dreamless sleep. Calvin squirms as his new chest immediately begins to strain the tank he threw on before hopping into bed. His pecs grow at a rate quicker than anywhere else on his body, nipples growing from the pinpricks they’ve always been into half-dollars that will rarely be hidden behind a single layer of fabric. 

Well, his pillowy pecs aren’t outpacing every part of his body. Hidden in musky compression shorts he didn’t have a chance to change out of, his balls swell to produce hormones for a man twice his size. Hair prickles up from his pubes, creating a dusty treasure trail, and out from his pits, to one day connect with a forest on his chest, as testosterone production soars higher than that of lumberjacks and the most macho military men. Morning wood pushes against his shorts and he moans and rolls over onto his stomach and clenches at the sheets.

His unconscious form moves with a ferality as he humps his bed with power that continues to grow greater by the second. In his own bedroom reading workout guides, Derrick looks to the wall in shock as he hears his roommate’s bed frame creak. Feeling his own package cry for attention he decides he’s earned a break as he treats himself to his own petit mort, imagining his twink of a roommate bulking up over time, he begins jacking off to his fantasies. Totally unaware as the man’s body in reality is already exceeding his dreamed expectations. 

As Calvin finds release, moaning loud enough for Derrick to hear his voice deepening, stubble begins to stain his face. Likely to never leave for long at all. His cock had jumped out of his waist band during his mattress humping session, leaving cum stains smattered across his new treasure trail. After this release his balls return to overdrive and begin to churn once more, filling him with desire and drive that will get him through his next workout, milk or no milk. Though given his apparent addiction to the stuff it is clear which way he would prefer.

Calvin isn’t quite sure what time he went to bed or what time it is now that he’s woken up. His morning routine of drinking coffee and getting straight to work abdicates to be replaced by his chugging whatever of Derrick’s miracle milk he can find. Seeing it still dark outside he isn’t deterred as he downs a glass of raw milk before pouring a thermos of the ambrosia for the road. Raring to go, he grabs his roommate’s workout bag and beats feet to get another steamy session in at the gym. 

Something within Calvin tries to speak up in existential fear of what has happened to him, what he is becoming. Slowing his jog he is struck with a migraine. Grunting as he picks back up speed, he feels his balls pulse and his bloated torso flex as every step towards the gym brings him closer to pleasure and fulfillment he’s never neared knowing before now. The voice in the back of his mind grows quieter and rapidly feels itself losing ground, after all hasn’t he always wanted to be this kind of guy? Who wouldn’t. His pecs bounce with every step, his new larger nipples scratching against his tight shirt as his chest aches to grow larger. 

He sneers at the early morning receptionist as she tries to check him in and she rolls her eyes, muttering something about asshole bros before returning to her cellphone. Hearing that as he continues striding forward, massive chest raised, the final meek part of him remaining grasps at its last strands. He’s not a bro. He's just a normal guy. So what he’s started to hit the gym, it’s not like he’s some dumb oaf, right? He struggles to hold this should be truth as he sees a shirt he should be drowning in hang off his chest, exposing his lowest row of abs and a treasure trail he’s never come close to having before. He avoids looking at his defined jaw underneath a beard that should have taken him years to grow. All the while he desperately fights against the mind-numbing urges issuing forth from his growing cock and bulging balls.

Making it to the locker room he immediately loses his shirt and looks at his reflection in full. Seeing his milk-bloated stomach he flexes his muscles and just as soon pauses thinking about who he is, who he is supposed to be to instead watch as every part of him bulges larger. Hungrily staring at himself his thoughts slow to a crawl, befores stopping altogether as he methodically stretches and flaunts every muscle group in turn. He hasn’t even touched a weight this morning, and yet at every movement his body seems to expand and bulge larger. Biceps peaking higher with every flex, thighs strain his pants and his calves burst larger with every raise and stretch. He licks his lips as he sees individual strands of muscle on his pecs cramp and grow larger, doing so he tastes the nectar that delivered him this deific form. 

The voice of his past self goes completely mute as his mind slows to such a crawl he’ll be lucky to ever perform actions with more than three steps again. The idea of excess certainly doesn’t cross his mind as he tears into Derrick’s gym bag looking for the packed flask of his potation. Can’t have too much of a good thing, he thinks without thinking as he immediately brings the flask to his mouth and chokes down as much as he can stand. Raw milk trickles down his face as he truly becomes the type of man he has always loathed. Unconcerned with hygiene or social moors, unwashed and apathetic to anyone around him. Why should they matter anyway he thinks as his pecs bulge larger as milk trails a path in between thickening hairs.

His stomach bulges larger as he consumes more milk than anyone should have in a week. He groans as his throat bulges with the haste at which he’s downing his miracle elixir. Thankfully he’s already torn off his shirt to ogle himself or it would have burst clean off as his stomach expands. His heavy pecs bloat even larger as they rest on his new gut. Clouded spit drips down his chin as he sits down and blankly stares ahead, saliva mixing with sweat that is increasingly covering his body from the exertion of putting on mass. The locker room bench creaks underneath him as weight it should take a lifetime to produce just pours onto his body as the last dregs of his mind, his true self, slip away. 

His swollen stomach swiftly bursts the waist of his pants as fat and muscle struggle for real estate on his new form. Veins bulge down his meaty arms as his biceps rival the size of his head, now supported on a neck the size of a tree trunk, framed by weighty traps on either side. He guffaws as he sees his cock fully exposed in the locker room and goes to cover it with one of his massive mitts, struggling to do so just as any pair of pants would from now on. There's the sound of fabric exploding and he looks down to see his feet already more than eclipsing the now torn soles of his tennis shoes. He scratches his thickening beard as he tries to figure out what to do. Slow as he may be he’s pretty sure the gym will kick him out if he wanders around the gym nude.

Digging through the pile of Derrick’s clothes he realizes all the clothes within were dirty laundry. Shrugging as that’s no longer a concern for him he finds a pair of sweat-stained shorts and throws them on, smirking at the feeling of his cock freeballing in the tight cotton shorts. No chance he’ll find a shirt large enough to cover his godly torso he doesn't even try. Why would he want to cover his pride and joy anyway. Scratching at his chest as the hair across his torso thickens into a pelt he smirks before switching to fondle his package and flex at his own reflection. 

Calvin feels pre drip down his leg as he immediately grows hard and swears he can see himself pumping larger with every heartbeat. He isn’t sure how long he stands there getting off to his own power before his roommate arrives to the locker room shouting, “Brooo! I was wondering where my gym bag went huhuh!” He runs over and gives his bro a bear hug  before trying to lift him, neck bulging as he fails to get the now behemoth even an inch off the ground. Calvin laughs loud enough for the eyes-rolling receptionist to hear as he moves to easily heave his now less massive roommate in the air. 

Derrick blushes airborne before smirking and playfully squeezing the titan as hard as he can, similarly apathetic to the filth covering his roommate’s hairy body. After the man holding him high stops laughing Derrick speaks up, “See I told you that milk was the stuff huhuh!” Moments pass while Calvin stands with mouth ajar, as he will for a few seconds anytime his slowchugging mind deigns to try and speak. His voice is a rumble as the dull words fall from his slack-jawed mouth, “Uhhhh whatever bro. I’ve uhhh, always been about drinking that shit.” Punctuating it with a rather bullish nose exhalation as he sets the man down and pouts.

His roommate rolls his eyes and ruffles his short sweaty hair as he knows when to let the big guy win an argument. “Sure sure bro. You wanna head in there and get even fuckin’ bigger?” Derrick sees Cal’s cock bob in his shorts like a dog’s wagging tail at the idea of a workout. He grunts in the affirmative and Derrick pats him on the back to usher him forward. The two men then set off to the races, Calvin now taking point. Never to be the bright one again, nothing remains in his mind to question why he knows all he does about working out. 

Rarely would any adrift shred of his past self stumble through the dense thick fog of his mind. If they ever do they’ll find themselves part of the new Cal soon enough anyway. It’s of no matter who he was before he was king of this gym. He doesn’t even need bro science anymore as he continues to grow larger au naturale. The two men become icons at their gym, every day showing the ropes to men who dream to be a fraction of what they already are, and every night returning back to their apartment for some steamy well-earned cardio.

[occamstfs]

Herbal T

After a sudden breakup Clark decides to finally conquer his wanting sex drive by overdoing an herbal remedy. Soon enough he finds himself nothing more than a servant of his newfound lusts.

I did it everyone, I finally wrote a story under 3k words! Enjoy this, only relatively brief, story of a man’s hypersensitive existence! -Occam

(Also if any writers out there want to participate in my 2k follower writing contest/challenge do check it out here: Occam2000 !)

Clark had never really minded his low sex drive. It’s not that he found sex debasing, he’s just never that horny. He wasn’t quite ace, but as many men would learn throughout the years, his libido moved at a glacial speed. After his longest term relationship to date ended due to his proclivity for nigh-celibacy, he was starting to reconsider the urgency of his desires. Over the years Clark had tried a litany of home remedies and aphrodisiacs to little difference at all. Doctor’s visits and his own research point to him being hale and hearty. Still, as he lays in his bed, alone once more, he’s determined to come to a solution.

Finding sleep fleeting he tosses and turns before he remembers some long-forgotten herbs stuffed in the back of his bureau given to him by an ex. Clark was hesitant to use them at the time, but now that he’s nearing his breaking point he’s decided that no holds are to be barred. He needs to increase his sex drive at any cost, then surely Paul will come crawling back to him. Digging through drawers to find the small tin, Clark quickly produces it only to find no information or instructions on the cylinder. No wonder he neglected to try them at the time. Opening it he can’t quite decide if they should be brewed as a tea or smoked.

Fortunately for him, as soon as he’s inhaled the fumes released from his opening the jar, Clark is immediately struck woozy. He barely gets the lid back on before he spills backwards onto the bed, narrowly avoiding falling on his ajar laptop. He babbles to himself as he is struck dumb with desire, blood from every extremity rushing to his cock with such overwhelming haste he can’t help himself but release a single guttural grunt before he is unconscious. His sleepful hands claw at his strained shorts while his package surges larger than past partners could have ever imagined it being.

Unfortunately for them, no one is to reap the benefits of Clark’s cock at its most turgid. His balls swell beneath the growing length as they send sex hormones down nerve pathways his body has long since abandoned. His mind races with fantasies and fetishes he never imagined it would entertain. Sex with faces familiar and random passersby fly through his imagination and his underpants are promptly soaked through as Clark experiences his first wet dream at such an intensity it may well make up for his decade and a bit of passed on opportunities for sex.

The new urgency in his crotch is not the only physical change coursing through his body at his first waft of the herbs. Testosterone has always been on the scene but never has it taken such a dominant position in his body. Hands rub across the whole of his body as he remains unconscious, gracing tightened skin as muscle expands beneath. Veins bulge on his arms as his hips hump into shorts that are rapidly becoming too tight for comfort. 

Clark grits his teeth as abs punch their way onto his torso. His hands hesitate their rapturous exploration of his growing chest to instead scratch at the light itches beginning to arise at every expected area. His armpit burns as his few pit hairs lengthen before thick new strands shove themselves in all the real estate available between hairs and further afield. Turning his head he feels stubble that has never quite graced his face scratch against his sweat stained pillow and his eyes bolt open.

Awake yet again his mind hasn’t even enough awareness to question the fact that he’s sitting in a pool of his own bodily fluids as his hands quickly remove the only obstacle between himself and gratification that he has never truly desired before now. His mind moves like putty while his hands are twitchy in hyperactivity, every changed muscle fiber quivers as pangs of satisfaction and a lust for even more courses through him. His fingers flit between the keyboard and his crotch, with each touch light or deliberate he writhes and his mind tosses philosophies and intelligence like ballast weight. He struggles to produce any porn at all having never had the need before. He stumbles on a website and at the first image is struck with unparalleled bliss, his core convulsing as he flips to instead hump his bed.

Face down, he continues his exercise in staining his sheets, slicking up a new treasure trail as it inches its way towards his developing chest. Hesitant to return to the overwhelming images on the screen, his eyes turn and land upon the small tin of herbs that introduced him to this state of ecstasy and and before a second passes, the canister is in his hand. Caution to the wind, fuck whatever he thought before he needs more. His lust-addled mind hasn’t the wherewithal to consider the options in consuming the dried mystery herbs within. Inhalation got him this far but that’s baby steps, he wants to be inducted to whatever plane of pleasure this concoction will usher him to.

He forces his clumsy cum-covered hand into the tin and simply shoves as much of the mix as he can muster into his wanting mouth. His eyes cross as he falls backwards onto the bed, the half-handful of the mixture that missed his mouth scatters around his bedsheets, sure to be licked up later, once whatever shreds of his mind that remain return. For now his desire, pleasure, sensitivity all rush to higher heights than one should ever experience. Clark feels the burning of his body changing, mouth lolling open as even the thickness of the air on his tongue brings him closer to the satisfaction just out of reach as he stretches and flexes in turn. He languishes on the bed, effortlessly becoming the perfect vessel to induce this ecstasy anywhere he so wills it, with whomever he desires.

His sharp wit and conscionable conscience rot in his now unending lust focused mind like overripe fruit. Taking a deep breath and smelling his own salty-sweet ichor mix with the miracle herbs, Clark couldn’t possibly bring himself to be concerned with the meager problems of his real life. He feels every thickening hair cry out with new nerve endings, from the sweaty forest of curls in his pits as they rub against each other and the fattening biceps that contain them. His mouth falls open once more as facial hair begins its spread outright, stubble that will never leave his face for more than a moment paints itself across the whole of his jaw before aiming to race towards his equally dusted chest. At the epicenter of his new existence his cock bulges larger as it is surrounded in a true jungle of dark pubes as they curl upwards towards his weightier pecs, ever wanting to expand his body into the garden of delights he oh so wants it to be.

His meatier hands need not even touch his cock as every screaming sensation, from his back on the wet satin sheets to the friction of his own sweaty skin on skin, fills him with immeasurable pleasure. Every cell sends signals so hypersensitive it's as if every part of him is an erogenous zone. His mind continues to atrophy into this state of permanent yearning. Were he even able to look beyond the explosive sensations he’s bathed in, he would see no purpose in anything besides the continual exploration of his new world of sexual indulgence. Losing count of how many consecutive cumshots he’s loosed into the air quickly enough to make one wonder if he even has the capacity to count, Clark stumbles to his feet only to find more sickly delight in his soles against the carpeted floor.

After an immeasurable time of his body continuing its development towards the end of perpetual pleasure seeking, Clark’s sluggish mind plods to the idea that he could garner even more satisfaction were there another body here with him. He swallows the drool pooling in his mouth as he grabs his phone and struggles to remember the password, after mashing a few buttons he groans before being succinctly locked out of his phone.

His arms tense as he fights the urge to chuck the machine against the wall before he starts to move and loses his footing. Completely unfamiliar with how to carry the new top heavy weight he falls back onto the bed and once more begins writhing in delight, moans of pleasure seamlessly merge with guttural grunts as he bucks. They are swiftly followed by an existential laughter as whatever mind remains within Clark  realizes he couldn’t even summon his own phone password to his mind.

  Before he’s able to begin reflecting on his new state in whatever pitiable way he can, fortune smiles upon his lustful self as he gets a phone call. Who could it be other than the man who began his descent. At the chime of the second ring, Clark has answered and wrenches the phone to his ear. It almost slips out of his hand from the sweat as he struggles to focus on his ex’s words.

“Hey Clark I- I don’t know what got into me. I-” There’s a sigh and a pause as the man on the line rubs his face in embarrassment for having put his own sex drive ahead of his love for his dearest, “Would you want to grab coffee later today?”

There’s a long pause and Paul squints as he hears Clark pant. Batting away images of the two men frotting and fucking he struggles to think even one step ahead. He grunts before he tries to speak coherently, “Paul.” His voice dry and raspy, Clark quickly clears his throat and stretches his jaw and mouth as if he must relearn how to control it. His hand reaches to his own neck and he shivers from the sensation, “Me want-, uhhh.” His eyes glaze over as something inside him realizes just how truly his higher functions have deteriorated. Given pause, his untenable desires take the wheel with another grunt and he speaks plainly and thoughtlessly, “You come here? Me- Grgh. Me over it. Fuck?”

Paul was second guessing himself as soon as he heard the man speak, sounding deeper than he did even on his sickest days. As the breathy words spill out sounding strained, he concludes something must be up. Hearing the content of Clark's bizarre words he blushes before hastening to depart to Clark’s at once, out of concern as well as excitement at the potential that they have both learned something in his petite absence. He smirks as he thinks himself to be the one to finally awaken desire in the sexually sedated man, not knowing what a beast lies in wait for him when he gets there. “I’ll be there in five babe,” he winks to no one, “Don’t forget the protection.”

The line goes silent and Clark grimaces at the words said in parting, protection? He scratches his head in confusion at what that could even mean, shifting to scratch at his pit dripping with sweat he sniffs his hand before shoving his own head directly in his pits with a deep chuckle. He’s vaguely aware that there should be some preparation done, but looking around at his sweat and cum covered bedroom cleanliness is so far removed a priority it may as well exist no longer to him. 

He flexes at himself in every reflective surface he can find, biting his lip and shivering as the cool air washes across his sweaty skin. Unable to fathom any real preparation to be done before the arrival of his, uh lover? Fuckbuddy? Whatever- He instead does the hardest thing he can imagine, taking a break from touching himself. Abstinence has a new meaning for the man now that any stray sensation can send him over the edge. 

He takes deep quivering breaths as he stands still in wait, imagining just how sweet his next release will be once he feels the incoming man in his arms. Each passing second the anticipation only continues to heighten his heady needs. By the time he arrives Clark’s so eager and hungry Paul’s lucky to get the door closed before the lustful giant pounces. Shocked at what has become of the man he knew Paul hasn’t a moment to think before he too is overwhelmed by senseless pleasure. After all, what could matter more than the pursuit of this everlasting delight.

[occamstfs]

2k Follower Writing Challenge !

Hi y’all-

I’m about to hit 2,000 followers(crazy) and wanted to do something special to celebrate !

Namely, I’m hosting the loosest possible writing challenge 🎉 Hiatused writers looking for an impetus to return, current writers who want to mix it up, new writers eager to give TF Fiction a go, anyone at all interested is encouraged to write !

I’ve opted for quite an open-ended prompt that has a lot of options while still remaining cohesive!

That is:

Viral Transformation

Contagion bringing on changes, Social media trends or videos causing physical transformation, Malevolent or mischievous computer programs inducing new identities.

Any way you can swing virulence and/or virality into a plot works! Feel free to think outside the box or work with any of the three examples I’ve outlined ;)

Logistically: I’m available to help bounce ideas off of and then happy to give an editorial read through once you’ve finished your stories !

Any entries should be posted the week of September 22nd (22-28) with the hashtag #occam2000 within the first five hashtags to keep them together. On the 29th I’ll post a poll for the fan favorite who will receive a request from myself, if they so desire !

If anyone’s interested in participating in my little challenge/contest feel free to send me a message and I’ll make a small post later announcing the entries ! Otherwise I’m eager to help as need be.

Ever Yours -Occam !

[occamstfs]

Queering The Ring

Two podcasters must throw together a new show in a week, despite their differences they enjoy wrestling. for drastically distinct reasons of course. How will developing this show together change the two of them forever? Role swap; Straight to gay Jock -> Twink Twink -> Wrestler

Wanted to do a wrestler TF but was immediately inspired to change it to a straight to gay roleswap haha! Enjoy an Alpha Asshole finding new euphoria and a twink podcaster finding new power in this vaguely wrestling themed story! -Occam

Monday

The network was cutting back and it was clear what two shows would be the first on the chopping block. Having single host podcasts was seen as a cost saving decision when they were first green lit. But as large as their personalities may be, they simply have not met the expected growth metrics for their series to survive unchanged. That brings us to this meeting where Tyler Brady, host of AlphaHour, and Joey Brooks, host of Queering With The Queen, have been summoned to discuss their continued employment at HCT.

