no-ooone123

[no-ooone123]

Experiential Learning

“Dude, I don’t get it.”

“What’s not to get?” Mike grinned.

The two men paused their jog, taking a few deep breaths and basking in the warmth of the summer air. Jason wiped some sweat from his forehead and looked towards his friend.

“I guess I can understand it, well in theory.” Jason continues, running a hand through his blond hair, “But you’re telling me you’ll fuck around for hours and still not blow? Like, what’s the point?”

“That is the point, bro.” Mike stretches his muscular arms, “When you're right on the edge, so close to release... it's like nothing else. Fuck... and when you do finally let go.” His grin widens, “Fucking mind-blowing, best orgasm you’ll ever have.”

“Yeah but dude, isn't it just torture? Having to hold back all that time?” Jason shakes his head, “I'd rather just bust a nut and be done with it. Fuck, how do you get anything done? I feel like I’d be so fucking horny all day.”

Mike chuckles and slaps Jason on the back, “Oh man, it’s about the journey, not the destination. And that journey could last for hours, even days if you get as good as me.”

Jason raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Hours? Days? Dude, I don't know if my balls could take that much punishment. Sounds like a case of self-inflicted blue balls.”

“Ah you’re boring, man.” Mike shrugs, “But if you ever want a lesson.” He winks playfully.

“Gross dude.” Jason chuckles, “You do you, man. Just glad I’m not your cock.”

“You wish you were.” Mike laughs, “C’mon, lets finish this run.”

----------------

It’s the next morning when Jason is awakened by the sound of an unfamiliar alarm.

“Ugh fuck.” He thinks. His body feels stiff- more so than what he would’ve expected from the intensity of his workout yesterday, “I didn’t go that hard.” He thinks, his thoughts shifting to the blaring alarm, “Okay, okay... I can’t see anything...” It was so dark, and he was covered in warm fabric, “Those black out curtains are good...” He tries to reach out towards the sound of the alarm, “My arms... I can’t move my arms...” It’s a strange sensation, as if he doesn’t have arms to move.

As the realization slowly dawns on Jason, panic begins to set in. He tries to sit up, to move his legs, but feels only a strange, throbbing heat emanating from below. Each movement he makes just causes his body to twitch. He tries again and again to move, but nothing responds to his mental commands. Even his desperate attempts to call out for help are useless. No words are able to leave his mouth, which feels forced open in an circular shape. The only thing Jason can feel is his form rubbing against something soft with each weak twitch of his stiff body.

“Ugh fuck...” Jason perks up at the sound of Mike voices, “God damnit... this fuckin’ alarm.”

The alarm is silenced and Mike throws the sheets off of him. The light shines through the room, illuminating it and giving Jason a better view. Jason can barely process his new perspective. He finds himself looking directly up at Mike's toned abdominal muscles, the individual abs clearly defined. His gaze traces up further, taking in the expansive, sculpted pectoral muscles above. To either side of Jason, towering and filling his entire field of vision, are Mike's colossal thighs. He can feel the warmth radiating from them.

“C’mon dude! Don’t you see me?” Jason thinks, an increasing sense of panic welling up from inside him.

Mike yawns and looks down, a slow grin forming across his face. Jason can feel Mike’s eyes on him and he wants to ask why the hell his buddy is smiling at him. More importantly, he wanted to ask why the fuck he was apparently in his bed, wedged between his bro’s thighs. But he couldn’t- for whatever reason he could form the words.

“Well hello there, handsome.” Mike chuckles to himself, “Looks like someone's ready to start the day.” Mike reaches down at wraps his meaty hand around his throbbing cock.

A jolt of intense pleasure shoots through Jason's entire being as he feels Mike's strong hand wrap around his body. The sensation is overwhelming - every nerve ending seems to come alive at once. He can feel the texture of Mike's skin, the slight calluses on his palm, the firm yet gentle grip. As Mike begins to stroke, slowly at first then picking up speed, waves of ecstasy pulse through Jason's new body. He twitches and throbs in Mike's grasp, growing even harder.

