jd07201990

[jd07201990]

Becoming Rafael

A word of thanks to the incredibly talented @rowdy317 for the graphics to this story!

Part 1: A New Man Awaits

Jenna had always been proud of her body. She was the kind of woman who turned heads without trying—pale, flawless skin; soft, full breasts; long legs and a waist like a wasp. She lounged in her silk robe in front of the mirror, brushing her honey-blonde hair and admiring the curve of her collarbone.

It was day three of her solo retreat—an Airbnb tucked into the humid, jungled edges of southern Mexico. She was supposed to be relaxing, disconnecting, finding herself. But something odd had begun.

It started subtly: a warm flush across her thighs and shoulders the night before. She figured it was the sun. But by morning, her skin had deepened—not burned, but bronzed. Perfectly golden. It glowed. She stared at herself, running her fingertips down her forearm. “Did I… tan in my sleep?”

The glow wasn’t just her skin. Her body felt strange. Warm. Restless. Her thighs tingled, her core buzzed. She slipped off her robe, exposing her bare body—and frowned.

There was… hair. Coarse, dark hairs dusting her navel, her lower back, the tops of her feet. She touched them in disbelief. “What the hell?”

By noon, her legs looked like she hadn’t shaved in weeks. The hair grew thicker by the hour—up her thighs, under her arm pits, across her belly. She gasped when she saw it spidering across her chest. “Okay, okay, this is a dream or something,” she whispered, voice trembling. But it wasn't. It itched, pricked, smelled. She was producing a faint, warm musk, like a man after a workout. Her robe no longer felt right. Her panties dug painfully into her hips as they subtly thickened.

By nightfall, Jenna’s reflection was almost unrecognizable. Her jaw looked… stronger. Her cheekbones more angular. Her once-delicate arms had a new heaviness to them, a swell of muscle beneath soft skin.

She lay in bed, sleepless, her hands roaming over her changing body. Her breath quickened. Her nipples felt numb. Her groin pulsed strangely—like something new was stirring beneath the skin. She touched herself and moaned—but it wasn’t a soft, high moan. It was lower. Raw. Masculine.

Part 2: Waking Rafael

The next morning, Jenna awoke with a start. Her voice cracked as she yawned—and her Adam’s apple bobbed for the first time. She touched it with trembling fingers. “No way…” Her voice was rough, deeper. Still feminine, but slipping.

She threw off the sheets.

Her breasts were gone.

Well—mostly. The soft roundness had flattened, firmed into the beginning of pecs. She cupped them in disbelief. “Fuck.” Her chest was dusted in thick black hair now. Her shoulders broader. Her feet—she stared in horror—were visibly longer. Her toenails looked… masculine. Her thighs were heavier. Muscular.

Then she felt it—pressure between her legs. She clutched herself, gasping. Something had pushed forward—parting her folds, stretching into shape. It wasn’t quite a penis yet. But it was happening. Becoming.

She spent the day in isolation, pacing the tiled floor, staring at herself in the mirror as her body completed its shift. Each hour brought more change: deeper voice, stronger hands, thicker beard shadow crawling across her jawline. Her waist tapered into her hips. Her back grew broader. Her height increased inch by inch—until she loomed over the sink, her blonde hair darkening at the roots into thick, jet-black waves.

And then… it happened. She stood at the toilet, driven by a curious impulse. The pressure in her groin was unbearable. Her hands trembled as she pulled down the loose boxers she’d found among the old clothes in the house.

And there it was.

Long. Uncut. Veiny. Hanging heavy between her muscular thighs.

She moaned, trembling. “Oh my god…” Her voice was deep. Rich. Sensual. Her cock pulsed with pride. Her testicles sat low, full. She needed release.

But more than that—she needed to use it.

With a grin, Rafael—because she knew that’s who she was now—stood tall, gripped his cock, and let go. The sound of piss hitting porcelain was ecstasy. So direct. So liberating. So fucking manly.

Part 3: Embracing Him

By the third day, Rafael was fully formed.

His skin was golden brown, kissed by sun and heat. His body was a masculine dream—thick chest hair across hard pecs, a narrow waist, broad shoulders, strong calves, huge feet. His hands and arms were veined and powerful. His face, once porcelain and delicate, was now chiseled and rugged, with a jawline dusted in stubble, a bold nose, and full, dark eyebrows.

And his cock—thick, perfectly shaped, leaking with anticipation—was his pride. He stood in the mirror, stroking himself slowly, lovingly, moaning deeply at the sight of his own reflection.

“Fuck… I’m so hot,” he muttered, his deep accent surprising even himself.

He thought about sex now—constantly. The smell of his own musk turned him on. His voice turned him on. His power. He was the kind of man who made others weak. He had gone from a beauty to a beast—and he loved it.

The awkwardness of day one was long gone.

Now, he was addicted to being Rafael.

And he’d never go back.

[jd07201990]

Typecast Troubles

After turning down twink roles for too long, Henry needs work. Now. Offered one final lifeline in the role of Brutus, a stereotypical meathead, he has no choice to accept. Worry not, by the end of the audition he'll be more than muscular enough to embody the brute.

Here's an actor learning the hard way that some roles can change you whether you like it or not. Muscle growth and himbofication! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Henry desperately needed some work. For a few years now he had been consistently acing auditions and getting roles, never a lead but never out of work. After being typecast one too many times as bitchy twink and gay best friend he was ready for something else.

Unfortunately for the C-inching towards D-list star the industry did not care about his desire to move on. Never was he in a position safe enough to turn consistent work down. It has now been long enough since someone’s expressed any interest in having him on set that the theoretical actor has begun to search for other work.

Inches away from applying to some unenviable job out of showbiz, his phone rings. Seeing it’s his agent Jeremiah calling, Henry slams his laptop shut and bashes his phone into the side of his head from the excitement. This does not distract from his anxiety at the pile of bills lying in front of him nor the fingers crossed that a solution is on the line.

“Okay Henry, I know what you said a few months back. I fought you on it at the time, after all why shoot yourself in the foot when you’ve got a mouth to feed.”

Henry’s halfway to agreeing and begging his agent to send his resume to every shitty teen drama and made for TV movie out there before he hears Jeremiah continue, “But, I think this little gambit might have paid off. The studio apparently asked for you by name, my friend!  Of course there’s still auditions…”

His agent presumably continues, explaining details about the show and its production, benefits for taking the job, people who might be part of the audition process, but Henry doesn’t hear that. Despite the mail pile filled with aggressive red text still sitting in front of him, with the prospect of work on the horizon, Henry’s mind is preoccupied with what the role is. The fact that he was asked for my name obviously ringing alarm bells that he’ll be back in the circuit of playing teens at least a decade younger than himself, “so what is the part then exactly? Do you have the script?”