“Are you kidding me!? No way in hell am I working with that asshole!” Joey shouts just loud enough to get his point across, ever a consummate podcaster leaning away from the table as if he were giving a microphone room to avoid feedback. For his part Tyler just leans back, hands behind his head and his pits exposed in the tank he decided to wear to work this morning, “Yeahh not sure ‘bout this either. I mean you saw how my audience reacted when I had a woman on yuh? Can’t imagine they’ll listen to an, uh.”  Avoiding anything outright derogatory, he gestures wordlessly to a man who anyone listening would peg as gay.

Neither of them had met the man in the suit before, but as he adjusts his tie he simply radiates authority. He clears his throat and both men are swiftly struck silent, they eye each other nervously. Opposites they may be, at the end of the day they have enough class consciousness to know exactly where talent falls at this network. Only a few rungs from the absolute bottom, they know that they had best learn to stick together. The quality of air in the room shifts as the man finally speaks up, “Your shows are canned, immediately.” There is a gasp and a grunt. “The network had enjoyed double dipping in culture war but the board has decided that there needs to be a shake-up. End both of your droll programs and have you host something to bring both of your audiences together.”

Despite the blatant absurdity of a suggestion that their audiences would play nice with a merger, neither man quite feels the ability to speak up, sure they would be struck back to silence with a single look from the man. He grins and stands as he continues, re-buttoning his pristine suit, “You both remain under contract for the foreseeable future and with the non-compete clause and all I am afraid your hands are quite tied. You have until Friday to return with a cohesive program.” His eyes narrow and his pupils seem to slit as he appraises the two men one final time, “Best of luck as the two of you adjust to your new project.” Not waiting for a response he exits and the stuffy heat that had filled the room with his words dissipates, leaving Tyler and Joey in a chilly boardroom.

Both men sigh as at least most of the tension held in their bodies releases with the suit’s departure. They eye each other with disdain more at the situation than at who they must now make their bed with. Bound together and less than thrilled they raid the floor's fridge and grab a bottle of champagne as they begin to brainstorm what show they could possibly make, “I mean fuuuuck. ‘S not like I’m homophobic, you know that bro. But my fans-” He crosses his thick arms, flexing them nervously as he finishes his glass before pouring himself another.

Joey’s head is in his hands as he wracks his brain for a way out. He really shouldn’t be surprised, obviously the network never really cared about substance or decency. I mean, they host both his show and Brady’s, with the number of predatory ad reads he’s done it is quite clear that profits are always the priority over ethics for both the network and, he’s loathe to admit, for himself. Rubbing his face he poses the all-important question, “What could possibly be the overlap between our audiences.” Tyler scratches his stubbled face and does his best to quiet a wine-tinged burp in his meaty fist as he struggles to think hard before promptly getting distracted.

His eyes light up as he thinks of something to talk about with the man he can barely recognize as a man, “Oh! You still keeping up with wrestling dude? Did you see that ladder match on Tuesday?” Joey promptly ignores the question, slamming his small hands on the table and shouting, “ God that’s it! Wrestling is the perfect common denominator! I mean it’s literally the only thing we end up talking about when we’re stuck in a room anyway right? It’s all macho and faggy at the same time!” Tyler looks immediately nervous at the man saying faggy. Having gone through a few rounds of sensitivity training during his time with the network, his surely steroid-riddled brian remembers that gays are allowed to say it, before shyly smiling as the substance of the twink’s words hit him, “Duuude you’re so right. Got a little brain in your airhead huhuh-” 

Joey blushes and holds his tongue, choosing not to make anything of the jock’s words which are rarely accompanied by even a single thought. They don’t even need to grow at the start, as long as they can bring their most of their respective audiences in for a few weeks they’ll be gucci. He tongues his cheek as he’s again lost in thought thinking of everything to be done on the production side. Tyler starts scrawling his own ideas down for the show in handwriting so poor labeling it chicken scratch would be a compliment. 

They spend the rest of the work day planning topics, segments, games, and guests. Whittling away the hours they are shocked at how much development they get done, sending off the barest bones of a show bible to their managers and the board they receive the go ahead order. Tyler and Joey promptly begin to celebrate, going for a chest bump and a hug respectively, which knocks the smaller man onto the floor. With a guffaw Tyler reaches down to help up his new partner and pats him on the back, shaking off the mildest case of motion sickness from his body being ragdolled in such a way.

Both men think about inviting the other out for a round of drinks to celebrate, though are immediately hesitant about bringing their new collaborator out to meet their respective crews. Neither is terribly excited about a compromise either, Tyler scared of being objectified at a gay bar as he does women anywhere, Joey uncomfortable going to a straight bar where every shout would put him on edge. Instead they just shake hands as business partners ought, recoiling as the smallest static shock goes between them. Promising to meet back tomorrow bright and early.

Neither man quite notices the edits made by the studio in their show’s description as they shut the door behind him. It almost seems like the wires were deliberately crossed? “Join ex-wrestler Joey Brooks and queer commentator Ty Brady as they tell you the ins and outs of America’s GayGreatest Spectator Sport!” Surely this would be met with laughter and shrugs anyway, after all it’s just some lines of show text. Easy enough to fix in the morning, and surely they will. That night rest finds them swiftly, after their marathon brainstorm session neither quite has the energy for a night on the town and by midnight both are asleep, and unaware of what eldritch changes are to be wrought upon them.

Tuesday

Tyler awakens into a world of lethargy. Every movement is a struggle as he rolls out of bed and his body burns with the effort from simple ambulation. He was planning on hitting the gym before going in today but that is out of the question as even the stretching feels a daunting process. He’s not at all happy about it either as he inspects his body, self-criticism abounds. Usually a beacon of masculinity and virility, the zealous maintenance of his body seems to have completely fallen to the wayside. Poking his tight abs he finds them thinner and almost doughy, lacking the firmness he has honed for years.

He runs to the bathroom with a gasp to inspect himself in full, tripping on his pajama pants as he sprints. His eyes widen in shock before he pulls them up and tightens them for the first time ever. After that they hang easily on his ass, seemingly the only body part unchanged. Checking his reflection he finds that self-criticism is far too accurate. Flexing his biceps he swears they aren’t peaking nearly as high as they should, leaning in close Tyler also notices there’s no need to trim his beard today. In fact, it almost looks like there’s less hair on his face than he went to bed with. As an alarm goes off summoning him to work as he promised Joey, he fearfully takes one last look at himself and gulps before throwing on the baggiest clothes he can and sprinting to the office. 

Elsewhere Joey is having quite the opposite morning. Absolutely brimming with energy, his heart beats heavy in his chest as it feels as if he’s been shot with adrenaline at the crack of dawn. Everything in his body cries out for him to get out of the apartment and go somewhere his mind can’t quite fathom. Somewhere he’s rarely tread before. He scratches at his shaved pubes and balks as he feels a bush of growth that he has not allowed to take hold in years as it begins a deliberate path up to his belly button. Looking down he’s even more shocked to find his midriff is completely exposed. The shirt he slept in must have shrunk in the dryer, or something. Nervously pulling the small top down he feels similar itches begin rising up anywhere hair is wont to take hold.

He ignores his pits and chest as he goes to start his morning routine, brushing his teeth and washing his face. He hesitates looking at the litany of cleansers and scrubs before thinking otherwise. Mindlessly puffing up  his chest as he thinks he doesn’t really need them right? Nor does he pay mind to the itchy stubble starting to peek out on his sideburns and chin, he just got laser so surely any prickles of a beard he feels are completely in his head. Much like Tyler he goes through his closet to find the largest clothes he could find, throwing on those of an ex much larger than himself. After that his alarm too sounds and he makes his way out the door, scratching his ass without thought as he does so.

Meeting once more the two chatter eagerly, happy to get their minds off of whatever disparate oddities their mornings held. The two get to work on the groundwork of their show with haste, frequently stealing glances at each other as something at the edge of their minds notices something off. Joey sees Tyler’s arms hanging limply in a large t-shirt and flexes his own biceps, unable to hold back a smirk as he feels them fill a shirt that he forgets should be far too large for himself. Tyler sees the shoddy stubble staining Joey’s face and grimaces judging the twink for giving up on looking clean and cute before shaking off his judgment, who’s he to talk right? He rubs his own face and tries not to acknowledge the anxiety brewing at his still smoother face.

Beyond the skin-deep incongruities, Tyler also finds himself increasingly interested in everything Joey has to say about the intricacies of queer culture. He is more absorbed than he could possibly have expected. After minutes of talking about gay life in town Joey almost worries he’s setting up his new partner for some one liner before looking up to see the man’s eyes in rapt attention, he jokes, “You’ve quite taken to all the gay stuff already huh? Don’t forget you’re the big guy here, only room for one queen here hah!” At his words Tyler laughs and playfully punches, shaking out of his stupor, “Hah, uh yeah- Guess it’s all the soy milk I’ve been having or uh, huh?” He freezes as the words fall flat, almost uncomfortable in his mouth as he tries to summon back his vile bro-y persona. Failing to do so he shivers as his usual self almost feels out of pocket.

Joey too feels something shift between as his eyes glaze over, “Yeah its all about the, uhh? Paradoxyness? Uhhh-” His voice deepened in the few seconds of groaning. The men’s eyes are locked on each other as their minds rapidly alter to accept the ongoing changes in each other. It’s not weird that Tyler can’t launch into an AlphaHour spiel anymore. It’s not weird that Joey seems almost a foot taller, his arms straining a jacket he should be drowning in. Shaking off their reverie the two men awaken at the sound of Tyler’s five o’clock alarm. “Oh shit it’s five already?” Joey holds his hand to his face, fighting back an urge to just loose a burp as Tyler did only yesterday.

Tyler feels the soreness of a body that has unknowably grown more compact, he leans back to stretch and has no ability to prevent the girlish moan that comes out. It’s impossible for either man to miss as  they accelerate their packing up in silence, launching into a sudden race to depart. Tyler’s face burns red with embarrassment and his eyes keep flickering back to Joey who is pointedly not meeting his gaze. He’s far too in his head anyway as he struggles to cover up the erection that immediately forced its way out in response to Tyler’s cry. Doing so he is fully unable to hide the prominent sweat stains in his pits as he quickly shrouds his groin with a tote bag before he sprints out the door, promising to see his co-host tomorrow. As soon as he’s gone Tyler wishes he had beckoned the man to stay, he should have apologized, or said something. He doesn’t know quite what, maybe he just wishes the man were still here? 

After biting his lip he notices his hands have drifted to his crotch. Blushing he quickly follows after Joey, though deliberately holding back so they won’t bump into each other. That night as soon as they cross the threshold into their apartments their bodies are barely able to make it to their beds before they are ushered into dreamless sleep. All energy remaining in the men goes into the improvement of their forms, becoming exactly who they must be in order to serve their brand.

Wednesday

Tyler awakens with a yawn, stretching performatively for an audience of no one. Thankfully he’s lacking the weariness from the previous morning. Fearful of peeking to see what further alterations have ruined his body he wipes his bleary eyes as he wanders to the restroom, letting his pants fall to the floor as he does so. His ass is perfectly framed in a jockstrap as he walks in a needlessly sultry manner, unaware as he replicates the exact steps of countless women that he’s had over throughout the years.

Before he’s able to look in the mirror at his fair smooth skin his hands reach to grab something that isn’t there, something that has never been there. Tyler tilts his head in confusion as he stares at his now uncalloused hand. Lifting said hand to inspect it for any hint as to his unconscious actions, he instinctively covers his palm with his fingers. Showing off his faultless manicured fingernails. With a gasp he decides to skip his morning routine and rush to find Joey with haste, sure that twink has something to do with this. He is unaware as his idea of a morning routine has completely shifted from an early bird workout to the ever waged war on keeping his pert face looking young and feminine. His sleeves hang limp and his sweatpants frame his ass as he races out the door, unaware as a clutter of serums, creams, and makeup appear on his bathroom counter.

Elsewhere, Joey gets out of bed even earlier than usual and stumbles blindly into the kitchen. His eyes barely open enough to see how his hands have bloated themselves into mitts as he pours a canned energy drink into his blender alongside hefty scoops of protein powder. Joey rubs his eyes and groans as he heres the machine whir, grimacing at the beard scratching at his arm, turning his attention to focus squarely on his new facial hair he smirks as he imagines ‘how fucking hot’ he must look. Protein mush made, he chugs it down in far too few boorish gulps, dripping it all over his pajamas and the forest of darkening hair on his chest, before losing the will to ever wear pajamas again, and releases a burp loud enough to vibrate the glass blender in his hand.

Then he’s off to the gym. Surging with energy he can’t hear his heavier footsteps over the high-octane workout playlist he must have made at some point. Up early enough that there’s few others at the gym it’s as if he’s in his own little world, barring the few times he nods at the other regulars who smile at him in return, as if they’ve met many times before. Joey doesn’t let his mind wander there though as there is nothing more important than keeping his body in its ultimate state. 

Eventually the Village People’s Macho Man starts up and his chest puffs up in both size and with pride, his biceps surge larger as the song continues, bursting larger with each in-time pump. Between deliberate grunts of exertion there is a sustained groan as he feels the song engrained upon his psyche. That’s his song. His song? Drive continues to rise in his chest and his sharp mind begins to dull as the chorus pumps into him. Joey fans his shirt to cool off and smirks as he smells his rising musk, turning to smell his pits he feels himself instantly start to chub before shamelessly realizing he forgot to bring deodorant. 

Lacking the wherewithal to realize that such action was so antithetical to the should-be twink’s modus operandi, Joey simply stretches and delights in the soreness and tension burning across his expanded body. Scratching at his pit before sniffing his hand and shivering, the man wonders if he can go to work in such a disheveled state before remembering that Tyler definitely has. Mind on Tyler, his cock briefly pulses which he takes as a lightbulb moment, maybe he’ll have some deodorant for me! The man gathers his only recently extant gym bag and wanders his sweaty body towards their studio.

Tyler and Joey bump into each other at the front entrance. They stare at each other in silence as their brains are again rewired. Now eye level with his co-host’s pecs Tyler can’t help but blush in admiration rather than jealously as he forgets how his own sculpted-form should look and instead just feels carnal desire for the man in front of him. Joey looks down at the man across from him for the first time, snatched waist, beautiful smooth skin, and an ass that’s crying out for him. His eyes half-glazed he bites his lip and goes to get the door for the smaller man. After a few seconds pause, and covering his nose to not be overwhelmed by the musk steaming from Joey’s now upraised arm, he strides inside. Only to stop with a moan as Joey slaps his ass.

Tyler whimpers and Joey gasps in disgust at his actions, “Fuck dude I’m so sorry!” Tyler reaches back to feel where he was slapped, already warmer than the surrounding area, sure to hold a perfect  imprint of Joey’s hand. He can’t even find the words to say as his mind is completely stuck between the impulses of a man who would never take that shit, and the almost completely dominant desires of a man who almost came on the spot. In the end he balances his lusts with the smallest shred of his past self crying out in emasculation, choking out an, “It’s fine, uh, dude.” His pitch still rises higher as the once prominent adam’s apple shrinks further into his neck. Joey clears his throat and apologizes fervently, “I’m so fucking sorry I don’t know what came over me. It’s like I’m an animal, my fucking co-” he cuts himself off as he feels his balls pulse and he decides to keep his mouth shut until he calms down. It must just be post workout hormones, unfortunately for him his body continues to burn with power and lust as he rides the elevator up to their tight studio.

One day left before the board decides if they’re in or out. The two men get started on some of the most important tasks ahead of them, prepping for their first recording session and ironing out the final details to send to their producers. Unfortunately for them neither of their minds are at 100%. It seems with every keypress they have to steal a glance of their co-host, biting lips and blushing red as they continually catch each other in the act. At one point Joey’s jock is so strained he runs to the bathroom to remove it where he sees his cock has grown monstrous, he fights back the urge to flex at himself and grimaces at the stains still spreading further and growing darker under his pits. Throwing his pants back on he hopes going commando won’t turn him on even more. Returning to the room Tyler can’t help but stare at the cock now snaking unguarded down his partner’s pant leg.

“Okay Ty. Clearly something’s up today, right?” Tyler tilts his head and purses his lips, arching his back as he stares wordlessly. Immediately accepting as Joey calls him Ty, it just feels right. The final vestiges of the host of AlphaHour crack and begin to fully dissipate. Joey groans and his voice cracks even deeper as he sees Ty poses like a professional provocateur, “Grgh- We should work from home the rest of the day and come back on our A-game tomorrow, yeah?” Ty nods quickly, while new hormones course through both of their minds and desires burn hotter than anything, he knows they’ve got more important things on the line than sex, “For sure ba-, uh, bro?” The word feels wrong on his tongue, “See you tomorrow then?” He puts out his hand and Joey fights the urge to pull him in for a kiss as his own hand completely encompasses the twink’s.

Leaving for their apartments, laptops in tow, the men head off in opposite directions before their minds grow foggy, for once not from lust but the changing of the world around them. Both arrive at a complex that they don’t quite remember, Ty races up the stairs while Joey leans against the wall waiting for the elevator, popping his pecs and watching himself in the reflection of the stainless steel doors. Both men exit into the third floor and find themselves face to face once more. Staring at each other in shock, the two men wander up to the doors to a suite that the both of them now strangely identify as home. Joey stills his hand, staring at his partner’s ass as Ty enters first and looks around, finding it alien and expected at the same time, possessions of his, Joey’s, and most concerning, things that are without a doubt shared between the two of them. He turns to look back at Joey in shock as the man shuts the entrance to their apartment behind himself and his eyes darken with desire that can now finally be fulfilled. Ty charges and hops into the titan’s arms as the truths of their new lives are immediately apparent, and the fulfillment of their long ignored desires is the most pressing thing in the world.

Thursday

Thursday they called out sick or rather, they would have, had they the capacity to focus on anything other than the discovery of their new selves. The discovery of their new lover. Feeling a completeness they never possibly could have understood before finding their inexorable other half in this apartment that they now share, and judging by appearances have shared for some years. While Ty and Joey find their new, may as well be marital, bed the two changed men also discover the abundance of bliss they shall enjoy evermore.

To accompany their new bodies, massive and petite to diametric degrees, the items and clothes they’ve accumulated over their lives apart begin to shift to fit their new stories. In most cases there’s little at all to be done, upon second thought what was once Tyler’s hoard of protein powder was of course Joey’s. The wrestler’s gotta stay diligent lest he lose his trademark titanic figure. And of course the organized trays upon trays of beauty miscellanea could never be Joey’s, the world’s lucky if the brute even remembers to wear deodorant, not that Ty minds of course.

Joey’s wardrobe grows as much as it can though will still frequently struggle to fit him in any fashion other than skin tight. Suits and sweaters thin and shift to shorts and singlets, the fanciest remaining pieces of clothing shift dazzling into his costume from the ring, gotta keep it ready to show off for fans after all. He’s got a few other cheap versions of the getup for whenever Ty’s in the mood. Speaking of Ty’s idly procured inventory of sleeveless shirts and boxers shift and sparkle into carefully composed outfits. Accessories array themselves throughout the closets of both men as Joey’s meager clothes are pushed into the corner to make room for his love’s impressive wardrobe.