“Oh god oh fuck what the hell is happening?! I.... ohhhh.... please stop..... I'm not a dick.... I'm not a damn cock! I’m a man!”

Jason's mind reels as the sensations intensify. Mike's grip tightens, stroking faster now. Jason's thoughts grow increasingly slurred and fragmented.

“Nnngh f-fuck... s'too much...” Jason's brain fogs over with each pump of Mike's fist. The pleasure is all-consuming, wiping away coherent thought, “Can't... can't think straight...”As Mike's strokes become more urgent, Jason's resolve crumbles. The boundaries of his identity blur and fade, “I'm... I'm not... hnnngh! 

Jason's protests dissolve. In his hazy, lust-addled state, the idea of being separate from Mike's cock starts to seem absurd. After all, everything that made him Jason was gone. His firm pecs, muscular arms, toned legs- gone, his body just a veiny, thick shaft. His handsome features, killer smile- gone, just a pink cock head. Jason's mind goes completely blank as the pleasure peaks. All rational thought vanishes, replaced only by pure, primal need.

“Yes... I am a cock... Mike's cock...” Jason thinks, his remaining shreds of identity merging fully with his new role, “This is all I am, all I've ever been...” His purpose becomes clear, “Need... to... cum...”

But the hand stops. And as it does, Mike throws back his head and moans, basking in the pleasure and pain of denied release. All the while, Jason is suddenly jolted back to reality, his thoughts becoming clear, as a sense of clarity washes over him.

“Fuck...” He thinks as he regains focus, “I nearly...”

A sense of dread washes over him. He was so close. So close to losing himself. If Mike hadn’t stopped... if he kept going...

“...and when you do finally let go... Fucking mind-blowing...”

Mike’s words repeat in Jason’s consciousness. And Jason realizes that there is certainly a truth to his bro’s statement. If... when Mike finally released... Jason tries to push the thought out of his head. He had time- maybe he could find a way to communicate or reverse this. But before he can think more on it, Jason feels his perspective change again as Mike gets out of bed.

“Gotta hit the gym first.” Mike mumbles, grinning down at his slowly softening dick, “It’s been a few days, hasn’t it? Workout first, then...”

And Jason begins to realize he might not have as much time left as he thought. Mike grabs a pair of compression shorts and plunges Jason back into darkness, the feeling of the soft fabric teasing him even more. His thoughts growing foggy once again as each of Mike’s movements send a wave of pleasure and pain down the length of his sensitive, semi-hard body. The aching need nearly unbearable. Despite his earlier determination to escape this predicament, a small part of Jason finds himself craving the release he was denied. To fully experience Mike's take on edging.

"Maybe..." he muses dreamily, "maybe letting go won't be so bad....might be nice to finally...cum..."

[no-ooone123]

Thinking Quickly (AI assisted)

Josh had registered with a new gym, just to be closer to his newest crush Francesco. He was an Italian student, with rich, light brown hair, toned, incredibly sexy and muscular legs and a jawline to die for. Josh knew that he wanted to be close to him, but he did not yet know how.

Josh was thinking and formulating a plan, how to find out if Francesco was even gay and if so, how to get into his pants. He walked into the locker room of his new gym and there he saw Francesco, still in his street clothes. He had already laid out his gym clothes on a bench, but was still on a phone call. Josh greeted him and made his way to his locker, opposite to Francesco. Josh looked around, could he maybe take a sock, when Francesco wasn't looking? Or what about a sweat soaked shirt? While still on the phone, Francesco took one more thing out of his gym bag and stored the empty bag back in his locker. In his hands he held a pair of grey briefs, with a slightly unpleasant odor.

After Josh saw that his plan was practically set. Francesco was walking up and down the locker room, sometimes turning away from his things. Josh looked around to make sure nobody else was watching. He stored all of his things in his locker, and waited, for Francesco to turn around again. He had to hurry, because he could hear the call coming to an end. Francesco turned away and Josh, in one smooth motion, picked up Francescos briefs from the bench, hid them in his locker and transformed himself into identical briefs.

His fabric body flopped onto the bench, onto of Francescos other gym clothes.