There’s a clear hesitation as if Jeremiah isn’t quite sure how to broach the subject, “Don’t you worry now Hen, as demanded it is not at all like your usual stuff. No screaming yaaas or clapping back to your fag hag. No, no nothing the studios y’know, want you to do.” The agent pauses and resets, putting on a saccharine tone as if he knows he’s about to pitch shit as gold.

“Okay! So all goes well, you’ll be going in for a series regular role as Brutus! He’s well- I’ll just read the casting call specs: Brutish and barely literate, this oaf has a heart of gold and mind like a sieve, loves hanging out with his bros-” With each word Henry’s face scrunches tighter. Eventually he has no recourse but to interrupt his agent.

“Jere? What the fuck is this? They asked for me, specifically to come in for this? Is this some kind of a joke?” There’s another pause before Jeremiah releases the telltale sigh of a man at the end of his rope, “Look, Hen. Kid. I get it, you got these big ideas about dream roles and artistic integrity, but you gotta understand. This is what you got, what we got. You know the agency’s breathing down my neck about cutting dead weight. I- Look, you don’t gotta take the gig if it’s no good, but if you’re not willing at least hear ‘em out. I mean shit kid, you’re the one who asked for new ground yeah?”

Were his piling bills and draining savings not enough of a wakeup call, Jeremiah’s words were. Maybe it’s ironic casting, or an animated project, Jere probably said as much earlier when Henry tuned him out. He doesn’t really have a choice. After a prolonged groan, Henry pinches the bridge of his nose and gives in, “Ugh fine- whatever. Just send me the details and I’ll, I’ll do my best.”

Ever the professional, and hearing his client despondent,  Jeremiah shifts gears yet again, “Aces kid. Gonna be a star yet, remember they wanted you. They need you not the other way around. Sent you the information, let me know how it goes. Phone’s always on me.”

The audition is early the next morning, earlier than the actor usually prefers to be awake. The call said something about Brutus being an early bird which, whatever. Henry’s well past the luxury of getting to do what he usually prefers. He briefly tossed over dressing up in character, though checking his wardrobe there is simply nothing that would fit the bill of Brutus.

Instead, he just cleans up as he always does and heads out the door. Wearing a button up and borrowed shoes, with each step closer to the studio he must continually remind himself that they asked for him specifically. For reasons he can’t understand. For reasons he will hopefully understand soon. His questions certainly aren’t answered when he arrives.

Before the actor even enters the lobby the receptionist rushes to greet him, “You must be Henry Harris! We’re so excited to have you in today!” Escorting him to the elevator, Henry is on edge at just how much the secretary seems to be fawning over him. In between what can only be deliberate attempts at massaging his egon Henry catches a few strange remarks, ‘can’t wait to see what you become’ ‘hope you brought a change of clothes.’

It is upon this bizarre encounter Henry reflects as he rides the slow elevator up to the casting office. There he almost recoils away from the door as he’s greeted by another secretary, almost identical to the first who treats him similarly bizarrely. Frequently eying up the actor like a slab of meat, tossing cryptic wanting flirtations as they go. “Here we are! Director Marlowe’s office. Hope you have a productive meeting in there Brutus!”

Henry sneers at the strange escort, “It’s Henry.” For the first time he notices the glassy, almost mechanical look in the eyes of the secretary. Despite being too chatty in their time together, at this his guide simply tilts his head with a grin before turning away and wandering back towards the elevator. Under his breath Henry complains, “Ugh, already ready to write this whole thing off.”

“Mr. Harris, Henry, do come in!” Henry flinches as he turns to find the bearded tank of a man behind him. Welcoming him into the office with an outstretched hand, Henry shifts into his poised polished self and offers his own dainty hand to shake. “You must be, Director Marlowe? Thank you so much for having me in today! I simply cannot wait to see what you have in mind for me. This Brutus character is absolutely the kind of role I’ve been waiting for.”

The director’s wide toothy smile only grows wider as his face betrays nothing besides a desire to get this process started, “Please come in, come in young man, have a seat.” The director leads Henry to a cozy chair opposite his desk before going to sit down himself, “Of course Henry, after all what actor wouldn’t be excited at the idea of a role made for them in mind. Though let’s cut to the chase. You must be wondering why in the world we came to you for this role hm? Quite the leap from twink-phenom to thoughtless gym rat is it not?”

Henry was on the backfoot from the first moment he saw the man, his dark eyes and darker, well-groomed beard were more than enough to set the actor on edge. Now that the man has directly addressed the one line of question that has been preoccupying his thoughts from the moment he heard the name Brutus, Henry is not sure what his next move is to be.

Easily catching the smallest break in the actor’s facade, the director pounces, “Worry not Mr. Harris! Whatever questions you might have will surely be answered by the time you leave today! For starters though, I hope you won’t mind signing a small NDA and consent form? We’re trying something experimental with this show and we can’t risk the exciting details getting out early. I’m sure you understand.” 

Only now does Henry notice the contract sitting in front of him on the desk. This isn’t his first rodeo though and he’s no fool, his eyes narrow at the document and he begins to open his mouth to assert that he’s not going to even humor signing a document without legal advice. Though just as soon as the thought appears he’s reminded how lacking he is in funds for a lawyer. His desperation and curiosity begin to mount his waning caution.

Marlowe raises his hands, feigning sympathy, “Oh of course, by all means if you want to go through the document with a fine toothed comb be my guest, we also have a legal team on site should you need clarity.” The director has a few more droll lines planned on how excited they would be to have Henry on board, perhaps even revealing some of his hand to further entice the actor. Though this is unnecessary as the actor’s apparently even more desperate than they had assumed. 

Biting his lip and already kicking himself for the foolhardy action, Henry Harris signs on the dotted line. Caught off guard, the director frowns in surprise, “Well! Just like that is it? I do believe we can start this process outright Henry.” He reaches and tidies up the paperwork before filing into his desk. Templing his fingers his wide smile returns as he looks down at the actor who nervously stares off into space. 

“The network wants to try something new. I’m sure you’re aware original content is suffering on streaming and the powers that be are tired of finding new creatives. My solution is simple: mold actors into characters so truthful to themselves that the creation of content is simply second nature. Does this make sense to you Henry?”