 Finally giving in to what their bodies have been begging for, the two men dig far deeper into lusts that have only been previously explored by a single slap of Ty’s ass. Making out their minds are bombarded with countless memories of them doing just that over the years. They remember meeting outside of the ring and were immediately drawn to each other. Ty was a reporter, Joey “The Brute” Brooks was the star of the scene but he couldn’t draw his eyes off the thin man with a mic. He hadn’t thought he was gay, perhaps he wasn’t before that moment, but from then on he would not rest until he was to rest with that man.

Ty was everything that Tyler would have said he hated, but finding himself in the body of a man more feminine than even proto-Joey could have achieved, there was nothing but pleasure in his heart, changed as it may be. Initial horror as his body seemed to waste away became pride and understanding as his weight settled just right to attract the eyes of any man. While his past self was loud to be heard, brash out of insecurity, performatively ignorant. The new, true Ty was only as vocal as he needed to be to succeed, confident without trying, and clever enough to recognize everything he could be and work towards that end with grace and precision.

Each heavy breath and sweaty touch as they consummate their new beings resounds throughout them. Every move a reflection, an exaction, of every one that came before it. They buck and grind with the confidence of having done so in the very same fashion thousands of times before. Ty carefully cups Joey’s massive pec just so, fingers perfectly encompassing his hard nipple and the man guffaws as his mind goes blank. To return the favor he sits up and throws his arms around Ty, easily enveloping the whole of his body as he continues to bounce, the jungles of hair in Ty’s pits, arms and chest beyond sweaty as they tickle and cover him in the musk he so adores. Spit, sweat, and cum fly with a frequency that will surely leave them in quite the refractory period whenever they come to a pause. Enjoying themselves enough to make up for the years of unreality they have missed out on, that pause doesn’t come until the morning when their phones blare a bedlam they can barely make out over their own cacophony

“Oh shit we have to record today.”

Friday

“Well come on Macho Man you better get ready!” Ty shouts with a wink as he throws on a puffy robe and starts to prep his beat for the day. Joey gets a deadly serious expression as he pushes into the shower to quickly wash off the sex, “Ty you know you can’t call me that. The Fed’s so litigious.” Ty grins and giggles as he oft does, watching Ty sniff his pits and shrug. The giant hops out of the shower almost as soon as he hopped in. “Girl. It’s not like I’m wearing a wire, promise I’ll be on my best behavior today heehee!” Joey stands behind his lover and flexes in the mirror as he grinds up against Ty’s back. Promptly he is slapped away, “Keep it in your pants Joe! We need to hurry up and head out! We can’t be late for the big day!” He says before turning back to get his hair styled to perfection. 

 Joey scratches at his chest before squeezing into some gym clothes that leave little to the imagination. He feels like there was something special about today’s episode but is stumped as to what it is, they’ve recorded hundreds of episodes before haven’t they? Finishing up his look as his hair bleaches itself platinum blonde, Ty comes to a similar conclusion, though to him every one of their episodes is a carefully crafted masterpiece. Their following only continues to grow at any rate, Joey’s fanbase from his time as a champion brings in meatheads eager for a culture other than all that alpha-male shit and Ty’s mastery with the press and personal branding easily allowed him to bridge the gap into an influencer. AlphaHour and Queering W/ The Queen faded not so much into obscurity but non-existence as the pair’s new, only, show has surpassed expectations that the two men could never have dreamed of. Indeed, Queering the Ring is a show that has blown past what anyone possibly could have expected of it.

Walking down the street the men pass a billboard advertising an upcoming live show of theirs. Smiling at their massive faces plastered on the ad Joey throws his heavy arm on Ty’s shoulder and squeezes him in close, Ty fights back a grin as his eyes water, feeling his lithe body perfectly slit alongside the behemoth’s. It's as if the two were made to be together. He waves at his eyes and giggles, “Gotta keep it together now, we’ve got work to do yet.” Joey feels his cock stir and his mind is completely overrun by his balls as he wonders if they’ll have time to have some fun before they’ve gotta record, before pursing his lips and scratching at his beard realizing Ty's probably not going to let his look be besmirched before then. 

The two men are welcomed in by some suit they’re sure they’ve met before. His pristine smile glistens as it grows wide and ushers them into what they feel is just another day of their grind towards success together. Ty goes to get their booth set up for the recording, ensuring everything is ready to run smoothly while an aide gets Joey mic'd up. Once used to running a one man show, now that most of Joey’s brain has been converted into brawn that he must always effort to maintain it’s easy for everything else to fall by the wayside. He stirs protein powder into a mug of coffee brought to him by an aide who grimaces at the sight and curls his nose at the aura of odor around the giant. Joey kindly raises his caffeinated convocation at the man as he thankfully leaves the two of them to their work.

Joey takes a deliberately loud slurp and Ty scowls over his own mic at him. Joey shrugs with a grin and leans back in his chair, clearing his throat while Ty does a few vocal warm ups. After their final preparations the red light outside their booth flickers on and they begin their episode, running on instinct it goes off without a hitch. Suddenly it’s a no brainer as to what makes this episode so special, Joey begins the announcement in his deep clumsy fashion, “It’s uhhh, not a secret that we’ve been seeing each other since we started this show. But there’s been a recent, uhhh, development. Here babe I can tell you’re chomping at the bit so-” Given the go ahead his lover promptly cuts him off with a shrill shout, “We’re engaged!” Bands appear upon the fingers of both men and fullness surges in their hearts as they are officially bound together beyond that of roommates, cohosts, or even lovers. Never to experience loneliness again they are bound in law and by every shifted thread of reality that brought them together.

Together eternally more, their show shall continue to thrive, constantly ushered to new heights by the wit of Ty and the wandering gags of The Brute. Inseparable and finally whole, the pair enjoy all their new world has to offer, Joey with his perfect body and storied success and Ty with his finally pacified temper and a newfound understanding of himself and those around him. They may be larger than life personalities working for a less than scrupulous network, but at the end of the day they always have their love to come back to, and nothing could possibly dull the passion and plentitude they find within the arms of their other half.

[occamstfs]

It Came From Down The Hall

Stealing experimental goop from the dodgy lab you work for can only have good effects on yourself and those around you I'm sure.

Vaguely sci-fi inspired himbofication, MG, and hair growth as their bodies become factories for the very stuff they recklessly reveled in. Enjoy! -Occam

Ashwin and Benny had known each other for years and were as close as two people could really be. For a while after they met they had one night flings and dated off-and-on, but eventually they just settled as incredibly intertwined friends. In the end Benny called it off, but in the back of Ashwin’s mind, far enough that it’s not even conscious most days, he holds out hope that his ex will reconsider and the bonfire of their heady passion can once more resume. 

Grabbing coffee together, as friends often do, the possibility of rekindling their less than platonic relationship is a good deal more present than usual as Ashwin explains the incredibly classified experimental drug he purloined from work. Having seen the effects of the seeming miracle drug Ashwin is enthusiastic that the pair give it a go, “I’m telling you Ben if you saw the men that walked into that trial and the absolute hunks that walked out you’d have already downed the whole vial!” 

Rolling his eyes and using bitchiness to veil the concern for his friend stealing from work, Benny replies, “Oh yeah? Then why haven’t you huh? Besides it’s not like I’m shopping around for steroids anyway girl! The last thing I want is a muscle gut or bacne. To say nothing of whatever actually serious side effects that sci-fi shit must have.” Though the man would be lying if the promise of the drug didn’t allure him in a different manner. Deep down Benny has always been partial to seeing other twinks blow up, “Do you even know what the side effects are Ash?”

Ashwin’s eyes flicker to the two vials sitting in between the two of them, “Well- No. You know they pay me to just push carts around girl! That got me the stuff and honestly seeing the results is more than enough for me. As if either of us could understand whatever BS they’re writing up in reports anyway! Here just, look at this guy-” Ashwin pulls out his phone to show a before and after pic of one of the trial patients. Benny couldn’t wipe the blushing intrigue from his face even if he wanted to.

Floundering, he points to the caption knowing himself that it’s not true, “Buh- Well I mean he says he’s all natural right there Ash.” Having known each other as long as they have, Benny knows that Ashwin  is being completely honest. He’s got tells aplenty and is reading as completely transparent and honest about this mystery goop, as he is about most everything besides the fact that clearly wants to fuck sometimes, but how could Benny fault him for that. The prospect of transformation, of being someone new, someone beyond powerful, begins to crack away at Benny’s reservations. 

Seeing this, Ash’s heart begins to flutter. His generally genuine demeanor has allowed him to keep one card up his sleeve. He is well aware of the medicine’s effect on its user’s libido, which is the ulterior motive behind this whole conversation. Growing overeager at the potential prospect he picks up the vial and shakes it in front of his ex. Seeing it slosh in the glass, something in Benny’s stomach turns and all the progress that Ashwin made quickly falls apart, “Ugh, it’s like the goop from Alien-” Seeing Benny grimace he quickly drops the vial and it settles like slime back to rest, “Nonono that stuff alien m-pregs you, this makes you more of a man!” “Girl, you can't just say m-preg in public so loud and expect to win me over!”

Ashwin sighs as Benny puts his hand delicately over his own, flashing back to the many times over the years his dearest friend has tried to let him down easy, “Ash… I’m very okay with how my body looks, we both know that,” he winks before his eyes shift serious, “I think it’s best if maybe you stop thinking with your dick. I mean aren’t you at all concerned that you’ll be busted for smuggling this, ugh, medicine out from your work? They literally have to be doing inventory on this stuff if it’s as bonkers as you seemed convinced it is.”

At this Ashwin pulls away, crosses his arms and retraces the steps that led to his little larceny. It was shockingly easy to procure. They usually run a pretty tight ship, being for all intents and purposes a lab, but things have been different since the beginning of this trial. There seem to be fewer people running around than usual, so much so that he’s been put in charge of inventory. Which is how he intimately knows that these vials seem to be going missing at a rapid pace. There has rarely been a day where all the numbers add up. When he brought it up with management they just waved him off which is what gave him confidence to take some for himself. If anyone’s gonna benefit from their less-than careful eye it may as well be one of the lowest paid aides.

Suddenly interrupting the justifications to himself an alarm goes off on his phone signaling his time to head out. Still, he gives Benny puppy dog eyes as he has done at every soft rejection and receives the same pensive smile as ever in return, “You’re absolutely sure you don’t want one?” Benny raises his hands and wordlessly shakes his head. His coy manner quickly shifts sour as he watches Ashwin shrug and grab at a vial with haste, popping the cork out of it and cheersing Benny’s mug as the furrows his brow. “Well bottoms up huh!” In shock Benny couldn’t even offer one last ‘are you sure?’ before the vial is at his dear friend’s lips with a sickening slurp. 

Ashwin makes a strange face at the strong taste before tilting his head, finding it jarringly pleasant. He swallows the goop and Benny sits there torn between disgust at the small trail of slime sticking to Ash’s lips, and concern that hasn’t left the front of his mind since Benny first unveiled the vials. Reaffirmed that this may be his best chance yet at getting back with his ex Ash smiles with a confidence he doesn’t quite have, “You’re gonna regret not hopping on  board with me when I’m a tank babe! I’ll keep the second one on me for when you change your mind.” He adds on with a wink. 

Benny almost laughs before the image of Ash drinking the goop forces its way to the front of his mind. The bulge in his neck like he swallowed a piece of food whole. Benny’s confident he’s made the right choice and worried that Ash bit off more than he could chew. Tapping the table nervously he jokes back, “Probably be holding onto that for quite a while then, love. Are we still on for next week?” Ash nods and stands up, stretching performatively before jogging in place, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world Ben!” 

Benny nods with a “See you then!” and the two of them head out from the cafe. As soon as he waves Ash off, seeing him raring with energy and better spirits already, he swiftly takes to his phone launching every google search about Ashwin’s company and experimental steroids that he can think of. Finding absolutely nothing he bites his lip and offers what may as well be a prayer to his sweet friend's wellbeing with a sigh, “Ah, I hope you know what you’re doing Ash…” At that he goes about his life like always. Just as Ashwin had hoped, he would be on Benny’s mind far more than usual in the coming week. In equal parts concern and excitement at the potential that the snake oil might actually work.

One Week Later

There was a chill in the air as Benny waited outside of Ashwin’s place, quite the blustery day. He had half a mind to raincheck on going out. Though his mind just kept flashing back to Ash swallowing that sludge. Despite their consistent texts making it clear that Ash at least seems the same he’s always been, the whole situation has kept Benny on edge. Looking out across the city block he tries to assure himself it’s all in his head. Eyes closed as he takes a centering breath a voice calls out behind him and it becomes clear that perhaps he was right to worry as he turns to find a different man standing where his perpetually gentle, ever meek, ex-boyfriend should be, “Heyyy Benny~”

Standing shirtless in his own doorway with sweat steaming off of him in the cold air is a man that Benny would never recognize as Ashwin Singh. Even staring directly at his dear’s eyes he’s still partly convinced this must be some kind of prank. Willfully hoping this is a dream as desire long gone from his mind begins to return with a passion. Ashwin puts on a smirk that has been finding itself more at home on his face as of late as he wanders up to his ex, popping his new pecs with each step. Benny squints at the man and his mouth falls open as he’s far too stunned to speak, cheekily or otherwise. His face already flush from the cold begins to burn as red as a sunburn as he hears Ashwin’s mismatched voice come from the massive man, “Ah like what you see do ya babe?” 

Ashwin’s words are a spear through Benny’s surprise as the brazen confidence is enough to bring the man’s mind back to reality, “Oh get a fast track to the abs and you think we’re calling each other babe again do you?” Still, there’s a smile on his face and a bulge growing larger in his pants as he pushes past Ashwin and into his apartment, uncharacteristically clumsy as his hands touch the warm hard body that stood before him. Ashwin traces the spot where Benny’s cold hands rubbed against his abs before turning to follow him inside, his eyes trained on the ass of the man who long long ago used to top him.

  Ash closes the door behind them as they enter the loft, having wordlessly agreed to just stay indoors as Benny goes to the kitchen to make both of them some warm drinks. He knows exactly how Ashwin likes his tea, what flavor he wants on a day like this and the precise amount of cream he wants. He knows the man like the back of his hand. But his own hands tremble as he goes about the kitchen, his mind’s eye constantly flickering back to the man’s weighty pecs and the v-line that he couldn’t help but follow down towards Ash’s burgeoning bulge. Is that still the man he knows, loves, and swore he would never get back with? And if so, would he be wrong to come crawling back now that he’s got enough muscle to break Benny in half.

Steadying his hands as he brings out mugs for the two of them they begin to quake anew as another unmissable realization occurs, Ashwin is a head taller than him now. “What the fuck Ash!? You’re like, six foot two now? That can’t be- That’s impossible?” Ashwin sticks out his tongue and bites it, sending a pulse of desire through Benny, promptly followed by loathing at how effective such a fuckboy move was on him. “Six four actually babe.” Benny’s expression sours as the man calls him babe again, he sets the drink down and prepares to lecture the man standing opposite him before Ashwin rushes to close the distance.

He puts his hands on Benny’s hips just as Benny used to do to him, holding him close to his sweaty body. Musk that has always been easily covered by a single layer of deodorant and flowery cologne now overwhelms Benny’s senses as he stammers over his words, before staring hungrily at the man’s eyes directly above him. With each hesitant breath he feels himself fall further under the charm of Ashwin. Ash had hoped this would be the case, which is why he made sure to get a quick pump in before their scheduled date. Still, he couldn’t have possibly expected that it would be this effective. Benny leans even closer, feeling the whole of Ash’s new powerful form with his own.

Ashwin feels the man’s heartbeat racing faster as his breaths grow fuller, with each pulse he feels a familiar growing bulge poking into his meatier thigh. Benny throws his arms around Ash with a squeeze, tracing the small of his back with fingers hesitant. He speaks with a breathy whisper that Ash recognizes, his own cock begins to rise with excitement, now poking against Benny’s navel which only escalates his need, “I’m gonna level with you, babe. Everything in my body is telling me to fuck you right now.” Ash squeezes Ben tighter, leaning down to take a deep sniff of his hair, which elicits a sharp gasp before Benny shakes it off and tries to push away.

“But! But, I have been worrying all week about you drinking that shit!” Even this slightest delay before jumping into bed forces Ashwin to groan as he lets his arms fall. Looking away from Benny with a pout before the man continues, “Okay big guy let’s calm down. I-” he bites his lip and clenches his eyes shut as he prepares to say words he hopes he won’t regret, “Once. Just one night and we’re back to friends. If, and you better not lie to me, if you promise that whatever that stuff was it hasn’t affected your mind.”  Ashwin brightens and fervently nods speaking quickly and loudly as his cock surges to full attention, “Is that it? Fuck I mean yeah I’m the same as I’ve always been. Maybe a little, uhm, hornier?” 

Benny looks away from the bulge pointing towards him like a dowsing rod, concluding that the myths he’s heard about steroids must not be true. Ashwin walks over and starts rubbing at Benny’s shoulder, leaning down as his other hand starts to inch its way under the man’s coat. He clears his throat and his voice almost sounds deeper as the passion and lust starts to rise to a peak. “There is uh, one thing.” Benny tilts his head as his careful hands begin to help the already half-nude man undress, “Oh?” Blush burns on Ash’s face thankfully hidden by his skin tone, “Would you mind if I topped this time?”

Something flutters in Benny’s chest as the words hit him like punches. Always more of a vers anyway he’s thrilled at the opportunity. His hands finally inch around Ash’s larger package, seeing his abs clench and flex with the desire coursing through him, Benny would be remiss not to experience all that this new package can offer. Wordlessly he gets down and positions his face squarely in front of Ashwin’s bobbing cock, before promptly taking it in his mouth and beginning the session as promised.

The two men go at it for far longer than they ever managed when they were properly together. Their bodies intertwined, soreness and pleasure rush through Ashwin’s body as he only feels his power grow with every thrust. Were Benny to pay attention to anything besides his own lustful enjoyment, having more fun and gaining more gratification than he has from a partner ever before, he would surely notice that the man is indeed continuing to grow. The patchy beard that greeted him when he walked in is continuing to fill in and lengthen as each and every moving muscle on the man burns with growth. Thighs and an ass large enough to tear every set of underwear either man owns maneuver his cock like a rocket. 

His grunts sink even lower, guttural and animalistic as he clenches at his sheets on top of a man he could crush with ease. The bed frame gives out before either man cums which only sends more flaming passion into the room. Benny feels the titan’s cock grow larger and firmer with each thrust. Each time he expects the man to have bottomed out his cock surges even deeper, bloated with veins so full and virile his cock may as well be ribbed. Moans and whimpers fill the air loud enough that it’s a shock the men get no noise complaints as they continue their session well into the night. 

Benny is quite concerned at just how rapidly Ashwin seems to rebound after each finish. Though as he begins to again massage Ben’s shoulders or dance his fingers across his legs Benny finds himself similarly wanting for more within seconds. Eventually sleep finds both men, Benny lays on the powerful yet soft chest of his ex, clenched in biceps the size of his own thighs. Ashwin dreams the night will never end, while Benny sleeps the same as ever, dreaming of everyday monotony; firmly expecting, as both agreed, that this was purely a one time deal.

Ashwin wakes up to a larger body covered in a sweat made cold as he finds himself alone in his busted bed. Immediately feeling the hole in his being that he had hoped Benny would return to fill. He hears Benny brushing his teeth and promptly stumbles over himself to the bathroom door. He gives his patented puppy dog eyes to his ex as Ben spits into the sink, blearily rubbing his own eyes, “ugghhh, babe. I told you this was a one time thing.” His eyes remain focused on his own reflection, even as Ashwin walks over and stands behind him. Hunched and groveling which prevents Benny from noticing that he has grown even taller.

