#Jockification

[misctf]

Repeating History

Derek smiled as he walked back to the teacher's lounge. He had just finished having a heart-to-heart with one of his students, Billy, who was again reported for bullying. The high school senior reminded him a lot of himself at that age- young, arrogant, and a total asshole. If it hadn't been for Derek's high school sweetheart helping him see there was more to him than that, who knows how he would've ended up. Derek could only hope that he could have a similar positive effect on Billy.

"Mr. Novak!" He turned to see an older woman with wild grey hair coming towards him, a concerned look on her wrinkled face.

"Hey there. Can I help you?" Derek smiled.

The woman stomped up to him, jabbing a finger against his chest. "I heard about what happened with my grandson today. Bullying, harassment, cruelty! And you… You allow this nonsense?" Her words dripped with anger and disappointment.

"I'm deeply sorry about what Tim has been going through. I've spoken with all of those involved." Derek started, "Ma'am, please let me reassure you, I'm working to address…"

Derek's words were cut off as the irate grandmother suddenly grabbed his hand, turning it over to examine his palm. Her eyes widened as she traced the lines intently.

"This palm… This fork here!" She exclaimed, pointing to a distinct V-shaped line intersecting his lifeline. "Major change, right here. A crossroads taken." Her gaze snapped up to meet his, ancient and knowing. "It seems you weren't always the saintly teacher you pretend to be now, hmm Mr. Novak?" A sardonic smile played at her lips. "Once a bully, always a bully they say. Arrogant! Narcissistic! You'd rather empathize with hooligans than those they torment!"

"Now hold on just a moment…"

"They think they come to you for help! But you can't help your true nature. You deceive them!"

In a fluid motion, the old woman pressed her thumb and forefinger together over the intersection point in Derek's palm. To his shock, he watched the lines shift and merge beneath her touch until the distinctive Y shape smoothed into a single line. A chill ran down his spine. Derek stumbled back, his mind reeling as he stared at his palm in disbelief. What the hell just happened? He looked up at the old woman, questions burning in his eyes, but she had already turned away, muttering darkly under her breath.

_____

Derek trudged into his apartment, his mind still spinning from the bizarre encounter with Tim's grandmother earlier. The place was a complete disaster - dirty laundry strewn across the floor, empty beer bottles and pizza boxes littering every surface. The air hung heavy with the musky scent of sweat and neglect. He wrinkled his nose, feeling strangely drawn to the pungent aroma despite himself.

"Jenny? Babe, you home?" He called out, expecting to hear his girlfriend's voice, "Babe is everything…"

But as the words left his mouth, a flicker of confusion passed through him. Why was he calling for Jenny? They hadn't been together in…in… Memories flashed through his mind - he asked her out, she brutally shot him down, they hadn't spoken since. He felt his stomach churn just at the thought.

"What the hell is going on?" He muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. When did he start letting things go like this? Derek prided himself on being put together, both personally and professionally. But standing amidst the chaos of his once-neat living space, he barely recognized it, "I-I'll clean up tomorrow." He muttered, "I need some sleep."

______

Derek jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest. Morning light filtered through unfamiliar curtains as he sat up, blinking in confusion. His eyes fell to his bare torso and he gasped - his chest hair, usually a thick patch, was nowhere to be seen. Running a hand over his jaw, he recoiled at the smoothness beneath his fingertips. Even his five o'clock shadow, a constant companion, had vanished overnight.

"Derek! Get up, you're gonna be late for school!" His mother's voice rang out, accompanied by the sound of her fist pounding on the door.

School? Derek leapt out of bed, his mind reeling. But wait… This wasn't his apartment. His eyes landed on posters of scantily clad models and sports cars plastered on the walls. A desk overflowing with textbooks and energy drink cans. It took a full minute for the realization to hit him - he was in his childhood bedroom.

Derek stumbled to the mirror, hardly recognizing the face staring back at him. Smooth skin, clear eyes, a youthful glow - he looked like he was 18 again, a high school senior. His hands shook as he gripped the sink, memories flooding back. The last thing he remembered clearly was confronting Billy about bullying Tim. Then the strange encounter with Tim's grandmother, her cryptic words, the sensation of his palm changing…

A loud bang on the door startled him, "Derek! I mean it, you'll miss first period!" His mom's voice held an edge of frustration.

"I'm up!" He called back, trying to keep his voice steady. Panic rising in his throat, he rifled through drawers, pulling on a t-shirt and jeans that felt too tight across his increasingly larger muscles, "I'll be down in a minute!"

______

Heart racing, Derek navigated the crowded hallways of the high school, memories of his teenage years washing over him. Lockers slamming, kids laughing and shouting greetings to each other. It all felt so vivid, so real. He spotted a familiar face among the sea of students - Martha, one of his colleague and good friend. Relief flooded through him and he made a beeline towards her.

"Martha, thank god," he started, lowering his voice, "Something really weird is happening to me. I woke up and-"

Martha cut him off with a sharp look, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him out of earshot of nearby students. "Derek, enough with the informalities. You know better than to call me by my first name."

Her tone was stern, almost parental. Derek blinked, taken aback.

Derek's jaw dropped open, a wave of confusion and humiliation washing over him. "What do you mean? Martha, it's me, Derek. Your friend, your colleague…"

Martha's expression softened slightly, but her posture remained rigid. "Derek, I don't know what game you're playing at, but it needs to stop. Your behavior lately has been completely unacceptable. Skipping classes, showing up disheveled, making inappropriate comments to the other students…" She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And for heaven's sake, when was the last time you showered or applied deodorant?"

A pungent odor seemed to emanate from Derek, a mix of stale sweat and Axe. Martha wrinkled her nose, stepping back slightly.

Derek lifted his arm, sniffing his armpit experimentally. An amused chuckle escaped his lips before he could stop it. "Y'know, that actually doesn't smell half bad…" The words left his mouth before he could censor himself. Horror dawned on his face as he realized what he'd said, "I'm fine, Ms. Johnson. Thanks for your concern."

Before turning to leave. But in his haste, he failed to watch where he was going. His shoulder collided with another student's chest, sending them both stumbling.

"For fucks sake! Watch it, loser!" Derek snarled, shoving the smaller boy roughly. It took a moment for recognition to set in. Timmy, "Tch, typical fuckin' loser. Always in the way." He sneered, looking Timmy up and down with contempt, "I…" He froze, "I… I'm so sorry, Timmy. That was…" He swallowed hard, fighting back tears, "I didn't mean it. Please forgive me."

Derek reached out a hand, but Timmy flinched away, eyeing him warily. Around them, other students began to take notice, whispers and stares piercing the sudden tension. And Derek fled. Left the building and ran down the street, only stopping when he caught a glimpse of himself in a car mirror.

Derek stood frozen, staring at his reflection in shock and revulsion. The person looking back at him was a stranger, yet achingly familiar. It was like gazing into a twisted mirror, seeing the worst version of himself magnified tenfold. Young, cocky, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Muscles rippling beneath his thin t-shirt as he flexed unconsciously. Blonde hair artfully tousled, blue eyes glinting with mischief and barely concealed arrogance. He looked like a caricature of himself at 18- all of his features emphasizing arrogance and cockiness.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is. Shouldn't you be at school, Mr. Novak?" Derek turned to see Timmy's grandmother, wearing a satisfied smirk. "Or perhaps you prefer to skip class these days, just like old times?"

Derek's blood ran cold, a chill running down his spine. "What did you do to me? Why am I like this?" He demanded, his voice cracking with desperation and fear.

The old woman threw her head back and laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Oh, you naive little boy. I simply removed the catalyst that set you on a different path."

Derek shook his head vehemently, backing away from the old woman. "No, no, no. This isn't me anymore. I'm not that person!" He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. "I don't want to be this arrogant, selfish prick. I fuckin' hate this!" He grabbed his head, "I can feel it... fuck... Please..." Despite his words, he couldn't help but flex his bicep, admiring the way it popped. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The old woman's eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction. "Look at yourself, Derek. You're already slipping back into old habits. Enjoying the scent of your own musk, aren't you? Appreciating the way your body responds to your newfound strength."

"Shut the fuck up." He snapped, "You don't know shit about me or what I want."

He ran a hand through his perfectly tousled blonde hair, preening slightly. The urge to post a shirtless selfie was suddenly overwhelming. Maybe he'd hit the gym later, really show off his gains. Derek shook his head, trying to dispel the intrusive thoughts, but they kept creeping back in, tempting him with the promise of validation and admiration.

"You had a choice once upon a time." The old lady said, "But I've set you on a new path. You want to empathize with those hooligans? With those that bully others? You're no better than them."

Derek went to protest. To say something clever. But as he tried to think, he found... nothing. What was there to protest?

"You got a problem with me?" His eyes narrowed, "I don't need to listen to this shit. This is who I am." He cracked his knuckles, relishing the sound. "And if you ask me, I'm pretty fucking awesome like this."

"Yes, yes you are." She smiled, "Enjoy your life Derek."

And with that, she was gone. Leaving Derek to revel in his new life. He looked down at his muscular arms, flexing them instinctively. A slow grin spread across his face as he breathed in his own pungent scent, reveling in it.

"I fuckin' will." He chuckled.

_______

Grinning widely, Derek strode into his old childhood bedroom, leaving the door wide open. He stripped off his shirt without hesitation, tossing it aside carelessly. Staring at his muscular reflection in the full-length mirror, he flexed and posed shamelessly, admiring every inch of his sculpted physique. His hands roaming his abs. He gave his flexed bicep an appreciate squeeze.

"Not bad, bro. Not bad at all," he murmured approvingly, enjoying the musk emanating from his pits. Picking up his phone, he snapped a series of provocative selfies, "Now that's the shit."

This felt right. Like it was always meant to be. And Derek couldn't have been any happier.

[octuscle]

Gringo Life – A Borderline Transformation

Carlos was breathing heavily. Today could change everything. Years of hard work and saving had gone into this moment—his one-way ticket to the United States. He was to meet the smuggler in a dusty village just shy of the border crossing. The instructions had been clear: no luggage, no papers, just the clothes on his back.

It had sounded strange. Dangerous, even. But Carlos followed the plan. He wore his best clothes—clean jeans, crisp shirt, and a brand-new hat. He looked good. Confident. Like a proper paisa. A man on a mission. He was ready to make it big in the land of the gringos.

At the meeting point, a man leaned casually against a shiny new pickup—too clean for these parts. He looked like a parody of an American frat bro: Stars-and-Stripes tank top stretched over a muscular, tanned chest, tight jeans that barely contained the impressive bulge at his crotch, dusty biker boots, and a buzz cut hidden under a flipped-back cap. He spit chewing tobacco onto the road.

“Carlos?” he asked. Carlos nodded, throat dry. “Good. Let’s roll.”

Carlos, using the little English he knew, asked where he should hide. Surely not in the open truck bed? The man chuckled.

“You booked first class, bro. No hiding. With this ticket, you drive yourself into a better life.”

He tossed Carlos the keys and climbed into the passenger seat.

“You serious?” Carlos asked, already speaking more fluently than he had a minute before.

“You drive, I pick the tunes. I’m Zack.”

Carlos slid into the driver’s seat, hands shaking. He had never been behind the wheel of a car like this. Hell, he’d barely driven anything automatic.

“You know how to drive this thing, bro?” Zack asked.

Carlos shook his head.

“You’ll learn.”

It was boiling inside the truck. Zack had cranked the music but rolled up the windows and killed the A/C. Carlos had no idea which button fixed that—and he wasn’t about to ask. Zack was belting out country bangers in full volume, clearly loving every second. Carlos wiped sweat from his neck. His mullet was drenched.

“Coke?” Zack asked, flipping open a cooled compartment in the armrest.

Carlos grabbed the can with both hands. “Holy cow, dude! You’re like, a total lifesaver! Thanks, fam!” he said.

The words came easy now. Still with an accent. But fluent.