Josh’s fabric body flopped onto the bench, landing atop Francesco’s neatly folded gym clothes. His new form—an identical pair of grey briefs—quivered slightly as adrenaline coursed through his transformed fibers. The plan had worked flawlessly. Francesco, still pacing the locker room, wrapped up his phone call with a curt “Ciao, see you later,” and turned back toward the bench, oblivious to the switch. Josh’s heart—or whatever passed for it now—raced as Francesco’s muscular hand reached down and scooped him up.

Francesco sniffed the air briefly, his sharp brown eyes narrowing. “Weird,” he muttered, shrugging off the faint whiff of his original briefs’ odor, now tucked away in Josh’s locker. He stepped out of his street clothes, revealing his toned, powerful legs and a physique that made Josh’s fabric form practically hum with anticipation. Francesco slid Josh on, pulling the grey briefs up over his thick thighs and snugly around his hips. The sensation hit Josh like a tidal wave—Francesco’s warmth, the faint musk of his skin, and the overwhelming pressure as the briefs hugged every contour of his athletic frame.

Josh had rigged the transformation app to heighten his senses, thinking it’d make this fantasy even sweeter. Big mistake. The pleasant musk he’d imagined was magnified tenfold into a potent cocktail of sweat, skin, and a lingering hint of yesterday’s workout that Francesco clearly hadn’t washed out of his routine. Josh could taste it, feel it seeping into his fabric, and—oh god—smell it with a clarity that made his mind reel. Francesco adjusted himself, oblivious to Josh’s silent panic, and the motion crushed Josh’s transformed essence against Francesco’s hefty package, sending a jolt of dizzying sensation through him.

Francesco grabbed the rest of his gym gear from the bench: white socks, black slides, and a green hoodie. He slipped them on, leaving his shorts behind for now—apparently, he was still prepping. Josh clung to Francesco’s body, every shift of muscle a new wave of sensory overload. Francesco walked toward the locker room mirror, stopping to check himself out. There he stood: tall, broad-shouldered, his fair brown hair slightly tousled, brown eyes scanning his reflection. The green hoodie hung loosely over his torso, the white socks peeked out from the black slides, and Josh—the grey briefs—framed his lower half, stretched tight over his sculpted ass and junk.

“Looking good,” Francesco said to himself, turning slightly to admire his legs. Josh, trapped in the fabric, wanted to scream. Good for you, maybe! The pose shifted Francesco’s weight, pressing Josh tighter against his skin, and then—without warning—Francesco let out a low, rumbling fart. The gas blasted through Josh’s fibers, hot and sour, a brutal assault of Italian protein-diet stench that lodged itself deep in his being. His enhanced senses made it unbearable, the smell lingering like a cruel joke as Francesco chuckled to himself. “Whoops, too much espresso today.”

Josh’s fantasy was crumbling fast. Francesco grabbed his gym shorts and tugged them on over the briefs, sealing Josh in a suffocating layer of darkness and heat. The workout that followed was pure hell. Francesco hit the treadmill first, his powerful strides grinding Josh against his sweat-slicked skin. Every step was a thudding torment, the dampness soaking into Josh’s fabric until he was drenched. Then came the squats—Francesco’s glutes flexing and straining, crushing Josh with each rep. The sweat poured freely now, a salty flood that drowned Josh’s senses, compounded by the occasional ripple of gas Francesco didn’t bother holding back.

By the time Francesco finished, Josh was a sopping, reeking mess. Francesco stripped down in the locker room, peeling Josh off and holding him up with a grimace. “Madonna, these stink,” Francesco muttered, his brown eyes narrowing as he dangled the sweat-drenched grey briefs between two fingers. Josh’s fabric form quivered, his enhanced senses still reeling from the onslaught of sweat, musk, and those damn espresso-fueled farts. He was too dazed to process what came next.

