musclegrowthexpert

[musclegrowthexpert]

CUMedy for the Converted

Dustin had always considered himself tasteful. Thirty-two, Brooklyn-based, freelance creative director—though lately he styled himself more ambiguously: visual storyteller. He wore deadstock jeans, linen button-ups with just enough wrinkle to suggest ease, and rings that didn’t mean anything but still had stories behind them. His apartment was warm and curated—vintage queer pulp art framed on the walls, a fiddle-leaf fig that somehow hadn’t died, and a vinyl collection that leaned heavily into ‘70s protest folk and early electro.

Grindr, for him, was more of a museum than a marketplace. He browsed, appreciated, occasionally dabbled. But mostly, he scrolled.

That’s where he appeared.

Just a profile: “Robby, 28, masc4masc gym guy. Into anime, dad jokes, Christian memes (lol, don’t judge 😅). Not really Dustin’s usual fare. Basic selfies, tight polos, his bio ending with “Just looking for something real ❤️.” Cringe.

Dustin entertained it briefly. Maybe it was the blunt sincerity. Maybe he was bored. But after a few messages—Robby saying how refreshing it was to talk to someone “so deep and cool”—Dustin ghosted. Vanished. He even rolled his eyes as he blocked the guy.

“Something real,” he scoffed out loud, tossing his phone onto his waxed canvas couch. “Get a therapist.”

Three days later, the mirror arrived.

No card. No branding. Just a modest box with a postage label and a strange wax seal depicting some old saint holding a cross crookedly, as if mid-fall.

Dustin assumed it was a PR drop. He did enough unpaid influencer work that free junk showed up semi-regularly. Inside was a handheld mirror—ornate, heavy, with a frame of curling pewter vines and little cherubs chiseled into the handle, their faces surprisingly angry. A baroque monstrosity. Hideous.

He smirked, held it up briefly, cocked a brow at himself. “Camp,” he muttered, before setting it beside the window near his geodesic lamp and a tray of sandalwood incense.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

His sheets felt coarse. The air, heavy. A cloying scent filled the room, somewhere between sweat and vinegar. He blamed the neighbor’s cooking or maybe the radiator.

At 2:44 a.m., he woke again. The smell was worse.

He stumbled to the bathroom, flipped on the light—and stopped.

The mirror.

Not the one in the bathroom. The one from the box. It was sitting on the sink now, as if it had walked there.

Dustin laughed nervously, scratching his chest. “Right. Sleepwalking decor,” he whispered. He leaned in, checked his face. His skin looked oddly flushed—puffy around the jaw. Maybe wine bloat? He hadn’t even drunk that night. His stubble was darker. Slightly coarser. No big deal.

But behind him, in the mirror—his bathroom was different.

The shelves were gone. His signature Japanese body lotion replaced by a bottle of 3-in-1 Body, Hair & Balls wash. His sleek white towels swapped with thin red ones that looked suspiciously like they had logos on them—flags, maybe.

He turned to look. The room behind him was still normal.

Back to the mirror. Different again.

This time, there was something scrawled on the mirror’s surface in condensation, like someone had breathed on it.

"REAL MEN PRAY THEN SLAY 💪✝️"

He staggered back, blinking, but when he turned on the tap to splash water on his face, the reflection was gone.

By morning, the air in his apartment felt… off. Warm, slightly stale. The kind of warmth that makes sweat stick to skin before you’ve even moved. His favorite Diptyque candle had stopped throwing scent. He sniffed the glass. Burned out. Beneath it, a faint chemical odor tickled his nose—cheap deodorant or maybe off-brand cologne, the kind sold in CVS multipacks with names like Thunder Bro or GOD MODE.

His phone buzzed. A notification:

"You’ve been tagged in a new video: @SavedBrosPodcast - ‘Why Feminism Made Me Fat.’"

He stared at it, confused. He didn’t recognize the account. Clicked.

The video loaded. A bearded guy with a backwards cap sat in a car, ranting between burps about how girls with short hair were “low effort” and how God made women for “comfort and milk, not competition.”

Beneath the video: his face.

His. Superimposed. Smiling.

“Co-host coming soon,” it read. “Y’all ain’t ready for Brother D.”

He felt sick.

That day, his clothes felt wrong.

The sleeves of his favorite tee gripped tighter around his biceps—biceps that felt meatier than usual. The fabric clung to his chest, and when he lifted his arms, he caught a whiff of something unmistakably sour.

He checked his armpits. They weren’t that hairy yesterday, were they?

The next red flag: his bookshelf. Where once sat collections of queer theory, photography books, and zines about urban decay and joy in the margins—now there were paperbacks he’d never seen. Titles like:

“The War On Men: How Liberal Tears Made Me A Godly Alpha”

“PUSSY OR PRAYER: The Ultimate Choice”

“Swol for the Soul: Christ-Centered Workouts for the Modern Man”

He touched the covers. Real. Fanned the pages. Underlined passages. His handwriting.

His stomach dropped.

In the mirror, it had gone further.

That night, he dared himself to look. He had to.

His jaw was stronger now. Square. His hair buzzed short on the sides. His ear had a small diamond stud—where the hell did that come from?

And his skin. Once dewy, now ruddy. The texture of someone who thought exfoliation was “gay shit.” There were beads around his neck—not pearls, but cheap plastic rosaries. One charm showed a muscular Jesus flexing.

His eyes, once soft and introspective, now glinted with the smugness of someone who’d quote Joe Rogan during sex.

He tried to look away. But the mirror held him.

He leaned in.

The reflection smirked.

And said—spoke—“Tits are proof God exists, bro.”

Dustin screamed.

But only a rough grunt came out.

A low, startled “hurghhh,” like a jock waking up from a nap, farting himself awake.

That night, he tried to throw the mirror out.

But when he woke up, it was back. Sitting on his dresser. And now, it was bigger.

Mounted.

Waiting.

Dustin had never burped in front of someone.

Not even accidentally. It wasn’t a point of pride, exactly, just a baseline expression of taste—like not wearing sandals on the subway. But two mornings after he tried to destroy the mirror, he woke up mid-belch. A long, guttural one. The kind that vibrated the chest. It startled him awake, hot breath pooling in his own face like something rotten was inside him.

The scent was stomach acid and Doritos. But he hadn’t eaten Doritos in over a decade.

He sat up. His sheets were soaked through. Sweat clung to his skin, and his apartment stank like a locker room after a Sunday football game. Foul and boyish. His sheets were different too—cheap microfiber now, patterned with camo crosses.

He was breathing heavy. Deep, bull-like breaths, nostrils flared. His mouth felt dry and chalky, like he’d been drinking all night.

He padded over to the mirror, dread already crawling up his spine.

The face that stared back wasn’t quite his anymore.