“12 kilometers to the border,” a sign read.

Carlos squinted. Damn metric system. Ten miles? Fifteen?

He tapped the steering wheel in rhythm with Young Love & Saturday Nights. His forearm muscles twitched under the strain, his tattoos dancing in the sunlight. Zack rolled the windows down, and a rush of hot wind hit Carlos’s torso, lifting his cut-off tank. It felt… good. Real good.

At the end of the road, the border station came into view.

Carlos inhaled deeply and slowed the truck. First came the Mexican side. Zack handed over two passports, which Carlos passed on. The guard barely looked up. He had to stand on his toes to see into the high cab. A quick stamp, and they were through.

The real test was up ahead.

The U.S. border guard was like Zack’s twin: jacked, buzzed, and oozing alpha energy. His uniform hugged his chest like shrink-wrap, and his smile was pure Hollywood.

“Welcome back to the USA,” he said, taking the passports.

“What was the reason for your visit to Mexico?” he asked.

Zack grinned. “We went down to get wasted and hook up, y���all! Get ready for some wild times!”

The officer laughed. “That’s the best thing about Latinos.”

Then, a pause.

“Which one of you is Charles?”

Silence.

Zack nudged Carlos. Hard.

Carlos flinched. “My friends call me Chuck, Officer!” he blurted.

The border guard raised an eyebrow. “Take off your hat, Chuck.”

Shit. The hat. Without it, he’d look like a straight-up immigrant. Carlos reached up—but there was no sombrero. Just the trucker cap. He pulled it off, and long blond hair tumbled into his face.

He brushed it back.

The officer smirked. “With short hair, you wouldn’t look so much like a girl.”

He stamped the passports and handed them back.

“See?” Zack said. “Easier than stealing candy from a baby.”

Chuck laughed. “Alright, I owe you. Didn’t think we’d get through without anyone checking the back.”

Six kegs of premium tequila rattled around in the truck bed.

Zack shrugged. “Dude, the officer was staring at you. If you’d told him about the tequila, he’d have helped you unload it. Just give him a smile next time.”

Chuck shifted in his seat and adjusted the growing bulge in his jeans. Hell yeah, the officer had been hot. But tonight, his load was reserved for Zack. A bet was a bet—and losers got sucked off in the back of the repair shop.

Chuck and Zack had been best bros since the day they got kicked out of college for smuggling drugs. Now they ran an auto repair shop near the border—on paper. Behind the façade, they moved goods in both directions. Tequila. Pills. Firearms. Sometimes people. Always bets involved.

Every trip was a gamble: would they get caught? The loser had to pay with his body.

They rarely lost.

Chuck didn’t know when he’d picked up fluent gutter Spanish, but it came naturally now. Like it had always been part of him. It helped smooth things over when border talks got tense. And if that didn’t work? A blowjob usually did the trick.

Life was good.

Damn good.

[immortalmrwavell]

BetterShirts

(Original story posted August 21st 2023) This story has been Updated!

“Holy crap! Your tits are even bigger than before!” Matty exclaimed as he reached out and grabbed one of Sarah’s huge new pecs. He couldn’t help giving it a firm squeeze. He adored how soft the muscle felt while knowing damn well those pecs could become hard as rock with a single flex.

“They must’ve given me one of the men’s shirts by mistake.” Sarah huffed, looking down at her new muscle bound body. Her gay best friend was obviously enthralled by her strong masculine form. “I’m surprised my leggings haven’t ripped yet with how big my thighs are…” She added, glancing down at the tight fabric that now strained across her muscular legs. Not to mention how they struggled to contain her hefty new bulge.

Sarah had been going to BetterGym for just over a month now. It was an expensive place but well worth the money because when you arrive they give you what they like to call a ‘BetterShirt’ that shifts your body into whatever shape you’re striving for. They have multiple fits for both men and women. Men’s bodybuilder, Men’s toned, Women’s lean, Women’s powerlifter and so many more! For example men that wore the men’s bodybuilder shirt would immediately hulk out into giant muscle beasts. It’s said that working out while using these body morphing shirts can help train your body to remember that physique and grow into it naturally at a much quicker pace when you’re not wearing the shirt. Until finally you don’t even need the shirts to look like that anymore! So many men and women had used these gym shirts to reach their dream bodies many times faster than they would’ve normally. Seeing results that would usually take years becoming attainable in only a few months of consistency.

Today Sarah decided to bring one of her best friends Matty with her as a guest. Unfortunately he couldn’t get a shirt without being a full member but he still got to see what it was all about as Sarah asked for her usual Women’s Aesthetic shirt. The staff who provided BetterShirt’s quickly grabbed one and presented it to the young women who gave a swift thank you before heading into a changing stall. Little did Sarah realise, she probably should’ve checked the tag on the shirt before slipping it on…

Usually what would happen is her body would become slimmer in some places and curvier in others to give her that perfectly balanced female form. But this time something was different. Instead of her body simply reshaping itself, it began growing from every angle! Arms and legs bulging with thick muscle as her height shot up rapidly. “What the fuuuck… is happeninnggggghhh…” She groaned in a voice that got noticeably deeper with every grunt. Her back and shoulders widened. Her breasts flattened only to make way for a pair of giant pecs that grew in their place moments later. Even her ass lost its feminine shape in favour of a tighter looking but still rather thick man butt. Her voice really dropped a couple octaves however when a hug pair of testicles formed between her legs followed by a fat juicy cock that replaced her former genitalia. Her entire body continued to pulse and grow as her face changed, losing its soft gentle features in return for rugged manly ones accompanied by some stubble and a shorter haircut.

Moments later a total hunk burst out of the stall, giving Matty quite the scare at first until Sarah explained what happened. She poked and prodded at her masculine body awkwardly for a moment, trying to wrap her head around what the hell just happened. Squeezing her biceps, exploring her new shape, grabbing her own muscle ass a little. So much so that it encouraged Matty to reach out and do the same. How could he resist grabbing pecs as massive and juicy as those given the chance.

“Yep. The tag says Men’s Aesthetic. Not Women’s” Matty confirmed once Sarah asked him to check the collar for the shirt tag.

“Shit. Well I better go and swap this for the right one.” Sarah groaned in annoyance.

Just as the newly formed hunk was about to make his way back to the BetterShirt staff, Matty stopped her for a moment. “Hold on! What’s the rush? You look hot as fuck right now. You can’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it’d be like to be a guy. All big and strong with a deep voice and powerful muscles.” He wiggled his eyebrows a little. “Come on. Just one gym session won’t hurt right? Think of all the heavy ass weights you’ll be able to lift now.”

Sarah glanced over at a wall mirror nearby and saw the man she’d become. An aesthetic male version of herself with broad shoulders, big pecs and a skinny waist. She had to admit Matty was right. She did look good. A little meathead-ish perhaps but still sexy nonetheless. And though she’d wouldn’t admit it out loud, the man she’d become was absolutely the type of man she would’ve envisioned when fingering herself. Just the thought of that made her new male anatomy start to chub up a little. The sensation of which was pretty bizarre.

“Fine. One session. But after that it’s back to the Women’s Aesthetic.” She claimed. Little did she know how deeply in love she’d fall for her manly new body over the next couple hours. Relishing in the explosive power her enormous muscles contained. Finding herself subtly groping her bulge when she thought nobody was looking until she had to excuse herself to the men’s bathroom so she could get a proper look at her new cock. It wasn’t long then until she realised how addicting the feeling of having a dick truly was. Especially after nutting for the first time before walking back out into the gym like nothing had happened. Though Matty had his suspicions judging by how long Sarah had spent back there.

Unfortunately shirts had to be returned at the end of every session. After she’d taken off the shirt and reverted back to normal she found herself feeling an intense wave of disappointment that she hadn’t expected to feel. A wave so intense that she couldn’t stop thinking about being a man and having a cock between her legs for the rest of the day. Needless to say Sarah was back at BetterGym the very next day and this time she actually requested a Men’s Aesthetic shirt! It was too intoxicating to resist. Before long it became one of the only BetterShirts she wore.

It’d been over a month now since that initial mix up and she was still wearing the men’s shirts. Still turning into a hunky man almost every day. Still sneaking off to the bathroom to jerk off her thick temporary cock between workouts. And now she’d started hoping that one day, if she continued to wear the men’s shirts for long enough, that one day she wouldn’t revert back. That eventually she’d be able to walk out of that gym a man… forever.

[occamstfs]

Company Gym

Not wanting to cede any ground to admin, Donovan stubbornly decides to use the company gym for the first time. Bumping into an old friend who frequents it, with every breath of the gym's overpowering odor he sees the world more from the bro's point of view.

Musk heavy gym bro TF! Hope you enjoy Donnie's hairy journey far away from accounting he can no longer understand! Best! -Occam

Donovan knew that they had a company gym in the abstract. Usually more of a walk to work and call it exercise guy, the idea of trudging to some unused remote corner of their complex, getting sweaty and tired, and then going to work is the furthest thing from appealing to the accountant.

However, when the company threatened to get rid of the suite unless there was more interest from the employees, Donnie’s irritation at something he’s never wanted being taken away wins out in a way that countless New Year’s Resolutions have not. After a long day of floating the idea, that is pestering his coworkers, to try and find a partner, it becomes clear that no one else is interested in saving their neglected gym.

Of course, neither was he. Guided only by principle and a stubborn streak in need of a victory, Donovan buys some gym clothes on the way home and spends far too little time looking into actual information for starting out at the gym. Scarfing down whatever he can find in his fridge and heading to bed early, the hour of Donovan’s protest gym session rapidly approaches.

The next morning he stumbles in to work earlier than he usually wakes up, housing a breakfast sandwich and a tankard of black coffee. Lost already, Donnie has to awkwardly ask the receptionist where exactly the gym is. Taking it as a victory that he wasn’t laughed at drowning in gym clothes he was optimistic to purchase, he wanders to the elevator and pushes the button to the R&D floor that apparently also holds the seldom used gym.

In between rushed bites and passing floors, the accountant muses on a litany of half-formed ideas to ignore his nerves about venturing out of his comfort zone. ‘I mean she is paid to not laugh at me right? Why do we even have a research department? How are they even checking to see if the gym is used?’ Wasting no time actually investigating these stray thoughts as the elevator climbs, just as he finishes the highest protein breakfast he could think of, the elevator dings and deposits him.

Sucking on his teeth through pursed lips, Donnie doesn’t see any signage and whines to himself, “Well! No wonder no one uses it!” Grumbling as he wanders to one end of the hallway, away from a keycarded door, coming to another turn Donovan smells something slightly acrid in the air. 

Squirming in displeasure, he takes an unfortunate deeper breath and gasps as he realizes, clear as anything, that the odor is sweat. Turning towards the scent he hazards a few steps closer and with each one the unpleasant smell grows stronger. Some repressed part of him quietly wonders how powerfully it must stink in the gym proper if he can smell it this far away, but that meek craving is promptly silenced by every other part of his brain shouting to fuck this.

Sure he’s stubborn and hates being walked over by administrators, but he is not about to suffer through what seems akin to gas leak to stick up for a privilege he doesn’t even care enough to use. Already crafting a very strongly worded email demanding they deodorize the gym so he may use it, Donovan’s distracted as he turns on the spot and begins storming back to the elevator.

Immediately his progress is halted as he instead walks squarely into the chest of a man downing a pre-workout shake. The brutish man grunts, threatening to spit up as Donnie stammers out an apology, “Oh my word! So sorry sir I was just um- err?” Blushing at finding his chest in between pecs in a manner he didn’t think possible, Donnie quickly stumbles backwards and does a double take as he looks closer at the man wiping a thick stream of shake from his mouth.

“B- Brett?” 

Finally the impressive man’s attention shifts from his shake to the small obstacle before him. Eyes lighting up like a dog’s hearing ‘good boy,’ Brett smiles as he too recognizes the little guy before him, “Yoooo! Donovan! Donnie!” Arms almost twice the size of Donnie’s chest quickly enrapture him as he nervously eyes the shake wont to spill.