“You should shower too, you’re a little musty.” He reaches up and ruffles the man’s hair, with a pitiable smile. Regret on his mind for yet again giving Ashwin hope they’d get back together. Ashwin’s hand traces his arm as he walks away to throw on some clothes, his larger fingers trailing the length of the smaller man’s before falling back to his side, colder still after feeling the warmth of the man no longer with him. 

It is important to note he didn’t lie. So far his mind is the exact same as it has always been. The only changes wrought on him by whatever alien sludge he consumed are physical. As he stands there desperate for more, for another chance that begins to change. Perhaps if he were more, if he had more Benny would change his mind. Surely Benny couldn’t deny him if he were twice the man he is now. His eyes fill with resolve and focus as he wrenches open his medicine cabinet. 

Ashwin can almost feel the vial calling out for him as his hand grasps it without even looking. The slime in the vial seems even more viscous agitated than before. His heart thrums with a need beyond anything else to drink it right now. Coming back in the bathroom to apologize, Benny cries out as he sees Ash slamming on the vial to get every last drop of the goop into his mouth. Ben hops up onto the arm trying to knock the thing out of his hand but by time he can reach he hears the gag of Ashwin struggling to swallow the goop down. “You absolute dunce! What were you thinking!?” 

His mouth falls open and Ben sees it stained dark with sludge that seems to be pulsing with Ashwin’s heartbeat. It sends a shiver down his spine that he has no time to acknowledge as the massive man’s eyes go glassy and falls on top of him. His hot laboring breathing is not repugnant with morning breath but sweet, cloying, crying out for Benny himself to reach out and get a taste. Benny struggles with Ashwin's weight as he almost grows heavier with each step. His body grows sticky and wet with sweat as the smaller man struggles to get him to the bed before collapsing right beside him in exhaustion. 

His mind racing with what to do, he taps his foot as anxiety makes it almost impossible for him to think before he hears Ashwin speak, his voice gravelly and his tone dull, “B- Benny?” The man quickly stands and looks at Ashwin as he lies there. He looks the man in the eyes as he grunts lying there, body hair that he’s always kept shaved begins growing back with a vengeance. Strands curl across his form darker and thicker than ever before, his eyes glaze over and any intelligence behind them vacates as his mouth falls open. Ashwin lays and moans as his body moves without any input, independent muscles flex and his hands hover around his cock, without even the awareness to remove the briefs as they try to masturbate through briefs inches away from ripping from the sheer growth of his cock.

Struggling with what he should do Benny’s mind latches on the one strategy he knows to get someone to spit something up. He starts doing the Heimlich, finding it impossibly difficult to force his meager body weight on Ashwin’s core as it grows stronger with every small push from Benny. Each heavy breath and gag that Benny forces out of Ash smells sickly sweet, it takes everything within Ben not to take a breath deep enough to lose himself to the scent. Using all of strength he eventually finds the mark as Ashwin spits up the substance. He collapses onto the man as he spits up the goop into his own beard, only after doing so does he notice that Ashwin looses far more of the substance than he just swallowed.

Not only that but his sweat feels far sticker than it should be against Ben’s barely clothed body. The musk that convinced him to sleep with his ex last night has also shifted, there’s notes of something unnatural hiding behind the masculine scent. Something even more compelling than the warm body beneath him or the natural musk clawing for his attention. Despite himself, despite his awareness of the horror surrounding him, Benny finds it harder to think straight with every breath he takes. He sits on his ex’s body as his sweat grows only stickier, looking down into his mouth he sees his spit too grows more viscous, almost cloudy. 

He hears confused groaning from the man as he stirs and begins to sit up. Coming to his senses Benny backs away from Ashwin, nervously keeping him in the line of sight. Briefly inspecting his own body he shouts in surprise as he’s somehow gotten the sludge on his hand. His mind flits through recourse, wipe it off on your chest. What? No, on my shorts would be fine though right? Curiosity piques as something within him suddenly wants to see what it tastes like. As his hand rises  to his mouth his senses return with a shock and he slaps himself before wiping the goop on the wall behind him. Carefully inspecting his hand to ensure nothing is off before he flees the premises he jumps in shock as he hears Ashwin begin to laugh. “Huhuhuh-”

Benny stares in absolute shock as the man flexes his bicep as it pulses larger before moving to rub his shoulder as curly hair spreads across the whole of his form. After a few seconds of stretching to new heights the man’s hands rove across the entirety of his new massive form, frequently getting caught in his stickier sweat. Benny slowly inches for the door, quietly so as to not draw the attention from the man that was once his boyfriend, ex-boyfriend rather. Flinching as he quibbles within his own mind he loses his footing and falls to the floor. His hand stuffed in his pants scratching at a jungle of pubes growing thicker, he removes it and takes a deep sniff, getting pre that is as viscous as cum all over his face as he speaks up, slowly, betraying the lack of intellect with which he shall maneuver the world evermore.

“Yo,uhhh bro. Err, babe? Did we fuck again this morning or what? Cause I’m fuckin’ wet huhuh.” Benny nods wordlessly trying to seem like a mirage rather than something for Ashwin to interact with as he scrambles to his feet. Feeling his back touch the spot on the wall where he wiped his hand he reflexively pushes away and falls on his face. Brainless but not heartless, Ash swiftly falls over himself to help, foolishly tripping and ending up right on top of his fallen ex-lover, laughing at his clumsiness as his unbearable weight forces Benny to put an unfortunate focus on trying to breathe.

His head touching the cock that has now grown beyond the possibility of being contained within Ashwin’s tearing shorts, Ben finds his ability to resist the desires of his most basal urges waning. His mouth opens and his tongue juts out, thankfully for whatever sanity remained in him, just too far to once more taste the copious amount of pre dripping from the tip of Ashwin’s cock. He would swear he could almost hear his bulging balls pulse as they shift into overdrive in production of something that Benny has a sneaking suspicion is not cum. As it turns out though, his final show of willpower is quite the moot point as Ashwin stumbles back to his gargantuan feet, guffawing as he does so. 

Without a thought or effort he hoists Benny up to standing, spreading whatever sticky substance his hands are basted in all over Ben’s form. He hasn’t the heart to look down, nor the control to look away from the man staring down at him. The light of intelligence gone from his eyes as he leans down to kiss Benny. In his final moments before he too is overcome by whatever genetic abomination has overtaken Ashwin, Benny hasn’t the prescience to do anything but take a deep breath and lean in, his mouth open in wanton waiting.

In seconds, Benny’s mind is wholly overwhelmed. The changes that took Ashwin a week to develop begin to surge through the whole of Ben. Feeling tightness in every bunched up muscle he stretches in every manner that his slowing mind can imagine. Standing on the tip of his toes as his spine lengthens, arching his back as his arms shift rail thin before they begin to bloat and bulk up, the bulge in his pants rapidly surges larger as he feels his balls expand and rapidly fill as precum flows like a river into his pants. The gears of his mind slow to a near stop as he loses the capacity to fear and in its place rises the pure need to seek pleasure at every opportunity.

As body grows heavy he pushes his weight on Ashwin and both men guffaw as they fall onto the bed. Wordlessly they both begin grinding into the other. Benny’s pecs burst larger as they sculpt themselves into perfect slabs of meat, with defined abs below them to match. His ass and thighs bulge larger with every hump in the air he consistently loses his footing, his legs continuing to lengthen as his upper body grows with heft. Feeling his hair curl there’s an itch on his face as he slobbers spit thicker than spit all over himself and Ashwin as a beard rapidly covers his jaw.

Veins bulge across the whole of his body as he continues delighting in the growth of his own massive form against Ashwin, who in turn is happier than he’s been in years as the two behemoths hear the creak of the box spring underneath them. As they continue exchanging fluids in every way their thoughtless minds can conjure, the room fills with their sweet musk and the walls are soon covered in every fluid a body can produce as they bumble about. Their massive muscled bodies continue to grow as they wander about the loft apartment fondling each other and languishing in what is sure to be their default state from now on.

Back at the lab which Ashwin theoretically still works some Yes Man storms into the office of the CEO to report the absence of yet another lab technician. “Hello Sir, sorry for the um, well. I’m sure you know there have been a few absenc-” The older man doesn’t turn to face the pipsqueak that walked in, “Get on with it.” “Ah, yes very well. Ashwin Singh has not reported for work in some time.” Smoke wafts from the chair of the CEO as he sucks on a large cigar and grumbles to himself, “Ashwin Singh hm. Not one I quite recall, but I’m sure he’s shaped up nicely eh?” “I’m sorry sir?” 

“This Singh. Did he have any close relations?” Growing antsier by the second the low ranking official’s hands tremble as he checks his notes. He’s not usually supposed to meet with the big man but his boss seems to have been struck ill as well, “There seems to be a man on file for him a, uhm, Benjamin Jones. It seems as if inquiries to get in touch with him have also failed.” The smaller man flinches as the CEO releases a loud laugh, pausing before checking his notes once more, “There also have been some noise complaints lodged against Singh recently as well as an, Oh? Odor Investigation? Never, uhm heard of that myself.”

The meek man can hear the smile on his boss' face as he issues commands, “Well that’s enough for me. Send the hazmat team over, preferably whatever men we have from the trial that haven’t lost their minds eh? Have them bring the boys back to the usual place and go ahead and scrounge up whatever we got on those two men to start filing a report.” There’s a pause as he scrawls down these orders and the CEO turns to shout, “Well what’re ya waiting for man, move! And lock th’door behind you!” The yes man quickly falls over himself apologizing and slams the door shut. 

Hearing the click of his office door locking, the CEO rests back in his chair and turns to the wall of monitors behind his desk. Flicking them on, he smirks as he looks across at the litany of men currently in the highest security lowest floor of their labs, each and every one reveling in their new gargantuan bodies. Relishing their power as they become pleasure factories for the fluid that shall only make more men in their spitting images. Looking at a pair of unlit monitors he rubs his chin as he thinks maybe this time it’ll be a two for one. After all he’d love to see what two of these behemoths get up to when they’re always together. Profit may be the bottom line, but with no real marketable use for the stuff yet the big man's only in it for his own pleasure.

[occamstfs]

A Paragon Man

Lucas stumbles into a job way above his paygrade. Paragon Limited only takes the best, and lucky for Lucas he is very soon to be among their number.

Quite love how it turned out! Business themed stepfordization and masculinization, with some age progression later in the piece. Normal guy -> Asshole Business Major-> Paragon Man

Enjoy! -Occam

Lucas was pretty confident that it was a fluke he’s made it this far in the interview process. He applied almost as a bit, urged on by his friend’s after wearing himself thin applying for jobs he’s actually qualified for and vaguely interested in. Now, after rounds of near misses and lucky breaks in interviews he has stumbled his way into what they promise to be the final interview. If all goes well he’s whisked into a position that pays for a quality of life leagues above his current step above student standard. The tricky thing is, he isn’t quite sure what the job actually is.

None of his friend’s had even heard of Paragon Ltd, when they drunkenly had him apply on a Discord call. Sitting on the top floor of a building with the company’s name blazoned on the side Lucas is cursing himself for not doing the barest bones of research on the business or position months ago. It was all supposed to be some dumb joke, but now that he’s inches from the finish line of a new start Lucas’ fingers are so crossed they’re beginning to cramp.

The door next to him opens and he’s ushered in by a statuesque secretary, his voice is monotone yet gleeful as he speaks, “So happy to have you on the team, I’ll be right here to usher you to your next appointment after your ultimate interview.” Lucas does a double take as the man speaks before he promptly walks away without awaiting a response. Having eaten nearly a whole bunch of bananas for nerves before coming in he narrowly avoids fainting from shock as he tries to interpret the man’s words in any way that doesn’t imply he already has the job. 

Knuckles white from clenching, he swiftly rushes into the room, careful to keep his power walking steps calm and confident as he sees one chair in the room facing what seems to be an old CRT monitor. Careful not to look too hard around the room, his eyes quietly dart to look for an interviewer or anyone of importance to give him permission to sit down. Finding no one he can take orders from, Lucas does what one is to do with a chair and makes himself comfortable. As soon as he does the computer lights up, the room fills with a warm buzz and he hears a mechanical voice blare from behind the screen. 

EXCLAMATION: HELLO “Lucas”. PARAGON LIMITED IS THRILLED TO OFFER YOU THE POSITION FOR WHICH YOU APPLIED. THERE WERE HUNDREDS OF SUPERB APPLICANTS BUT NONE SHONE WITH THE APTITUDE FOR OUR BRAND NOR THE DEDICATION TO OUR GOALS SUCH AS YOURSELF.

Uncomfortable at the realization that the machine played back a recording of him saying his own name, his discomfort is immediately displaced by excitement at the message that follows. Lucas feels pride quickly beat back the pangs of anxiety that have been stewing in his chest. Still, even as he hears the offer he can’t help but focus on the oddity of it all. Why is he being told this by a piece of ancient tech? Why obfuscate by calling this an interview? And of not insignificant note to the man who forgot what the job he has applied for, why not say the position title in the offer? His eyes glance back to the static of the screen as new lines of text appear and the voice again blares.

STATEMENT: THERE ARE SIMPLY A FEW MATTERS REMAINING BEFORE YOU ARE OFFICIALLY A PARAGON MAN. FIRST THING IS FIRST, A FEW FINAL QUESTIONS. QUERY: HOW WOULD YOU IMPROVE YOURSELF TO BE A PARAGON MAN.

Lucas again nervously looks around the room, not sure if he’s just supposed to answer this question to no one or what. He clears his throat to stall and prevent himself from stammering over his words as he powers through an immediate voice crack, “We~ll, of course I would strive everyday to make myself more of an asset to Paragon. I’d hit the books and be a role model for my,” he briefly pauses, seeing static flicker on the screen, “uhm, department.” The voice speaks up in its harsh emotionless tone.

STATEMENT: ADEQUATE. YOU SPEAK OF BEING AN “asset”. ELABORATE.

Making a less than charming face as he scrunches it in thought, “Well I of course didn’t major in business but since I first applied I have been uhm, hitting the books as-”

QUERY: YOU DID NOT MAJOR IN BUSINESS “Lucas”?

“Well, no-”

STATEMENT: PARAGON MEN ARE BUSINESS EXTRAORDINAIRES. QUERY: DO YOU WANT TO BE A PARAGON MAN.

He nods and suddenly the machine flashes. Lucas feels his head grow lighter as his senses dull with warm pleasure as he feels memories rise without clear purpose. Lucas had loved school, he was a terrific student. Professors loved to have him in class and there was rarely an assignment he didn’t complete with pleasure and aplomb. He was proud of his History degree and keeps all his lovingly crafted binders on a bookshelf almost a decade later, only, is that what happened? Crystal clear memories of his time at school begin to fade and be replaced. Looking back now, he didn’t even take a history class at university did he?

It feels pleasurable in his body as memories of hours spent in archives and libraries fade into the meaningless trivialities of his business program. Images of himself poring over texts and honing thesis statements alongside his enthusiastic professors burn like film, to be replaced by drinking tall boys at the closest bar to the business school for what was allegedly his now-favorite professor’s office hours. He can almost taste the cheap beer on his tongue and feel the bloat of a rising burp as his most prized memories and education are irreparably tainted. Lucas hasn’t the wherewithal to mind as his body burns with a drunken warmness from head to toe.

He feels the weight of a class ring appear on his finger and his whole body shivers with the pleasure of his new ‘academic’ career. Holding a degree for no reason other than to get ahead, his hips convulse and he humps the air, immediately hard and his balls are bluer than they had ever been, as if the memories of his enjoyment of academic rigor had been reduced to fuel for the fire of his lusts. 

After a few more bouts of his rutting hips he loses even the prescience to recollect his memories of heady hours of finance classes. His eyes glaze over as his mouth falls open, a puddle of pre begins to fill his briefs enough that it was a matter of seconds before it leaks through his suit pants. The moment before loosing a load that would surely end the interview, it all stops. He sits upright and unmoving in his chair as the monitor speaks up.

STATEMENT: EXCELLENT. AS YOUR RESUME CLEARLY STATES, YOU GRADUATED TOP OF YOUR CLASS WITH A BBA. QUERY: DID YOU PLEDGE IN YOUR TIME AT THE UNIVERSITY?

Finding the memories of the time at school far hazier than they should be, much like his immediate memory of the time in this interview. It’s almost like there’s a link missing preventing him from truly remembering. Lucas endeavors to stall how he can to answer this incredibly easy question. He knows he wasn’t in a frat. There’s no way he was. In the microseconds as he hesitates something clicks and Lucas realizes that actually, he must have been, right? His professors vouched for him to pledge didn’t they? That’s the point of his degree, his time, all that networking to get ahead. He adjusts his tie and plasters on a smirk wider than his jaw should allow. At the edges of his memories of prepwork he remembers the name of a fraternity from Paragon’s website.

Hazarding a bluff, presuming that he can dig his way out of the lie later, he answers as confident as he could manage, his tone icy and bold with the bluster of a man who argued with professors over the din of a bar,  “Of course I did. I was proudly a member of Rho Alpha Omega.” As soon as the words fall from his increasingly smug mouth he feels his thin chest puff with pride as they become true. No wonder he was able to spar with professors after a class and a few too many, he spent just about all of his time at school drunk or hungover.

He remembers his time with fondness beyond measure, the haze of hazing and the camaraderie of his brothers. The growing arrogance within him only increases as the memories of his time as a brother cements within his mind. Foggy ideas of playing video games online with a crew of misfits and flunkees quickly fade to the background before being wiped from existence altogether. 

His head twitches as the profound loss of what were, what should be, what never will be his best friends leaves a hole in his mind that his frat brothers are oh so eager to fill. The machine almost vibrates with anticipation as keg stands and alumni meetings rapidly patch over the muscle memory of playing MOBAs and the names of his once friends. Clear images of himself living, breathing, and most often, drinking the ΡΑΩ lifestyle blanket over any perceived memories of whatever droll life they displaced.

His voice continues, slightly ahead of his mind as it drips with confidence, sinking into a deeper in tone which he must have put a great deal of time honing for to seem naturally lower. “Not only was I a brother sir, I was the President of the Nu chapter.” He feels his cock pulse at the idea, beneath it he would swear his balls feel larger in the seat of his pants. He spreads his legs even wider in the chair to make room and let air into his massive crotch as he sees his cock continue to bulge down his pant leg. Biting his lip as he feels it strain, his attention is drawn from the pleasures of his body to what actually matters at hand as the metallic tone rings out yet again.

STATEMENT: EXCELLENT. ALL PARAGON MEN ARE RHO ALPHA OMEGA MEMBERS AND WE ARE EVER LOOKING FOR MORE BROTHERS TO WELCOME ON BOARD. TO COUNT YET ANOTHER CHAPTER PRESIDENT AMONG OUR TOP BRASS IS IDEAL.

His throat clears as he hears the machine say top brass. The hunger he had for the position in his old life is but the smallest match to the wildfire of desire he holds for this job now. It is as much a need as water or air to get this job, to be a Paragon Man. As anything that stands in the way of this goal continues to melt away from his mind his resolve steels beyond measure as he mentally prepares to continue whatever game of chess this ongoing interview is. All other wants fade to the back as in the pit of his stomach next to nothing could bring him fulfillment besides the company and his fellow Paragon men.

QUERY:  “Lucas,” HOW WOULD YOU IMPROVE YOURSELF TO BE A PARAGON MAN?