The jaw was even squarer now, the lips fuller—but not in a pretty way. They’d taken on the chapped, smirking shape of someone who had opinions about OnlyFans and couldn’t spell the word “consent.” His stubble had gone coarse and patchy, creeping down the neck like a fungus. His earring had multiplied—two now. Both cubic zirconia studs, flashing like suburban sun off a lifted truck.

The worst part?

He didn’t look thirty-two anymore.

He looked twenty-one.

A bad twenty-one. Fratboy skin. Dead eyes. Youthful, bloated cheeks that glowed not from skincare but sodium. The kind of guy who posted gym selfies with Bible verses and still called people “retarded” when he thought it was edgy.

He tried to dress for work. Everything felt wrong. His linen pants were missing—replaced by tight athletic joggers that squeaked when he walked. His drawers were full of graphic tees: one with a cartoon Jesus doing pushups, another that said "Saturdays Are For Sermons and Squats."

At the back of the closet hung a single crumpled polo shirt with “DILF 4 CHRIST” embroidered above the chest.

His MacBook was gone.

In its place, a vape, a cracked iPhone with a MAGA-themed PopSocket, and a printed notecard labeled “TIKTOK CONTENT IDEAS (Christian, but funny AF 😎🙏)”

Dustin sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, trying to will himself into lucidity. But his fingers didn’t feel like his anymore. Calloused. Rough. With tiny inked letters down the side of one thumb:

“Psalm 69”

He opened his mouth to scream—but what came out was a muttered, automatic, “Fuckin’ libtards…”

His eyes widened.

He hadn’t meant to say that.

By noon, he’d already posted three TikToks.

He had no memory of making them, but there they were, live and viral:

Him, shirtless, flexing in front of a mirror, lip-syncing to a remix of a sermon about God’s plan for “natural alpha men.”

A duet with a queer creator, where he grimaced dramatically and fake gagged every time they spoke, captioned: “U OK?? I think ur pronouns just gave me herpes 🤢”

A “comedy sketch” where he pretended to convert a goth girl to Christianity by feeding her protein powder and calling her “baby girl” until she moaned.

He had 300,000 followers now.

The top comment was from someone named @HolyHoleHunter69:

“Bro you’re like if Andrew Tate loved Jesus. Instant follow. 🙏💦🔥”

And Dustin—some part of him—felt proud.

That night, the dreams began.

Vivid. Vile. Over and over again, he was on a podcast. A wood-paneled studio. The American flag hanging limp behind him, paired with a white cross outlined in LED rope lights.

He wore a sleeveless hoodie with “WOKE = BROKE” written across the chest. He sipped Bang energy drinks and ranted about “cancelled masculinity,” “vaginal socialism,” and how anal sex “opens portals.”

The hosts laughed. Called him “Pastor Pecs.” One said he should get verified.

Each time he woke, the mirror was closer to the bed.

Watching.

His voice changed next.

The first time he heard it, really heard it, he was livestreaming. He’d meant to post a long, thoughtful rant about the commodification of queer aesthetics in corporate marketing.

What came out instead was: “Bro if I see another dude in a crop top I’m gonna fucking puke. Jesus didn’t die so your boyfriend could be a little slut.”

He blinked. Blinked hard. But he kept talking.

“I’m sorry but like—it’s not gay if you love your bros. It’s only gay if there’s eye contact during a nut.”

His voice had dropped a full octave. Drawl creeping in. Slightly nasal, always on the edge of a laugh that made your skin crawl.

And that’s when he caught a whiff of himself.

He reeked. Pits, crotch, under his pecs. A sour stew of sweat, preworkout, and something sharp and hormonal, like his body was generating its own musk. He lifted an arm and instinctively sniffed it. Deep.

His cock twitched.

Not from a guy. Not from a thought. But from the idea of some girl, with big tits and lip fillers and daddy issues, moaning while he sweat all over her in a dorm bunk bed.

He nearly came on the spot.

Later, in the mirror—his teeth had been whitened, but unevenly. His eyes had that glazed-over glaze of someone who learned morality from Instagram reels and liver pills. His nose was wider. His neck thicker. His cheeks now flush with the dull, hormonal redness of testosterone jabs and chicken nuggets.

He flexed. Pecs bounced. His nipples had thickened, grown hair. There were scratch marks on his chest from some girl who called herself “a God-fearing freak.”

He moaned under his breath.

“Praise Jesus… that bitch was tight.”

He didn’t want to say it. But he did.

And worst of all: he meant it.

The last real part of Dustin left in him scrawled something desperate in a notebook before sleep:

“I was someone. I was someone. I had taste. I believed in people. I fought for something. Please, I don’t want to be this. I don’t want to be a… a…”

The rest of the page was blank, except for a wet coffee ring that smelled faintly of Monster Ultra Zero.

When he woke, the notebook was gone. In its place was a folded flyer.

“ JAXX D. BURNER // COMEDIAN. PATRIOT. FAITHFUL. SLAYING LIBS WITH TRUTH & TITS.”

A mirror was printed on the back. His face in it.

Smiling.

Every morning, he woke up rock hard.

Not from dreams—he didn’t dream anymore. Dreams were for fags and failures. Nah, Jaxx woke up bricked up because his body demanded release. Bursting with manhood. Overflowing with seed. Usually it was still crusted in his happy trail from the night before, when he’d jacked it after watching some “girl gets baptized in cum” deepfake he found on Rumble. Catholic edition.

He never cleaned up. Let the sweat and stick ferment into musk. Real men marinated.

Sheets kicked off, boxers soaked in sweat and pre-cum, chest rising like a meat balloon as he lets out a thunderous groan that turns into a belch halfway through.

“UHHHHHGGGHH—holy fuuuck, I just nutted in my sleep again. Thank you, Jesus, for your bountiful tiddy blessings!”

He rolled out of bed in stained camo boxers, scratched his nut-sack until it flaked, and belched into the sunlit air like a war trumpet. A sulfurous, greasy BRRRRAP echoed off the walls.

“Awww fuck yeah… holy SHART, that one had fuckin’ heat to it,” he laughed, slapping his distended gut. “Praise be to the FARTIN’ Father, baby.”

He shuffled to the bathroom—ranks of empty pre-workout tubs lining the counter—and pissed into the toilet without aiming, humming an off-key version of “God Bless the USA” while vaping through a cloud of Axe Phoenix and pure testosterone funk.

Then, flexing shirtless in the mirror:

“Daaaaamn, this dick still lookin’ RIPPED.”

His nipples were thick and meaty now—dime-sized, covered in wiry hair and old scratch marks from OnlyFans girls he never paid. His tan was patchy. One of his eyes had a permanent squint from that time he tried to do a “holy protein cumshot” skit and accidentally preed into his own face on live. It went viral.

“What can I say,” he grunted to himself, smirking, “God gave me the tools and the pipe. I just deliver the gospel, bro.”