Trapped in those arms that did not befit the Brett he remembers, through grunts, Donnie tries to find out when the little guy from legal became a lunkhead. They had been hired at the same time and were two mousy queens against the world at the company orientation. Though even then when they were at their closest, Brett wouldn’t have hugged him like this?

Eventually the hopefully gentle giant drops him and before mind-addled Donovan can decide which question to ask of the man almost unrecognizable, Brett speaks first. His default volume a brash shout, “Sorry sorry dude! Kinda forgot myself there, you know how it is haha!” Staring at him Donovan clearly remembers they were the same height. Or maybe Brett was a few inches taller? Every moment spent thinking on the matter adds another inch to the Brett he remembers.

“So what brings you up to R&D? Looking for a break from all that money math are ya?” Smiling as if nothing is off with the world, Brett looks down and awaits an answer. Overwhelmed trying to make sense of his memories as the Brett in his mind bloats bigger, the titan’s question is a lifeline. This he knows.

Awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “Well, I’ve never been much for the gym, but I kinda got a little miffed when they threatened to trash it so…” Letting it hang, he finally returns his shifting eyes to see how Brett’s face has lit up even more. Hands that easily eclipse his shoulders suddenly do so and shake him with far too much force, “Dude shut up! You were comin’ to use the gym!”

Donnie can feel Brett vibrating with excitement at the idea. Some part of him tries to remember less than a minute ago he had resolutely decided to leave, but faced with a man hotter than he’s chatted with in years that seems to have been washed away. Even when he smells that maligned musk peeking out from behind Brett’s deodorant, he can’t seem to find the same revulsion. 

Brett draws him in more with every anxious breath and soon enough all hesitation melts away. Surely he can power through a single session. The gym bro apparent has to stop himself from carrying Donnie like a piece of equipment as he instead puts a heavy arm on his shoulders and forcefully walks him towards the gym.

As he nears the epicenter of that odor that quite lacks the appeal from being attached to Brett, Donovan feels his qualms return to haunt him. Though with a bicep heavier than a gate arm pressing him onward there is little at all to be done. Before he even has a chance to complain they’re standing at the fogged up door. And then they’re in.

The place has what can only be described as an atmosphere of sweat. Muggy as a swamp it takes more than a few struggled breaths for his lungs to even begin to breathe the fetid air. Clutching at his thin chest, Donnie looks over to his friend to see him happily stretching, taking deep measured breath after breath. 

Watching Brett’s thick chest rise and fall, Donovan has to stop his mouth falling open as focuses on the man’s nipples poking through his tight shirt. Pointedly ignoring a twitch in his pants and shaking off the stupor, he tries to get Brett’s attention to ask about the elephant in the room. But then he looks at the man’s eyes and sees as he continues to stretch, that ecstatic expression begins to fade to something blanker. 

Then Brett looks down at Donnie, his vacant smile barely tinged with mirth as he almost moans out, “Arms?” Donnie’s pupils dilate as everything within him shouts to leave, to flee. Mouth dry, his racing heart compels him to frantically breathe as he stares at the brute in between him and the door. There is no escape.

Brett raises his own arms in a flex, clearly as a honeypot for the needy accountant. Try as he might to slam his eyes shut as soon as even glances at the man’s bulging bicep, the deep pit of dread in his stomach is severed. More than anything he needs arms like that. He needs to look like Brett. Needs to feel Brett’s corded muscle against his own. 

From that moment on the world exists as something to watch for the accountant, something happening to him. He follows the titan’s instructions to a tee, laying down on filthy benches and using unwashed machines as if he had no other purpose in the world. With perfect precision, rep after rep, he feels the burn of unused muscle for the first time being exercised. 

Often Brett sets him to do dumbbell flys or hammer curls before getting lost in his own bodybuilding, simply forgetting to tell him when to stop. Immediately Donnie’s sweaty body was adding to the humid musk of the gym and it’s not long at all before the man has sweat more than he has in his entire life. Shirt soaked completely through as he works well beyond what his body is capable of.

Swimming in his own mind as he watches his arms shift up and down with weights he feels he shouldn’t even be able to lift, Donnie notices his arms are itchy. Already he had grown used to watching his biceps bulging, muscle forming, throbbing larger. Already his briefs were soaked through with pre from watching how his arm dances with new strength. 

What draws his attention however is the new hair that seems to be growing from his wrists. There are just a few dark strands at first, easily pluckable, barely noticeable. But soon enough, with every rep, they spread further afield growing into a patch before they race down the whole of his forearm. Thick curly hairs like those he always admired on burlier men. Just like those masculine arms he has always hungered for.

His heart jumps as he feels a similar itch building deep in his pits and he knows just what it means. Stealing a glance of his own arm, he can’t quite make out the jungle clearly stewing under his arms. Grunting in frustration, his body moves emboldened with more force. The weight in his hand pounds heavier as the hidden bush in his pits shoots beyond his sleeve, curls inching down almost the whole of his bicep as his hips start thrusting on the bench.

Alerted by his trainee’s groans, Brett realizes the time and quickly rushes to get Donnie’s attention before he creams his pants. “Fucking killer first day dude!” Donovan blankly smiles as he forgets himself in front of his inspiration, the man he needs more than life. Brett sniffs his own pit and smiles before continuing, “I’m probably gonna just head to R&D, but you should probably go wash up before heading back to work? Bet those wimps in accounting can’t handle all your progress.” He tosses on with a wink 

Donovan just sleepily nodded along, watching Brett’s powerful ass as he left. Almost sleepwalking now that his trainer has left, he meekly follows the man’s instructions and wanders into an empty locker room that smells just as wretched as the gym floor.

Free from Brett’s presence if not his musk, the accountant’s faculties begin to slowly return. Donnie can scarcely move his arms for burning soreness that envelopes their every fiber. Trusting his usual soap to cover up his own shockingly powerful body odor, he cleans up as swiftly as he can. Head pounding like he has a hangover, Donnie spends far too little time cleaning up before changing into his work clothes.

The sleeves catch on every inch of his thicker forearms. As soon as he forces them to cover his clearly thicker biceps, a seam tears down the center. Looking at the skin poking through he has to bite his lip to avoid focussing on the chub returning in his pants. Groaning, he throws on a jacket that will simply have to stay on all day, hiding both the tears and his powerful arms. Through a headache that’s not going away, Donovan realizes he’s already late and hops out the door, still struggling to get clothes on skin he wasted no time drying.

Adjusting his tie in the reflection of the doors, he is having trouble focussing on anything. He remembers working out sort of, and his infatuation with Brett, but other than the world seems almost confusing. Cutting through it all though, there is one realization that sets him slightly on edge. Brett doesn’t work in R&D? 

Muttering to himself about the man who forced him into that gym working in legal, Donnie stumbles out of the elevator and crashes into his desk. His neighbor, whose name Donnie can’t quite recall, leans on his cubicle to rib him about being late, but as soon as he opens his mouth he recoils. Face squirming as he takes another test sniff, it’s clear that Donovan doesn’t realize how little his 2n1 body wash did to mask the musk that clings to his skin.

“Hey Donnie? Did you uhhh- Oh I don’t know, wander through sewage on the way to work this morning?”

Tilting his head, Donnie pulls up his shirt to smell himself and finds that beneath a fading scent of laundry detergent is that stench of that gym. Under the eyes of his neighbor, he moves his head downward and takes a purposeful sniff of his pits and his eyes cloud over from the hypnotic delight he finds there. 

Uncomfortably watching Donnie take a few more sniffs of his pits, his coworker clears his throat to  try and stir him from whatever the hell he’s doing. Realizing that he’s acting like an animal, Donnie shakes it off and straightens up. Even so there remains a dense fog behind his eyes, like he’s not completely present. When he speaks there’s a slowness to his words as if forming thoughts seems slightly harder.

“Ohhh man yeah? Uhh sorry, I went to the gym this morning and I guess I forgot to put on deodorant after?” 

The neighbor thinks this is a joke and laughs accordingly, though after a beat of Donnie staring dumbly at him, almost beyond him, he suggests what anyone would. “Well Don? Why don’t you go put it on now?”

Hearing the judgement in his voice Donovan, again, shakes to his senses and nods fervently. Yeah, yeah he should. He’s not himself, he needs to fix it. Standing up into his desk, Donovan doesn’t do nearly a good enough job masking the erection in his pants as he waddles to the company bathroom, his neighbor sneering in discomfort and wondering if he should send his usually too tidy office buddy home.

Donnie departs, barely keeping his hands off the cock bouncing between his thighs. Unfortunately for decency’s sake, by the time he makes it to the restroom he’s forgotten why exactly he was coming. Taking a quick piss he’s apathetic to how his semi makes it a scattershot as it splatters against the seat. Leaving without washing his hands, his neighbor doesn’t mention how he still smells Donovan’s distinct musk. How it’s even stronger now. 

Work is no walk in the park for Donnie. For a few weeks now he’s been biting off more and more just to see how much he can chew, now sitting before a pile of reports due, he’s having trouble even finishing one. Chewing on his lip as he struggles doing what he knows should be routine, his brow is furrowed so long looking at figures he can’t quite make sense of.

Looking for reprieve, he does what he always does to calm himself, deep breathing. The still building stress has done little to slow his sweating, and as soon as the nervous accountant takes his first intense breath, as soon as he inhales that comforting musk rising from within him, the serenity brought is greater than he can understand.

Lungs fill with his own rich stink, and as they do a slight itch returns to his chest. The numbers swimming on the screen rapidly lose whatever meaning they still held. Donnie doesn’t care as he instead wrenches at his tie to lose and undoes a couple buttons to look down his shirt. This in turn shoots a puff of his sweaty scent straight up, only heightening the burning sensation in the center of his chest.

The itch had been rising for some time now, decidedly lower than on his chest. But what little energy wasn’t spent trying to run interest rates and repayment plans was on keeping his attention away from his needy cock. In the meantime his pubes have spread well beyond their usual borders, creating a dense bush in his crotch before sending a deliberate and dark treasure trail upwards. Thicker strands tinge darker as they completely bury his bellybutton and continue rushing upwards to where Donnie’s attention lies now. 

Circling nipples he doesn’t remember being so big or dark themselves, Donnie’s mouth squirms as he sees chest hair sprout across the whole of new slightly muscled chest. His hips reflexively flex as he only knows one response to this level of excitement, casting a new profile across his heady musk. Hands go to his neck as a few strands creep above his neckline, always visible, always showing everyone what a man he is.

He couldn't help but moan as his cock pushes out into his dress pants, hoping to create a stain as it drips with a thick trail of pre. But a cubicle over, Donnie’s neighbor had been doing his best to ignore the steady chorus of confused murmuring and uncomfortable grunts of frustration, but when he hears a full throated moan, he can’t help but look.

Finding the once orderly Don half undressed with his head stuffed down his shirt, he guiltily regrets not sending the man home earlier. Waiting for the proper time to insert himself, he sees stubble start to creep across Donnie’s jaw, sideburns clearly bursting out onto his cheeks. When he hears a tear and sees arms straining the suit jacket he worries his own eyes are playing tricks on him and speaks up.  

After a few seconds of blank staring, waiting for the words to sink in, Donnie nods slowly and packs up. Guess everyone is leaving early today? His unbuttoned pants pull strangely on his thighs as he heads to the elevator. Waving goodbye to his friend as he does so, his arm extends a good few inches past his sleeve exposing hairy wrists that he had forgotten about.

When at last he makes it home, Donnie checks his phone to find a message that had been lying in wait for him. From Brett, ���see u 2morrow at the gym 💪💪💪’ The memories of his asserting to himself that it was a one time thing, that he didn’t even want to go, that he wasn’t a gym guy, are all washed away as he smiles in excitement of his session that next morning. 