He’s caught off guard by the machine using a different recording of his voice, one that sounds deeper, slower without a sign of being edited or toned down. Lucas also slightly hesitates, an almost irritated grin across his smarmy face as his new ego almost takes umbrage at the question suggesting he is not enough. Adjusting his cufflinks he notices his sleeves are too long for his arms and sneers as quickly changes his mind seeing room for marked improvement. He may have all the pretension of a president and business school star, but as he feels a beer gut begin to strain the buttons of his button up, the obvious answer begins to blare like a foghorn.

His tongue, growing savvier by the second, launches into a flowery explanation of a short-coming he now absolutely must overcome. “Well previously the bear’s share of my time has been pointedly spent bettering my brothers and pursuing my stellar education of course. I must say time at the gym simply fell by the wayside, you see sir.” Gesturing to the beer gut he only just noticed, he is unaware as its heady weight begins to redistribute across his form. “Were I to have the time and resources at Paragon’s disposal how could I not spend all my waking hours, grgh-” He grunts as his whole form suddenly surges larger.

In a moment between moments every aspect of his form changes, strengthens, and grows. His arms, recently judged subpar, shoot out the sleeves of his pressed suit before it races to unerringly rest on his wrists. His biceps strain the upper sleeves while his thighs bloat to fill his pants to tearing as his belt bursts off entirely. Were any laws of physics or reality to apply the buckle would surely shoot off with enough speed to crack the monitor itself, instead as his hips expand from his pert size 29 to almost a 40 the belt simply waits for a lull before it can close once again, lengthening the foot needed to perfectly frame his waist. 

Beneath it there is yet another tear down the seat of his pants as his ass bursts into a perfect bubble, he would smirk as he feels his new cheeks cushion his seat, thinking that there’s absolutely no better place for him to carry his weight as opposite his ass his bulge bloats to an almost comically large size. Impossible to hide underneath any pair of dress pants as his briefs immediately burst before reforming into an obscenely expensive silky set that will always struggles to control his beast and the balls of a stud beneath it.

His toes are briefly exposed as they shoot through his leather oxfords before, like every piece of fashion on the man, they shift into an even richer black. Polished onyx leather stretches sizes larger, yet a thorough observer could surely see his toes still squirm underneath as they fit just large enough on feet that would make any other man look like a clown. On Lucas however they are but another aspect of his larger than life body. 

His beer gut pressed into a line of abs before, above it, a once weightless chest bursts larger, the fabric threatens to tear and buttons swiftly shoot off as each pec grows to the size of his head. Each houses a large nipple carefully hidden underneath the breast of his suit, ever hard enough to poke through the fabric of a dress shirt. Less than a second after his mid-sentence grunt Lucas wavers as his head rushes with blood as his heart grows large enough to supply the miles of new veins and ventricles with blood enough to sustain him. Grunting once more as his tie is suddenly choking his expanded neck he apologizes before finishing his thought, “Forgive me sir. I was saying, “I may have sculpted my body to nigh perfection, but a Paragon man can always be more. Under the grace and guidance of those above me I would strive to be, indeed, the Paragon of man.”

He could almost hear a robotic glee tinge the machine’s buzzing words as it speaks up once more, causing his own perpetually precise smile to grow even larger on his new face. He stretches his jaw as he feels a tightness as the bones of it reshape. Cheekbones rise and poke higher as his chin hardens to be surpassed only by the definition of his jawline. Above his steely eyes and brows that thicken and shape as he awaits the machine’s words his hair perfectly styles itself into a coif that matches the portraits that line the hallway outside this very room.

STATEMENT: EXCELLENT “Lucas.” TRULY YOU ARE AN EXAMPLE TO EVERY MAN SOON TO BE BENEATH YOU. QUERY: WHAT COMES TO MIND WHEN YOU HEAR THE WORD “Family.”

The computer uses his own voice again, though it is such a deep resonant tone that the Lucas that began the interview would surely never recognize it as himself. In the present though, Lucas almost gets a hardon on hearing the power in his own voice even obfuscated by the inhuman voicebox. Pushing that back his mind goes to the question at hand, family. At each question the changes have come quicker to him as with each passing moment he gleefully resigns himself more to be a Paragon man, and this is no different. At first Lucas was able to futility grasp at his history studies fading away, at second he could feel a hole in himself where his true friends once sat, third his body changes so fast he could never imagine himself the scrawny twerp that nervously walked into this room. At the question of family there is no hesitation at all as his mind discards all superfluous aspects of his identity.

Sure he had a father, a mother presumably as well, perhaps some siblings. But with the twitch of his head they matter naught. His jaw hardens even further as a charming smile paints itself permanently across his jawline, his brow unmoving as he answers almost as mechanically as the machine across from him, “Why what could come to mind besides my fellow Paragon Men? Nothing in the meager world outside the office could near the affection I have for my leadership and the goals I hold for the men beneath me of course.” There is a warm crackle in the room as some unknowable force is pleased at the results gathered here, beyond expectations, beyond calculations. Still there remain two vital rounds. 

QUERY: “Mr. Astor,” HOW WOULD YOU IMPROVE YOURSELF TO BE A PARAGON MAN?

“Well I would do all that is asked of me Sir, as I always have in my, years with the company.” The charming grin stays on his steely face as wrinkles appear around his eyes. Everything about the man stays firmly pressed as a few gray hairs dot themselves about his figure, only enough to show the wisdom and experience gathered by the man in his many years with Paragon Ltd. His form surges Larger one final time, his face shifts into almost a parody of masculinity while his hands, feet, and crotch each increase to always assert his power, poise, and virility. 

Sitting there, everything in his mind not immediately used for the betterment of himself and, more importantly, his company is tossed like ballast weight. Every memory of his past self again melts down to be used as fodder for his own growth and the pleasure that he can only enjoy under the auspices of his new company. Never is he short of that however, his position always brings him no small amount of delight, getting the opportunity to sculpt other men into Paragon men brings him more pleasure than his past self could imagine. Seeing the virility of fiery youth mature and ripen as muscle packs on and they too become drones of masculine development is more reward than Mr. Astor could ever dream. As if it already knows this is the case, the machine asks one final question.

QUERY: “Mr. Astor,” WHAT DO YOU DESIRE?

Astor sits back in his chair in shock at the question, what could he possibly want for when he has everything he needs. He scratches at his beard and grumbles as he is wont to do before replying, “Why- What could I desire more than simply being a Paragon Man?” The static on the machine hardens and flashes bright before playing a small animation of their, his, company’s logo in a grandiose display. His bright eyes stare at it with familiarity and delight as his chest flutters with pride. After a moment the screen goes black before the voice speaks up to congratulate Lucas Astor.

STATEMENT: IT IS EXCELLENT TO MEET WITH YOU AS ALWAYS “Mr. Astor”. EXCLAMATION: TRULY THERE IS NO ONE BETTER TO MENTOR OUR NEW HIRES THAN YOURSELF. YOU ARE THE GREATEST CHIEF LEARNING OFFICER PARAGON LIMITED COULD ASK FOR.

Mr. Astor nearly cums right there, but like any respectable Paragon man he holds it back until he returns to his onsite quarters. Wherein he shall heartily find the powerful sensuality hidden within each expansive inch of his new body and identity. “Thank you, sir. I do it all to help forge better Paragon.” Astor rises with a nod and makes for the door out of the office.

He greets the statue of a man who escorted him into the office some minutes ago. Now well shorter than himself, Mr. Astor laughs as he realizes the man was of course his assistant all along. The two titanic men then set off for the busy day ahead of them. New hires to mentor and new men to make. Thrilled they get another chance to usher in the next generation of their fellow employees and ever excited to show the world what it means to be a Paragon Man.

[occamstfs]

Beau Of The Ball

Forced to spend the night in a town he conceptualizes as worlds beneath him, Brock is drawn to the local mechanic by something more powerful than desire. Try as he might to flee he's becoming more of a community member by the second.

Business busybody into something of a loyal country handyman! Quite the doozy, Hope y'all enjoy! -Occam

Someone had to make the trek to Austin and Brock figured biting that bullet for the team would pay dividends down the line. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out why on god’s green earth he had to physically drive there though. Carbon footprints be damned! Starting out he didn’t quite mind the idea, getting paid his rate to just drive is not too bad a deal, but as the hours rolled past it began to lose its novelty. Worse yet, when he crossed the border into Texas he found his car beginning to make a slightly concerning clunking sound. 

Pursing his lips he briefly wonders what could possibly be making that sound in his electric car. Brock swiftly comes to the limits of his car knowledge and throws in the towel. Not wanting to be stuck in the middle of nowhere Texas however, he keeps pedal to the medal and continues speeding towards the capital. Flying into some podunk town called Smoketree, Brock rolls his eyes at their droll cookie cutter town square. They have banners up for some sure to be trite festival happening in the square this weekend that Brock can’t help but laugh at. He struggles to imagine a single thing worth seeing in this backwater redneck speck.

Nearing the edge of town he notices an acrid scent in the air and soon after his vision is fully clouded by smoke pouring from his hood. Memories of scrolling past articles of electric vehicles blowing up he swerves into the shoulder and jumps into the grass with speed he hasn’t neared in years. Covering his ears and damning his boss for sending him into this fresh hell, Brock awaits some dramatic explosion. Instead his car simply continues idling forward a few feet before coming to a stop as it scratches against the guardrail. Something under the hood shudders and the smoke, initially emblematic of a wildfire, quickly pales into steam before slowing to a stop altogether.

Brock scratches his head in confusion, grimacing at the idea of making a trek into the town he had mercilessly mocked to himself. Unhappy about the prospect of asking hicks for help and, feeling how he does about the South, slightly anxious about wandering around a place sure to be less than welcoming, Brock crosses his fingers and makes to grab his phone from the car. Plugged into the charger he finds it dead, potentially short-circuited from whatever caused his car’s failure. “Fuck!” He tosses it into the backseat and storms away from the wreckage, “God damnit!” Ruffling his own hair he struggles through some breathing exercises while struggling to plan some flight from this god for nothing country wasteland.

Soon enough there is the rumble of an approaching truck. It’s followed by the whistle of a driver, “Whooey! Yew sure got yerself into a pickle there young man! Here lemme see if it’s sumthin’ I can give ya a hand with!” The massive truck pulls ahead of Brock’s burned out husk. Ever hesitant about interacting with bumpkins, the executive quickly goes into detective mode. Sure, the man is offering a helping hand but you never know with these small town folks. Seeing a trucker’s union bumper sticker on the vehicle he feels the smallest pang of optimism. Shifting to look at the man himself as he hops down from his raised truck, Brock quickly drills himself to not be outwardly judgemental to him or the shitty town he must surely come from.

The older man sidles over, squinting his eyes as he looks at the busted car while fanning the air as he smells the residual chemical scent in the air. Brock grimaces as the overall-clad man reaches out a hand with a wide smile, “Names Arthur Rhoades!” Patience already tested by the pleasantries while he’s already teetered past the edge of disaster, Brock keeps his disgust at the man’s hand just hidden as he offers his own. He flinches at the strength with which the man shakes his hand and after a pregnant pause offers his own name, “Ah! Oh, I’m Brock. Thank you for the assistance, sir. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about electric cars would you?”

Arthur whistles again and narrows his eyes at Brock’s ride, “I myself am not mucha a mechanic, but my son Junior sure knows his way around ‘m. Howsabout we get yer ride towed on back to our place and see what he can do in the mornin’?” Brock bites his lip and quickly sifts through a handful of answers about how he’d rather die before spending a night in a place where cows outnumber people, but looking back at the small trail of steam still rising from what used to be his car, he sighs and thanks the man for his kindness, “I appreciate the offer sir. I’m sure you can tell I’m quite the city boy, as it were, and would more than make it worth your while.” 

He laughs, patting Brock on the back, “Yer not wrong there boy! Can almost smell it on ya hah! But don’t you worry ‘bout payin’ me nuthin. ‘S the least I can do, host ya for the night. Who knows maybe you’ll like it s’much you decide to stay! Hah hah!” Brock laughs as well, hard enough that Arthur can probably feel the disrespect, though he certainly doesn’t show it. Before ushering Brock into his truck the older man turns and give one last look at the car and does a double take. “You said that was ‘lectric boy?” Brock tilts his head impatiently and nods, trying to ignore another passing thought of denigration that the yokel probably hasn’t seen one before.

His eyes follow the man as he walks up to the side and Brock’s face reddens with embarrassment as he sees Arthur open a fuel door. He stammers over himself swearing up and down that his car is absolutely electric. Brock almost hyperventilates as he runs the numbers in his head and begins to question his own mind. Seeing the man who was already on edge start visibly questioning everything Arthur rushes to comfort, “Must just be a plug-in hybrid right boy? Maybe she’s just needin’ some fuel in the tank if’n youve only only been chargin’ her up?” Brock slowly nods, “Y- yeah it must just be a hybrid.” Arthur ushers the slightly shellshocked suit up into his truck, “Easy fix then I’m sure, now let’s get ya t’ somewhere ya can lie yer head.” He quickly calls his son to tow the car to their place and he starts his truck.

Setting out, Brock tries to not let it bother him as Arthur drives the opposite direction from Austin. Heading back through the town square he looses a heavy sigh and Arthur immediately tries to lighten his spirits, unaware what a torpedo shot his first question will be to the man’s psyche. “So what brings ya to town youngin? Don’t get many new folks round these days?” Relieved at the chance to just be honest Brock quickly replies, “Ah, I was just passing through for work.” Mind back to work he sinks even lower in his seat thinking of how he’s guaranteed to be chewed out after being a no-show at the conference, no matter the circumstances. He’ll just need to let someone know when he gets to Arthur’s, surely they’re not so barbaric as to not have internet. Turning back to the driver he realizes that Arthur has continued talking, presumably about whatever nonsense he thinks their shitty little town has to offer.

Saving face he speaks up, “Ah! So sorry sir, I was uhm. I was thinking about work and totally missed what you said.” Arthur smiles with an empathetic kindness and pats Brock on the leg, “No worries, no worries lad. I’m sure Junior’ll get ya back on the road early in the morn. Sportin’ lad he is! Oh! I hope ya don’t mind but we only got the two rooms, so either you’ll share with Art or ‘s the couch for ya.” His ears perk up at the idea of sharing the room with a man described as ‘sporting.’ Judgmental of hicks he may be, but Brock is certainly not immune to the charm of a rough around the edges mechanic. The prospect is so alluring he almost forgets that the man’s almost guaranteed to be straight, in which case the couch could not be more promising.

About fifteen minutes in the opposite direction of town Arthur turns down a long driveway and into quite the idyllic homestead. Realizing he’s left all his luggage in his abandoned vehicle Brock struggles not to chew a hole in the side of his cheek as he writes an explanation for his workplace in his head. He tries to keep appearances as he gets a brief tour of his gracious hosts, meeting Arthur’s wife and promptly complimenting her efforts on decorating the cabin, earning him a peck on the cheek. He tries to settle his nerves and sits on the couch that’s almost guaranteed to be sleeping on tonight as three of them chat about the town. Inside and away from the car it’s a good deal easier for Brock to pretend that he’s not stuck here without recourse, he almost doesn’t mind the time wasted here.

Though as the couple keep talking up the festival Brock can’t help but be reminded of how little he cares for the rurality of it all. The idea of this shoddy little community having a celebration that appeals to him at all is simply beyond his imagination. “Country life ain’t as bad as ya think there Brock! I’m tellin’ ya, take it slow a few days and you’ll be a changed man! Some things are better than the hustle ‘n bustle!” Brock forces a smile and avoids rolling his eyes as he laughs off the appeals, “Oh I’m sure sir, I’m sure. It’s just so,” he pauses as he struggles to find any good way to say it is a life full of nothing. Before finding an insult eloquent enough to not be insulting Arthur’s wife Martha speaks up. Waving her husband off, she apologizes to their guest, “Oh you don’t let him get to ya dear. He’s just all riled up for the shindig y’know.” How could he not the number of times they’ve mentioned it

Before he’s able to respond, the door slams open and in walks a man that forces Brock’s ajar in a pavlovian response. The cowboy’s almost deliberately styled to make Brock drool, spinning the keys to a tow truck around his pinky. He isn’t sure if his being stuck in this town is making him more attracted to rednecks or what, but Brock can’t help but follow the man striding in like a moth to a bug zapper. He sees the man's lips move to say “Who’s the twink,” though thankfully his attention is so focused on ogling the man, his ears can’t quite hear him, or perhaps he’d have lost it then and there. Turning to Arthur as he gives the lowdown Brock shakes off the stupor and offers forth a shaky hand to who must be none other than Arthur Rhoades Junior.

The man smirks and wipes his hand on his jeans before walking up to and squaring up against Brock. Upturning his chin to nod and stare, taking all there is to see of the city boy. His eyes flicker across every aspect of his being, “Brock eh? Names Art.” His stare turns to Brock’s eyes, not so much making direct eye contact but staring through the visitor. His lips are pursed in appraisal and then he reaches out and takes the outstretched hand, his palm completely enveloping Brock’s before he squeezes. Not so hard as to display his brutish masculinity, but powerfully firm. One that clearly shows who is in charge here. It’s a brief moment, but it irrevocably asserts to Brock that he needs more.

Art’s pursed lips straighten into an expressionless straight line as his eyes shift from intense inspection to bemused invitation before he heads upstairs to his room. Martha and Arthur Sr. glance at each other in some charged way that Brock wouldn’t be able to make out even if his attention wasn’t focused on the hand that Art grasped, still feeling the pressure from being held. Arthur’s voice again cuts through Brock’s bewilderment as he prepares to retire for the night himself, “Well it’s gettin’ dark early here so I’m fixin’ to head to bed. Got blankets in the closet yonder if yer lookin’ to sleep down here in the cold livin’ room. If yer thinkin’ about Art’s room or maybe even seein’ if he’ll take the couch ya probably wanna do so soon, big day tomorrow with the shindig ‘n all!” He walks over to Brock to pat him on the shoulder as the guest tries not to interpret the emphasis Arthur had on how cold the living room was. “We’ll see ya in the mornin’ youngin. Hope ya can have a good rest under our roof.”

Martha walks up and offers him some of Art’s old clothes to sleep in since his luggage is away, “Might be a little big on ya love.” Brock thanks her and she heads off with her husband. Left alone in the living room Brock can’t help but focus on the steps in the room above him, he hesitates at the foot of the staircase. Anxiety about talking with the beyond daunting man should well hold him back from action. In any normal case it would. As the seconds pass though, the air around him grows colder and everything in his body begs for the warmth that he only had the smallest touch of. Clenching his hand he pushes down his fears and ignores the couch he had all but resigned himself to as he walks up the creaky stairs.

Before he even reaches the top, the door to Art’s bedroom opens. Light from inside illuminates the landing, and with it flows the woody, musky scent within. Art’s massive form cuts through the beams as he moves to lean on the door frame, dressed down into a strained wife-beater with one arm upraised to expose his pit as an yet another invitation. He leers down the stairs at Brock just long enough to ensure he’s coming before turning back to strip further. Brock stares at his powerful ass as he almost falls over himself climbing the rest of the way into the room.

As soon as he enters the door closes behind him and Art speaks up, his rough voice rumbling sends a shiver down Brock’s spine, “Wha’ chu want city boy. Might think ya got my parent ‘round yer finger but you ain’t got me fooled.” The executive shakes his head in surprise before quickly backing into the shut door, stammering as he tries to find some foothold. “Might not hear every little thought goin’ on in yer head but I can tell what yer thinkin’.” He slowly approaches Brock, slamming a arm above him on the door as the smaller man just gets his hand on the handle. “Ya think yer better than us, ‘s that it? ‘S not all though huh.” He in close to Brock’s ear, his thick mustache rubbing against the man’s cheek, inflaming his passion all over again as it takes everything in his mind and body not to turn to jelly, “can’t right help yerself huh.”