His apartment? Gone. The former sanctuary of minimalism and curated taste had transformed into a full-blown testosterone swamp. Empty Bang cans and shaker bottles littered the floor. His walls were decked with MAGA flags, gym posters of shirtless prophets benching with scripture tattoos, and one massive framed photo of Jaxx holding a Bible and flipping off the camera.

His bedspread? American flag sheets, permanently stained in questionable shades.

He kept a neon sign over the headboard that read: "GOD BLESSED THIS DICK"

The room always smelled like ball sweat, garlic powder, and cum.

The mirror was mounted in the center of the wall, surrounded by LED lights and QR codes linking to his merch store. But he didn’t need it anymore.

The reflection in the mirror matched how he felt: ripped, smug, reeking of sin but forgiven. He saw it and winked. Flexed his pecs till they bounced. Gave himself a low “Daaaaamn, Daddy Jaxx still GOT IT.”

He'd kiss his bicep, then immediately belch—loud and gurgling—like it was holy music.

Jaxx had 4.6 million TikTok followers.

They called him the “Red State Rizz God.” He called himself:

“The Alt-Right Andrew Dice Clay meets a holy fart demon meets the second coming of Joe Rogan’s left nipple.”

He said that out loud. Repeatedly. With pride.

“Yo what’s up, my God-tier savages? It’s ya boi JAXX THE RIGHTEOUS RIZZ KING, reporting live from THE CHURCH OF CHEST DAY.”

He slaps his nipple, jiggles it for the camera.

“Shout out to all my saved hoes in the chat. Today we’re talking about WHY FEMINISM IS GAY and HOW TO EAT PUSSY FOR THE LORD.”

He leans back, lets one rip, deep and wet, into the mic.

“That was a holy toot, bros. Straight from Leviticus. Tells ya to ‘expel thine demons’—and I got fart demons.”

He wore it on shirts. "2ND CUMMING OF COMEDY 🇺🇸💦✝️"

He called his tour: “The BITCHES, BURPS & BIBLES Tour”

And it was selling out.

The room smells like vape juice and Axe before he even hits the stage.

Jaxx’s intro song is a dubstep remix of the Pledge of Allegiance, set over moans and gunshots. The crowd is mostly frat guys and confused admin staff, holding “satire is protected speech” flyers. He storms out shirtless, wearing camo joggers and an American flag durag, chest glistening with pre-show sweat.

“YOOOOO what the fuck is up, LIBERTY HILLS?! I heard y’all got pronouns on your math tests—what’s 2+2, bitch? It’s ‘he/him’ or go to HELL!”

He grabs his junk. Burps. The mic pops from the sheer volume of his voice.

“Man, I ain't been on a campus since I dropped outta community college with two STDs and a boner for truth. Let’s fuckin’ GOOO.”

He does a cartwheel into a fart and lands in a squat.

The bros in the front row go feral.

Five minutes in, he’s sweat-drenched and shouting over his own punchlines:

“You ever notice how every nonbinary chick got armpit hair, septum ring, and a boyfriend that looks like an off-brand Pete Davidson?? Like yo, pick a GENDER or pick a conditioner, bitch!”

Laughter. Groans. Some walkouts. A girl in the third row, arms crossed, rolls her eyes so hard it hurts.

Jaxx sees her.

She’s hot. Too hot to ignore. Curvy, sharp jaw, tight white tank and a sour expression. Her name’s probably something like Claire, or Alexis, or Rachel—but to Jaxx, she’s just “the bitch who dared.”

“Ohhhhhhh SHIT, what’s this? Got a lil campus cutie down front makin’ the ‘ugh-men-are-trash’ face? You got somethin’ to say, snowflake?”

She fires back instantly:

“Yeah. You’re not funny, and this feels like a hate crime with better lighting.”

The room tightens. A few claps. A few gasps.

Jaxx grins.

“Awww hell yeah, this one got SPICE. Probably majoring in gender feelings with a minor in peggin’ her ex.”

“Tell me somethin’, baby girl—your brain woke, but that top’s tellin’ me you still believe in God’s gift to TITS.”

Groans ripple. Her friend nudges her. “Ignore him.” But something happens when Jaxx grabs the mic, licks it slowly, and flexes.

That flex.

His pecs bounce like overstuffed jugs of man-gravy. Sweat flings off. The air smells like protein and backseat sex. It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t do anything.

But Claire giggles. Actually giggles. Covers her mouth, confused.

“Ohhh SHIT, she smilin’ now! That’s the Holy Spirit workin’ through my NIPPLES!”

He rips a fart. Louder than before.

“That one’s for Ruth 2:14—‘Come eat some bread and dip that thang in my vinegar.’ AMEN, SLUTS!”

She laughs. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s so awful, so gross, it loops around into mesmerizing.

Her friends look horrified. Claire’s pupils dilate. She doesn’t know why she’s blushing.

Later… In His Dressing Room

It smells like vape clouds and swamp ass. There’s a full-size mirror with “ALPHA MADE” scrawled in Sharpie. Claire stands at the doorway, arms crossed.

“I came to tell you your set was offensive as hell…”

Jaxx is shirtless again. Flexing. Spraying cologne directly into his armpits and moaning.

“Yeah, but you laughed, didn’t you? Laughter’s truth, babygirl. The Lord gave me comedy to convert the thots.”

She opens her mouth to insult him again—but it comes out:

“...Well you were… kinda confident. In a terrifying way.”

Her voice sounds a little higher. She touches her lips. They’re glossier than before. Had she… reapplied?

Her feet ache. She looks down—her sneakers are gone. White wedges now. Her nails? Glossy pink. Her thighs? Pressed together, squirming.

She gasps.

“What… did you do to me?!”

Jaxx steps closer. His breath reeks of Mountain Dew and fake bacon.

“Nothing you didn’t already want, sugar. You LAUGHED. You got that holy giggle. That’s the first step to SALVATION.”

“Next thing you know, you’re in my bed prayin’ for more D. That’s the gospel, baby girl. The Gospel of Jaxx.”

She moans. Then slaps herself.

“No. I’m not some dumb—”

Her hair’s longer now. Platinum blonde. Perfect waves.

“—bimbo… I’m not…”

Her voice is breathy. Dumb. Her tits tingle. Her panties are wet. She giggles, high-pitched and fake.

“Omigodddd why does your room smell so… like, manly? It’s kinda hot in here…”

He flexes again.

She moans like a convert.

The mirror glows behind them, hazy and hot. In its reflection, Jaxx is a God. Shiny, swollen, reeking of sex and freedom. Claire’s already shrinking. Her tank top tighter. Skirt shorter. Nose twitching with brainless glee.

Her phone buzzes.

She’s already following him on TikTok. Already liked ten vids. Commented “omg daddy 🙈❤️.”

The mirror flickers.

Another soul saved. Another bimbo made. Another laugh in hell.