He sleeps like a log. Snores echo through his apartment as it slowly empties overnight, what need has Donovan of such things like books or games, decorations even. Dirty laundry decorates the floor as the place begins to reek just like the gym. The man smiles as he dreams of Brett.

Waking up with his hand stuffed in his pants, Donnie runs as if on autopilot. Propelled forward with every breath of his own musk. Scarfing down protein like an animal, he packs a gym bag with clothes he didn’t own yesterday and rushes to meet Brett, to meet his, uhh trainer? Jogging to work, he smirks at getting cardio out of the way, he’s always hated cardio. With every block his sprint accelerates as he leaves a trail of sweat in his wake.

Overnight his legs had gone through their own growth spurt, the sparse forest of hair that lightly decorated his calves quickly became overgrown as a thick coat rushed to drown the entirety of his lower body. From his inner thighs to his ankles as thick muscle bounces with every step, his darker pelt of curls drips with sweat and catches against the wind.

The receptionist is taken aback by the haze of musk that surrounds Donnie, physically recoiling in shock as the man offers a nod en route to the company gym. The mirrored walls of the elevator quickly steam from the heat of his body and the humid, almost visible, aura of sweat that surrounds him. 

In the back of his mind something sets him on edge, something feels off. Deeply wrong. But then he takes another breath and inundated with that ambrosiac air he hasn’t a care in this world besides getting to the gym with Brett. His pulse rises with the floor as he stretches in the elevator so he may get right to it. His back cracks as his form creaks taller, bones cracking as his body simply demands more room for growth. 

No need to follow the scent as he exits onto the R&D floor and rushes to the gym as if it was the only thing in the world. Had that been a conscious thought perhaps he would agree that it is. Donnie finds Brett already there waiting for him, playfully popping his pecs on a machine. Before his mind even processes watching, Donovan’s chest is already dancing back in turn.

With a deep breath of air that is more sweat than oxygen, Donovan feels that comforting numbness wash over him. Returning to the fold he realizes how unpleasant it was to subsist on breathing his own sweat alone. It’s as if his lungs were made to breathe this humid, sticky atmosphere. Finally back, his body thanks him by relinquishing him of those pesky troubles such as thoughts or decisions. 

After taking a quick pre-workout selfie in a mirror permanently fogged from the humid heat of the gym, Donovan begins his self-improvement. No longer does he need tips or advice from his bro as he simply exercises in almost perfect mimicry. As if they were of one mind. 

Without word Brett leads his new trainee through a routine more rigorous than most athletes do. As he lifts weights, so to does Donovan. When the new gym bro struggles to match his speed, he simply grows. Arms that have already doubled in size since yesterday morning bulk larger as he has no choice but to follow Brett’s lead. 

Intense effort sends searing pain more pleasurable than anything he has felt before coursing through his arms as they throb with growth. The already tight outfit he forced himself into this morning quickly strains as his body surges larger. Sweat pours down his shining skin as his tank and tearing shorts are already soaked through.

As his skin is increasingly exposed to the gym’s odorous air, his already hirsute form is coated with even denser body hair. The dark curls that erupted on his chest spread wider to completely envelope his pecs as they hang larger with every press. Pits that have their own atmosphere of odor connect with the jungle of fur that encompasses the whole of his torso.

Jaw clenched from exertion his mind couldn’t comprehend, the stubble that slowly trickled down his face explodes into a messy 5 o’clock shadow. Though quickly it lengthens and spreads thicker across his face. As he continues to mindlessly follow in Brett’s plodding footsteps, the dark curls form into an unquestionably impressive beard. Thicker than the hair on his head as it slowly recedes as his testosterone fueled form continues to morph larger.

Grunting and growling as he pounds weights to exercise every muscle he can conceive, it isn’t long before Donovan eclipses his trainer in masculinity if not size. His harsh voice a bass to Brett’s baritone, his hairy pecs heavy to the other’s perfectly formed physique. Though this is no dick-measuring contest it is clear whose pendulous package reigns supreme as it bulges through a forest of pubes thicker than any foliage could dream. 

Eventually, the more experienced of the pair begins to come down from his mindless workout and sees Donovan through the fog that has compelled them both into their new superhuman forms. Immediately his body is pumping with adrenaline as he takes in Donnie’s growth with both lust and friendly envy.

“Fuck bro! You’re the fuckin’ man look at you! I’d kill for a beard like that!” Brett’s hands feel around Donnnie’s every hair-covered curve as he too slowly wakes from the stupor induced by getting this impossible pump in. His mouth hangs open, not rare for the new mouth breather, but as Brett’s praise seeps in through the trance, his lips curl into a prideful smirk.

He can feel his vocal folds vibrate as he croons out, “I am the fuckin’ man aren’t I?” He raises a meaty bicep up in a flex for Brett to feel. Neither man questions as Brett does the same, they simply feel each other up, rough calloused fingers dance across burning, sticky muscle. Their actions mirror each other as their thoughts exist in harmony. Smelling each other's musk straight from the source, they can’t help but slowly drift closer together. 

At once they both lean in for a taste before Brett shakes out of it, “No uhhh- Not that I don’t wanna bro! I ugh- really do. But those R&Dweebs’ll throw a shitfit if we’re late y’know?” Donovan blankly stares, obviously not knowing and slightly irritated as the source of further pleasure wanders off to the exit. Uncomfortable as Brett acts out of sync from himself.

Just before leaving he turns back, similarly disquieted by Donnie still sitting there, “You coming bro?” On instinct Donnie starts to follow, stumbling slightly as he’s absolutely not used to lugging around a body almost a foot taller and well over a hundred pounds heavier. Perhaps this is what affords him the moment to realize that he doesn’t work for R&D.

“Wait bro? I’m an accountant, yeah?”

There’s a beat before both men laugh, eventually Brett gives in. Some part of him believing it because he knows Donovan believes it. “If you say so bro-bro. I’ll try to keep them off your case until you come back down though huhuh!” And with that he departs, left behind Donovan feels himself torn between following Brett or going to where he thinks he works. 

He takes a step towards the showers before laughing off the idea, he’s not about to let the product of his best session yet go to waste. After about half a second of trying to squirm into the shirt he packed it tears to tatters as he forces his arm through it, grunting with confusion he opts to throw the suit over his bare, sweaty skin and hops in the elevator.

Stepping out of the gym, the imprint of his cock in his pants is unmissable as it throbs into the scratchy fabric. By the time he makes it down to his department, he’s harder than he’s been in his life and biting his lip not to just lose control then and there. Exiting onto the floor he bumps into some mousy man that he feels he should recognize. 

The wimp stammers over himself saying something about propriety as he covers his nose, but his eyes tell a different story. Donnie picks off a chest hair that had stuck to the smaller man’s face and smirks as his face burns red and he goes weak in the knees. Man- Brett was right, what was he thinking? No way does he work with these pencil pushing pushovers. Brett was right, no shocker of course, Brett was always right.

Looking around for half a moment longer he sighs as ideas that are not his own pop into his head. Vivid memories of being chastised for impunctuality from R&D researchers just as Brett said. Pursing his lips he steals one last glance at the puny man still melting from his sheer presence. 

Darker ideas bubble in the back of his mind. Him and Brett could do with more of a crew after all. Still smirking he shoots a wink down at him, “Well good luck with your number crunching lil dude. You ever wanna see a real man again, you just head to the company gym.” Stepping back into the elevator, he pops his pecs and sees the man turn away to protect some pathetic shred of dignity. Or at the very least cum in private.

At last he returns to R&D, where a crew of researchers stand in waiting, eager to run tests on him. He doesn’t like it, but there’s a strange sense of Deja Vu as if he’s done it before a number of times. As if he did it this morning even? Or no, as if he’s doing it right now, just somewhere else on the floor. 

He can almost feel footsteps on a treadmill, see the outline of equipment in front of him. Focusing too intently gives him a headache so he stops. Better to not think too hard. Some man in a lab coat puts some kind of anaesthesia mask on him and Donnie is once more inundated with that fragrant musk that matters more than anything else in the world. Their smell.

Donovan’s not sure at all what kind of science they’re doing about him, to him and Brett. Nor does he care. He has all he can need, seems like he’s paid to work out and get off on his own musk. What more could he want, what more can they want. Still close to the elevator he hears it ding open. While he’s barely aware enough to remember his own name as he sinks into that sickly scent. He’s got a feeling that it won’t be long at all before their gym is packed with men just like them.

[mulletpermsicantlookaway]

A Locker Room Visitor

One day after classes, your path takes you by the field when the football team is finishing practice. And you see this guy.

You think he's really hot. You'd like to be like him. Hell, you'd like to be him. Well, that's not possible, but you're so obsessed that you decide to follow him to the locker room and maybe grab yourself a souvenir. You manage to hide in one of the empty lockers while the team is showering. The guy you followed is one of the last to leave. And you're in luck: he forgot his jockstrap and left it on the bench. Once you're sure that the coast is clear, you get out of the locker and grab the jock strap. Suddenly, you hear footsteps. It's the football player you followed. He's come back for his jock strap. But now he's seen you, and there's no escape.

"What do you think you're doing, little dude?" He asks you. "Oh, you want my jock strap? You think you're man enough to wear it? I don't think you are, but maybe, just maybe, I can make you worthy. Go ahead, dude. Take your clothes off. Now! Don't even think about trying to get away. "

So, you strip off your clothes until you're standing there naked in front of the football jock. It's humiliating, but you don't dare disobey him; he's way bigger and stronger than you are.

"What do I do now?" you ask.

"Put it on, little dude. "

You hesitate. It's still wet, and it smells like his sweat. "I said, put it on. Now!" You aren't even sure how to put it on. You've never worn one before. Exasperated, the football jock says, "You step through the straps and pull it up! Come on, dude. You're pathetic. I shouldn't even do this for you, but you're gonna get exactly what you have coming to you." You finally pull up the jock strap until the sweaty material touches your ball sack. As it comes in contact with your skin, you start to feel strange, as if you can't move. You find yourself sitting on the bench, wearing nothing but his jock strap. The football jock seems far away, and you feel dizzy, as if you might faint. You can feel the coldness of the bench against your ass, but nothing else seems real.

He hands you a pair of football pants and tells you to put them on. His voice booms in your ears. Nothing seems real, and you can hardly move, but somehow, you manage to get them on. They're too big for you, and they feel strange. Next, he has you put on his compression shirt, shoulder pads, and jersey. Everything is too big, and you tell him that nothing fits right. "Don't worry, little dude. You'll grow into them. " He has you put on his socks, too. You say something about the smell, and he laughs at you. "You'll get used to it. Now put on my cleats. "

The cleats are way too big, but he says, "You aren't going to be going anywhere for a while, so it doesn't matter if you can walk. Now to keep you quiet... here, put in my mouth guard. That'll keep you from talking until you're finished. "

He's right; you can't remove the mouth guard, and you can't form words. All you can do is make little whimpering noises. You want to tell him that you're sorry and to let you go, but he just looks at you and says, "Quiet, you perverted little prick. No one can hear you but me. If you want my jock strap, you're gonna be fucking worthy of wearing it. I'm doing you a huge favor. Now I just need to get your helmet ready, and then - well, you'll find out.

He grabs a helmet and puts it on your head. You already felt strange, but the helmet makes you feel even stranger. It's becoming hard to think. The football player says, "Okay, I'll be back in a few hours to check on you. You should be ready by then. " You realized that he intended to leave you in the locker room by yourself. You wanted to get up and leave, but you couldn't move. Your body felt heavy, and a fog had descended on your brain. You felt your eyelids closing, and in another moment, you fell asleep.