His mouth curls into a grin as he grips Brock’s face, his hand easily covering most of Brock’s head. “Yer fuckin’ obsessed with me runt.” He pulls him into a rough kiss that could have gone on for minutes or years with next to no input from Brock as his body fights to not slide to the floor, any thoughts behind his eyes vacate as no higher function could survive the pure lust taking over. Before he knows it he’s thrown onto the bed like a ragdoll. Brock sees nothing but stars as the passion comes to a head, escalating beyond his understanding. Every inch of his from cries with sensitivity and blares with pleasure. He feels spit or cum splatter across his form, pain and pleasure become one in ecstasy as he is nothing but a sack of nerves for Art to play with.

Once the mechanic is done with him he feels something tight secured on his head and hears the man grunt out in a manner nearing affection, “See ya in the mornin’ pardner.” His dreams are a blur. Rushing through woods on four-wheelers, hunting with Arthur and Junior, home cooked meals made by Martha. He feels the rough hand of Art that he’s so intimately familiar with now in his own, but it feels almost smaller than it should be. He grunts in his sleep and in the realm of dream it sounds deeper to his ears. He looks down at his hands and sees them oil covered, rougher, and impossibly large. He turns his head to see Art smiling at him with a bestial grin. He awakens with a start, face down in Art’s bed sweat, drool, and cum crusted across his form.

“Jesus fuck man!” He hears Art’s snoring come to a stop as the massive man grunts in response. He turns to look at his plaything and Brock sees the same animalistic grin that woke him up grace Art’s face. Brock rolls off the bed and shock and feels his own face, stained with stubble that should have taken nearly a month to grow before their night together. He wrenches the camo hat off his head and hurls it against the wall, “What’d you do ta me ya-” he grasps at his throat, feeling the same stubble has inched down his neck. He feels an adam’s apple three times larger than what he went to sleep with bounce as he swallows in fear, “Ya- you monster!”

Art rolls over, keeping the same smile on as he looks down on the man once more, “Weren’t complainin’ last night bud.” Brock’s eyes follow him as he gets up to stretch, feeling his cock immediately harden as he traces the mechanic’s powerful curves, his face reddens with rage at himself. He sees Art scratch his ass and pits as he feels what must be similar itches rise across his own body, fearful of any further inspection he stands and stamps his feet, “Now you listen here, Bud. I want out of this town, now. If ya don’t- ugh. If you don’t take me to my car now I’ll-” Rolling his eyes Art puts a finger to Brock’s mouth to shut him up and he’s powerless to do anything but obey, “Now listen here, Breau-” 

Art continues speaking but Brock is unable to listen after Art says the name. Breau, it sends a powerful shiver down his spine. It’s like Art hit a reset button on the man. Judging by the blank eyes it’s clear he’s not listening so Art simply turns away and grabs some clothes, sniffing them to see if they’re dirty before just shrugging and throwing them on anyway. He grabs a stained shirt and some shorts and throws the clearly stained outfit at Breau, aiming right for the eyes glazed over. Knocked over with the force he simply lies back and inhales and bathes in the dried musk on the dirty laundry. Feeling his cock grow large enough to strain his shorts he moans and the unfamiliar sound brings him back to his senses, “wha- now gahd-damnit!”

Art laughs as he hears Breau struggle with the new dialect on his tongue, feeling his own heart rate quicken at the idea that he’ll continue to fight against it, not knowing the foregone conclusion. He sees the man’s hands hover near his bulging cock barely holding back from masturbating then and there as it pulses with his heartbeat, clearly exposing pubes darker and thicker than the city boy has ever let them get to before. The mechanic sprays a cloud of axe in the air and walks through it before heading out the door, calling back to Breau, “Now you throw sumthin’ on before headin’ down. Don’ chu be indecent to yer hosts Breau.”

Breau clenches his jaw and tries to ignore the new power he feels surging in his neck, paralleling just about everywhere else on his form. He looks for his suit hoping to just throw that on but his clothes are nowhere to be found, he can’t tell if it’s anxiety or pleasurable anticipation prickling under his skin as he thinks about wearing Art’s clothes. Looking down to see muscles bulging under his skin with every movement his balls pulse and he realizes he needs to cover up now. He goes through Art’s room trying to find the cleanest outfit he can muster before following the man downstairs.

Racing down the stairs he’s just in time to see Art hugging his mother goodbye, something uncomfortable flutters in chest and Breau grumbles under his breath low enough to not hear an accent steep every expletive. Arthur makes his way over to his guest and throws his arms around him, “Well seein’ as my boy’ll get yer car fixed up in no time this’s more than likely goodbye, son! Hope ya didn’t mind our ‘ccomidations too bad. Hope ta see ya again some day y’hear!” Breau is surprised at how overly familiar the man’s hug is, it should be awkward enough to make him squirm out of his skin but it’s like he’s been hugged by the man hundreds of times. He doesn’t even think about the fact that Art’s father hasn’t commented on his clearly changed appearance as he instead goes to hug the man back, pleasantries staining his tongue alongside the accent, “No trouble at all, Art ‘n I had a great time.” Blushing as the memories of their steamy session burn to the front of his mind his voice cracks, “Uhhh, thank ya for yer hospitality Da- er, sir.”

Arthur pats him on the back and nods, wiping his own mustache as he sets for the door, “Well see you boys later, me ‘n the missus are off to get ready for the jamboree tonight!” Martha does a little excited dance at the door before waving off their guest as well, “Besta luck with yer car now Breau!” His head twitches as Art’s mom uses the name he only just realized he has been identifying with since Art first said it. Art closes the door behind them and goes to grab a beer from the fridge. Breau quickly throws his body at the mechanic to stop him, knocking the beer out of his hand, “Now what’re ya doin’ Ugh! What do you think you’re doing Arthur Rhoades!” Grimacing at his can on the floor and the man calling him by his full name he just sighs and looks Breau up and down, “Still think yer gettin’ outta dodge do ya? Look at yerself.”

Breau struggles to ignore his words as he feels abs and a chest that have never been begin to fill a tank top that never should have fit him. “Where’re- are your keys, you hick.” Art’s eyebrows raise in surprise at the fight left in the man and whistles as he picks up his beer and promptly shotguns it, releasing a large burp before pointing at his truck’s keys. “You wouldn’t mind drivin’ now would ya?” Breau grunts and pulls at Art’s shirt as he goes for another beer, the large man smirks at the ease with which Breau pulls his massive form, eying the larger hands and veins pulsing along his thin arms as they gather all the strength with him.

Breau hops into the driver’s seat of the tow truck with ease and familiarity he shouldn’t have and starts the engine. Swiftly, the pair are off down the road before Breau realizes that he’s driving stick, his eyes grow as wide as Art’s smirk at the realization, “Yer a natural at this Breau, jus’ give in. It’ll be so much easier.” One of his rough fingers traces a bulging vein on Brock’s arm, “‘Sides, ya can’t tell me last night wasn’t the best fuck of yer life.” Breau struggles to tune out the man’s words but the still growing bulge in his pants makes it clear that his mind is flashing back to the pleasure beyond pleasure he enjoyed, perhaps for the best, lest he realize he’s driving to Art’s shop with memories he shouldn’t have.

Approaching the shack he sees parts strewn about the yard and a few hunks of junk that must be passion projects parked in a line. He quickly shuts off the truck and tosses the keys at Art before storming out of the vehicle and looking for his car, “What’d you fuckin’ do with by ride bitch?” Art slides out of the truck and meanders up to the man, chin upraised he grimaces at Breau’s rage, “Y’know I’m thinkin’ you should mind yer tongue. Yer talkin’ like someone who's about a foot taller ‘n ya.” Suddenly everything within Breau comes to a boil, he rushes at Art. 

In response the mechanic hoists him into the air by the neck of his wife-beater. He makes direct eye contact and both men feel the tension between them, as well as that in their pants before Breau forces his feet back to the ground. His whole body lengthens over a foot in height in over a second and his arms try to grab at the larger man. The smug grin of a winner returns to Art’s face as he opts to just push Breau away with his leg, keeping hold of his shirt as it tears off him. He slides into the dirt and it sticks to his sweaty back as he convulses with a level of anger and energy he’s never had to deal with before, surely a side effect of the massive balls bulging through his shorts. Art laughs at the man struggling as he pushes himself up, his body vibrating with a desire to enact violence.

Torn between impulses of fucking and fighting Breau can’t control himself in the slightest. His arms desire, lust, need to swing, to hold, to scratch at the man who is just leering at him with a confidence unfounded. He charges again but trips over his longer legs and Art calmly steps out of the way. Seeing red he stumbles back to his feet and charges once more, exhaling through his nose like a bull. This time Art catches him flat out, stumbling back a step but still maintaining complete control of the man. The smile disappears from his face as he leans down to whisper, “Now, clearly yer dealin’ with new hormones coursin’ through ya, but if yer gonna act like an animal we might need to have a change a plans hm?”

Breau’s eyes indeed flicker around like he’s an animal in his trap. Everything in his mind cries out to fight, to flee, to fuck with not a single higher function speaking up. Unable to process thoughts let alone produce words Breau takes heaving breaths as his chest tries to expand, feeling his sweaty body against Art’s he calms down and his mind fights against the lust and anger driving him, “What, what do ya want with me.” Art turns Breau to a small outdoor gym he has set out in between some workbenches and lets him go jutting at the area with his head, “Go work off some of yer energy ‘n get back to me. ‘N we’ll see ‘bout yer car.” Immediately feeling feels every muscle fiber in his being cry out at the challenge, the desire to be even more powerful sends him barrelling to the meager set up.

Art goes to a fridge in the shop and grabs another beer as he watches Breau mindlessly exercise Smirking as he imagines the mileage he’ll get out of every expanding muscle in the man. Picturing pecs as large as his own and biceps that might even be able to hold him down one day. He scratches at his stomach as he looks around the yard trying to remember which car even was the man’s. Turning back to see pounds of muscle piling onto the man he wonders if he’ll even remember that he was some pansy executive by the time he’s done working out his anger. Judging by the expression growing even duller with each rep he’s not even sure the man will remember his own name.

Breau isn’t sure if he’s done two sets or thousands, everything within him burns with years of pleasurable soreness. He feels his cock bulge through his shorts as each rep drives him even deeper into bliss. Pre stains his briefs and sweat drips so fully across his form it’s like he’s in a rainstorm. The exercises drive him so deep into mindlessness he indeed forgets his anger, his balls instead cry out for release that he knows only Art can bring him. Art Rhoades, he looks up to see the man and sucks in the drool that has apparently been streaming out of his mouth this whole time.

He saunters over with a new gait, not used to the larger cock swinging between his legs, and speaks up to the man, “Done gettin’ ripped. Can ya fix my car now.” His head twitches to the side as he feels something is off about the way he’s speaking, the idea graces his mind that his voice just sounds even deeper which turns him on even further. Ignoring the question, Art tosses him a beer and gets to his feet with a groan, beckoning Breau follow him into the yard. Absolutely ravished having grown exponentially in every regard he finishes the beer in seconds before grabbing himself two more from the fridge, burping as he trails the man he can now only think of as a ticket to endless pleasure.

“You remember which one of these beauts was yers Breau?” The theoretical executive looks across the yard, littering the empty cans behind himself as he rolls his eyes at the dumb question, obviously it’s uh. He squints as he struggles to even find a car, it was a hybrid right? His face twitches at the idea, as if he’d drive some pussy shit like that. Nah obviously he must be drivin’ the biggest tanker here yeah? He scratches his ass and Art just smirks as he walks up to a large truck missing a tire, and points to it, his mouth lolling open as is its default state. Art bites his tongue to prevent from bursting into laughter at the idea of that puny man hopping up into that rig. Keeping it under wraps he saunters over and feeling generous gives the man one final out, “You sure about that hun?”

Questioned, the conviction in Breau’s chest only grows as he puffs up his chest with pride. He checks the back seat and smirks as he sees a bag filled with his belongings, tearing it open hoping to find a laptop for reasons that escape him; he instead finds a toolkit, some lube, and old work clothes. Still, each object in the bag is unquestionably his. He tosses the bag at Art with a smirk, “Uhhh, obviously I know my own truck ya fucker, tryin’ get me all confused like!” Art laughs it off as he begins his victory lap. The whole thing began as some karmic payback and all but fuck, if he ain’t excited at the prospect of having someone on his level to fuck around with. Though he bites his tongue as deep in his chest he desires something more meaningful than that.

Art tosses the bag to the ground and looks over at the missing tire and scoffs at the oaf, “Now Breau, surely ya don’ need my help puttin’ a tire back on yer truck?” Breau’s face reddens with embarrassment at the idea and he pushes back at the man now only slightly larger than him. His pride challenged, he quickly runs over to a workbench to grab a tire wrench, Art watches new muscle and fat bounce on the man’s body as his whole form jiggles with power, before moving to wheel over a tire. Breau stumbles running back as his mind begins to fill with the proprietary knowledge of mechanics that any handyman should have, grease stains his shorts and oil his hands as he forgets corporate boardrooms that had already fallen by the wayside.

In no time at all he’s under the truck, shooting off the flat with a haste and finding another problem to fix while he’s under there. Every word out of his mouth drips with an accent deeper than any of the Rhoades’ “I knew t’wasn’t just a tire yew ass! Mah whole strut’s fucked up!” Art watches as the man appraises and immediately sets to fixing the issues found, smirking as the man scratches his exposed pubes in between drilling and sniffs at the forest of hair in his pits that somehow overpowers the smell of metal and motor oil in the air.

Art offers a helping hand that the man in his confidence didn’t ask for and the pair quickly get the truck up and running with ease. They work like they’ve done so for at least a decade, and as sweat runs down one of them onto the other their minds shift to make it clear they have. The job said and done Breau quickly turns his mind to another car on the lot and Art shrugs as they start hammering away at another job that has long been left on the back burner. Working the day away, eventually Art has to step in and convince his new partner to throw in the towel.

The sunset’s beginning to crest over the horizon and Art gets a text from his folks asking when the pair are to make their way over to the festival. Art is uncharacteristically nervous as he looks to Breau, fearful of flubbing so close to the finish line. He clears his throat to calm his voice, lest there be a quiver, “‘S a shame yer not gonna be able to make it to the festival tonight eh Beau.” The oiled up man shakes as he hears the name, his name, who he is, shift one final time. The itch of his pubes races up his abs as he nears the virility, the power, of his partner.

The strength and muscle of the man  who forced him against the wall, ragdolled him onto the bed, hoisted him into the air, bursts into his own arms as there's the sound of a fabric tearing, bones cracking, in the air. His bulge expanding to a size that his underwear could never hide, he smirks at the idea that he’d ever wear them anyway. Always been more of a commando guy. Every muscle in his body vibrates with energy as he surges even larger, hair rapidly covers his pits before spreading beyond them as his beard curls even thicker. Sweat drips down his body, wetting his pants and sending an itch down his ass that makes it clear that no inch is spared from his new hirsute masculinity. He grunts as the idea of missing the festival fills him with a greater sadness than he’s ever felt before, “Now why’d I ever go ‘n do a thing like that there Art.”

Suddenly a devilish smirk forces itself onto Beau’s face as his mind changes from affection and back to a lust uncontrollable as his balls surge even larger and he again charges at Art. This time tinged with no existential anger as he knocks the man to the floor. Art smirks as he feels himself pinned to the ground and the two begin wrestling in the dirt, their powerful bodies in a dead heat as they frot in the middle of his lot. Their messy beards wet with spit as they engage in an even sloppier session than they had the previous night, with each thrust Art finds more power within Beau than he has felt from even the most masculine fuck he’s enjoyed previously. 

sees the look in Beau’s eyes he’s filled with confidence, and he’s splattered with cum. After hearing both their phones ring the two men call off their heated session and quickly struggle to seem like they weren’t in the middle of having marathon sex as they answer to hear both of Art’s parents. Beau doesn’t stop to realize his phone is again functioning, and also a far older generation than the one he once preferred. After all he doesn’t need all that fancy shit to get his job done anyway. The two hop in Beau’s recently repaired truck and race to the Rhoades’ residence, Art is shocked to find a full size cabin now built next door to his parent’s house before he sees Beau saunter into it with a confidence and pride that answers all of his questions.

After a moment he races to follow the man, his other half inside and is struck with his new life. He assumed he was holding all the cards but clearly that’s not the case. Looking down at his own body he finds he is not without his own changes, having similarly grown in virility he chides himself for thinking with his balls so much before he is again chided by the man stepping down the stairs. “Didja not hear yer mom on the phone Art! Get fuckin’ ready so we can get down there before yer folks blow a gasket!” 

Art takes the little moment he can to observe all the new perfections of his apparent life. He stares at Beau’s sculpted chest, the pattern of perfect hair trailing down his body like fur. Massive thighs filling jeans to their max and a bulge that tells everyone he’s a stud in between them. Art blushes as he rushes into their shared bedroom, unaware as his step grows heavier with every footfall, his own chest straining the tank that was only just hanging in there. He quickly puts on an outfit matching Beau, almost forgetting to throw back on his silicon wedding band before racing back into the living room and draping himself around his husband’s shoulders.

Beau acknowledges him with a grunt and juts his chin towards the door. The two head off towards the city center, Beau’s head filled with affection for the man to his left and for the town of folks around him. Art is blissfully unaware of the two way street that clearly dulled some of his own edges as the pair step out into the festival and begin throwing down in a line dance, as they do every year. Beau moves with precision and joy as he celebrates his favorite place and favorite people. Can of beer raised high as he shows off to a crowd adoring.

Constantly stealing glances of each other the husbands are uncaring as everyone in the town square also has their eyes on the pair, such a perfect match it’s no wonder they are the celebrities of the little town. Martha and Arthur Sr. watch blissfully, beyond overjoyed that their son has finally found a man for himself, and the city sighs as the two men take turns showing off at every turn. Beacons of Smoketree pride and Southern hospitality in only the best of ways. Ever striving to better themselves and their town and always trying to one up their other half.

[occamstfs]

The Olde Candy Shoppe

After trying some vintage candy Eddie finds himself rushing into the life of his dreams, with a the man of his dreams to boot! Sweet bearification/age progression!

Bit of a long one but I quite enjoyed writing it! Hope it's not too saccharine for y'all! As always, hope you all enjoy! -Occam

It was Eddie’s first day off in a few weeks. He doesn’t really mind the hours but working in an office has been a little less than fulfilling for him. Quite the recluse, he was originally planning on just staying in on his day off but his friend from work, Tony, encouraged him to explore town. He acquiesce, for nothing else than hopefully having something new to talk about with Tony when he’s back at work, secretly hoping that taking his friend’s advice could lead to something a little more exciting between the two of them.

Looking around the town square he’s immediately bored, seeing almost entirely places he’s already written off in the time he’s lived in the city. Eddie doesn’t want to go daydrink or buy some new clothes and he’s already kicking himself in the leg for forgetting that he hasn’t gone out in some time for a reason. Right before he calls it a day and returns home to hop on some video game he sees something new and alluring: The Olde Candy Shoppe.

It looks quite out of place, like a mom and pop shop shoved in between newer developments. Eddie stares in disbelief unsure how he could have possibly missed the anomaly before now, he’s been here before and is almost certain that it has not. Though by all appearances it seems far and away to be the oldest building in the square. He digs deep trying to recall any friends mentioning a candy shop in town and comes up blank. Sighing he decides to push no further, obviously the building is there so there’s no sense at all to go crazy about it. Beside that, the longer he spends thinking on it he realizes he could certainly do with a sugary pick-me-up.