Having signed away at least some degree of autonomy, wholly unaware just how deep a commitment he just made, Henry decides to focus on the matter immediately at hand, sighing. “Sure yeah. Why me? This guy’s supposed to be a gym bro right? I mean, just look at me!” Motioning towards his pale, purposefully thin body Henry scoffs before looking at Marlowe. 

The director’s expression shifts severe, chiding. “Now Henry. This negative self-talk, don’t you think it’s unbecoming of Brutus?” Henry reflexively rolls his eyes and scoffs, as he is wont to do. Or no, he tries to roll his eyes and does not. He tries to scoff but instead he finds himself nodding, agreeing. Brutus wouldn’t talk about himself like that. 

He glares at the director as underneath thoughts of Brutus slowly flowing into his mind, he realizes something greater than himself has happened. Something sinister has begun to influence his thoughts and he must understand the rules before it is too late. Having spent a solid chunk of change at drama school he is well aware of Faustian bargains. The director simply grins, exposing too-white teeth, “You were saying Hentry?”

Henry’s mouth squirms as the name hits him like a punch. He knows it was deliberate, he knows it is not his name. He struggles to decide if he should dispute it but instead plays along, clinging to his years of experience at keeping up the act. “Sure. Mr. Marlowe, I am of course quite excited to see where the studio goes with this. As you know I will do my best to fill Brutus’ shoes with aplomb. I love a challenge, and playing this character will be more than interesting.”

Pleased, the director sees blood in the water, “Ah yes. His shoes you say, now what size shoes would those be.” Henry, Hentry? hesitates, struggling to play whatever sick game of 4d chess this is. His attention flicks down to his shoes and he discovers just how supernaturally outmatched he is. He knows he’s a size 8.5. He squeezed his feet into size 8 shoes he borrowed from his corporate friend forever ago for this audition, so it’s no wonder his feet feel a little squeezed.

This does not explain how his feet seem to be pushing against the shining leather with each passing second. Hentry’s hand flies to his mouth as he gasps at his feet bursting the seams of his friends shoes. His shock is displaced by grunting pain as toes burst from dress shocks and shoes he does not have the money to pay his friend back for are left tattered on the floor. He feels his soles stretch wider than the soles as his toes splay further, flexing from the pain as they surge onto the carpet of Marlowe’s office. 

Clinging to reality in the wake of this impossible happening, pushing down the visceral bizarre feeling of his feet growing, stretching against socks before bursting from their containment, Hentry finds himself hung up on how much those borrowed shoes cost. Somehow making him more anxious than the fact his body has changed beyond his control. Drawing his attention more than the feeling of thicker soles and a wider foot flexing out of his control. Then from some recess of his mind comes a ripcord. What’s the problem? Why was he wearing dress shoes anyway, surely he should be wearing his gym shoes like always.

To the delight of the director, Hentry’s eyes shift slightly duller as he stares blankly at his feet as shoes begin to reform. The actor doesn’t hear the sound of leather stretching to hide his newly massive feet, doesn’t see as the tanned leather shifts to cheapening fabric, new laces bursting forth and knotting a few times over as the cheap shoes still struggle to contain feet that absolutely do not wish to be contained.

“Much of a runner are you Hentry?” The actor slowly shakes his head, uncomfortable with the memories that begin to surge through it. Clenching his jaw he can’t prevent his mouth from answering, his voice sloppy and slow, “y-yeah. Sometimes I’ll jog, I think? Gotta get the blood pumping before an- umph!-” Whatever admission of gym time that was surely coming is cut off as Hentry forces his arm into his mouth, doing everything in his power to prevent himself from finishing the sentence. 

The wheels have been set in motion however as, sticking out from well-worn ratty gym shoes, slightly discolored socks begin to worm their way up his legs. Launching up past his smooth ankles they struggle to reach too high as new muscular legs begin to form. Eyes determinedly ahead at Marlowe can’t help but steal a glance downward as his calves begin to itch and burn. His mind races with new memories of running on treadmills and down streets as his legs surge larger. New muscle fibers and thick curls strands sprouting forth with every must-be artificial memory. 

They flex in place as Hentry sits there. His calves bulge larger with every faux flex, soon enough they’re the size of baseballs yearning to burst from his dress pants. There’s no risk of this however as his pants rapidly pull up into shorts, exposing the hairy calves to the cold air of this corporate studio. They are however not nearly fast enough on the draw to make it unscathed as thighs larger than his waist begin to bulge into existence.

The chair creaks under the weight of his legs alone as his pale thighs send a few tears into his new gym shorts. Marlowe’s eyebrows raise in shock as he seems almost impressed. Seeing this, Hentry is unsurprisingly of two minds, though for their varied reasons they both yearn to address their boss’ surprise. Jaw slightly sore from pain, he removes his arm and allows his mouth mobility once more. His original self thoroughly convinced that the director's simply so impressed at how well he’s fighting back, Hentry can’t help but try and get a dig in. “Betcha didn’t think I’d put up such a fight huh big guy?”

Perhaps a sign at just how much his mind has been eroded already, Hentry fails to see through the truly pathetic performance Marlowe gives, “My my Huntry! Indeed my terrible powers have been unable to change you at all! Perhaps it is the strength of your legs that allow you to stand so strong in the face of my wicked ways!” He does a twee flinch back, leaving one eye locked on the actor to see his reaction.

Arms crossed and smirking, Huntry’s eyes narrow as he finds himself agreeing with Marlowe, that is after the name of course. His name is, uhh. Doesn’t it start with a B? His eyebrows knit together as he skips past this and tries to find what else is bothering him from the director’s words, his legs are built? He works hard for them after all? Squirming in his chair he feels his powerful ass push him higher as he fights the urge to stretch. 

Failing to hold back, he grunts as he stretches taller. His dress shirt coming untucked from the elastic waistband of gym shorts they had no right of being tucked into to begin with. Midriff exposed it is clear that changes have not arbitrarily stopped at his lower body. Across his thin torso muscle has begun to pack on from nothing. His clumsy fingers scratch at his waist as a treasure trail begins to prickle up and decorate his new lowest rung of abs. 

Eyes closed, Huntry’s mind is totally distracted by the pleasure of his body burning as it grows. Forgetting himself and where he is, Huntry feels his cock pulse as the growing pains of his massive form feel decidedly pleasurable. Feeling the beginning of new muscle on his chest his tight lips twitch into a grin as nipples larger and more sensitive are dragged against his button up by a growing chest.