Claire moans as her reflection finishes catching up to her body.

Long, bleached blonde hair curled around her fake-tanned shoulders. Glossy pink lips, puffed out into a permanent pout. Big dumb blue eyes under caked mascara. Her voice now like bubblegum syrup, every word drenched in vowels and brain fog.

“Omigod, like… Daddy Jaxx, do these crosses make my tits look big, or what?”

She giggles like a broken toy and pushes her oversized chest together with her forearms. The crop top she’s wearing says “BLESSED & BREASTED ✝️💦” in glitter font. A tiny gold crucifix dangles from her belly button ring.

“I feel so like… saved?” she breathes. “But also so, like, slutty for Jesus.”

Jaxx doesn’t even look surprised. He’s seen it before. The mirror works faster when they fight it. It loves taking smart girls and melting their brains into warm tit-milk for his ego to suck dry.

He lifts one arm and lets his pit air out—a hot wave of BO, protein musk, and residual fart-slop wafts over her like a holy relic.

She moans again. Eyes flutter. Legs tremble.

“Mmmmh… Daddy you smell like… like God’s manhole.”

Jaxx flexes. His pecs jiggle like sanctified pudding.

“That’s Alpha Anointing, baby girl. You smell it, you’re mine.”

He grabs her ass and hoists her into his lap like a prize hog at a tailgate. She giggles and gasps as his sweat stains her thighs.

“Say the prayer,” he commands, low and guttural.

She tilts her chin, eyes glazed in dumb arousal.

“Our Bro who art in Heaven… Hallowed be thy Gains…”

He unzips. She gasps.

“Thy kingdom… cum, like, right now?”

He presses her head down toward his crotch, but she stops him—not out of resistance, but adoration.

“Wait! I, like, wanna give testimony or whatever…”

She stands, unsteadily, heels clacking on the dressing room floor.

Turns to the mirror.

Lips parted, voice breathy:

“My name’s Claire… or maybe, like, Chastity now? Idk, Daddy said that name’s holier…”

She giggles.

“Anyway, like, I used to be a dumb little liberal girl who didn’t even, like, worship penis OR the flag. But now I just wanna serve God, gag, and, like… vote Republican, I guess?”

She turns to Jaxx, eyes wide, slutty and angelic.

“Can we go viral and missionary now, Daddy?”

He drags her onto the couch. The cross on her belly ring gleams.

The mirror pulses behind them, its surface warped and wet, like it’s sweating with approval. It watches them rut like dumb, horny pilgrims, baptized in each other’s filth and ideology.

And as Claire bounces on top of Jaxx, tongue lolling out, hands gripping his pit-stained MAGA hat, she screams the final words of her transformation:

“PRAISE THE DICK AND PASS THE PROTEIN!!”

And Jaxx?

He cums shouting:

“GOD BLESS THESE TITTIES!!”

“Let he who is without tiddies cast the first nut.”

Claire—no, Chastity—is slumped over, half-conscious, drooling against Jaxx’s boulder of a thigh. Her makeup is ruined, cross necklace tangled in spit and tit sweat. Her eyes are still fluttering with post-orgasmic righteousness, whispering half-formed prayers like "praise be to girth..." and "bless my bussy, Lord Jaxx..." as she slips deeper into holy bimbo submission.

But Jaxx?

He ain’t even looking at her.

Not anymore.

He leans forward on the cum-stained couch, thighs still twitching, abs flexed hard, his chest slick with both sex and supernatural exertion. One calloused hand still grips his now-limp, spent cock like it’s a relic from a forgotten war.

And he’s just staring into the mirror.

“Fuuuck… look at me,” he pants, licking a bead of sweat off his lip like it’s communion wine.

His pupils are blown wide, bloodshot and drunk on himself. His reflection bounces back perfectly—no longer distorted. Just a perfect copy, rippling slightly as if the glass wants to suck him in.

He snorts.

“Goddamn I’m beautiful…”

He leans closer. Flares his nostrils. Raises both arms into a bicep pose that’d make Hercules shit his jockstrap.

“Look at this jawline, bro. That’s not genetics—that’s divine selection.”

He grins. Wide. Vile. The kind of grin you’d find on a highway billboard warning against bath salts.

“No one makes me bust like me.”

His other hand rises. Grabs a hunk of his own pec and squeezes it—moaning like it’s someone else’s tit. His fingers smear streaks of cum and sweat across the mirror’s surface.

The mirror ripples with every stroke.

Every flex.

It’s loving it.

So is he.

“Fuck, man, I’m the whole fuckin’ package. Built like God’s dick and dumb enough to say whatever the fuck I want. That’s called freedom, baby.”

He presses his forehead to the glass. Breathes heavy. It fogs. His voice lowers, guttural:

“Ain’t no chick, no lib, no faggot beta boy gonna ever take this from me. I am the culture now. I’m the sermon, the sex, the stank, the salvation…”

He chuckles. It’s wet. Deep. Sinful.

“...and the punchline.”

Behind him, Chastity lets out a soft, contented moan. Something about praying for TikTok likes.

Jaxx doesn’t even turn around.

His world is the mirror. His church.

He slaps one bicep, snorts a line of creatine off the back of his hand, and says:

“Amen to me.”

The mirror flickers.

And then?

It smiles.

[musclegrowthexpert]

White Shirt, Blue Jeans

I'm telling you man, all you need is a white tee and some blue denim and you've got that hot classic look ready to go. Alright, alright, maybe you need to have the perfect bod to really sell the package, but don't worry, the store told me it all comes with the purchase. Just watch. They even recommended me to buy a larger size since you can fill them out as much as you want. All you gotta do is flex a little. Like this! O-oh... fuck... that was quick. L-look dude my arm's blowing up... giant meaty cannons, stretching these sleeves to their limit. Yeah, shoulders and forearms are getting nice and big too. I might have to look into their sleeveless options now, heh? They said the shirts leave loads of room in the front so you have to ugh... remember to fill... them.... out...! F-fuck sorry bro, didn't mean to give you a face full of my pecs, goddamn they're like tits now, look at them jiggle. See, with the white color you really get that sexiness. Skin tight, translucent fabric - unh - brushing against my nipples. Can't forget about the jeans either, giving me a nice big bubble butt. Thighs rubbing up against each other, calves squashed tight, there's barely any room left bro. Shit, I can hardly stand, huhu. A-Ah...? Down there too? Ooo, I can feel my cock throbbing, balls getting s-so heavy... Aw fuck... I think I burst the zipper on these pants, huhu, guess they couldn't handle the beast. Fuck, why do I feel so horny...? Bro, bro you gotta help me, this feels too good. I-I should have read the warning tags. W-wait, where did you get that cap? You weren't supposed to - ugh -find that. Bro, hold on, wait wait, the store said the caps make you more- Ooooooooogh. Nooooooooo... Stoppppphh...

huhuhuhu... look at my tits bro.