You wake up a few hours later. You feel very strange, and you aren't sure where you are or what happened to you. You get up from the bench, feeling very stiff and sore. "Whoa, that must have been some practice! Did I really fall asleep in the locker room? Still in my uniform? Where is everyone?" The locker room is empty and dimly lit. You take off your helmet and clatter over to the mirror in your cleats. They fit perfectly. Something about that seems wrong, but you can't remember what. Your reflection seems unfamiliar, too, but that couldn't be right? Your hair is curly and tousled, falling over your forehead below your heavy, dark eyebrows. Your jaw is square and masculine. Your face is handsome, but somehow it makes you think of someone else you can't quite remember. Your well developed shoulder muscles are popping out of your jersey. You feel your big cock straining against your jockstrap as stare at your reflection. "Damn, looking good, bro!" you think to yourself, "but why am I so fucking sore? That must have been some workout. I guess I'd better get changed and shower." Suddenly, you hear footsteps. Another football player is coming. He looks enough like you to be your brother, but do you know him? Of course, you must know him; you're both on the same team, right? He looks at you with a big grin on his handsome face.

"You feeling all right now, bro?"

"Yeah, bro," you say, "I feel fine, but how'd I fall asleep?" Your voice sounded strange in your own ears. Was your voice always that deep? Unconsciously, you touched your throat with your hand and felt the size of your Adam's apple. It seemed big. Everything about you felt bigger. For a moment, you felt dizzy, as if you were about to faint.

"You were so wiped out after practice that we left you here to sleep it off. But it's getting late, bro. I brought some clothes back for you. Go ahead and shower, and we can head back to our place. "

"Sure, bro," you said, still confused. You pulled the jersey over your head and unhooked the pads, setting them down on the bench. Then you took off the compression shirt, your cleats, and socks. Finally, you took off the football pants and the jock strap, freeing your massive meat from its confinement. All these gestures felt as familiar as breathing, but something tickled in the back of your mind as if you'd never done this before.

But that's stupid, you thought. You'd been playing football since you were a little kid. You swaggered to the showers, admiring your big feet, your muscular, hairy legs, and your massive chest. As you passed the mirror, you flexed your muscles and gave yourself a cocky smile. Your teammate, no roommate? Brother? Yeah, your brother chuckled. "You know you're hot, little bro. You don't have to prove it every time you get naked. Now go shower. It's getting late; we need to get home. If Coach finds out we broke curfew, we're both going to be in trouble. "

"Sorry, bro," you said. "I'll hurry. "

"And bro, one more thing," he said. "I told you I'd make you worthy of that jockstrap."

"What are you talking about, bro," you ask. "Never mind," he said, a huge grin on his face.

[becomingaroidpig]

This is the kinda transformation all men should strive for. Pic on the left? Hairy, muscular, masculine. Pic on the right? That's what happens when a man decides he wants to be more than conventionally attractive. That's what happens when a man discovers his inner growth pig muscle brute and decides to bring the beast out into the world to show other men what a real man is. This is like seeing my future, and I can't wait to get to the sheer masculine freakiness of the rightside pic bros

[alphajocklover]

Hey! My gay bestie and I got invited to a frat halloween party by some dumb straight jock and he sent us some costumes to "be more confortable in the party" but in the box he gave us theres just some caps and some shorts. Should we go? And I think this is a trick.

You’re right. You’re certain of it. This whole thing, you are your best friend being invited to a party by a bunch of stereotypical jocks, is definitely a trick. Specifically, those caps and shorts are a trick. Or they're at least a part of one. You can tell by the barely hidden mischievous grin on the face of the frat boy handing these costumes to the both of you that it’s definitely some sort of prank. Maybe itching powder or something? Still, if you or your bestie Jamie turn down the costumes, you can bet that they’ll probably do something worse. The two off you head to the bathroom, whispering to each other as you do 

“I’m not putting on this hat. Baseball caps are so tacky! Only douchebags wear backwards caps like that. Plus they probably put glue in it or something.” You said, scowling slightly as you looked at the unassuming but somehow threatening hat. Jamie giggled slightly next to you “Personally I’m not worried about the cap as much as I am about the shorts. What if they put itching powder or something in there? Or what if they’ve worn them before! So grody!” Jamie said, wincing at the thought of wearing someones used, sweaty shorts. You laughed slightly at the look on his face. Then, like lightning, a thought occurred to you. You grinned at Jamie as you explained.

“You know what? How about we see whose right. You only put on the hat, and I only put on the shorts. We know it's a prank so we might as well have some fun with it. Whoever suffers less, gets a favor from the other. Deal?” You asked. Jamie considered this for a moment, looking uncertain… before grinning 

“Okay hun. Let's do this.” He said. With the bet in place, Jamie handed you one of the pairs of shorts he had been carrying and you headed into the bathroom while he stayed outside to put on one of the caps. You felt a little embarrassed as you stripped off your pants (and shirt because the jocks had insisted every guy be shirtless), and tried not to look at your lithe body in the mirror. You slid the shorts up onto your body… and felt something like lightning shoot through your body. While, not your body. Your legs. Like magic, they began to inflate with a mix of muscle and fat. Your calves looked incredible, your thighs were thick with muscle, your cock grew to obscene proportions, thick and meaty, and best of all was your ass. It could only be described as a bubble butt. Thick and juicy and delicious. From the ass down, you were a Greek god. You’d be incredibly turned on… if you weren’t freaking out. What the heck had just happened? Was this some kind of allergic reaction? You were going to scream for help… when a dull knocking was at the door. Numbly, you opened it up… and found something shocking.

It was Jamie. Or, Jamie’s legs. From the waist down it was obvious he was the same skinny flamboyant gay guy you had gone to the party with. But from the waist up… he was exactly like one of the dumb frat boy jocks who had invited you to this party. The same beefy pecs that you almost wanted to call tits, the same huge biceps, the same thick bodybuilder neck, and the same dumb grin and dull eyes that had nothing but thoughts of muscle and sex behind them. You stuttered as you tried to take in the scene before you “J-Jamie?” You asked in shock. The dumb jock laughed dully, like you had just made a fart joke

“Nah bro, names James. J-bro if you wanna get nasty.” James said, flexing his muscles cockily. 

One of the jocks who had given you guys the costumes, Brock, approached the two of you, a happy grin on his face, that quickly evaporated as he saw what was before him 

“Oh fuck! What did you two do?!”

After a lot of freaking out and accusations – and some inappropriate groping of your ass by James – The three of you were finally able to figure out what happened. You and Jamie were right to think it was a prank, but it was much bigger than either of you had thought. The cap and shorts were supposed to turn you both into the perfect frat boy jocks who would join the frat, but because you two had mixed your clothing and split one set instead of using both, you had both been… half jocked. You got the bottom half, including a muscular ass, legs, and big feet, while Jamie got the top half, including beefy pecs, muscular arms, rippling abs, a chiseled face and a jock's brain. It quickly became apparent there wasn’t any way to turn you back, at least not one the jocks would give you, and they couldn’t transform you any further.

You definitely got the short end of the stick. While James, as he now called himself, didn’t get the leg muscles, muscular ass or the huge cock, he was able to fix most of that through hard work. Jocks love working out, so with his new personality becoming a frat boy completely was almost inevitable. The only thing he couldn’t change was the cock, and as it turns out James was never a slouch in that area to begin with. He wasn’t as big as some of the other jocks, but no one could say he was small. You, however, got the jock libido and a huge, fuckable ass, with none of the showy muscles or charm. Without the jock attitude and work ethic your leg muscles faded pretty quickly. Except for your ass. See, despite the jocks plan not having worked out as they thought it would, they did accept both of you into the frat to try and help you with your changes, and while you struggled with the leg workouts they showed you, you found you loved squats. 

So, you ended up a horny gay twink with a bubble butt and a big cock, while your best friend Jamie turned into a complete douchebag jock named James. To your surprise, you both fit in great with the frat boys now. They are not as straight as you assumed, and now you’re basically the frat cum dump. With your libido, you basically have to be, cause when you’re not being fucked you can barely think. So you’re the frats favorite fuckable twink now, at least when you’re not busy getting fucked by your boyfriend James. Turns out he didn’t change as much as you thought, and his old crush on you blossomed into a passionate relationship. No one got what they expected, and how you got to this point was a little fucked up, but when you’re being railed by J-bros thick cock as he smacks your bubble butt and kissed you lovingly, you can’t find it in yourself to care.

[slut4spirals]

That's it, bro. Just focus on the pretty words as your head gets so so fuzzy. Such a good bro. No more thoughts. Just empty-headed bliss.

[polo-drone-073]

Come with me on the Silk Road

Hello Akhis, I am Amir Gold, Emir Ezan's (@polo-drone-001) loyal representative on the Silk Road.

I would like to show you some of the most important cities. I want to start our journey in Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan.

Here stands an equestrian statue of my namesake, Amir Timur, the great Central Asian ruler and general from the 14th century, called Tamerlane because he limped due to a physical deformity.

This is the Bara Khan Madrasa. It is built in the typical style of ancient buildings.

But let's continue our journey. I'm heading to another city on the Silk Road with a name so melodious it might have come from the tale of One Thousand and One Nights. I'm referring to the city of Samarkand, just 290 km from Tashkent. Here we are standing in front of Timur's mausoleum, the Gur-e-Amir Mausoleum.

And when we are in Samarkand, a visit to the Registan, the square where three madrasas are located, is a must.

And let us at least take a look at the back, the Tillakori Madrasa.

Now you know why I love being here so much? As a Golden Bro, I love having buildings around me that are filled with so much gold.

But let's move on to Bukhara. Oh, I want to show you three buildings here.

First, the Citadel (Ark)

On the other hand, the Kalon Madrasa with the Kalon Minaret

and the Mausoleum of the Samaria, which looks to me as if the walls were knitted.

For my last city, I'd like to travel about 450 km northwest to the oasis town of Khiva, whose historic center is well worth seeing. Check out these fortified city walls.

But the view of the city is also truly remarkable!

So, are you interested in experiencing virtual adventures and sporting events with us? Then give it a try and join our brotherhood. Join the Golden Army and the Polo Drones. Just ask our recruiters.

@polo-drone-001 

@brodygold

@goldenherc9

@polo-drone-125

[abstractvanity32]

Season 3

Wrong Hotel Room

Kara was walking around this hotel. It seemed like your normal Marriott type hotel but it held a weird magic power that could effect the people staying there in various ways.

Kara went into her room and as she went in she saw the things in her room change. Her clothing became folded up male button up shirts. Khakis. And she looked at her shoes on the ground changing into size 13 men’s shoes.

Kara was shocked but in the coming moments her body began to grow and get larger. Muscles filled out. Her breasts became pecs, as a dusty of hairs appeared on them and went down to her hardening stomach.

He felt a pulling sensation as his new cock formed between his thickening legs, as his feet began to grow and expand. The toes thickened and heels became calloused. They broke out of his small sandals, as Kara looked the mirror to see his face changing in front of his eyes.

Hank watched as his hair receded and finished changing. His face aged and changed as his features became more mature and into his 40s. His hairline receded upward, as blue trunks appeared on his legs. Hank’s mind quickly reset as he stared at himself in the mirror.

“Time to get a swim in” he said thinking about going to the hotels pool.

[octuscle]

The Chronivac asks: Former math team captain

I've wanted to report this for awhile honestly. I'm the school's math team captain and I think the football coach is using the Chronivac illegally. Basically, whenever one of his players gets injured, he "borrows" one of the people from our math team and turns them into an exact copy of the injured player- including mentally. All of my friends are complete dumbasses now and don't even remember who they used to be! I've gone to the department chair about this but they want to keep the secret because they don't want us losing the state championship. Apparently, it gets a lot of money for the school and everyone bets on our team to win. But this isn't right, so I was hoping you could do something about it.

I have three basic comments to make at the outset: First, no one can be transformed into an exact copy of another. We are required by law that fingerprints must not change. But that is only in passing. Second, I can't find in your two teammates (or should I say "math bros" now?) that they look like complete dumbasses. To me, they make a pretty satisfied impression after practice.

But last but not least: Of course nobody should use the Chronivac to change people for their own benefit against their will.