Francesco shrugged, opened his gym bag, and tossed Josh inside. The briefs landed with a damp thud atop a pile of unwashed socks, a crusty towel, and—oh god—a pair of sneakers that reeked like they’d run a marathon in a swamp. The zipper whined shut, plunging Josh into stifling darkness. His transformation app, hidden in his locker across the room, was set to revert him in an hour—but the fine print he’d skimmed warned that the process wouldn’t trigger if he was “contained or obstructed.” Trapped in the bag, surrounded by Francesco’s rancid gym gear, Josh realized with creeping dread that he wasn’t going anywhere.

The bag jostled as Francesco slung it over his shoulder and headed out, each sway grinding Josh deeper into the sweaty heap. The heat was suffocating, the stench a relentless assault—old sweat, foot funk, and a whiff of that last fart clinging to his fibers. Josh’s mind raced, his silent screams lost in the void. What now? Francesco could toss the bag in his car, leave it in a locker, or—worst of all—forget about it entirely. Would he wash Josh? Wear him again? Or would he rot in this festering prison until the app’s battery died, leaving him stuck as briefs forever?

As Francesco’s footsteps faded down the hall, Josh was left to wonder, marinating in the unknown, his fantasy-turned-nightmare stretching into an uncertain, foul-smelling future.

[no-ooone123]

[no-ooone123]

Twerk It

Brad was tired of watching his bro try to “twerk” after every win. His flat, muscular ass was never quite up to the job. It’s not like the straight Brad wanted to see Josh’s butt in general, but if the guy insisted on making such a fool of himself, you would think he’d at least be decent at it.

So when Brad spoke the words, “I wish I could help you with that, dude,” well… Everything went dark, and suddenly he felt like his head was stuffed up. But that’s all he could feel, like the rest of his body had gone numb and what was left was swollen. It didn’t hurt, but it was unnerving.

He tried to call out in fear, but what little feeling he had left of his lips could hardly get them to open. They parted barely an inch, but all he could muster was a wheeze of hot air. He still couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. But then he could hear again, and smell again, and taste.

“Ah, bros, I think I’m gonna shit. But first thing’s first…”

He hardly had time to come to terms with hearing Josh’s voice, smelling the fetid stench that was trapped in the fabric with him - wait, the fabric? - and tasting the spicy, meaty flavor stuck in his new mouth; before he started to move, and bounce, and jiggle. “Damn, that booty!” shouted another voice.

And just like that, Brad was gone. His locker was cleared out and his number was retired, it was like he never existed. And as for his bro, Josh, it was like he had always had the bubble butt he now loved to shake at any given opportunity. It was perfect for twerking, so soft and thick and bouncy.

Josh would never learn that his friend had sacrificed his existence to gift him with his best feature, but Brad… Well, he would have the rest of his life to get familiar with Josh’s gifts. Hardly wiping his ass because it was too gay, rocketing farts out of Brad’s new mouth, trapping him in the same sweaty workout gear.

Forever, and ever, nothing more than a jock’s unwashed ass.

But at least his owner knew how to make him move.

[no-ooone123]

[no-ooone123]

Curiosity Killed the Ass

Cole should have minded his business — the straight jock just wanted to know what his roommate was getting up to when he locked himself inside of his room for hours on end.

The dude, Jim, didn’t even go to work during the day, yet he had never been late for rent, and always had plenty to spare for the bills. Being the straight man he was, Cole had a lot of far fetched ideas, from selling drugs online to being one of those guys who sells pictures of their feet for hundreds, he had a lot of possibilities to consider. Little did he know, he was pretty close with that latter guess, but his seemingly also-straight roommate had kept a certain secret closely guarded.

“I just want to know what the fuck he’s doing in there!” There was a flash of light, so bright it consumes everything. And then darkness.

When Cole comes to, it feels like his head is swollen, like someone has wrapped a sweaty bag around his face and placed him in a moving truck, rocking back and forth, jiggling up and down, his head should be hurting but all he could feel was the damp heat and the movements, his lips in a tight pucker he can barely get to part open — only for a quick puff of hot air to leave his new asshole mouth, tasting like spicy meat and protein. “Oh, shit,” he could hear Jim now, “I usually charge extra for farts. Haha, oh well.”