[musclegrowthexpert]

Reason to: Collect Those Caps

Because you somehow can shapeshift into the last person that worn them complete with all their memories and everything you need to pass as them, as long as you put on those caps and it stayed on your head.

Taking it off returned you to your normal form and it only worked once, because after that, since you're the last person wearing those caps, you will not transform into anyone else. Unless, you return those caps to its rightful owner and the owner wears it once more before you take the cap again. Another way is to let someone else you targeted wear that used cap and you then can shift into their exact copy so yes, the cap doesn't have to go back to its original owner for it to work again.

All in all, quite a useful power. It helps well if you planned on to do some nifty little trick for some quick fun of shenanigan, but definitely not a long-lasting solution if you want to move on with an entirely brand new life and body

[musclegrowthexpert]

Reason to: Hookup with That Twink

Because Jurgen need Matthias "Matt" Bauer to become part of his roster of young and aspiring bodybuilder he coached. Yet, he noticed that the boy knew how everyone paid attention to him and hyped up his potential. That caused Matt to highly viewed his value and he acted like he could hire someone with more credential than Jurgen, which of course pissed Jurgen's off. He's a literal former national champion, yes he might not be the youngest or most in-demand coach around, but he got tons of experience that he really can share to the youngsters. But, of course, deep down, he wanted Matt because he saw a future champion in him in ways he didn't see his current roster could achieve, so of course he's competitive about wanting to secure a partnership with the young talent that seemed to be closer to some of Jurgen's younger rivals

Well, Jurgen is not the type that accepted rejection on his wishes or demand easily and he got just the right tools that no one else owned to sway Matt to join his crew. It involved spiking Matt protein shake which then caused the young bodybuilder to look like he's seen a ghost and so sickly, he certainly could not and should not push for a workout session. As he attempted to walk to the locker room, he stumbled upon some machine and even dropped to the floor yet he steadied himself and telling people to not worry about him.

As soon as he entered the locker room, not only he eventually lost his balance, he also lose his consciousness and then the freak show started as something leaked out from him. It was the essence that made Matt.....well, Matt, and just like his consciousness, it was also practically vanished into thin air leaving only a crumpled skin for the submissive, people-pleasing twink the chance to slip into.

Jurgen met Rene from a casual hookup from a longing stare in the locker room that intrigued Jurgen.

The one time thing turned into quite a regular encounter and spilled out from the gym into other places including Jurgen's home. Jurgen slept with Rene weekly and somehow, the 23 years old revealed a lot about himself like his desire to be bigger (hence the occasional workout he did) as he wanted to be able to attract more DILF, his struggle to maintain his job and keep himself afloat in the economy, or how he's such a people-pleaser, he would do anything asked out of him. Jurgen decided to use all that info for his benefit as he offered Rene a chance of a lifetime

Rene instantly leaped with joy upon seeing Matt empty and lifeless skin when he walked into the locker room after Jurgen's texted him to enter the gym from the back door reserved only for the employees.

It stirred his cock to its full-length watching Rene's frail bony body easily slipped into the suit yet managed to fill it and even flexed Matt's muscles with ease and giving it a sense of.....density. Jurgen's eyes watched intently every single pressure and adjustment that Rene inflicted to Matt's body from the inside. The most arousing moment for him was how Rene's cock traveled down Matt's lower abdomen before finding the entrance to Matt's cock sheath which surged to life as soon as Rene's filled it. He knew the twink's 4 inchers that always shoot out its load a tad too early everytime they fucked and to see how it controlled Matt's 7.5 inchers soft cock caused him to leak pre because Matt's cock literally bounced and twitched looking very much intimidating despite literally being controlled by a pathetic little wimp.

As the rest of Matt's crumpled skin turned to life once more, Jurgen prepared himself to welcome the new Matt's as he stared at Rene's twinkling oceanic blue eyes for one last time before he submerged his head entirely into the void left behind by Matt's. Craning his neck and arching his body to ensure full assimilation to the meatsuit, Matt's then stood up with a grin on his face as he said

"Hey there dude, you enjoyed what you seen?" Matt said with the sarcastic "dude" emphasized

"Ohhh, I did, I really did. Call me Coach from now on though,"

"Okay, Coach. So, what do you think of my form? Anything you want to inspect first? How far should I cut? The first competition to get my pro card of the season is in a month, I wanna know your opinion," he said seductively as he purposefully flexed his muscles and exaggerated his arches

"My opinion is that you are perfect, boy. These glutes.....mmmhhhh....fuck, you put on some insane work there already. Flex that biceps for me, double bi,"

So he did, flexing both of his arms and then emphasized his triceps afterward.

"Mmmm......so round. So perfect. This must be 16 inches or something. More room to grow but you're heading to the right direction. Now turn around and face me, I wanna see you spread that lats from the mirror,"

As he turned around, Jurgen couldn't hold himself as he lunged on Matt's face, both of them kissed passionately in the locker room with no care in the world. Jurgen's finally felt a sense of relief that he might really hit the jackpot with this one. A merger of both worlds, a star pupil with form so perfect that is also a passionate and obedient sex partner? Life's only going to get better after this, he thought to himself as he groped Matt's firm ass and tried to pry it open with his fingers.

---

Within minutes after his attempt to rest, the previously pale and sickly Matthias walked out from the locker room refreshed and looking like he's ready to smash his workout from the perspective of others. Jurgen followed behind him with a smug smile knowing he got the best of both worlds, his wishes and desire, as always, never failed to materialize. What he wanted, he got it, including Matt's Bauer himself

[musclegrowthexpert]

Request: Goo'd Up

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Request: Goo'd Up

- I look good, don't you think?

"Jin" smiled as he flexed his arms with an arrogant smile, raising his arms a little more so he could smell his armpit, feeling the strong musky aroma, rancid and powerful, looking directly at a jar with a viscous substance similar to slime.

And that was not Jin, it was Richard.

A nerd from the guy's school, and he was obsessed with the asian guy, why? Well, it was easy to answer: He was handsome, muscular, stinky, manly and charming. And Richard loved that, he was night after night looking for a way to have him for himself, he even thought about hypnosis, he wanted it either way, for him, or to be him.

And apparently it was quicker to get the second one. He found an Internet, very deep down, a kind of ritual that allowed him to detach from his body, and transform his soul into a goo, he had one hour to find his host or he would disappear.

It was a risky gamble, but Richard wanted to put everything in the bag, it was all or nothing. And he had finally succeeded.

He knew where the guy lived, after all, they were both from the same neighborhood, he went to some of his parties when they were both teenagers and talked to him, over time that changed radically but... They were other details. He crept through the garden until he reached the backyard, where Jin was lying on a hammock, asleep.