A pal from the legal department talked to the school management. It is indeed the case that you have agreed in the school bylaws to the use of Chronivac for the benefit of the school. So it's all legal. But we voted on two amendments. First, the injured football jocks will join you on the math team as nerds. After all, a few sprains or bruises shouldn't be harmful. And once the injury has subsided, both involved will be transformed back. And both can remember the time in the other body. Should be quite a cool experience. Think of it as a kind of experiment…

And speaking of that… One halfback is expected to be out for two weeks. Tendon strain. Oh, you don't know what uh tendon strain is? you don't have to. You just need to know what uh halfback haz to do. Great ass you got, by da way. Your football bros noticed it, too. But you know that yourself, you don't drop da soap in da shower for nothing.

go for it n make da coach n da math team proud!

[devotio-disciple]

Phoenix's Submission part 2

A follower story about @wannabjock88 (Phoenix)

"How did you get here little bird?" The horned cadet says with a deep manly voice.

The eyes of the cadets to his sides start to glow. The air gets thick. "I don't think first years are allowed to train man" the cadet on the right says. "Should we teach him a lesson, bro?" the last cadet says.

"Maybe we should boys" the horned cadet looks at Phoenix. "Do you want to go strong, little bird?" he asked Phoenix as he extends a hand to him.

"Grow stronger?" Phoenix stumbles, "I don't want to cause trouble, cadet".

"Please, no need to be so formal. Just call me bro"

"Bro?"

"Yeah, because I'll be your big bro if you want to grow, little bird."

"I think I have to leave" Phoenix says, "I can't be out past curfew".

"No need to worry about a curfew little bird" the horned cadet places his hand in Phoenix.

Suddenly power rages through his body.

"Good job lil bro, you want to stay and train, don't you?"

Phoenix doesn't answer, he is overwhelmed by the energy flowing through his body.

"You want to grow bigger bro, you will"

"Here's the deal bro, I'll keep you out of trouble. And you'll get stronger for me"

"Five days a week you'll find us here to work on your body."

"You'll do everything I say"

"You'll grow bigger, not because I say so, but because you want to, right lil bro?"

"Here have a taste bro"

The horned cadet releases his hands from Phoenix's head.

Phoenix feels power surging trough his chest,

Biceps and triceps

Shoulders

Abs and lats

Legs

Glutes and calves

His muscles start to feel... "stronger"

He feels the urge to... "flex"

"Brooo" Phoenix roars.

"So you take my offer?" The horned cadet laughs.

"Let's go bro" phoenix answers without even realizing what his words even mean.

"Good job lil bro, let's started right away"

And that's how a first year cadet, Phoenix, became a follower of a third year cadet and eventually the biggest one of his year.

He would go to the gym to train with his bro's every day.

Together they would grow bigger, stronger, better.

[occamstfs]

Man-Candle

Under the guise of a gag-gift Chad gives his bookish friend a candle based on his own b.o. Little does Stephen know, as soon as he lights the wick he sets off to join the jock in sweaty abandon.

Very musk forward Jock TF! Hope you enjoy this story of Stephen's scent-based (new)self-discovery, Best! -Occam

His ears ring with tinnitus as he opens the gift. It’s as if an explosion has gone off as he tries to process the pancake in his hands. Everything in him says to laugh, it’s clearly a gag gift, a Man-Candle? His mouth is dry and all the blood in his head rushes to its other epicenter as Stephen looks up, eyes wide, to the man who by all appearances has given him a candle of his own musk, Chad.

His cocky grin is a perfect likeness of the one on the candle’s label staring up from Stephen’s lap. Chad’s expression grows even smarmier as he winks and raises an arm to smell his pit. Stephen’s face burns red as he sees the clear patch of grey that must have been fermenting all morning, his cock bumps against the package.

Chad’s eyes shoot immediately to the sound and his smirk shifts and an eyebrow’s raised in curiosity, excited that his friend must quite like the gift. Stephen speaks up quickly, lest the two brain cells bouncing around the jock’s skull stumble across any ideas, “What the fuck?” The first volley, bounces off Chad’s steel confidence. The second “what the fuck,” causes an eye narrow as the idea that this may be a misstep finally occurs to him, the third repetition of Stephen’s new mantra apparent gets through through Chad’s thick skull.

The jock’s arm remains raised to scratch his back and Stephen’s cock is more than happy to see the grey patch return and his mind must remain focused on not staring directly at the few pit hairs sneaking above his sleeve. Chad clears his throat awkwardly, “I mean bro… Chicks are always talking about how they love, huh- y’know,” he gestures to the air around him, “my aura. Just thought, you know, uhhh- a dude like you might too?”

The jock braces as he sees Stephen’s eyes narrow as he clearly winds up to somehow lash out. Unfortunately for the twink he takes a deep breath to start and is hit with the full force of the man’s ‘aura,’ it catches him off guard and underneath the package his cock pushes again. Stephen grits his teeth and averts his eyes as he tries to hide his desire, “Chad! Those are people you’re sleeping with! I’m just- This is-” Stephen does everything in his power to quiet his lust as he finishes, “Why would I want this?” 

Chad tongues his cheek and juts his stubbled jaw. Scratching his meaty stomach in thought, Stephen can hear the hairs dragged underneath the jock’s tight shirt. Making up his mind Chad decides to speak on the elephant, or moreover the trunk, in the room. Nodding to the gift poorly hiding Stpehen’s erection, Chad shrugs “I mean bro, seems like you’re enjoying it just fine.” 

“Jesus Christ, fucking straight men!” As unfortunately turned on as Stephen is from the gift and the hunk he has long tried to not be attracted to, at the highlighting of his out of control cock he finds the will to defend his paltry dignity. Though instead of speaking up as his mind is not running on all cylinders, his hands instead reach for anything not breakable to hurl at the man still smirking.

Pillows fly at the man as he continues to try and explain his thoughts, “Yo bro! Watch it-” he grabs one to use as a shield against the continued volley, “I mean I can take it back if you want!” Stephen’s dreams of salvaging dignity perhaps fall to the wayside as this remark causes the hardest throw yet. Chad smirks behind the pillow and finally gets to the door, “Whatever dude! I’ll see ya later! Once you’ve cooled off a bit-” 

Chad stands behind the closed door with a shit-eating grin on his face, straight men huh. Awfully dismissive of the bi jock’s identity but whatever. He listens to Stephen huff and unbox the candle through the wall, unaware that the real gift is to come when he finally lights that bad boy up. Whenever the pair get drunk enough it always devolves into Stephen wishing he’d hit the gym more and Chad begging for his friend to join him. He’d love nothing more than a gym bro he can fuck, and soon enough, unless Stephen has the strength to nip his blue balls in the bud, both wishes are to be granted.

It does not take long for already riled-up Stephen to give in to his curious urges. As soon as the scent of Chad in the air dissipates and he hears the front door of his apartment close, the countdown begins. Stephen stares at the obnoxiously smug photo of Chad on the candle and narrows his eyes, “I mean surely it’s a bit? It can’t actually smell like him specifically? Seems hm, expensive to do.” 

He bites his lip as he shakily goes to remove the lid, driven by a mind less than conscious and more than hungry. Mouth on the precipice of watering, as soon as the seal is cracked the scent washes over him like a tidal wave. Somehow more powerful, more alluring than the real thing. Rich and grimy, and indisputably the essence of Chad distilled into waxen form.

His eyes are glazed over and his mouth is now pooling with drool. It's anyone’s guess as to how the candle gets lit, but so it does. Stephen falls back onto the couch as his hands struggle to free his cock quick enough from pants that force it down at an awkward angle. It finally bounces free, flinging more pre than he’s ever produced upward. Droplets land just shy of his own face as his mouth falls wantonly open and his hands begin their gleeful work.

The creation of Eau De Chad was not light work, the boiling down of man into a single candle is quite the ask. Perhaps even more so than the transformative magic that it is to instill in Stephen. Within the candle are notes from every musky epicenter of Chad’s being, more than powerful enough to distract Stephen as he begins his journey into a musky jock’s shoes himself.

Foremost of the mind-numbing notes that the lost man is bathing himself in is perhaps the one he’s smelled the least. As strong as in his jock after a workout, sweaty pubes and dripping pre. The medley of scents from Chad’s crotch is so powerful that even without clearly even knowing the source it’s on the tip of Stephen’s tongue, much like he would dream to have on his tongue in reality.

Each breath pulling him deeper than the last, Stephen continues to paw at his cock now free to the open, musky air. With each kneading thrust his hands struggle to encompass his dick as it begins to change. Years of pushing down primal desires for his friend, the Adonis, evaporate into the air as he pictures himself working Chad’s cock. Breathing and licking the heady swear straight from the source.

He imagines working the larger man’s spit-covered cock and with each new image in his mind his own beast begins to reform. Dripping more pre than he’s produced in his life up to this point, his hips thrust into wanting hands as his dick thickens and spears high into the air. Lengthening to press against his sternum, veins bulge and criss-cross across its length as its head regrows a foreskin he never had the chance to enjoy.

When his smaller hands, unable to truly satisfy or encompass his new rod, shift down to try and cup balls bulging larger and pumping him full of masculinity, he hears them scratch against the new jungle of growing pubes. Though the jock tries to keep his chest relatively hairless, under the belt hair growth is wild enough to more than make up for it, and as Stephen begins changing into his new musky lover, he seems to be of the same persuasion.

The candle wick flickers as a new scent begins to rise in prominence. This one Stephen recognizes all too well, though usually poorly masked under cheap deodorant, the scent of Chad’s pits could never be truly hidden. His mouth waters as the scent washes through him and his whole body contorts in pleasure. When his own pits begin to itch he gasps and for the first time opens his eyes to find an impossibly large cock hanging over his thin thighs. His mouth quivers into a smile as the line between dream and reality shifts muddy.

For now though, for the pit fiend there is only one thing to do. He raises his arm and gasps as he sees his few pit hairs lengthening, while in between each one a few darker curls make themselves at home. Stephen forces his head into the sweaty spot and hungrily sniffs. Nose tickled by the growing jungle he moans as he encounters his own changing scent, currently overcoming his own, usually superfluous, deodorant it is but a pale imitation of Chad’s. Though it races to be something equivalent, no, greater. 

He continues taking deep breaths, switching between the candle burning strong and his own pit as his musk continues to heighten and shift. With each needy sniff it becomes clear that his odor is not the only part of him shifting. Previously undeveloped arms cramp as muscle begins to pile on. Veins pulse down their center as biceps that have scarcely known strain burn as muscle fibers break and reform to create an impressive peak.

Stephven’s face suddenly contracts into a smirk that he never quite understood before now as his arms force themselves into a pose. Flexing and exposing his newly hairy pits in what he now knows as a front lat spread, he almost laughs as his heady powerful musk begins to overpower the scent burning off the candle. 

Having not actually left the apartment, Chad puts an ear to the door as Stephven’s laughter and moans rise in volume and deepen in tone. He creaks open the door and is almost physically hit with the wave of musk as it pours out like a fog from Steven’s bedroom. His own brand mixing with the steam of sweat seeping from his new bros pits is almost more than he can handle. With every step his mind strains to not just give into his own hunger to pounce on his half-formed bro sitting in the chair. 

Hearing Steven’s socks fray and tear as a subtle note of foot funk rises to the top of the candle. Seeing his new partner’s legs fill his young-professional pants to their limit, bulging thighs pushing at and swiftly bursting the strained seams. Chad bites his lip almost to the point of drawing blood as he feels his own thighs cramp. He doesn’t know if he’s somehow growing as his new gym bro continues to edge larger or if he’s simply overwhelmed, if his own mind is too clouded from the hunger and musk.

Chad shambles towards Steven, mouth falling open as he sees the shimmering sweaty traps that have torn his shirt open. His eyes can’t look away from the newly heavy pecs that hang over his defined abs, he fights the urge to lean down and lap at the muscle as Steven delights in bouncing them. Sending cascading shadows across his sweaty core, and gaining more mass with every dancing flex.