In no time at all, under the frequent barely quieted moans of delight, his sleeves are strained by biceps  that must have taken years to grow. His blue balls become much more of a problem as he feels the fabric begin to tear, thick arms wholly outsizing the tight sleeves by an order of magnitude. Raised in a flex his veiny biceps send tears down the length of his sleeves as they refuse to be held back. As they refuse to be the scrawny twigs that they may have once been.

Huntry bites his lips he feels pre begin to stain his briefs, no, his jock. His shaky hand begins to reach down, getting so far as gracing his new thick bush of pubes before his quest for relief is interrupted  by the director clearing his throat. “Mr. Buntry? If you recall, we were in the middle of your audition?”

Buntry snaps back to attention, gasping in shock in a deeper voice at having been in such a compromised position in the middle of something so significant. His slightly thicker brows, now jutting out ever so slightly over his eyes, furrow again as he realizes he isn’t embarrassed. Though- why should he be. He’s just a dude, sometimes you gotta adjust right? Yeah. A dumb smile plasters its way across his face as his jaw thickens, his pretty boy appeal falling to the wayside as he shifts to become not quite leading man material, but someone who could easily play a soldier, a goon, a brute. “Whaddya need from me next boss man?”

Shaking his head Marlowe is shocked at just how well this has gone, “I believe you were about to take off your shirt. This is after all quite a physique intensive role if you recall.” Buntry guffaws and scratches his chest, seemingly pulling his pecs larger with every pass of his clumsy, calloused fingers. “Why didn’t ya say so boss huhuh!” He goes to unbutton the shirt before stupidly groaning as he finds obviously he’s not wearing a button up. 

The sleeveless garment has turned into a tank, slightly stained around his pits from deodorant that was instantly rendered obsolete by his heady musk, joined by a dark sweaty patch in the center of his massive chest. Eyes caught up on the strained shirt, he gulps as he tries not to get distracted by his pecs overhanging, by the unmistakable hard nipples showing through the tight top. Barely hanging in there, he gets his fingers under the hem of the shirt hugging his abs and yanks. It gets stuck over his head and he laughs again, trapped in a prison of his own design, pits exposed to the open air as thick curls blossom further from his underarms.

Marlowe’s smile flickers as he wonders if this process was almost too effective. Lost in thought he watches as Buntry stands and struggles to escape, knocking over the chair behind him. Eventually the shirt tears before coming off and the brute guffaws once more, “Sorry boss! Guess I don know my own strength huhuh!” Free from the shirt however, he does what he has done in every audition he can recall and begins to pose. 

Sweat courses down from his hairy pits and shines across his burly chest as he flexes and awaits Marlowe’s feedback. The director’s hitherto constant smile flickers as he wonders how he’s going to be able to run a set with a man who can scarcely find two two brain cells to rub together. Lost in thought he loses track of his polished persona and thorough plan and speaks aimlessly, sniffing the air he complains, “Do you smell that?”

The jock pauses his performance and turns to look at his own pits, bending his thick neck down he laughs and confirms that it’s him. “Huhuh Sorry bro! Thought you wanted me to come au natruale y’know! You’re always saying you want the real Brutus! Well here he is huhuh! Hup!” Grunting he launches into a most muscular, crab pose. 

Marlowe’s eyes widen as the actor refers to himself as Brutus. Clicking his tongue, the director can’t help but feel this has gone off the rails somehow. The plan was to create a perfect combonation of actor and character, but clearly something has gone awry, whispering ‘god damnit’ under his breath, Marlowe forces a smile back on his face as he addresses the man who has yet to stop posing, flinging sweat across the room with every clearly practiced adjustment. “Bunt- er Brutus, yes? Would you mind taking a load off?” 

The new bodybuilder smirks and nods with a “Yuh! No problem boss huhuh!” The director feels a migraine coming on as he sees the behemoth crash to the floor as he sits in a chair that can absolutely not hold his weight. “Oh shit! Sorry Mr. Marlowe!” His mouth is hanging vacant as he struggles to lift his impossibly heavy form. Panting as he often is, when Brutus stands he opts to take a load off on the directors desk.

“Pardon my asking, Brutus. But you are an actor, are you not?” The massive man scratches his defined jaw as his face finishes its transformation into a face that could sell any schmuck some protein powder, “Yeah guess you could say so? I’m always puttin’ out content y’know? Definitely a star huhuh.” A gym influencer? That Marlowe could work with. He temples his hands as he schedules a date to potentially give this process another go. See if they can’t bring back some of Henry’s refinement. These things are complicated after all.

Just to test the waters before concluding this ‘audition,’ Marlowe opts to toss out one final question, “Does the name Henry mean anything to you Brutus?” 

In response the man lights up, “Yeah! Course it does boss! That’s my- uhhh?” Somehow the perpetually confused man looks even more confused for a moment, scratching his balls he holds back from smelling his hand in front of the director before continuing, “‘S that my last name boss? Do I got one of those?” Marlowe waves off the questions, foolish of him to try that. 

“Let’s get you to the locker room hm, Brutus? The young man outside should lead you to the setup we have on site.” Without a second thought Brutus sprints out the door, like a dog chasing a squirrel. He runs right past the secretary, apparently already knowing his way around. Marlowe’s phone vibrates as he sees a text that the next actor is apparently on the way up. Some angsty goth who the network has requested to audition for the role of the show’s rich prep.

Hearing heavy footsteps racing down the hallway he wonders if they are biting off more they can chew. No matter though, these are not his calls to make. Still he sighs to himself as he checks the notes for his upcoming meeting, another tall ask, “No rest for the wicked,” Marlowe complains as a pale frowning form is ushered out of the elevator. This time perhaps he’ll try and take it slower.

[jd07201990]

Short, sweet, hits the spot! Welcome back! =D

Fucking With the Class Fag

The inferior gay twink has no idea his superior straight bullies have been messing with his playlist, secretly adding more and more conversion hypno tracks. His gay brain is completley fried, endlessly being filled with the sounds of hetero fucking and orasmic female moans—too dumb and zoned out to hear his bullies cackling like hyenas, especially at the pitched tent in his silky basketball shorts.

[jd07201990]

Father Son Turned Into Meatheads

#Hypnosis

John, a powerful executive in his late 40s, and his son, Alex, a young and ambitious executive in his early 20s, were the epitome of success. They were wealthy, well-respected, and had it all. However, their lives were about to take a drastic turn.

One day, while attending a high-profile business conference, they stumbled upon a mysterious and charismatic figure, known only as "The Hypnotist." With an air of confidence and an uncanny ability to read people, The Hypnotist began to weave a spell around John and Alex.