All the puzzle pieces clicked into place, especially as Jim positioned his body to face his ass towards the camera, giving the newly transformed body part an all access show. On the screen, he watched as donation after donation flooded the screen, man after man commenting about how much they wanted to play with Jim’s thick ass. Cole was horrified, continuing to be twerked against his will, just a fat sweaty fuckable mound of flesh used to pay his new owner’s bills. A stripe of sweat could be seen clearly on the underwear encasing him, wiry hairs and rank musk covering his face. For the rest of the life, the straight man would have to learn how to cope with being a gay man’s best asset.

Curiosity killed the ass!

[no-ooone123]

Little twink Thomas should have thought his wish through — he was just so frustrated, constantly checking his number of subscribers and never seeing the amount rise. He posted as many videos he could, fingering his bubble butt, sucking the cocks of handsome strangers, jacking off his average cock and cumming all over himself. But at the end of the day, he was just as generic as all the other tiny, white, blonde twinks on the app. No one was interested, he wasn’t making the money he felt he deserved, and he was so desperate that he felt a wish was the only way he could change his fate.

He had never thought it would actually come true. “I wish people wanted to see me. I wish just the sight of me got people rock hard. I wish people would open their wallets just to get a glimpse of me on camera.”

He wanted a change — and so he got it. In a puff of eggy, protein ripe smoke wafting over him, Thomas could only cough and gag before his senses were all consumed in total darkness. In the pitch black, he felt himself tumbling around, propelled through space and time, his frame compacting as his bones crunched and his skin squelched, his limbs pulling up into himself and his head feeling so, so, so congested. He wanted to scream in horror, but he couldn’t get his mouth to open. It felt like he was pursing his lips, refusing to budge, either side of his head feeling so thick and swollen as if several bees had just attacked him.

Eventually, the tumbling stopped, but the darkness remained. That didn’t mean Thomas felt any less dizzy, no, not as he felt his thick meaty bouncing head start to sway up and down, making him feel so sick that he would puke if he could just get his mouth to open. He wanted so badly to scream - until he could taste the trail of sweat now flowing down him, settling on his new mouth, on the puckered brown ring of a straight man’s asshole.

He could feel damp fabric wrapped tightly around his changed face, bristly hairs breaking through the surface of his skin, his senses turning back on only for the stale scent of farts, sweat, musk, and cock and balls to consume him. Inside his mouth, around his fleshy lips, he could only taste the sour fetid taste of pure jock shit. He continued to bounce and sway, rising up and down as massive legs forced him to squat. Legs that didn’t belong to him, leading up to a gorgeous, smirking face smiling over his shoulder at the camera that was filming his workout. This stranger's body was so thick and juicy, sweat staining his clothes, his jaw sculpted and his features so powerful. But all attention was on his jiggling, bloated, obviously drenched jock ass.

He squatted again, shoving the frightened and unable to communicate face of Thomas directly against his drenched shorts, the puckered hole desperately trying to part and beg for mercy, still tasting and feeling the sweat. “You gay boys are so into my ass,” the man controlling him said coldly to the camera, obviously a straight man just trying to make easy cash. “One shake, and you pay my bills for the month. It’s pathetic.”

The bro laughed again and slapped his perky, bubbly jock globes. Thomas banged and wailed inside his silent mental prison, desperate for his wish to be taken back. “But you know what really earns me the most money? Listen up, boys.”

The jock lifted up a meaty, thick leg, and Thomas finally got his chance to scream as his puckered mouth spread open - only for a hot hiss of protein rich air to trumpet out of his new being, droning on and on and coating his remaining sense of taste in the swampy, sweaty flavor of a straight alpha. PRFFFFFFFT!

Forever - he would always be the main attraction now. Just not the attraction he intended to be.

[no-ooone123]

your ass tf stories really get me… especially the thought of turning into a straight mans ass. knowing your trapped but their world continues normally

Naturally, this is the best fate for you.

You don’t want to be a big, smelly, alpha breeder? You can’t help being so attracted to superior men? Then being a fat, reeking ass is the best thing you could ever hope for. A straight man has no purpose for a faggot beyond paying for all his bills and sniffing his foot sweat, but there’s still a way for you to be a part of his life and have some use.