To Richard's surprise, in his slime form he was quite fast, too fast. He climbed up the trunk where the cloth was tied to stop on one of the branches, observing his opponent from above.

He calculated the trajectory a little, he had to enter through some orifice, so he chose the mouth. He pounced quickly, taking advantage of the fact that the guy was about to snore, without any resistance, he entered suddenly. This caused Jin to stand up confused, trying to get out whatever it was trying to enter. He thought that maybe it was an insect or that he swallowed saliva by accident, but when he felt it move and stretch, he panicked even more.

He tried to put his fingers in his mouth to pull it out but it was impossible, Richard was already spreading all over his body, the athlete felt how he lost more and more control of his body, it was like a tingling and numbness sensation, his fingers stayed in his mouth while he completely lost control.

Slowly he opened his eyes, although that was no longer Jin, it was Richard. He felt his new long fingers in his mouth and with an awkward smile he soon began to lick them greedily and desperately, they still had a very faint touch of sweat. Though at that he felt a discomfort from his stomach, like a cramp, and then a gag, and another.

He had no choice but to lean to the side and pull whatever it was that was trying to come up his throat, he thought maybe he had lost control of Jin's body, but when it finally came out, he found himself still in control. 

He looked at his hands in confusion, then looked down and found another slime substance that looked like the one before, only this one was red. He realized that surely that was Jin, that was never mentioned in ritual but it made sense that only one presence could inhabit the body.

He grabbed it quickly before he could get his bearings, he squeezed it between his hand with all his strength, it was complicated because it slipped but as he could he got to the kitchen to put it in a jar and lock it inside. The substance stuck against the glass, but it was impossible to get out, he was desperate, Richard just looked at him with a crooked smile.

- It is useless for you to try to escape.

He took the vial in his hands to shake it viciously. He placed it back on the counter and began to touch himself unabashedly in front of its former owner.

- But what great muscles you have, I never thought I would have a six-pack! - the guy said with a chuckle before taking the jar to unabashedly show him his abdomen.

Richard was enjoying flattering himself and showing off his newfound talents to Jin, he was being a bit cruel, yes. But now he had the body of his dreams, he was no longer a scrawny nerd that others picked on, now he was strong, stinky, a jock par excellence.

He took the bottle to go up to his new room, there was chaos in it, dirty clothes here and there, the bed unmade, weights, some posters of models and cars, the typical room of a straight guy.

- Yuck... We have to remodel as soon as possible, don't you think?

The slime stuck again without much success, it was left on the table while Richard kept examining himself, he raised his hairy armpits with a smile.

- Hey, I don't know why you insist on always slathering on deodorant, after today, these guys will be so stinky that everyone will know you as “stinky Jin” or something.

He chuckled under his breath, stroking his abs or flexing his arms with total sass. He was loving being this arrogant, how sharp his jaw was, he was even coming up with something a hell of a lot more... interesting.

He took off the red shorts he was wearing before to be in just boxers, marveling at his shapely frame, with his huge pecs, his biceps, and gosh... that huge ass. He looked so plump, she didn't hold back and gave him a squeeze that made him gasp, it was like feeling electricity all over him.

- Oh my God, yes!

He groped hisbuttocks from below, bouncing them over and over again with giggles and gasps.

- Holy shit, I'll never give up this body!

Though in his excitement and carelessness, Jin, inside the jar, had managed to start sliding down the table to try to reach the edge, fall and escape once the glass was broken. He was just about to get there, the jar was wobbling to hit the floor, but just as it was about to hit, Richard ended up grabbing it.

- Nice try, how dumb do you think I am?

He shook the jar with all his might by way of punishment.

- As much fun as I find having you locked up in there, you'll be a constant nuisance... So what can I do with you? - he pondered until he smiled mischievously.

Richard was enjoying being Jin, he loved his new social status, being popular, the star of all the games (as it turned out he also got to keep the host's muscle memory), and those huge muscles. He couldn't get enough of massaging his pecs, and having the attention of other men (especially nerds, his old friends had had hours of fun with Jin's body.

In fact the old Jin was now one of them, since he placed it directly in his former body, sealing it there (because of course, he erased all traces of the ritual, and no way he would tell anyone how to do it, that secret would be only his), at least until he got fed up with Jin and wanted to be someone else.

But for that it would be a long time yet, because he loved being a sweaty sportsman.

----

Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

---

[musclegrowthexpert]

Hey mate, love your stuff! If possible I'd like to see Spidey become a typical dumb jock!

Maybe he stumbled into the wrong room or finds a cursed item?

Spider-Man -> Jock/Flash Thompson

A clever little plan. Plant a powerful curse on a sweaty, used clothing of that oaf Flash Thompson and watch as noble, heroic and gallant Spider-Man becomes shallow, self-obsessed bully, Flash Thompson.

Though, he seems Spidey doesn't seem to mind.

[musclegrowthexpert]

[musclegrowthexpert]

[musclegrowthexpert]

Bigification's Masterpost

Fat Transformations;

Dadbod: A man is finally ready to become a father as him and his husband's bodies grow into fatherhood.

Preston's 21st: Inspired by Fattystoriez. A young man attempts to reconnect with his biological father, only to discover his family's fatty traditions.

Bigger and Better X Men: In an attempt to strengthen mutants, Magneto accidentally dooms all mutants to an obese fate.

Nice Throw; Part 1; Part 2: A football team is sabotaged before their big game, turning them into obese versions of themselves.

Just Like Them: In the apocalypse, you're cornered against a horde of obese men who want nothing more than to make you just like them.

Big Bears Beer: A Twinkish model gets booked for a beer commercial and grows into the role.

A Dad's Brew: Two young men buy some beer from a creepy old guy, quickly growing in age and in weight as they become beer lovin' dad's.

Somethings in the Water: Team captain takes on a coaching role for his newly fattened team after drinking some spiked water.

X Factor: Wolverine is in for a rough time while investigating the sudden fattening of Cyclops.

Corporate: A rich party animal is forced to take on a job at his father's company, turning him into a fat and complacent office worker.

Hiking Clothes: Man transforms into the original owner of his newly acquired hiking clothes, before gifting his clothes to the next man he comes across.

Careful What You Wish For; Mark 1, Mark 2: A mischievous genie transforms some naive men into much fatter and older versions of themselves.

How to Deal With the Cops: A criminal spreads a fattening virus around the local police station.

Carrier: A mosquito carrying a fattening disease bites a man during a hike. Comes with 5 alternative stories.

New Salesman: Man shows up to buy a new horse for his ranch, but is transformed into a fat salesman.

American Tourist: A tour guide mistakes a British man for a fat American, but he's no longer mistaken by the end of the tour.

Step Daddy: A young man transforms his stepdad into a horny bear.

Jealousy, Jealousy: Jealous army recruit transforms his overachieving roommate into a fat lazy slob.