Under the guise of a motivational seminar, The Hypnotist began to hypnotize the audience, including John and Alex. His words were like a gentle breeze on a summer day, soothing and calming, yet laced with a subtle, insidious power.

As The Hypnotist spoke, John and Alex felt their minds begin to cloud, their thoughts growing foggy and disjointed. They tried to resist, but it was too late. The Hypnotist's words had already taken root, planting a seed of obsession deep within their minds

When the seminar ended, John and Alex felt... different. They couldn't quite put their finger on it, but something had changed. They looked at each other, and for a moment, they saw themselves in a new light.

The next morning, John woke up with an intense, burning desire to go to the gym. He couldn't explain why, but he felt an overwhelming urge to pump iron, to feel the rush of endorphins, and to push his body to its limits. He looked in the mirror, and for the first time, he saw a soft, flabby executive staring back at him.

Alex, too, had woken up with a similar obsession. He felt a sudden, all-consuming passion for weightlifting, and he couldn't wait to get to the gym and start pumping iron. As he looked at his reflection, he saw a scrawny, weak young man, and he knew he had to change.

Without a word, John and Alex began to transform their lives. They started hitting the gym every day, sometimes twice a day, pushing their bodies to the limit. They devoured protein shakes, creatine, and steroids, determined to build the perfect physiques.

As the days turned into weeks, John and Alex underwent a radical transformation. They grew bigger, stronger, and more muscular, their bodies sculpted from hours of intense weightlifting. They became obsessed with their reflections, spending hours admiring their muscles, flexing, and posing in front of the mirror.

Their business relationships began to suffer as they prioritized their gym sessions over meetings and conferences. Their friends and family grew concerned, but John and Alex couldn't stop. They were addicted to the rush of endorphins, the feeling of power and strength that came with each new muscle gain.

The Hypnotist watched from the shadows, a sly smile spreading across his face. He had created two muscle-obsessed gym addicts, and he knew that John and Alex would never be the same again.

As the months passed, John and Alex became local gym celebrities, known for their impressive physiques and their relentless dedication to weightlifting. They started competing in bodybuilding competitions, and their confidence soared as they stepped onto the stage, their muscles rippling beneath their skin.

But as they stood on stage, flexing and posing, they caught each other's eye, and for a moment, they saw beyond the muscle and the hype. They saw two men, once successful executives, now reduced to mere objects, obsessed with their own reflections, and controlled by a mysterious force that they couldn't understand.

And in that moment, they knew that they were trapped, forever bound to the gym, forever chasing the perfect physique, and forever under the control of The Hypnotist's insidious power.

[jd07201990]

Fratification

Daniel was quiet, well-mannered, and stuck out like a sore thumb among his rowdy fraternity brothers. It's not like joining a frat was his decision; his father forced him to uphold family tradition. He tried adjusting, but it was impossible. The frat life just wasn't him, especially as the only gay guy. However, right before depledging, his fraternity brothers were able to successfully "change" his mind at the last second.

When the frat realized how hard it was for Daniel to adapt to their way of life, they knew he needed a little fine-tuning. After successfully pressuring a few beers into him, weakening his resistance, a few brothers used their infamous hypno skills on his newly mushed mind. They spent hours of what could have been spent on partying assimilating his mind and personality to theirs, so it totally was their good deed of the day! From that permanent conversion on, Daniel was interchangeable with any of the loud, cocky, and insanely wild frat bros.

The new and improved Daniel, "Danny-boy," is dumb as a rock, an aggressive pussyhound, and extremely obnoxious with his belches—proudly coining himself "the belch king!"

[jd07201990]

😵‍💫 There's definitely a story / caption in there somewhere!

I thought this was one of the (incredibly sexy) Kpop guys for a second!!! 😵

(edit edit: I do also like the big dude in the pics! I bet he throws his opponents over the ring! Also apparently they ARE (were) in fact a singer.. a JPop idol! 😵‍💫 🤤 )

haruto sakuraba

[jd07201990]

Bulked Up

Ryan sat in the sauna listening to his stomach grumbling once again.

He had been cutting just under 2 months and it was starting to become unbearable, His abs were starting to look incredible and the veins on his arms made him look like a giant however his constant grumbling stomach made him question if he even wanted to stick to it.

Once again his stomach grumbled and Ryan moaned out of discomfort.

"fuck dude, I wish I could be full and not starving all the time, just get to fucking eat"

Ryan's could feel what he thought was a large bubble rising up in his gut, he didn't know what the sensation was but, he slowly stopped feeling like he was starving and started to feel more content.

---

Later that night Ryan was sitting on his bed, he expected to feel like he was starving to death by now but nothing, if anything he felt ever so slightly bloated, as if he ate too much for breakfast.

His body dysmorphia began to creep back in as he saw his abs starting to slack, looking like when they were only just starting to show at the start of his cut.

Ryan stood up and wandered over to the bathroom to brush his teeth before going to bed. He looked in the mirror noticing a few extra pounds and it was only confirmed as he pinched the side of his waste to see his finder tips fill with a grip of bulk season fat.

"err, i swear I was leaner by now"

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPP

A massive belch suddenly blasted out from Ryan's mouth.

---

The next morning Ryan woke up and slowly rolled out of bed, something was weird, he was feeling, stuffed, like he had eaten 3 family dinners to himself, but his mind quickly faded from those thoughts when he saw himself in the mirror.

His abs were almost entirely gone at this point, his gut and muscled were bulked up and he looked like he had taken a bear mode bulk too far for over a year.

"What the fuck, how come I'm getting bigger, Ive hardly eaten anything!" Ryan's gut let out a loud grumble and his grabbed it with both hands gritting his teeth. His stomach slowly started to expand and his barely visible abs completely disappeared under his muscle gut. His muscles slowly got bigger and bigger too, although covered in a slight layer of winter weight. a pound of muscle for half a pound of fat. Bigger and bigger, Ryan had no idea what was happening to him, he wanted it to stop, months of work to see his abs again vanished in an instant.

By the end of it, he was a giant beast, you still knew he was a bodybuilder but it looked like he was on the ass end of a 3 year bulk.

He felt so heavy, he was the biggest he had ever been. You could still see his powerful muscles and core underneath the bearish meat and the moment he flexed there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was a bodybuilder, even his abs powerfully poked out on the sides.

Ryan groaned as he rubbed his stomach, feeling totally stuffed. As he walked across the room to get a closer look his his new bigger body in the mirror he couldn't help but grab a protein bar from the box on top of his dresser and start eating it.