Everything goes black, your head feels so swollen and congested. All of your body feels like it’s been reduced to one big wobbling globe of meat, no arms or legs, you can’t even feel your cock anymore. Would you be hard right now? Would you be screaming? You try to call out for help, but your mouth is puckered and oh, so tight. Hard as you try, you have no control, you can’t get it to open.

Damp, sweaty fabric surrounds you. You don’t have a nose or eyes, or even a tongue, but your senses are still intact. You can taste that dank strip of fabric pulled taut across your new face, just like you gag internally at the line of sweat that drips down your new form, collecting in the crack that conceals your new asshole mouth, getting slick and lost within the tangle of swampy ass hairs.

You hear the distant chuckle of a man, a man you can sense is your new owner. “Brah, that Mexican food we had last night is still running through me. And now I’m chasing that shit down with a protein shake.” The deep voice echoes through the body you’re connected to, making your new form as fat cheeks jiggle and sway, causing the odor that clings to your flesh and wiry body hairs to invade your senses once more. “I gotta let one rip before we go into the gym, dude, or I’m gonna gas the whole place out.” Panic bubbles inside you, fear that you’re about to push a fart out from your new lips, but then you realize that the bubbling you feel isn’t metaphorical.

You’re a straight jock’s ass now. As his stomach churns protein and greasy bulking food, your new form knows exactly what its new purpose is. For the rest of your life, you’ll be producing the potent ass blasts that make his bros laugh and slap his back, you’ll be the big booty that everyone has to admire and slap playfully, never again will you feel the pleasure or touch of a man. Only rank farts and bad hygiene, all you’re good for is processing waste and being another big muscle on his glorious body. “Listen to this, bro!”

You try to scream as your new lips part, the sweaty fabric pressing against you, but your cry for help is lost under the trumpet that leaves the jock’s ass.

PRFFFFFFFFFFFT!

Hours later, the stud is admiring his gains in the gym mirror, wondering why his asshole keeps twitching more than usual. He reminds himself to go take a fat shit before heading home, but he takes time to admire his reflection.

“Fuck, bro. Has my ass always been this much of a dump truck?”

[no-ooone123]

Thinking Quickly (AI assisted)

Josh had registered with a new gym, just to be closer to his newest crush Francesco. He was an Italian student, with rich, light brown hair, toned, incredibly sexy and muscular legs and a jawline to die for. Josh knew that he wanted to be close to him, but he did not yet know how.

Josh was thinking and formulating a plan, how to find out if Francesco was even gay and if so, how to get into his pants. He walked into the locker room of his new gym and there he saw Francesco, still in his street clothes. He had already laid out his gym clothes on a bench, but was still on a phone call. Josh greeted him and made his way to his locker, opposite to Francesco. Josh looked around, could he maybe take a sock, when Francesco wasn't looking? Or what about a sweat soaked shirt? While still on the phone, Francesco took one more thing out of his gym bag and stored the empty bag back in his locker. In his hands he held a pair of grey briefs, with a slightly unpleasant odor.

After Josh saw that his plan was practically set. Francesco was walking up and down the locker room, sometimes turning away from his things. Josh looked around to make sure nobody else was watching. He stored all of his things in his locker, and waited, for Francesco to turn around again. He had to hurry, because he could hear the call coming to an end. Francesco turned away and Josh, in one smooth motion, picked up Francescos briefs from the bench, hid them in his locker and transformed himself into identical briefs.

His fabric body flopped onto the bench, onto of Francescos other gym clothes.

Josh’s fabric body flopped onto the bench, landing atop Francesco’s neatly folded gym clothes. His new form—an identical pair of grey briefs—quivered slightly as adrenaline coursed through his transformed fibers. The plan had worked flawlessly. Francesco, still pacing the locker room, wrapped up his phone call with a curt “Ciao, see you later,” and turned back toward the bench, oblivious to the switch. Josh’s heart—or whatever passed for it now—raced as Francesco’s muscular hand reached down and scooped him up.