Eddie enters  the candy shop and any edge or nerves remaining were left at the door. The atmosphere was immediately soothing and warm, sweet but not cloying. The cool white light filters through aged windows and bathes everything with the yellow warmth of perpetual twilight. Looking around the shop Eddie just feels at home, he sets to browsing the aisles when he hears a loud deep voice shout, “Welcome in lad! Glad to have ya!” Quickly removed from whatever reverie he was in, Eddie turns to find a man otherworldly. Masculine like a grandfather, the giant would seem more at home at Santa’s workshop than the city center in which his store sits. 

Eddie simply stares at the man who quickly laughs before putting a hand on his hip and walking over, “You know it’s impolite to stare young man, Hah Hah!” His whole body bounces as he laughs and Eddie closes his agape mouth, not even realizing it had fallen open. He tries to speak but stumbles over his words as he massive man comes to pat him on the back, “What can I do ya for lad?” Eddie swallows hard and finds his caught tongue, “Oh, ah well, I’m just looking around I suppose. Sorry-” The bear of a man laughs heartily once more before continuing, “Well I’m certain you’ll find exactly what yer lookin’ for. Ya just shout if ya need anythin’!” With that he goes off to organize the racks behind the counter, leaving Eddie to his own devices. 

While never on his A-Game in social situations, Eddie is absolutely gobsmacked at how off he was talking to the man. It’s almost like when someone way out his league flirts with him, but Eddie’s never been the type to go for men so, wizened. He blushes as he thinks about that man in such a light and promptly focuses his mind on the merchandise to prevent any further embarrassment. Attention drawn to the shelves Eddie finds sweets familiar and novel, something in the back of his mind tells him that anything he could ever possibly want rests somewhere in the labyrinth of crowded candy aisles. 

He wanders around for quite a while, unaware or apathetic to the passage of time, every so often picking up a treat he knows he likes only to put it down in pursuit of something better, something out there calling to him. The stairs creak as he meanders up to the equally cluttered second floor of the candy shop. Reaching the top he turns to look out across the open aisles, bereft of other customers. The square was bustling when he was wandering outside and yet he hasn’t heard the bell on the door jingle once since he’s entered. As soon as the thought enters his mind a saccharine smell overloads his senses and he shakes it off. Anxieties rational or not fade away as he turns to find some ancient candy he’s never seen before.

He grimaces seeing wafers that clearly have been extant for hundreds of years before he was born. Prepared to turn his nose up and return to the more exciting eclectic candies of today Eddie is shocked as his body takes a step towards the sure to be stodgy treat. His hand reaches out to grab a ream of them and suddenly he feels a presence behind him as the booming voice of the proprietor speaks out once more, “Mmm excellent choice Boy. Those are favorite’s from my youth. Would ya like to try one?” Eddie turns to find the man’s hand outstretched and in the center one of the small chalky discs. Unsure why he would ever want them in the first place Eddie plans to turn him down, but his body feels otherwise.

Before a second passes Eddie has already snatched the piece of candy without a thought and shoved it in his own mouth. What should be the muted flavor of a candy that has sat unpurchased on shelf for years instead explodes in his mouth. Every sense is overwhelmed as flavors of a lifetime dance on his tongue. His mind goes blank, unable to process the experience of thousands of thoughts and feelings soaring into and through him. Warmth fills every inch of his being as his mouth again lolls open, he feels every piece of fabric on his dry skin before they grow sticky with sweat as he begins to sweat from the impossible experience. Eyes glaze over as he mindlessly stares at the jolly unmoving face ahead of him. It is impossible to say how long he stands there absorbing everything there is within the small piece of candy as it dissolves on his tongue. He only breaks out of it as he feels drool spill out of his wide open mouth. 

Eddie slurps in embarrassment and mumbles an apology, barely able to will his body to do anything at all as he recovers from a state of ecstasy he couldn't possibly understand. The proceeding minutes are equally foggy, try as he might Eddie is running on fumes as he wanders back down the stairs, the old man ushering him with a gentle hand towards the door. He isn’t sure what awkward things his mouth must spurt out as he accompanies the man through the store. The only concrete recollections he can find as he exits are the man’s smiling face as he puts a small bag of the treats in Eddie’s hand and the jingling of the door bell closing behind him as he is again on the cold streets of the downtown. 

“Did I pay for these?” He mumbles to himself as he wanders towards his apartment. Eddie doesn’t quite care what the answer is as he promptly tears into the pouch of multi-colored wafers, desperate to continue whatever high they brought him before. He shoves a handful of the chalky treats into his mouth and is promptly ushered again to a state of jubilee. His feet stumble onward as his mind grows mindless once more, his face smiling wide and his eyes glassy with ecstasy he still cannot grasp. It’s more akin to discovering a new sense than a new taste as every second passing brings him more rapturous pleasure. His clothes pull on his body with every movement. Tension created between himself and the world around him brings him delight beyond measure as, beyond the heighting of every sense, he begins to feel bloated.

Holding back a burp he arrives at his front door and closes it behind him. Eddie falls to the floor, dropping the now empty bag of wafers, as he experiences release from what feels like a lifetime of heightening pent-up pleasure. Eddie tears off clothes that have been hugging him tighter with each step towards home, doing so with an ease that should certainly be a red flag. Barely aware of his actions the strength suddenly coursing through him only brings him pleasure in a manner he has until now been pushing down as he feels his package swiftly strain briefs still clinging to his rapidly bloating thighs.

Falling face down on his bed he fully and unconditionally gives into the experience, humping the bed like an animal until his cock  breaks free from his underwear. His arms grow larger as he pushes against his bed, widening palms grasping at sheets. Beneath the carnal pleasure of growth across his body he feels burning itches rise. Ever a hairless twink he begins to feel a long absent signifier of manhood begin to grace his form. While his thin arms become biceps, beneath them the thin blonde bush in his armpits darkens and begins a transformation from a garden into a jungle. The few hairs on his chest and around his nipples, in which he had but the smallest pride, stretch longer and do their best to spread, his cock growing even harder as he imagines thick untamable hair covering more of his form than he could even imagine.

Memories of shaving daily fill his mind as a mustache suddenly graces his ever-hairless face. He grits his teeth and clenches his jaw as his neck flexes and his vision flashes white as everything in his being cries with a desire to grow more, to be more. He scratches at his frail form as every disparate part of his body struggles to obey. 

The room fills with the scent of his sweaty body grinding against his mattress. His pert waist expands, his ass ballooning into the air as his thighs fill with power. In his crotch a thick bush of pubes scratch against his cock as it bulges larger yet. Just as he’s about to lose control, his more powerful arms shaking with both the effort of growth as well as holding up his larger body, he takes a deep breath and a dumb grin spreads on his face. Behind the powerful scent of his own musk, there is an unmistakable saccharine haze hiding. With that he moans loudly, his chest vibrating as a deeper voice bellows forth and he collapses in his own mess as his cum stains a treasure trail still inching higher on his torso.

He awakens a completely different man. He groans and scratches at stubble he never dreamed he could grow and pushes himself with arms larger than his thighs used to be. He rubs himself up and down feeling sweat stained, and otherwise crusty, hair covering all the real estate he so wished it would. Unaware of the extent of his changes he allows himself a few moments to play with the new muscle and weight on his improved form. Flexing his biceps, delighting in the soreness therein as he bounces pecs that he certainly didn’t earn, Eddie quickly wakes up to reality and jolts up. Brimming with energy, anxiety he’s always had heightens to a new degree as he jumps up to inspect himself in a mirror.

He turns and inspects every inch of his new body. Pushing and prodding at impossibly developed muscle, twisting his neck to look at his defined jawline underneath stubble, pinching himself only half-hoping to awaken from the dream and yelping as his new clumsy fingers pinch with more strength than he thought possible. “Fuck!” He clenches at his throat as the voice sounding forth is unrecognizable, as well as one that would get any man to drop his pants. He blushes before checking the time and remembering the struggles of his all-too-real reality. He can’t go to work like this.

He scratches his hair and feels that while everywhere else on his body hair has grown fruitful, before multiplying beyond even that, the hair on his head has lost some of its youthful bounce and thinned. No time to worry about that. He wipes a sobering hand across his face, feeling its rough palm scratch at itchy stubble. Eddie forces down the butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the idea before dialing his workplace’s phone number. The phone rings once before the receptionist answers, “Hello this is Chloe with Blue Willow LTD. What can I do for you today?” 

Eddie clears his throat and answers, “Hey Chlo this is Eddie I uhh, don’t think I’m going to be able to make it in today.” There is a pause as the receptionist checks a calendar before she replies, “I see, Eddie, is it? Did you have an appointment today?” This time Eddie pauses, taken aback that Chloe didn’t recognize him. Sure, his voice probably sounds a little deeper but they’ve worked together for years. 

“What? No, Chlo you know me, it’s Eddie?” She promptly replies, “I’m not seeing an Edward or Eddie on my calendar, nevertheless I am sorry you won’t be able to make our company today. If you want to set up a later date I can certainly do that for you sir.” Eddie bites his tongue as he tries to think of anything to prove his identity to Chloe and comes up blank, in fact the longer he sits there the more he has trouble even picturing her face. “Sir? Are you still there?” He grunts in surprise, “Oh! Yes I, sorry for the bother. I uhh, it must be a wrong number.” “No problem at all sir, thank you for calling and we look forward to serving you at a later date!”

There’s a click as the receptionist hangs up. Eddie sits there staring at his phone and sees that he doesn’t even have a contact for the number he just called. He scratches at his stomach as the hair there is crusted with something he can’t quite recall. Unsure of his next move he hops in the shower and cleans up, taking time to play with his wet hair as it’s covered in suds. Still filled with impossible pleasure at the novelty of having this new form he pulls at his pubes and scratches at a face that somehow already has more stubble on it. After that he raises his arms to languish in his thick pit hair and the new musk it carries. Before washing it away and throwing on deodorant that’s leagues stronger than what he usually wears, he catches a whiff of something sweet in the air and it all comes flashing back to him. The candy store, it’s got to have something to do with that.

Eddie ignores the mountain of ulterior motives that returning to the candy store provides as he throws on a button up that barely fits and races out the door and towards the shop. The place is almost exactly as he remembers it, snug in between two businesses not of note and a smell of cinnamon and other sweets wafting through the shut door. Grabbing at the door handle he finds it locked. Briefly noticing the lights off inside, a small letter falls from somewhere he can’t see into his awaiting hands. Breaking the wax seal, his eyes scour the note, “To a not so young Edward. Congratulations on your new life, check your pocket.” Unsigned. Eddie grimaces as he checks his pocket to find a key.

Unwilling to dig into the implications of the note and grumbling to himself about being referred to as not so young ,he shoves the key in the lock and turns it. The store immediately comes to life. The light pouring in through the large windows is somehow brighter than it is outside. He steps in and takes a deep breath, finding himself again overwhelmed with delight as he enjoys the overpowering smell of his, er, the store. After a few moments he shakes it off and sets out to find the old man who presumably owns it. 

Never could he know what he is to lose as he returns to the scene of his rapture however. Crossing the threshold he completely forgets about the hitherto slowly fading life of Eddie the salesman. The job he never truly enjoyed becomes the nothing it had been to him all along as he scratches his stomach mindlessly. Abs he only just received begin to bloat with a different, greater, type of strength that only years upon years of living could bring. 

Walking down the aisles he doesn’t notice as the top button of his shirt pops off and chest hair begins to grow towards his neck. Memories of stocking the aisles by hand flow through his mind as he walks through each one. His goal of finding the proprietor he met yesterday slowly shifts as he instead carefully inspects every shelf, as if he were preparing for the day ahead.

 Ever too lanky for his own good he remembers countless people telling him he needs to eat more and so he does, grabbing a treat or two as he loads shelves to their capacity. Each bite puts more pounds on his body as the hair covering him continues to thicken. Feeling various parts of his new form tighten Eddie stretches and finds his vantage is suddenly closer to the ground. There’s a crack in his back and he grumbles, his voice getting even deeper as his stomach pushes its buttons to their brim.

Suddenly the bell at the door jingles and his face alights with a smile. Setting whatever self-assigned tasks he had aside, he rushes over to help his customer find what they’re looking for. He takes no time to consider that said mission is far easier than it should be. Taking almost no time at all and as soon as it is done the bell chimes once more as a second customer arrives and after them a third. Soon enough the entire store is bustling with patrons looking for sweets and novelties that Eddie is beyond happy to offer. Each and every interaction fills him with purpose and delight as he in turn does all he can to make sure everyone walks out of his shop with a smile.

Walking around with a confidence and pride he’s never held, Eddie doesn’t even notice as he seamlessly works the store all by himself. After all, he's done it for years. Memories fly by and fill him with fulfillment as offers free samples at every opportunity, doing little magic tricks he certainly never honed, and introducing himself as Ed whenever the chance presents itself. After a long day of peddling his saccharine wares and spreading joy Ed eventually locks up and collapses into an old chair behind the counter. The chair creaks underneath him and a few more buttons pop off his shirt as he takes a load off. Wiping his brow after a day well done he takes no note of the dense hair poking through every undone button.

He scratches at his hair and feels it even thinner on his head as that on his stubbled face and chest hair have grown only thicker. Looking down at the barreled body that he would have sworn was far more lithe this morning he pats his stomach and smiles. Looking around at a store growing more familiar by the second, he remembers his apartment upstairs and gets up with a groan. The lights in the store dim without him touching a button as he makes his way to his home he made for himself above the storefront.

Looking around he finds it filled with possessions that decorated the apartment he woke up in this morning. After all where could that have been but right here. Beyond that, the domicile is chockablock full with clutter gathered in a life longer lived. Rubbing his beard in thought he is filled with a desire to explore his new sensuous form as he did the night before, though as he sits there his bones feel familiar. Same ones he’s always had after all, eh? Instead of following heady lust, he yawns with an intensity he’s never quite mustered as he sits in the bed that’s well large enough for two. Sleep comes to his eyes before he can make up his mind to do anything else and he falls back, sugar plums dancing in his dreams as potentiality rushes through him.

Ed wakes up early, as he always does. Sensing something afoot he quickly throws on clothes and makes his way downstairs into the store. Taking the briefest moment to admire how he fills out his uniform he winks at himself and throws on an apron before making his way down the stairs to see a young man standing outside the store and looking in the windows. Seeing the figure something at the back of his mind prickles that he should know who he is, the bizarre feeling compels him to let the man in before the store opens. After doing just that, the sensation only grows more prominent.

The younger man quickly makes his case, “Hi I’m so sorry for the bother I know you’re not open yet I just- Something told me I had to come by.” He pauses briefly and stares deeply at Ed as the older man scratches his beard in thought, “Eddie? Is that-” He is quickly cut off with a guffaw by the candyman. “HAH! I haven’t been called by that name in years, young man!” Despite the brash laughter, something begins eating away at Ed, and from the looks of it, it’s eating at his guest as well. Locking the door behind him lest another visitor sneak in, Ed offers a hand out, “The name’s Ed, welcome to my little slice of the world, uhm,” he pauses and waits for the visitor to offer his name, which he does, “Tony.” 

That sends an eruption of memories through Ed’s consciousness. Tony. Immediately he remembers seeing Tony shirtless and blushes, was that from an Instagram post or had he somehow seen the young man before now in a less than pure manner. He shakes it off just as soon, surely Tony would remember him in the latter case, and he certainly doesn’t have social media, hah! Even if some of his new employees are trying to get him on there. Ed finds himself adrift in his own mind, quite unable to determine what is true and what is faction. Either way the image of the young man’s body is burned into his imagination and he doesn’t understand why. He swallows hard as suddenly an idea pushes itself to the front of his mind, flowing into him as if it’s coming from the store itself.

“You know young man, why don’t you have a look around to see if your friend Edward left something here. If something’s calling out to you I’d be sure to follow it.” Tony nods wordlessly and sets off, following an unseen trail to exactly what he’s sure to be looking for. Ed clears his throat and stays back, not wanting to make the younger man uncomfortable in any way. His mind keeps going through memories foggy and otherwise in between his morning chores. Soon enough he begins to come across a few memories of Tony alongside his younger self, and then there were more. Suddenly he’s flooded with ideas, dreams, memories from his youth. In each and every one he sees the young man right by his side. He scratches at his beard in thought, as he often does, before deciding to simply relinquish his curiosity, washing his hands of his concern, confident that the situation shall work itself out soon. Things have a habit of doing so in the store.

Ed grabs a box and sets out to begin stocking, preparing for another busy day that surely awaits after he opens his doors. As soon as he turns down the first aisle his mission changes. He sees Tony paused, staring at a jawbreaker like it’s a talisman holding the answer to all of life’s mysteries. He watches as the young man reaches out for it and suddenly holds it in his hands before he turns and stares directly at Ed who simply nods. Immediately understanding, Tony tosses it in his mouth and his eyes immediately glaze over just like Eddie’s did the day before and suddenly it all makes sense to the store owner. 

He immediately sees Tony fill his tank top, muscle pouring onto his frame much faster than it did his own. His sharp jaw swiftly lines itself with a sculpted beard that any man would be proud of as his jaw expands large enough to easily hold the large piece of candy. His chest hair quickly spreads beyond the capacity of his tank, up towards his beard and quickly moving to connect with his pits. Staring at the man Ed decides it’s impolite to watch whatever fantastical changes are occurring as he instead opts to get back to work. After all, he was there for the man’s changes the first time.

Turning away, Ed is again overwhelmed with flashes of memories between himself and Tony. His mind flashes back to the large bed he slept alone in last night and is filled with comfort at the idea he will never have to do so again. While much of their lives together remained ephemeral, still to be defined as Tony’s new form the most important thing was clear. The pair were, are, and will be evermore inseparable. He remembers as if it were yesterday the day they met and from that moment on the pair were two halves of one whole. Nothing quite matters to the men besides that they are together.

Memories of Tony as a young personal trainer, or was it a handyman flitter across Ed’s psyche as the man standing in the aisle continues to mature and grow. Already taller than Ed he sprouts even higher, his thick thighs strain the shorts he had thrown on to rush to Ed’s shop and his feet swiftly outgrow his tennis shoes.

The details of their past and their lives lived together don’t quite matter at the moment as Ed stares at the love of his life growing into the man he’s always wanted to be. The ephemerality of their past together holds nothing to the flame burning in the chests of both men. With a grunt Tony grows large enough that the tank top hastily worn rips off of him and falls to the floor. Seeing his hairy body exposed as his package makes itself incredibly apparent, Ed sighs and walks over to his husband. Oft-adjusted gold bands swiftly appear on the ring fingers of both men.

“How many times do I need to tell you to buy clothes in your size Tony!” The recently younger man turns and laughs as he looks down to find himself barely clothed in the middle of their candy store. The two men kiss before Ed ushers his husband upstairs so he can keep getting the store ready for the rush right around the corner. Tony collapses on the bed with the weariness that decades of rapid aging wreaks on the body. Smiling at his sleeping husband Ed tucks him in before returning to the storefront with a cup of coffee. He smiles in serenity as he hears the bell jingle as a crew of other employees arrive and begin stocking and doing other work he has never minded doing himself. 

Colors shine even brighter than before as sun beams in through the large windows. There is a hum of something otherworldly in the air as every inch of the store buzzes with whimsy. Ed sighs with contentment as he hears his husbands snoring through the apartment walls behind him, waving at the new hires, as they rush about the morning’s preparations. Smiling as the life of his dreams has somehow fallen at his feet, he too prepares to do all he can to spread joy as his goal. Tightening his apron Ed heads downstairs to open The Olde Candy Shoppe for business, eager as ever to spread sweet delight.