 Instead, Chad leans in close to Steven’s delirium painted face. “Looks like ya liked my gift after all, huh Steve?” His breath mists across Steve’s face. Its heavy humidity barely overcomes the sweaty atmosphere but the sharp mint and undercurrent of musty breath underneath call to his nose like smelling salts. 

His jaw cracks and widens as the changes that have overtaken him finally begin their work on the final frontier. Unable to control himself Chad licks the man’s face as it prickles with stubble. Steve’s nose breaks then reforms, his brows thicken and cast a shadow over his eyes as they lose both their color and clarity. Deepening to brown as their default state becomes glazed and thoughtless.

Feeling Chad’s sticky tongue drag on his cheek, it’s like he was struck by lightning. Every new bulging muscle in Steve’s body flexes at once and he stands to his new height, able to make direct eye contact with the man staring at him, just inches away.

Steve tackles him onto the bed, knocking over the candle and sending wax flying through the air. The pair are sparingly coated in the Chad scented candle as they begin heavily exploring Steve’s new form. As their mouths that have always been left wanting find new delight, whatever shreds of the old Stephen that are left begin to vacate.

The anxieties and priorities of a small meek man who never let his id loose disappear as he positions himself over Chad. He bites his bro’s lip and thrusts downward as he pins the massive man’s hands above his head. Masked by the pleasure of true release, he doesn’t care as his old self washes away. Memories evaporate like the sweat pouring off his form. He delights in maneuvering across Chad’s form and enjoying his musk from the source.

His tongue dances across sweaty pecs that match his own as his collection of classics on a bookshelf disappear to be replaced by free weights. Steve’s nose finally shoves its way into Chad’s pits as his extensive collection of hygiene and beauty products down the hall clatter to the floor and disappear as they’re replaced by a single bar of clinical deodorant only used for special occasions. Sleeves fall off his wardrobe of cardigans and button ups as sweat stains yellow every garment. The tops throw themselves from hangers while musty shorts and jockstraps heap into a pile on the floor.

Sweat drips from his brow as with each thrust into Chad his mind gives up the ghost. Each impossible wave of pleasure erodes his old self, each drop of sweat an idea gone, each rivulet of pre dripping down his veiny cock a sign of his intelligence drained to increase the muscle mass of his new form. After all besides pleasure nothing matters to him nearly as much as his fucking hot bod.

He feels his balls pulse as every remaining aspect of Stephen’s self shoots down and is quickly converted. His eyes roll back as he cums the few specks of self remaining in a massive load onto Chad’s sweaty abs. After a few moments of total mindlessness from the jubilee of release, Steve awakens to find himself atop his bro and simply laughs, “Huhuh woah dude that’s a fuckin’ fat load huh?” He scratches at his hairy chest and grimaces as he imagines how that’s going to hide his gains.

Seeing the thoughts on his face as the two are evermore on the same wavelength Chad pauses rubbing Steve’s cum onto his abs and offers, “Lookin’ a little rough there bro, wanna go top up and then hit the gym?” Steve smirks as his bro basically reads his mind, “Yoooo totally let’s hit it!” He punches down into his bro as he stands, smirking as he watches Chad’s cock bounce before sprinting into the restroom and prepping to get pumped.

The gym starts to clear out as the pair arrive, judging by the musk already following in their wake no one dares risk having to smell what it’s like once they actually start going. Stopping in the locker room the pair stop publicly groping and sniffing each other long enough to take a pre-workout photo, tongues out as ever. When they see some poor soul who didn’t escape the gym quick enough covering his nose they eye each other up.

“Yo dude, looks like lil’ bro over there’s gotta problem with your stink.” Steve performatively sniffs his pit and shakes his head, “Nahnah bro. It’s definitely yours, check it.” They continue to talk up eachothers musk while the young man can’t help but sit there, stunned into silence. With each new statement the pair swagger closer until their sweat may as well be dripping on the man.

Gasping as he regains awareness just as the pair are almost standing over him, the sharp intake fills his lungs with their musk as a smile creeps over his face. “Looks like lil bro’s likin’ it after all Chad.” Throwing a sweaty arm over his bro, the man who can scarcely recall that his bro hasn’t always been like this laughs, “Huhuh, well obviously bro, no shot anyone’ll be able to resist us soon.” The pair help the hazy man up and begin ushering him through the ropes, eager to have another musky jock in their image and excited to see how far their little group will grow.

[rakurairagnarok]

A Single Tear

Micheal was giddy with excitement as he opened the package. A new weird challenge had been going around in which you wear a shirt which allegedly makes you grow until you tear it apart. The catch being that if it tears you turn into a dumb himbo, regardless of how smart you were before. Michael, however, had practiced by putting balloons under regular shirts and gotten amazing at taking them off just before they began to tear.

Taking the packaging off the shirt Michael was in awe with how nice the dark blue button up felt.

"This is some high quality shit." He looked at himself in the mirror and flexed his twiggy arms. He could do this. He had to, his life depended on it.

Carefully putting his arms through the sleeves, the fabric send a tingle through his body. He smirked. It was almost time. He took another look in the mirror. The shirt was huge on him, his hands barely reaching out of the sleeves.

Slowly, almost sensually, he began to button up the shirt. When he reached the 3rd highest button, he felt it. A rush of warmth, pain and most importantly pleasure. Michael smiled, it had begun.

He watched in the mirror as he saw himself rise up. The shirt that was previously ginormous on him began to fit him better each passing second. His torso rose to let the bottom of the shirt neatly fit above his trousers.

A smirk appeared on Michaels face. "It actually works." The bliss made him almost completely forget about the challenge and he quickly set up his phone to film.

He smiled at the camera as his previously slightly chubby face began to sharpen as a thick beard began to sprout on his newly squared jawline.

A soft stretching sound alarmed him but taking a good look at himseld he realised it was his skin stretching to accommodate the slowly growing muscles.

Suddenly a stiring in his pants made him realise that the growth was not limited to his torso.

"Fuckkk..." Michael moaned as his previous sub par member grew hard. Only when it kept growing past his previous maximum did he realise it was getting just as much attention from the shirt as the shelfing pecs that now adorned his chest did.

While his ass was ballooning out, Michael focussed his attention back to the shirt. The time was almost there. He didn't want to risk it so he had decided to stop a bit before his previous record.

However the moment he wanted to lift his arms to unbutton his shirt, his heart stopped.

An almost deafening tearing sound could be heard and Michael felt all the blood leave his face. He looked down and saw a slowly growing tear , next to the button onnhis chest.

"No... shit shit... fuuuuck.."

His mind was torn between pleasure and panic. He knew he had to get out of the shirt as fast as possible... but it felt so good. As the shirt continued tearing he felt his brain slowly break down. His memories together with his inhibitions got torn to pieces, and the previously meek student began feeling himself up more and more. Moving around only made it worse, as the shirt got torn up even further.

Flexing his now humongous arm tore the sleeve of his shirt, showing thick browned muscle underneath.

While flexing his other arm , Michael's legs began thickening , growing to support the absolute dumptruck and bulge he now possesed.

Not soon after his chest popped the already struggling button, bouncing in the steamy air of his bathroom.

Running a calloused hand over his bulbous pecs, he felt his core tighten, abs pushing to the surface.

As he did a double bicep pose his eyes fell on his still recording phone and he grinned. In a single movement he tore off the remaining tatters of his shirt, grinning from ear to ear as his pants quicky followed. Groping his new tool seductively at the camera his new persona completely took over. Gone was Michael the Grad student. Born was Mike the sweaty only fans creator, vers extraordinaire. His videos reaching a wide audience due to his sexual preference. To be precise as long as he was inclined hed use both his assets to pleasure any guy willing.

On the label of the package a small warning read : Extra unstretchy material, perfect for showing off your gains.

Rakurai INC. hopes you enjoy your purchase

[fredwkong]

"Cum to the Bathroom"

“Cum to the bathroom, bro.”

You read the text over and over, and stared at the pic below. It was totally out of character for your intellectual, anxious boyfriend to send you a text like that out of nowhere, even at the gym. And the picture he had sent with it…

You couldn’t quite put your finger on what was different, but he looked incredibly sexy. The coloured hair, the tattoos, even the way his shirt clung to his body, it was somehow different than what you expected but you still knew it was him. His eyes were just the same as always. Fuck, did he really want to get dirty right now?

Another text popped up. “Bro, my pits are fuckin rank, cum 2 the last stall”

This must be some kind of surprise roleplay. You were both into those dumb, musky jocks and fantasised about public sex, even though you'd never tried it. And you could feel yourself starting to chub up in your gym shorts, too.

Fuck it. “On my way, baby.”

“Call me dude, bro.”

A moment later, you pushed open the door to the bathroom. It felt so dirty to walk casually past the urinals, watching yourself in the mirror as if your body was moving on autopilot. Were you walking differently than normal? Could people tell? The air itself felt different, pregnant with horny anticipation.

You knocked gently on the last stall, and the latch slid open.

“Hey bro,” said your boyfriend, pulling you into the close space. Was his voice deeper, more smokey? He looked even bigger than he had in the picture, his eyes full of desperate lust.

“What’s up dude?” you replied, using the nickname like he’d told you. “How’s the lift going?”

“Oh, you know me,” he crowded you against the wall, raising one arm so all you could see was the tangled, wet hair of his armpit, “I got too fuckin’ horny and had to call my bro in to help.”

This was really happening. You had your boyfriend’s fresh, musky pits right in front of you. Five minutes ago he’d been on the elliptical, and you could still feel the heat of his exertion radiating onto you. You angled your head forward, straight into the dense, sweaty forest, and took a deep whiff.

Your boyfriend stifled your moan with his pit as he crushed you against the flimsy stall wall. “Let it in, bro,” he ordered you, his free hand reaching down to fondle your cock straight through your shorts.

As you started licking, you felt something like a finger reach down the back of your shorts and tease your ass. You gasped at the intrusion.

“Shhh,” your boyfriend told you. “Keep quiet, bro. Let it in.” One hand was behind his head, the other beginning to undo the drawstring of your shorts.

You pulled back, looked up at his face. You trusted the expression in his eyes. It felt so good to lean back in as your boyfriend started to stroke your cock and the something behind you ran a cold finger around your rim.

The sensation quickly slipped into your ass, and you barely held back a keen as it massaged your prostate. You felt so full all of the sudden, but all you could focus on was the pleasure and the sharp, musky stench overpowering all your senses.

“C’mon bro, keep going, you’re almost there,” came your boyfriend’s voice as your rock-hard cock started to fill your shorts with precum. “Fill up so good.”

Your belly felt swollen now, and so, so cold, even enveloped in the warmth of your boyfriend’s body. Suddenly, the cold clawed upwards into your chest, and you looked down in shock.

Your belly was overfilled, and your pecs were bouncing of their own volition. They were bouncing and growing, thick dark hair covering them as the areolae expanded. “What’s-“ you gasped, but then your boyfriend’s hand shot to your new muscle tits. His callused, wide, masculine hand. The pleasure of his touch shot through your brain and your voice cut off in a choked gasp.

Suddenly, you could see what had happened to your boyfriend. The tattoos, the hair, the muscles, the voice. They weren’t him, they were something else inside him. Something dumb, musky, and perverted.

“C’mon bro, you’re so close, let my bro and me play a bit,” the thing in your boyfriend rasped in your ear. Meanwhile, you felt your lats jerk wider, hair growing wild in your armpits as the intense scent of your musk began to fight with your boyfriend’s.

You looked into his eyes and realised they hadn’t changed. Your boyfriend was looking out, watching your biceps thicken and your neck widen, and he was loving it. Every motion, every touch, every hushed gasp in the public bathroom, was exactly what he had always wanted but never been able to actually do. And you wanted it too.

Your arms, out of your control, pushed your shorts down your thickening thighs, letting your massive cock flop out. One massive, thick-fingered hand pulled out your boyfriend’s hard cock and put them both end to end, stretching your foreskin over his cockhead and starting to stroke. Now it was your boyfriend’s turn to stifle his yell as you lost control of your face to the thing inside you.