He flexed in the mirror, unable to even process he was chowing down on his 2nd protein bar within 50 seconds, all he really knew was he was big, and was so full he thought he'd never need to eat again.

As he swallowed another mouthful of double choc protein he felt it struggle to get to his stomach, like he was too full for anything.

"fuck, wish I could get rid of some of this pressure"

-uuuurrppp

Ryan chuckled, at the perfect timing of his words when he suddenly let out another ridiculous belch.

"uughh"

Ryan stumbled backwards sitting on his bed leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looked up at the mirror and his mouth cocked open UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP!!!

a titanic belch echoed out of Ryan's mouth.

"fuck" he muttered as he mindlessly bit off another chunk of the chewy protein bar. Almost the instant he swallowed he let out another beast like burp.

---

Poor Ryan couldn't figure out the power his words had, he didn't know some guardian angle was following him granting his wishes to make his life easier and more enjoyable, but hopefully he works it out soon as the beast only had one wish left...

[jd07201990]

"Get a piercing," they said. "It'd be cool," they said. I've always struggled with resisting peer pressure. Just my luck, getting pierced by a witch or whatever he was. I knew I saw his eyes glow purple when he pierced my sensitive nip, but none of my stupid friends would believe me! Fuck, my body won't stop growing. I can't believe how much muscle I've put on! A few minutes ago I was a scrawny twink and now I look like I could go head-to-head with the jocks on the football team! I'd probably win too, with these new massive biceps. My god, why does it have to feel so fucking good! I don't want to be a dumb jock, but losing my brain feels better than any orgasm!

[jd07201990]

Live Life to the Gayest

"Is it really possible to change yourself?" That was the question on Will's mind while perusing the aisles of his town's new transformation shop. His heart raced with anticipation, running his curious fingers over the endless bottles of conversion potions. They had everything, from mere mental changes to all forms of physical transformation.

Finally, he came across the small glittery bottle he'd been looking for. "Live Life to the Gayest," the label read in fancy pink cursive. Nervous yet excited, he flipped the bottle over to read the back, "Designed for heterosexual men in need of a fabulous change! With just one fruity sip, your sexuality will instantly go from heterosexual to homosexual!"

Will never had much luck with women but always got hit on by men, they simply couldn't get enough of his cute nerdy awkwardness. Finally, after years of secretly longing to be one of the gays, he had the solution in his hands.

He immediately purchased it and downed it right there in the store. Only being a mental transformation, there was no need to take it in privacy. Just as the label suggested, the sexual transformation was instant. Within seconds, all desire for women was erased and replaced with attraction to only men—he was finally gay, gay gay.

He wanted, needed, cock—a man's hard gay cock. He desperately needed a hard gay cock up his tight virgin gay ass. So, he went out and got it, lots of it. He hooked up with all of his gay friends, including married couples, all of whom were more than happy to break in the former straight boy. Finally being able to enjoy and reciprocate gay desire was electrifying.

Shortly after satisfying his cock craving, he quit his job as a librarian's assistant and worked his way to become a super successful webcam model and escort.

All the attention has turned him into a complete slut, his holes getting wrecked practically every night. He hopes to find Mr. Right one day, wanting to settle down and start a family. But until then, he'll happily settle for just being a slut.

[jd07201990]

Hey! Found one that aligns closer to my feelings!

My own words would have me banned 😅

If you're celebrating today's result, fuck off my page. You're pathetic. I don't want you here, I don't want your money, I don't want your eyes on anything I create, including if you 'only' jerk off to the fantasy of this very outcome we're currently living in.

[jd07201990]

thank you for posting that

like most gay to straight and liberal to conservative writers my kinks are not my beliefs either and it is rlly, rlly sad that a lot of people do associate them with things happening in the usa right now

there is no connection. gay to straight is hot. liberal to conservative is hot. hope to see more of both.

You assumed my position.

I understand that “people are not their kinks” Which is why I’m not going full nuclear against it.

There are SOME, sane people out there that can separate their fetishes from reality, however, there are far far too many who cannot, OR are too easily swayed to realize the rabbit hole their falling into.

I believe wholeheartedly that TF and Fetish creators should be limiting this content to a bare minimum. Find another topic / theme / genre to play with, because as I stated in another answer:

Kink can become Propaganda, Propaganda becomes Tribalism, and you ends up with the 4th Reich takeover of a supposed Democracy.

Just, think before you write, maybe reread it to see if it’s glorifying something that shouldn’t be glorified, and decide from there.

As a writer myself, Im going to be giving my BRAIN a moment to process the things I write, so my DICK doesn’t control the narrative.

[jd07201990]

I agree fully with Wakeup1 here. If you take criticism of your kink personally, that’s on you.

Process those feelings of hurt and guilt and realize maybe, at this point in the turning of the age, glorifying things that are actually happening and WILL harm those you care about, may not be the right message. There is enough of their message all over the internet and the MSM, we don’t need to help it spread it here.

Kink quickly becomes propaganda, propaganda becomes tribalism, and you end up with the 4th Reich takeover of a supposed democracy. People can’t separate their fetishes from their beliefs sometimes, and because of that, I feel we should limit the amount of content we create in that genre.

You do you, but you obviously felt guilty and the need to defend yourself reading a post that called no one out for anything directly.

saw your post attacking

liberal to conservative festishes

gay to straight fetishes

we are not our kinks!!! it's just hot.

love a good gay to straight or good MAGA story.

lots of people are passing around we are not our kinks so it needs to be said.

‘We are not our kinks’, and yet you hide behind anonymity. I wonder why that is.

I didn’t attack anyone. If you read my message as an attack, I really don’t know what to tell you. I never even brought up gay to straight, so it’s pretty clear to me this is an obvious case of projection on your part. You don’t like being called out, being ‘seen’. NO ONE likes that. I get it.

I get it. And I stand by my point. Like what you like, I’m not here to judge people. But understand this, what you like could potentially hurt other people. We are privileged to be able to find such things hot or horny or whatever you want to fucking regard it. I don’t give a fuck. But for some people this hot fantasy is all too real, is all too damaging. Understand that. Empathise with that.

I write messed up shit, things that could be potentially triggering for people. It doesn’t hurt me to be cognisant of that fact. It doesn’t hurt you either.

[jd07201990]

❤️

Genuinely love seeing all the support our TF community is giving to each other. I love seeing especially the gay to straight tf writers and fully saying they do not support this election and it goes against our views. I will never ever IN MY LIFE support someone trying to take the rights away from women and my fellow LGBTQIA+ family. I will always vote and fight for them. If you think differently feel free to get off my blog and block me.