[occamstfs]

Jonny Get Your Gun

While thrift shopping Jon stumbles upon an old helmet from which he will not walk away the same. Sub to dom army masculinization!

Been a while since I’ve written a military TF and after somehow getting Over There stuck in my head this happened! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Jon and Troy were at the thrift store looking for something cute to wear to a friend’s party this weekend. The couple certainly have established wardrobes to choose from but are looking for something new, something flashy. They’re looking for something that’s just calling out to them. Never wanting to spin their wheels in place they want something to mix it up. Lo and behold as Jon makes his way to the back of the store does he find a hat doing just that, or rather a helmet.

Almost out of place on a dust-covered in the back of the store, rack Jon’s interest is immediately piqued by the army helmet. Nearing it his mind shuffles through thoughts, each one drawing him closer and compelling him to just go ahead and try the helmet on. Camo is chic right now, surely this would be just the kind of quirky experimental look they’re going for. At the very least Jon can’t help but grin at what Troy’s reaction will be when he sees Jon do a little campy salute wearing it.

With a slightly scheming grin Jon’s hands grasp at the helm, ignoring the pleasant warmth as it sits in his fingers as he hoists it onto his head. Heavier than he thought it would be, he thinks before everything around him goes silent. For but a moment he is alone with his thoughts, he hasn’t even enough time to notice that his priorities have immediately realigned before the buzz of the outside world returns. Jon shakes his head presuming that to have been his ears popping as he returns to his business, only briefly struggling to recall what that business was.

He would almost forget the helmet was on his head were it not for the soothing comfort it offers. Scratching his thin chest as he pushes it lower on his head before seeing his boyfriend and lighting up. Jon quickly aways to meet his Troy standing at a rack of tacky clothing that he for some reason he can’t bring himself to care about. He almost laughs as he sees his boyfriend pull out a technicolor blouse, presuming it to be some kind of joke. Forgetting his own plan of using the helmet as a joke he greets his love.

“Troyyy, surely you’re not wearing that yeah?” His boyfriend turns and holds up the certainly eye-catching silk blouse with a sarcastic scoff, “Ugh! I thought it was cute!” He does a brief pose with it and Jon laughs transparently judgmentally. Jon holds for some witty remark on the garment that should well have spilled forth from his ever-clever boyfriend, but none arrives after his boyfriend laughs louder than usual. He rolls his eyes and then looks to his boyfriend shocked that he’s missed something so dreadful on his head.

“Oh you’re one to talk G.I. Jon.” He half smirks as he pokes fun, assuming this is what his boyfriend intended walking up dressed like they’re at some surplus store. For his part Jon looks briefly confused before feeling at his head and remembering his new accessory. He laughs harshly once more, Troy flinches at the volume and looks around hoping no one is disturbed by his boyfriend acting uncharacteristically boorish. “Hey keep it down babe!” Jon swiftly obeys, holding a finger to his mouth only slightly mockingly before forcing a hand onto his boyfriend’s head and ruffling his hair.

Troy jumps back and rapidly sets to righting his pristine hair with a click of his tongue before returning the blouse to the rack, “Surprised you even but that on babe. Surely your hair looks like a nest now under that bowl.” Jon thinks about that for a second, sure that his boyfriend is right, that he should care about how messy his hair would be. After a second he is reminded of just how right the helmet feels and he knows he doesn’t mind whatever after effects there could possibly be. He begins scheming for a way to walk out of here with the helmet as it seems his boyfriend doesn’t seem to appreciate it nearly as much as he does. But Jon needs to have it.

They spend about half an hour longer browsing the aisles, Troy picks out a few things every so often turning to his boyfriend for his takes which come slower and less tactful at each turn. Jon’s mind swims as he feels this should be more enjoyable than it currently is. He briefly looks at some clothes for himself but with each passing minute the idea of him experimenting with clothes feels increasingly alien. Eventually he pulls out his phone and just trails behind his boyfriend, scrolling for any stimulation as he finds the idea of clothes shopping suddenly not only rote but impossibly boring. 

He groans loudly as Troy turns down another rack and his boyfriend turns in absolute shock to find Jon’s face plastered with genuine irritation. “Is everything alright Jon?” Seeing a look of concern on his boyfriend’s face Jon quickly struggles to hide his sour mood, pushing the hat down once more as he apologizes, “Uhh yeah of course, sorry I just read something, uh, on twitter.” Troy, grimaces at the phoned in lie and resolves to hurry up, “Sure sure, we can head out soon. I’ll grab this anddd you can put that helmet back and then we’re gone.”

Jon stands still in shock and Troy’s brows rise at the idea his boyfriend actually intended to keep wearing that stupid looking tin can. The idea is so bizarre to him he doesn’t even know how to respond, in the moment he just does an awkward smile and speaks through his teeth, “Oh, did you um. Want that? helmet?” Jon’s eyes race as he too struggles to find the words racing through his mind, overwhelmed by a level of desire he’s never even neared feeling before the army gear graced his head. Almost like hunger or the need to breathe is the desire for the helmet, his helmet, to stay where it belongs.

Seeing something strange painted on his boyfriend’s face Troy sighs and turns to walk to the counter, “If it’s more than thirty bucks we’re leaving it.” Jon’s heart thrums with excitement as he follows behind his boyfriend. For a brief moment that pings as uncomfortable for the man, surely he should be the one in front right? He shakes it off just as quick as they arrive at the counter, scratching at his hair underneath the helm, unaware as his lengthy curls almost seem shorter underneath, thicker and rigid as it pokes his hand and the helmet.

The cashier quickly rings up Troy’s pile of purchases before turning to see what Jon has brought, seeing the helmet on his head, “Oh, did you want to buy that as well?” Jon wordlessly nods with excitement that the cashier couldn’t miss, he continues, “Pshh, y’know what? That was going to be trash tomorrow so I don’t really mind just letting you have it.” Seeing the needy grin grow into a confident smirk on Jon’s face the cashier’s heart almost flutters as he concludes he made the right choice there. Despite knowing the two are definitely boyfriend’s he can’t help but flirt with Jon, “Consider it kismet, looks good on you.” with a wink. Troy scowls and the cashier quickly apologizes profusely before the two quickly usher themselves out the door.

Troy holds his tongue as they make their way to the car, less than thrilled that the helmet is coming with them. Even less thrilled at the fact that Jon’s gait is clearly shifting after being flirted with, in a manner Troy is quite familiar with. Not usually the jealous type, Troy easily pushes that down but remains on edge as he sees Jon maneuver to the driver side of the car. Holding the keys he honks the car to remind his boyfriend he’s the one driving. Jon scoffs and rolls his eyes before sauntering to the passenger side, deliberating adjusting his crotch as he does so. Troy narrows his eyes and lets loose his held tongue, “Are you just hungry or what Jon!? Can you chill?” Moving his hand from his package Jon raises his arms defensively but before he can answer his stomach indeed growls and he laughs. Taking this as confirmation that his boyfriend’s odd state is just some form of hanger Troy hops in the driver’s seat and starts the car.

Jon can’t help but grimace getting into the passenger’s seat, he knows this is his boyfriend’s car and that he doesn’t even like driving. But something just feels emasculating about this current situation. Try as he might, it's just bothering him, like a buzz in the back of his mind that something is wrong. Agreeing with Troy’s appraisal that he must just be ravished he reclines his chair as far back as it goes and shifts the helmet to cover his face. He can’t even hear as Troy chides him for doing so while driving, nor the playful judgment at how that helmet must stink. Instead he relishes the familiarity in its scent.

Eyes on the road Troy can’t see how Jon’s hair has changed in a manner totally unexpected. Rather than disheveling the long wavy curls as should have happened, his hair has completely changed to a look he would never be caught dead in, not quite a buzz or high and tight; his boyfriend is now sporting something jarringly jockish. Not only that but as he takes deep seemingly sleepish breaths of his helmet his chest rises higher, stretches wider than ever before, the hem of his shirt inching higher and exposing a waist not quite as thin as either man would have expected. Hearing snoring Troy steals a glance of the midriff exposed and blushes as he sees not only the barest hint of a treasure trail rising above the waist but that his bulge has returned with a vengeance, pulsing as whatever swift dream Jon has found is clearly more than a little alluring.

Under the helmet Jon isn’t quite asleep, as soon as the helmet covered his face he found himself obsessed with the scent that now bathes him. Something deep, musky, and impossibly familiar. Not quite the locker rooms of his youth, nor the sweaty bacchanals of pride events today. No it is something he knows he has never smelled before but with each breath the sweaty metallic scent imbues the not-quite memories with more reality. It’s at the edge of his mind, the edge of his tongue. He opens his mouth and looses his tongue into the humid breathy air underneath the helm and a memory that never was sears itself into his mind. Lifting weights with men clearly performatively masc, bodies stained with patriotic tattoos, grunts filling the air. Long dark nights in barracks, sweaty bodies grinding silently against each other in bunks.

Half-dreaming of a reality he never experienced and yet knows intimately his true body finds itself awkwardly catching in between his reclined seat and its seatbelt. He shifts as muscle groups never trained strain to grow. His ass hardens as in his mind he can’t help but picture grinding against other men in his cohort and his body responds in kind. Pushing against his seatbelt as it holds him tighter, his cock staining the jock-strap he threw on this morning with pre as his cock grows to push it further than it ever has before. Hearing the concerning sounds of fabric stretching and eventually a deep breathy moan Troy blushes and calls his boyfriend’s name, “Jon?”

Immediately cogent, the flashbacks of a life he hasn’t lived cease and Jon rockets up in his chair, slamming into his taut seatbelt, shooting his helmet into the windshield. “Fuck!” Going flying it thankfully bounces off safely before landing in Troy’s lap as he squints in irritation at his boyfriend. Without pause he stretches and yawns like a foghorn, his hands bumping against the low roof of Troy’s car as they rise higher than his thin arms should allow, “Yeah I could eat. You gonna cook?” Troy tilts his head at the question, both of them obviously knowing that Jon is the cook between the two. 

He pauses for a few seconds waiting for his boyfriend to address this in any form. Saying he doesn’t want to cook, that it’s a joke, anything at all. But after realizing how matter-of-fact Jon was Troy realizes that something is up. Biding his time he goes with something less than confrontational, “Did you want to grab something to eat?” Jon looks over at him in excitement, eyes flitting between his boyfriend and the hat in his lap, “Oooh Yeah! Fuck I’m craving some burgers babe!” 

Troy almost swerves as Jon says this, his boyfriend has been a vegetarian as long as the pair have dated, before even. He again waits for Jon to state this is an odd joke that simply hasn’t landed but the seconds slowly pass and judging by the dumb almost drooling expression on boyfriend’s face it’s clear that Jon is being nothing but genuine. Still driving he glances over to inspect his boyfriend closer and finally begins to pick away at his appearance. He balks at the bizarre haircut, sure that Jon did not have it this morning, nor could he picture a world where he boyfriend would deign to get it as it inches even shorter still. Trailing down to look at his body he sees the seatbelt straining to hold him down, he hears Jon grumble as it almost seems to cut in even tighter. Suddenly muscle that has never graced the chest of his boyfriend begins to rise underneath the belt.

Acting first out of concern Troy asks him, “Babe, I think your seatbelt is a little tight?” Jon guffaws in response, agreeing before undoing it and letting it slam into the window, “huhu you’re so right babe! So are we gonna stop at Micky D’s or what?” Seeing his boyfriend scratch at his pubes and refraining from returning his seatbelt Troy, ever a superstitious type, begins to suspect something sinister and otherworldly occuring and the root of it is more than clear. Clenching his own jaw as he sees Jon’s dumb smile above a jawline not nearly as petite as it should be, he rolls down his own window and prepares for the only recourse he can think of. 

When Jon checks his phone looking for the nearest fast food restaurant, Troy acts. Grabbing the helmet and launching it out the window. Unbuckled Jon drops his phone and launches himself onto his boyfriend, “What the fuck!” The helmet shoots back and crashes against the highway as Troy swerves with the weight of his boyfriend on his lap, heavier than Troy knows him to be. He ignores the harsh litany of swears being shot at him as Jon ambles back to his own seat and stares at the highway behind them. Each insult in his diatribe at Troy sounds crueler than the one before it, darker and almost deeper before he turns back and sulks in his chair. Arms clenched as anger begins to seep into every muscle in his form.

“Can you put your seatbelt back on?” Jon scoffs and ignores him, “Why did you do that?” Troy puffs his cheeks as he tries to think of a reasonable explanation for his actions, knowing that his boyfriend is generally against his superstitions, and certainly not knowing just how consumed his boyfriend had been by the helmet now dented in the dirt behind them. Eyes hidden by a brow higher and deeper than the pretty boy's face should have. Jon barely listens to his boyfriend’s justifications, finding absolutely nothing of note to justify such wanton destruction of something so meaningful, so tantamount to his own being. Troy continues to try and offer meaning, unaware that the damage has already been done in more ways than one.

The rest of the ride home is silent and brief. The boyfriends opt to fend for themselves for dinner. Hiding away from ire he simply can’t bring himself to understand, Troy goes to make himself a sandwich later that night and finds the kitchen in absolute shambles. The floor is littered with packaging from every piece of junk the two men had in the house, he balks as he tries to imagine his usually meek and pompous chef of a boyfriend stomaching the mess that lies at his feet. Almost a dozen egg shells lie tossed into the sink alongside tofacon that was clearly spit out and discarded after a single bite. 

Troy puts off his dinner to clean the mess made by his boyfriend. He knows it’s unlike Jon to leave a mess like this, or, he racks his brain to remember just how neat his boyfriend is supposed to be and struggles to really come to a conclusion. Soon enough he is completely overcome with a headache, one that grows with intensity as he tries to remember aspects of Jon. Though usually the human mind is skilled at holding contradictions Troy is struck with a migraine as two paradoxical images of his boyfriend come to mind.

The former the one he swears to be true. He remembers him at university, always going out of his way to speak up in class. Eager to go above and beyond. Showy but never too ostentatious. Anyone would describe him as kind and caring. Nothing like the man who jumped on top of him while he was driving. The Jon he knows would never go this long without checking in, especially after they had such a spat as they did. Nor would he leave half eaten tofu on the counter. Ugh but such is the sticking point, would he? He certainly has now. Troy scours his memory once more for another instance of indecency. His mind latches onto something, it is just like when they first moved in together! Right after Jonny finished his tour. What? Troy clenches at his head as it feels like a metaphysical ice pick just stabbed into his mind.

He screams and even more distress arrives after Jonny doesn’t even come to check on him. Troy hasn’t the prescience to care all too much at the moment as he feels but seconds away from passing out altogether. He barely gets up to his feet before stumbling down the hall to their bedroom. The room is filled with a musk that Troy doesn’t even have the prescience to notice. Seeing the man on his bed his vision blurs as the massive body is juxtaposed in his memory. Arms that hadn’t enough muscle to lift a cinder block fade before the powerful biceps in front of him. He moans as aftershocks of his migraine arrive before he collapses onto the bed, unconsciousness swiftly arriving as he feels the massive arms immediately encompass him.

He awakens completely entrapped in biceps that are larger than his own legs. Jonny’s new arms hold him tight to his sweat covered chest as Troy struggles to even have mobility to take a deep breath. “J- Jonny!” He chokes out before squirming around in Jonny’s iron grip, finding it easier than it should be as his torso is slicked by the inhuman amount of sweat drenching him. Troy tries to push off foolishly as his hands find no purchase. Changing strategies he instead slips out underneath as Jonny starts to stir, his face coming awfully close to a soaking wet package far larger than it should be. He sees tattoos stained across his boyfriend’s body. Ones that he wouldn’t in a thousand years imagine his boyfriend getting. Though as he does indeed imagine he finds he clearly remembers Jonny telling him about his plans to get each and every one.

Jonny awakens with a loud yawn, stretching as his whole form lengthens to its final height. Legs truly as thick as tree trucks hang off his bed while his arms raise high above their headboard before moving elsewhere to scratch the dense bushes in his pits and pubes. Troy pointedly looks away from the morning wood bobbing in the air between them as he desperately awaits for some sense of normalcy to return to his life. Finishing his morning ritual of feeling himself up and scratching at every itch that arises Jonny speaks up, his voice a harsh and raspy baritone that forces all, especially Troy, to pay attention, “Mornin’ babe. Yo can you make me some food while I get a morning pump on?” 

Troy is torn between nodding enthusiastically and fleeing for help, causing him to stand motionlessly in place. His mind is made up as Jonny stands suddenly a foot taller than him and reaches to pull him close once more, forcing his head into his sweaty pecs, inches from the forest of already musty pit hair. Troy struggles not to sharply inhale as Jonny grabs his hair and forces him to make eye contact, he smirks before releasing his boyfriend and heading off to their office, slapping him on the ass before beginning whatever work he sees fit.

This has never been their morning routine but Troy sets out like it is the only reason for his existence. He finds a fridge beyond stocked with everything such a massive trooper could desire. Swiftly preparing a meat filled breakfast Troy has barely any time to himself to even begin to question what has gone on, and when he does so his paranoia and discomfort is replaced with a desire to do nothing but obey his boyfriend. After all, is it not his place to please him? He is the man of their house. This is how it has always been.

Troy loads up a large plate to bring directly to his boyfriend, only pausing to tidy up his own appearance. He pulls an apron, one once monogrammed with a J, tight to highlight his slight curves as he knocks on their office door. He is washed with a rush of musk and sweat as if he were walking into a rainforest. Where there were once desks and bookshelves there are reams of free weights and other gym equipment, Troy’s head twitches before he has no problem at all, the room obviously is as it always has been. As it always will be, he blushes as he sees Jonny hard at work, his arms already far larger than when he woke up to them around his waist this morning.

He feels his cock stir as he sees Jonny’s pulse with every lift of the weight. The army green of his clothing highlighting every bulging muscle as he continues to exercise it towards perfection. Troy bites his lip as he imagines the things that could be done with that cock, memories of himself topping swiftly erasing as Jonny is so obviously the top it would require a rewrite of reality for it to not be the case. Hanging on the wall is an old helmet that Troy would have sworn he threw against the pavement at 60 miles per hour. His psyche immediately chastises him for the thought, how could he have done that! He knows how much Jonny loves that helmet!

Troy quickly goes to leave the food on a bench out of use before retreating from the room, not waiting for his boyfriend to say thanks. He skips making his own breakfast to instead tidy the kitchen and their living room, somehow already soiled with dirty laundry. He smells his boyfriend coming before he sees him, a trail of post-workout sweat steaming off in his wake as he goes to sit on the couch. Immediately staining it before discarding clothes onto the only recently tidied floor. He turns on the television before patting on his meaty thigh.

His boyfriend, knowing what this means, immediately rushes over to make his acquaintance. Doe eyes inspecting every bulging muscle and pulsing vein across his body. Jonny’s cock clearly begs for post-workout release as the two sit on the couch together. Troy gets to the floor and begins to pull at his boyfriend’s underwear when he hears the massive man click his tongue, “You know babe I’ve been thinking.” Already on the floor Troy waits patiently, his face inches away from the throbbing cock, “You ever wanted to enlist?”

Images of powerful army bodies dance through Troy’s mind. His small figure out of place among them certainly, but with each passing day he could fit in more. Be more. He imagines himself becoming far more than he is, running drills, pumping iron, commanding lesser men. The idea sends butterflies in his stomach as he pictures himself finally being on top, alongside Jonny. It’s barely enough for him to bear as whimpers on the floor in front of his boyfriend. Jonny just smirks and reclines, “Gotta start somewhere.” planning to go grab his favorite helmet off the wall as soon as the pair are done here. There’s always room for more men in the corps, and wouldn’t it be nice to get head from someone else who's fucking huge.