“Fuck yeah, dude,” your mouth said, the voice deep and slow. “Found such a good body for your bro. He’s so fuckin’ happy in here, lettin’ me flex and bate him and givin' into the musk.”

Your boyfriend grunted and grabbed your lips in a bruising kiss. “So’s this guy, bro,” he purred. “Fuck, I can’t wait to make you smell these feet, bro.”

A moment later, your boyfriend hissed and you felt his hot cum flood your foreskin, tipping you over the edge. Foreheads pressed together, you rode out the orgasm with ragged breaths and shifting feet, flexing muscle on muscle to prolong the pleasure. When you finally released your foreskin, your boyfriend cupped his hands to get both your loads as they spilled out, and met your eyes as he tipped it into his mouth. You felt a shuddering aftershock as your boyfriend looked out past the thing possessing him, delirious with pleasure.

“Let’s crush the rest of the workout, bro,” he whispered, giving you one last cummy kiss.

“You’ll smell me from across the gym, dude,” you said, lifting one arm and sticking your tongue out.

You didn’t know how long you and your boyfriend would be passengers in your own bodies, but you were ready to settle down and enjoy it.

@idesofrevolution sent a pic of him and his boyfriend at the gym and this is my response. Your move, Frost ;) Good boys will go check out his Ko-fi.

[entonymwrites]

Himbo Dreams

Nick was trying to get some sleep. He had been lying on his bed, clad only in briefs, focusing on the spinning ceiling fan as if trying to lull himself into deep slumber. Nick thought he would finally join a club, go to parties, maybe even fool around with some boys. But college was just lecture after lecture, his overactive imagination already stressing about tomorrow's seminar. Goddamn. He needed to calm his mind, trying to focus on something else - that is, hot jocks.

Tall, beefy, muscular men had popped up in his brain like fleeting mirages. Somehow, Nick had ended up in a college that was a giant in every sport imaginable. From sun-kissed boys in the swimming club, to the brawny brutes of the football club. Of course, he could only watch, not do. Next to the pinnacles of fitness, Nick was just a regular unassuming guy. In a campus full of jocks he was short at 5'5", and though he worked out on occasion, his body didn't show anything impressive. The only interactions he got were accidental shoves from people walking past.

Still, an occasional glance at the hunks in his class or at the soccer team out the window helped get him through the day. He noted how each of the sport teams had their own sexy characteristics:

Down by the pool, the swimmers were lean and tanned to perfection, dripping water highlighted the grooves of their abs, carving straight to their cum gutters; brought out perfectly by tight speedos that left little to the imagination, showing off juicy curves and asses.

Full of testosterone and ego, the quarterbacks were huge. Larger than life in body and demeanor, always rowdy and loud in the field. Drawing attention with their boulder shoulders, accentuated by their shoulder pads; and tight pants that showed their meaty behinds. Unlike the smooth shaven boys in the water, the footballers were hairy and musky, pits and pubes full of sweat that could drive you crazy.

The soccer team were the complete definition of hunks, they loved to strip down on the field, showing their carved torsos in glory; the basketball players were tall and packing heat, black shorts only highlighted their lengthy members, and their stamina on the court wasn't just for show according to some rumors.

Nick could go on and on about every fantasy in his mind, hoping one of the jocks would magically ask him out, allowing him to feel up their bodies. Or even better, if he could be them. To be that muscular and commanding jock, sauntering into a room bulge first, popping his pecs in class, having a flex off with his like-minded bros. Although it was just a pipedream, it permeated his mind over and over, usually ending with him grumbling to himself and sighing deeply.

Out of all the stereotypical jocks, there was one he loved the most, the perfect combination appearing in every sport, and the final hot image in his brain - a frat bro.

Dumb, muscular, horny, hung, himbos, every descriptor activated the right neuron in his brain. These words were on constant repeat in Nick's mind, remembering them as he drifted into horny dreams, carrying those words with a wish. But tonight, someone heard it. And soon enough, static and fuzz crept into Nick's brain, compelling him into deep sleep.

Something whispered from the dark. Granted.

A small hum of energy blew in the air, as the bed began to creak, not from Nick's tossing and turning but from an increase of weight. With a sudden pop, his legs started to rapidly stretch, causing them to hang off the bed. His torso and limbs followed along, elongating in a deep stretch and pop that elicited a groan from the sleeping Nick.

Tall. Basketball player height.

5'5" became 6" that further lengthened into 6'4", leaving him as tall as most of the basketball team. Damn, he might have to duck under some doorways every now and then. The stretch continued, perfectly proportioning his limbs, as his neck and arms grew to fit. Meanwhile, a surge of energy focused on turning his average feet and hands into gargantuan monsters. His size 7 feet became meaty size 16s, toes becoming wider; they would make an audible stomp everywhere he went now, along with an unmistakable sweaty imprint. He remembered his bros complaining about the loud stomping in the frat house. Heh. He couldn't help it, they were just marks of a man. His fingers followed, popping longer and thicker to become meaty digits. They were better suited for gripping dumbbells and protein shakes, rather than any pens or keyboards for class. Not like he used them often. English and Arts? Nah, he was only there for sports, Athletic Science or some shit, with grades at the bare minimum.

Hunk. Toned Soccer Player. Nick's body began to lean out, the frustrating belly fat that had stayed through countless 15 minute core workouts dissolved into rock hard abs. Each individual ab popped into a perfect six-pack, carving and embedding themselves into his core. His waist cinched tight as his cum gutters became visible, allowing any drops of sweat to slide and accentuate his toned and tiny waist.

But it didn't stop there. Muscular. Football team large. A warmth spread up from his feet, which made his calves swell into massive diamond shapes. His thighs piled on muscle after muscle, causing his legs to spread apart, threatening to spill off the bed. A mixture of pain and pleasure washed over Nick. Memories of brutal leg presses and squats injected themselves straight into the fibers of his massive columns. After all, bros never skipped leg day, that was how they got their signature lumbering walk. His once average ass - not wanting to lose the fight - fattened into massive globes that lifted him higher into the air, soaking his sheets with sweat. Nick’s upgraded bubble butt was huge and round, each cheek constantly bouncy and jiggly, especially when riding his frat bros. In response, Nick started gyrating on the bed as new memories flowed into him -nights of being fucked and used - the sensation sending tingles down his spine, as his hole tightened to be used for maximum pleasure. Nick's audible groans became louder as the energy surged through his chest, ballooning into mounds of firm pecs that would show through any shirt he tried on. They swelled out into hefty milkers, his nipples stretching just a little wider, big enough for his bros to play with. His shoulders followed, doubling in width as they grew along with his broad back, connecting with his traps. Giving him that strong structured look. Biceps and triceps exploded with muscle, defined by a juicy vein that ran up from his steel forearms. When flexed, they would tear sleeves to their breaking point, but it didn't matter, his wardrobe was stock full with singlets and tank tops, just like any other bro.

Smooth and hairy in all the right places.

A tingle swept over his entire body, as his old pitiful wisps of leg hair fell out and disappeared into the ether, giving him smooth and soft skin. Instead, all the hair went into his pits and pubes, fluffing them up into musk-filled bushes, hairy and dark. They would peek out in his singlets and jockstraps, enticing everyone to sniff or lick. His hair grew to a messy mop that would be paired with beanies and baseball caps. Dumb and Handsome. With a crack, Nick's face began to rearrange to model status, making him attractive while permanently affixing him with a dopey grin. His nose thickened to breathe in more musk from bushy armpits, sometimes even his own. His lips fattened; sloppy and wet for passionate kisses or blowjobs for his bros. Panting like a dog, his tongue lolled out, wide and long, a pleasure tool on its own. Eyes became clear, removing any need for glasses but also becoming vacant, an open window to the constant horniness and empty thoughts in his head. And the final pop of his enlarged Adam's apple gave him that stereotypical bro cadence. His deep and dull voice had two purposes, dumb moans in the bed and rough grunts in the gym. Hung like a horse. Heavy bull nuts. Groans and pants filled the air with heavy breaths as the warmth spread to his most sensitive area. His cock and balls. Nick's average 5 incher rose to a sizable 9 inches, barely fitting into his white briefs, its uncut head leaking pre everywhere, almost turning the fabric translucent. Still, it kept growing. 10 inches... 11 inches... Harder, thicker, longer, into a fat meaty pole that shot out of his briefs with a satisfying pop, landing with a wet smack on his abs. Now uncontained, his 12 inch monster cock was a weapon of its own, when not being bred, Nick ravaged the bedroom with his footlong size. Thick veins ran up his erect dick, overflowing with cum from his pumped up nuts. His balls had swelled along with his hefty member, dropping from regular to swinging, heavy, animal nuts. Finding underwear would be impossible for the new himbo, remembering his package bursting through buttons and briefs in the past. Luckily, jockstraps could barely contain the beast, and the tight fabric behind settled perfectly in between his cheeks, pulled taut to tease his hole throughout the day. His balls were now cum factories, capable of going endlessly in a night, churning to the brim with frat bro seed. With one final swell and thrust, Nick erupted in a loud grunt, tensing his entire body as his cock quivered with pressure, balls tightening for release. A force in the air blew, and with the gentle gust of wind caressing his cock, he exploded with mind-breaking pleasure. Spurts of cum flew out, almost reaching the ceiling, as Nick bucked his hips in mindless pleasure. Each load caused deep and heavy moans to reverberate on his bedroom walls, his thick and smelly cum landing on every surface. He continued his musky assault on his surroundings, bucking his cock in the air like fucking an invisible hole. After painting the room white in cum, and staining the air with sweat, Nick let out a rich sigh, his sleeping face dumb and exhausted. His wet dreams were fulfilled. In a sudden, it whispered. Wake up.

Nick groaned, his body was on fire. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed himself so hard at yesterday's full body workout, but he knew the pump was well worth it. He stared blankly at the empty ceiling, strange, he could have sworn he had a fan up there. Maybe that's why he was so goddamn sweaty. Nick pulled himself out of bed, making a goofy grin at his still hard cock, twitching and ready for countless rounds. His sheets were always stained with a mixture of sweat and cum, making the room reek with musk. Last night must have been super wild, he'd always get extra wet dreams if he didn't jerk off before bed, but fuck there was even cum on the floor today, though he was unable to remember what the dream was. It didn't matter though, all it took was a second for his doubt to fade away. He'd clean up the mess later, or ask a bro to do it. Heavy footsteps paved their way to the shower, an audible signal of the dumb himbo. His horsecock dripped precum all over the floor, making a light slapping sound against his thunderous thighs. After a quick rinse to get rid of the excess sweat and cum, Nick stared hungrily at his own reflection. His towel draped at just the right angle to reveal his shredded torso and give a peek of his gorgeous v-line.

Fuck, he was hot. His model face and beefy body greeted him in the morning, along with his throbbing monster cock. Nghhh. He groaned, bull balls slapping against the white sink, he almost fucked the countertop in desperation. However, it stopped him, giving three basic words that completed his transformation. Lift. Eat. Fuck. Freshly imprinted into his brain, Nick let out a long guttural moan as the command settled into his every cell. "Huhuhu." A dumb laugh followed, and like a robot, Nick was steered by the hypnotizing call. Fuck it, he would go commando today, He threw on a white tank top and black sweatpants, ones that hugged his body tight for everyone's viewing pleasure; making sure to add a gray beanie and a chain necklace that screamed douchey bro to the world. Taking a quick snap in the elevator, the new Nick cemented himself as a forever dumb, muscular himbo. With another wish granted, it murmured. Good Himbo.

*you've made it to the end! finally wrote a tf story after lurking for so long, gotta start with one of my favorite tropes, the himboooo. but wait! who was that mysterious force? maybe we'll find out one day ^^, or you could find out if you magically wake up as a himbo ;)*