OUR KINKS ARE NOT OUR BELIFS!

[jd07201990]

👆 THIS

Anyways

be freakier, be kinkier, be louder, be gayer, be more colorful, hoist the freak flag higher, lean into your queerness, lean on each other, lift up your neighbors, become more outspoken, and do so with so much love and kindness and gratitude and service to those closest to you

because I for one will be goddamned if I'll let a demonstrable minority of a bunch of "male loneliness epidemic" vitamin D-deficient fascist brownshirt larp-er fucks and their ilk convince the world that we (the royal "we," the community "we," our queer and trans family "we," the overwhelming majority of good people in this country "we") are anything less than the best

so chin up, find your mutual aid network, volunteer for community service, organize, leave the festering cesspool of electoral politics behind, and return to community. we're gonna be alright, love y'all

[jd07201990]

I can't use my own words for this sentiment as they'd break ToS.

So I'll reblog theirs.

In light of the election results in America, this is my reminder to other writers and creators. Think harder about what you want to put out into the world. About what you want to fetishise. Because art has power, your words have power.

I see many accounts glorifying conservative ideologies for the sake of kink. Let me ask you, is that the power and energy you want to put out into the world right now?

[jd07201990]

Now, this one.

This one needs to become a classic. God damn it if this isn't one of the best stories I've read in the last, year, two?

Just, well done all around. It's great! Damn!

Conversion in the Deep

Far from land and deep in the sea, lives a world undiscovered by humanity. In an underwater kingdom where merpeople not only exist but thrive. Ruling over them is King Lyle, his wife, and his only offspring, Prince Dorian.

On the morning of his 25th birthday, Dorian was not his usual cheerful self but distressed, swimming back and forth in one of the castle's many gardens. "What kind of a birthday surprise was that?!" He was utterly flabbergasted over what his father had sprung on him only a half hour ago. "An arranged marriage?! With a mermaid, no less! When is he gonna get it through that thick head of his that I'm gay! Gay, gay gay!"

Unbeknownst to Dorian, his future bride, Princess Alana, was not far behind, watching and following him in curious wonderment. She couldn't help but eavesdrop. Neither could the royal guards. "It has to be a joke?" Dorian questioned, trying to keep his head on straight. "I'm sure that's what it is! There's no way my father is that-" Dorian was too lost in his own head to realize Alana had swam up behind him. So when he abruptly flipped around. Boom! They smacked right into one another, face-on. They were mere centimeters away from accidentally kissing, causing Dorian's face to immediately blush from embarrassment—he was redder than a cooked crab. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention!"

"It's okay! I should have said something." Alana insisted, hoping to soothe Dorian's embarrassment. She smirked slightly, thoroughly amused with how awkwardly cute Dorian's nervous expression was. That pared with his muscular build making him even sexier. She swam back slightly to give them some breathing space, easing him further. However, she couldn't help but give in to her feminine wiles. "I hope you blush as cutiely on our wedding day."

"About that," Dorian anxiously gulped, assuming Alana was just kidding but didn't like the glimmer of sincere lust in her eye. He took a deep breath, hoping to reason with her. "Look, you must think this whole arrangement is as crazy as I do, right? I mean, we don't even know each other! It would never work out! I'm just not made for this kind of marriage!"

Alana looked confused, almost hurt by what he said—her heartbroken expression made Dorian uneasy, filling him with bizarre guilt. "Why not?"

Dorain gently grabbed her by the arm and pulled her over to a nearby rock formation, out of the guard's sight. "I don't know how to break this to you other than spitting it right out: I'm gay. I'm incapable of giving you a happy marriage."

"Well, I wouldn't say that." Alana smiled slightly, inching herself closer to him. She laid her small hand on his massive bicep, making him unexpectedly quiver in titillation. "They don't call marriage hard work for no reason."

"What?" Dorain was surprised by her reaction or lack thereof. It's as if his confession went right over her head. "Didn't you hear me? I'm gay. Like, really gay!"

"You think you're the first?" Alana plainly said, brushing her fin against his. "It's not like this hasn't happened before. It has, and it's worked out." Dorian was stunned, frozen in disbelief but her calm demeanor. Throwing him off further, she swam around him, eyeing him like a delicious piece of meat. "Just take my parents for example."

Dorian's eyes lit up in shock, watching her confidently swim around him, trying hard not to stare at her perfect tits. "What do you mean?!"

"A long time ago, my father was in the same position you're in right now," Alana nonchalantly answered, stopping back in front of him. She seductively bit her bottom lip, still processing how unbelievably muscular Dorian was—a true muscle god.

"You mean, King Trenton is gay?!" Dorian questioned in disbelief. He couldn't figure Alana out or why he felt so funny. The more Alana talked the more smitten he weirdly became, confusing him more.

"He is, well, was. I guess you can say it's complicated, but love will do that. "Alana answered, her eyes kept making their way to his genital slit. She swam closer to him, forcing him back against the large rock formation behind him.

Inside Dorian was a swirling mess of emotions. He felt both frightened and turned on by her, which didn't make sense. He was gay, but her obvious lust for him was making him unbelievably horny. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly enamored with her as if a switch abruptly went off in his brain. "I don't understand?"

"I'm not surprised," Alama smirked, with an all-knowing look. She moved her hand up his ripped chest, making him quiver. She then gently grazed his firm nipples, which made him gasp. He was blushing uncontrollably. "God, you're so cute when you're nervous."

"Alana, please. I can't!" Dorian's heart was racing, enthralled with her heavenly touch. How could he want her so badly?

"Do you want me to show you?" Alana seductively asked, purposefully ignoring Dorian's growing concern. She moved her hand back down his perfectly toned body, heading for the genital slit in the front of his tail.

"Show me what?" Dorian asked, trying his best to keep his voice down to not draw the guard's attention. He wanted to moan so badly but kept it from coming out, which was hard to do. A few minutes ago, the idea of being in this type of situation with a mermaid repulsed him, but the reality of it only turned him on. It felt as if his body was acting on its own, out of his mental control. Was it primal instinct? Was it pure madness?