Tag You're Fat: Frat bros play a fun game of tag you're fat, where you transform into fat slobs when tagged.

Just One of the Boys: A young man hitchhikes with a group of rowdy older men on their way to a fishing trip, but he slowly becomes more and more like them until he joins them on their trip.

Sculptor: Artist sculps a man's body in his image of beauty.

Family Business: Young man doesn't want to take over his family business, but he changes his mind, and body, rather quickly after grabbing the keys.

Gamer Dad: Man becomes a dad like he always wanted, at the cost of his waistline.

Coach's New Uniforms: Team captain despises their new obese coach, but his new uniforms change the team's minds and bodies.

Whale Beach: An envious man brings his coworker to Whale Beach with the intent of turning him into an obese slob, but the plan doesn't go exactly as intended.

Fit to Fat to Fit: A couple is sad about becoming fat in their thirties, so they hire a trainer and make him fat so they can all lose the weight together.

Forced Popping: Man uses a 'popping powder' to make another man obese, but the man tracks him down and returns the favour.

Fat Transference: A dad uses his power to transfer fat between himself and others to ruin the career of his sons college rugby rival.

The Ex-Jockifier: A football team is gifted the 'ex-jockifier' which one by one transforms them into fat and loyal football players.

Road Rage: A group of reckless drivers transforms an angry driver into a fat slob.

Muscle Transformations;

Sports Car: A depressed gym goer becomes a rich cocky gym bro after entering the wrong car.

Bodybuilder Expo: After a charming encounter with a bodybuilder, a young construction worker is transformed into a hunky bodybuilder.

Father of the Group: The most reserved guy in the group transforms into a father figure for the friend group.

You Look Like Your Father: After joining the football team, the young man is transformed into his football prodigy father.

Spreading Leather: A leather clad cop arrests you, slowly turning you into a soldier with the sole purpose of spreading leather.

Special Perfume: A sketchy guy offers you a perfume with promises of muscle growth, with a few insignificant side effects.

Lumberjack: A young man tries to escape his family's lumberjacking business, but one trip to the hardware store changes his mind.

The Trailer: You dare your friend to break into a creepy abandoned trailer, but the man who exits the trailer is unrecognizable.

Pretty Eyes: Your manipulative boyfriend transforms you into his ideal man.

Handlebars: College freshman starts to become more like his older jock roommate than he thought.

Star of the Show: The assistant of an asshole billionaire accidentally activates a machine that turns him into a hunky bodybuilder.

Coach's Emergency Line: The team's benchwarmer activates the coach's emergency line when he doesn't show up for their game, transforming him into the coach.

Under New Management: A white man shows up for an interview to become the new manager of an Arab-owned gym. He's shocked to find out he got the job, soon becoming the proud Arab owner of his gym.

Love, Lust, and Leather: Two cops are transformed into gay leather daddies.

Fat and Muscle Transformations;

Click: A group of young men find a reality warping remote that transforms them into the future versions of themselves.

Military Entertainment: After being kidnapped, you are transformed into the greasy manager of a military strip club.

Twisted Valentines: Cupid transforms two couples at the request of a mysterious man.

A Large Pair of Swim Shorts: A group of men find a comically large pair of swim shorts on the beach, but one of them grows into them after putting them on as a joke.

New Years Resolutions: As a new family tradition, you write down three new years resolutions and watch your reality change to match them.

Avengers Assemble: A group of young men grow into their costumes after being invited to an avengers themed Halloween party.

Prom King: A man desperately tries to lose fat before his high school reunion, but his body pays the price.

New Recruit: A young man is transformed into a biker gang's latest recruit.

Beach Bears: Two young men make advances towards a pair of older women at the beach, in response the women transform them into two hunky gay bears.

Haunted: A couple tours a house they want to move into, but the ghosts of the previous owners possess and transform their bodies into their own images.

Bear Darts: College student transforms all of his profs into hunky bears using darts he bought online, but soon gets the favour returned to him.

Giants: Man is kidnapped by giants and transformed into one of them.

Gainers Roulette: Six darts, four increase muscle mass, and two increase age and fat mass. Will you risk it for a better body?

Malleable: Human is transformed many times to test the human body's flexibility.

Hot Coaches: College student imagines his coaches transforming into stronger, fatter, and hotter versions of themselves.

Spiked: Man is starved of attention from his roommate, so he spikes his drinks with a fattening powder to make him less likely to hook up with other guys, but the plan somewhat backfires.

Midas Touch - Prologue: Three men discover they have transformative powers after a car accident.

Inside Out: The app that transforms the outside to match the inside. Mo - Elijah - Blake and Will

A Collection of Link Transformation: A series of four short stories where link from the Legend of Zelda is transformed into other Zelda characters.

Mysterious Potions: Two men break into their boss's evil lair and drink random potions they find inside, transforming them into miscellaneous things.

A Dad's World: A man reports his findings of a disease that has transformed almost every man on Earth into various classes of 'Dads'.

The Distributor: The god of time, Chronos, uses the distributor to transfer traits including fat and muscle mass, height, race, and age between all of the gym goers.

Animated Transformations;

Animated Muscle TF

Animated Fat TF

[musclegrowthexpert]

I only got an hour or two in this body before my wife gets back. Our deadbeat son spends most of his time jacking off in his room instead of attending his online college. So I like to get some use out of him.

When I first possessed him, I liked to explore how different his young body is compared to my old, fat body. I mean look at how hairy I am! Even my dad bod isn't compare to this. And a full head of hair? That's awesome. Not to mention his huge cock. It might be a weird thing for a dad to say. But it's a good feeling having our manliness passed on.

Now, with the hour I take to take over my son, I keep to his routine of jacking off, taking workout pics, or hooking up with guys or girls. But sometimes, with his youthful body, I do some chores like yard work or more strenuous things like building that patio deck I've been meaning to.

I've gotten so used to being him now, even though my sessions last only an hour or so, that when I accidentally run into his mom (my wife), I can usually pull of being him.

On rare occasions, I find myself extending my sessions into an entire day. Once or twice I fell asleep in his body after a fuck session with this Grindr twink. It was best the night of sleep I've had in a long while. In fact, I'm planning a weekend getaway with that same guy and enjoying showing off my son's beach-ready body and fucking some guy's hole raw.

Youth is wasted on the young. I feel I'm doing him a service.

[musclegrowthexpert]

[musclegrowthexpert]

[musclegrowthexpert]

Assimilation, Bro!

Brandon knew that bulking up wouldn't be enough; he needed to change everything about himself. He observed straight men, studying them with intense focus, and applied this insight to his own behavior—how they dressed, walked, talked, and especially how they treated other men. Assimilation was the goal, and thus Brody was born. After changing his name, he shortened his hair, grew out his facial hair, and dressed like the perfect gym bro. He walked with a more dominant stride, used bro vernacular in his speech, and spoke more sternly. The more he conformed to their way of life, the more he was accepted. He gets a rush of testosterone every time he's mistaken for straight. Perhaps he should start fucking pussy, to fully conform?

[musclegrowthexpert]

What’s happening to me? Check out the progress on patreon.com/chris4grow

[musclegrowthexpert]

The Bright Side

I entered my uncle's room and took a deep breath. It's been days since he was allowed to leave and the room stunk like sweat, cum, and armpit. But my uncle didn't seem bothered by it:

He lounged in his expensive leather couch with his anaconda-like cock dangling out in the open. This was the same man who yelled at me until I cried when I spilled water on his couch. His thick, naked legs tensed as he noticed me. I took careful steps to show nothing was in my hands. My uncle, a man named Morgan, stretched with his muscled torso and armpits out in the open. Sweat glistened on his body and drying streaks of cum smeared on the couch.

To make a wild story short: my uncle was a smart, arrogant archaeologist. When he wasn't living in the gym, he was living in his lab, studying old relics. His latest discovery had him excited at the knowledge he could learn, but instead he unleashed the several thousands of years caveman from his final resting place.

Now for the past week, Morgan had been locked in his apartment while I tried to learn more about how to help him. It's been a helpless endeavor, and his boss is already about to fire him. But he can't return to the lab the way he was now. He's a total idiot. The mind of a scientist gone and just left with an ancient hunter in the body of an athletic late-30-something year old. All I've seen him do is tear off his clothes and furiously jerk himself off. I never thought of my uncle as a sexual man, but for the first day, I tried as hard as I could to have the caveman stop, but he kept finding ways to take off his pants or jerk himself off without hands. Morgan didn't have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend—so little I knew about my uncle—and I thought of him as an asexual intellectual, but now I knew that wasn't the case. The past few days had the caveman and I finding tubes and tubes of lube, condoms, sex toys, and BDSM gear.

Now, I found the caveman, who I just decided to call Morgan, liked to be tied up and used like a chained stallion.

I used the cross necklace around his neck to lead him like a bridle to the bedroom. I could smell the stink of dried sweat on him. Later I would have to wash him, but for now I clipped him in his harness and get up. I had to get back to work in half an hour, so this wasn't a pleasure errand, just something needed to be done like feeding a dog.

I turned my back to him and started to take off my clothes. I heard the creaking of the leather harness as Morgan tried to mount me, but the ties held. I lowered myself on my hands and knees and slowly backed up until I felt Morgan's strong hands grasp at my hips. He dragged me closer, and I felt his sticky knees lock against my ribs and he fully mounted me. As he adjusted his muscular frame and settled his full athletic body on top of me, I fingered my hole with lube.

Then Morgan plunged himself into me. His thick, veiny cock slid in and out. It had only been a couple hours since he last entered me, and my hole hadn't had time to tighten up again. The full filling of his cock felt familiar now. The animalistic grunting of Morgan as he went balls deep into me almost sounded like words. I tried to brace against the force of his thrusts and his weight, but I nearly crumpled under his fucking.

Soon it was over, and I felt the hot, flooding sensation of the caveman shooting ropes of cum into me. I stood up, and dressed quickly. I felt like I needed to shower, but I didn't have time. I'd have to hope no one smelled Morgan's musks on me. I found that his pheromones were heightened and people tended to notice.

I unclipped Morgan's harness and he grunted away back to the leather couch. He recently gotten into the hobby of making cave paintings on the walls. I wished I knew the language he was speaking, but sadly there wasn't enough information. And worse yet, I wondered if I could even save my uncle, but the bright side is, I might prefer this low IQ jock than my stuck up uncle.

[musclegrowthexpert]

Decisions, decisions, I thought. I only had a week off for summer break and an impossible decision to make. See, I usually decide by seeing how my two twunk sons were going to spend their summertime youth, then taking over the body of whichever one was going to have the most fun.

In earlier years, my step-son—when he was attending college—would relax shirtless on the beach. His olive skin and his tatted bod made great talking points with other college guys.

This year was super different. Instead of lounging in the sun, he was going to mountains with a group of his athletic friends. Alone in the wilderness, anything could happen. I thought as I fantasized about a Brokeback Mountain moment with his hunky friend Richard.

Since he was the oldest, I ridden inside his body for a long time so that it almost felt like my second skin. I know every intimate inch of his body. You'd think I'd be bored, but it made it more fulfilling since it felt like my home.

Then my biological son who usually spent his summers studying for the next year in school, finally decided to stretch his wings, his abs, and his freedom. He was going to travel abroad and relax after graduating college.

Because his diligence on his studies, I usually let him do his thing, and only taking over his body when he finished his midterms for a weekend binge. If he wasn't going to treat himself, I'll do it for him.

Now, he was going on an adventure! It felt bad to take that away from him, but the thought of wearing his white-skinned nerdy toned body and getting dominated by foreign guys was too much to pass up lightly.

But there was the unspoken option. Ever since my sons graduated high school, I stopped patrolling around town for quick possessions, and I relied on my grown sons to celebrate their youth and pleasure.

Now, maybe I should let them enjoy it on their own, while I make a move on the hunky construction worker drilling into the pavement across the street. I could take his body and jack hammer a few twinks. Though he looks like he was barely 19.

Hell, I think my sons might swing both ways, so maybe I can have a little game where little big construction worker here can flirt with them. Whoever gets taken in by his six pack and great ass, is who I'll spend the summer with.

[musclegrowthexpert]

Teens these days

I found the perfect way to teach these college teens manners. Ever since Tiktok and Instagram was installed on everyone's phones, teens gotten more disrespectful. They're either slanging Tiktok words or trying to become the next top Only Fans star, but none were doing the assignments for my courses. Sure, discreet mathematics is not the most engrossing subject, but if they wanted to be CEOs for their tech start up, they needed to learn. So I required the men in my class to install a body swap app on their phones. If they tried to access Tiktok or Instagram, then a copy of my consciousness downloaded into their body.

Meet Noah, my newest slutty body. I mean who wears a cropped tee and walks around with their underwear showing?

I do. I mean look at Noah! He's fucking built. Sure he wasn't Hercules, but I preferred my men lean and tight. I worked up Noah's body before we left for class. His half chub was edged for hours before we threw on a sweaty tee and crusty underwear stained with cum.

But don't get the wrong idea about Noah. Sure, he's a messy jock, but after a week and having gained control of half the class's muscled himbos, I noticed that Noah was still himself. And his body was too perfect to go to waste.

I asked him before he left my class to check out this Tiktok if he needed help, and here I am. I think guys will prefer the new Noah. Maybe I should skip his underwear next time and just go free balling. Maybe I'll even stake out the restroom a few hours a day to suck my fill of cock before studying.

Nothing like a sweaty cock to inspire young men to study.