"Do you want me to show you exactly how my mother turned my gay father into a mermaid lover?" Alana rephrased, eyeing Dorian's plump lips in lustful hunger. She put her other arm around him, feeling up his manly backside. "How?" Dorian nervously asked, afraid yet intensely curious of the answer. Alana moved her hand over his slit, sensually rubbing it. His prehensile penis was in danger of popping out. "Oh, fuck." Dorian quietly moaned, trying not to alert the guard's attention. "Why aren't I stopping her?!" He thought. "Why does her touch feel so right? Why is her voice pure music to his ears? Why do I want to fuck her like a primal sea beast? How could I suddenly be so damn horny for a mermaid?!" He couldn't help but moan in sexual agony. "I don't understand why I feel so-?"

"Horny?" Alana answered, already knowing what he was gonna say. Her tone was dripping with lust, she was just as horny as he was.

Dorian sensually moaned again, unable to resist letting his massive prehensile penis finally emerge from its slit, all 13 inches of glorious man meat. Alana licked her lips, reached out her hand, and gently grasped it. Dorian moaned again, only this time more desperate. She stroked him, unable to believe the enormous size of his throbbing member. He instinctually grabbed her waist, unexpectedly loving how manly he instantly felt. They gazed at each other like lovers, as if they would passionately kiss at any moment.

"What's happening to me?" Dorian loudly pleaded, not caring if they got caught. Actually, the thought of his gay self getting caught with a mermaid was an unexpected turn-on. He then moaned loader, letting himself give in to his lust even more.

"My family's powers," Alana finally answered, after stroking him a bit more. "The mermaids in my family have a certain way with mermen. We can bring out whatever we want from them, able to mold them like clay. And the best part, the mermen love it. It's a win-win. Everybodys happy. Even if it takes a little persuading to get there." Alana slowed her stroking and played with the tip of his tapering penis with her finger, edging his lust even further. "You can't tell me it doesn't feel good, that I don't make you feel good."

Dorian moaned again in lustful agony, reluctantly loving how her finger teased his sensitive tip. None of it made sense, but he was starting to not care. All he knew was he felt good and beginning to enjoy himself. As hard as he tried, his lust was winning. He looked her straight in the eye, his gaze burning with passion. He didn't want her to stop. Damned it be her doing or not. He wanted more.

"There must be a part of you that's always secretly wanted to be normal, to be the prince your father always wanted." Alana picked her pace back up, grasping him tighter. She could sense his temptation to fully give in and was hellbent on making sure he did. "Allow me to make that secret desire a reality. Give in to me."

"Oh, fuck!" Dorian aggressively moaned, grasping the ridges of the rocks behind him. Her touch was pure heaven, winning him over. His gay resistance was hanging on by a tread.

"I'll be the perfect wife," Alana assured him, knowing she was close to fully having him. "And will make the most beautiful babies."

"Alana… I-" Dorian could barely speak, only able to moan in utter pleasure as Alana stroked him even faster. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the guards watching them with cocky grins.

"I want to breed with you," Alana hornily begged, wrapping her tail around his. Her smutty confession surprising Dorian but turning him on more.

"I want…" Dorian bit his lip, not wanting to let the rest of his words escape. The small part of himself that was resisting cried out, not wanting to give in. However, the second after Alana ripped off the shell bra off her huge tits to reveal her juicy nipples, it was over. Any last shred of resistance evaporated. With that, he finally let the truth bubbling inside him surface out of his quivering mouth. "I want to breed with you, too!!!"

And thus they finally kissed—french kissing, indulging themselves completely in their lust for one another. Her small feminine body against his massive masculine frame was electrifying. He plunged his rugged face into her huge soft tits, sucking on them like his life depended on it. Seconds later he had his thick fingers in her tight slit, making her moan like a merslut—fueling his testosterone even more. Never in his life had he felt so masculine. He didn't give a damn if the guards were watching. In fact, he wanted them to watch. He wished everyone was here to see him finally become a real man. Dorian figured this new way of thinking was all Alana's doing, but he didn't care. It felt too good to fight. Still gay or not, it didn't matter. He was hooked and couldn't wait till the wedding night.

[jd07201990]

O_O you ever discover something you didn't think you were into? 😂 Damn!

Jack O'Bros

You'd think attending a slutty Halloween party full of hot guys would be a blast, but you'd be dead wrong. My god were they all brain-dead! Don't get me wrong, I like a good old-fashioned hot dumb ass from time to time, but all of them?! Also, I never imagined pumpkin heads being the hot costume for men this year? Who'd want to wear a carved-out dirty pumpkin on their head all night? I guess that's dumb jocks for yah. What sucks is I was really looking forward to that party, but I just had to get out of there. They were all starting to give me the creeps, not in that fun Halloween way but actually.

Those pumpkin heads were all acting so hive-like, talking in monotone and endlessly repeating the same phrases. "The pumpkin heads must grow. All men must be seeded. We must grow. We must seed." What the fuck is all that?! I thought it was all some elaborate joke but nope. The creepiest part was that you could barely hear them unless you got up really close to their carved-out pumpkin mouths. However, if you did that, they'd suddenly garb you—a little too tightly I might add. I eventually dipped out after getting grabbed one too many times. Uh, that party sucked. At least they were all shirtless, so I got something out of it.

Thank god the party wasn't too far from my apartment, so I could clear my head over a nice walk. However, halfway home, I ran into another Jack O'dumb ass.

Aside from the pumpkin on his head, he was carrying one in his hand. He was muttering the same hive-like crap the others were, but I could only focus on that and instead how the carved-out pumpkin he was caring looked exactly my size. It was creepy. I walked past him, trying to ignore him, but the second I had my back to him, he forcefully shoved that disgusting pumpkin he was carrying on my head!

It was so fucking gross, the smell was repulsive—not like a pumpkin, but axe body spray mixed with masculine musk. It was as if my head was shoved in a jock's sweaty pit. The reek instantly made my head spin, causing me to fall to the cold concrete beneath me. I could barely think, my eyes rolling back from the intensity. Suddenly, both my ears were penetrated by something that felt like a vine. I started shaking in pure fear, grasping the ground. The pain was excruciating, but the pleasure of my conscription soon took hold. The vines drained my thoughts—my everything—and replaced them with only what should remain in a pumpkin-head drone. I gasped in agony, not in pain but utter pleasure. It felt so fucking good. I wanted more, so much fucking more.

Within a few seconds, I finally heard the sweet mantra of the pumpkin heads. "The pumpkin heads must grow. All men must be seeded. We must grow. We must seed," I said with a smile, although you couldn't see it behind my new head. I quickly got up from the ground and tore my shirt off, revealing my sweaty ripped abs. How else are you supposed to entice the future recruits, bro?

After all, the pumpkin heads must grow. All men must be seeded. We must grow. We must seed.

Join us, bro.