Francesco sniffed the air briefly, his sharp brown eyes narrowing. “Weird,” he muttered, shrugging off the faint whiff of his original briefs’ odor, now tucked away in Josh’s locker. He stepped out of his street clothes, revealing his toned, powerful legs and a physique that made Josh’s fabric form practically hum with anticipation. Francesco slid Josh on, pulling the grey briefs up over his thick thighs and snugly around his hips. The sensation hit Josh like a tidal wave—Francesco’s warmth, the faint musk of his skin, and the overwhelming pressure as the briefs hugged every contour of his athletic frame.

Josh had rigged the transformation app to heighten his senses, thinking it’d make this fantasy even sweeter. Big mistake. The pleasant musk he’d imagined was magnified tenfold into a potent cocktail of sweat, skin, and a lingering hint of yesterday’s workout that Francesco clearly hadn’t washed out of his routine. Josh could taste it, feel it seeping into his fabric, and—oh god—smell it with a clarity that made his mind reel. Francesco adjusted himself, oblivious to Josh’s silent panic, and the motion crushed Josh’s transformed essence against Francesco’s hefty package, sending a jolt of dizzying sensation through him.

Francesco grabbed the rest of his gym gear from the bench: white socks, black slides, and a green hoodie. He slipped them on, leaving his shorts behind for now—apparently, he was still prepping. Josh clung to Francesco’s body, every shift of muscle a new wave of sensory overload. Francesco walked toward the locker room mirror, stopping to check himself out. There he stood: tall, broad-shouldered, his fair brown hair slightly tousled, brown eyes scanning his reflection. The green hoodie hung loosely over his torso, the white socks peeked out from the black slides, and Josh—the grey briefs—framed his lower half, stretched tight over his sculpted ass and junk.

“Looking good,” Francesco said to himself, turning slightly to admire his legs. Josh, trapped in the fabric, wanted to scream. Good for you, maybe! The pose shifted Francesco’s weight, pressing Josh tighter against his skin, and then—without warning—Francesco let out a low, rumbling fart. The gas blasted through Josh’s fibers, hot and sour, a brutal assault of Italian protein-diet stench that lodged itself deep in his being. His enhanced senses made it unbearable, the smell lingering like a cruel joke as Francesco chuckled to himself. “Whoops, too much espresso today.”

Josh’s fantasy was crumbling fast. Francesco grabbed his gym shorts and tugged them on over the briefs, sealing Josh in a suffocating layer of darkness and heat. The workout that followed was pure hell. Francesco hit the treadmill first, his powerful strides grinding Josh against his sweat-slicked skin. Every step was a thudding torment, the dampness soaking into Josh’s fabric until he was drenched. Then came the squats—Francesco’s glutes flexing and straining, crushing Josh with each rep. The sweat poured freely now, a salty flood that drowned Josh’s senses, compounded by the occasional ripple of gas Francesco didn’t bother holding back.

By the time Francesco finished, Josh was a sopping, reeking mess. Francesco stripped down in the locker room, peeling Josh off and holding him up with a grimace. “Madonna, these stink,” Francesco muttered, his brown eyes narrowing as he dangled the sweat-drenched grey briefs between two fingers. Josh’s fabric form quivered, his enhanced senses still reeling from the onslaught of sweat, musk, and those damn espresso-fueled farts. He was too dazed to process what came next.

Francesco shrugged, opened his gym bag, and tossed Josh inside. The briefs landed with a damp thud atop a pile of unwashed socks, a crusty towel, and—oh god—a pair of sneakers that reeked like they’d run a marathon in a swamp. The zipper whined shut, plunging Josh into stifling darkness. His transformation app, hidden in his locker across the room, was set to revert him in an hour—but the fine print he’d skimmed warned that the process wouldn’t trigger if he was “contained or obstructed.” Trapped in the bag, surrounded by Francesco’s rancid gym gear, Josh realized with creeping dread that he wasn’t going anywhere.

The bag jostled as Francesco slung it over his shoulder and headed out, each sway grinding Josh deeper into the sweaty heap. The heat was suffocating, the stench a relentless assault—old sweat, foot funk, and a whiff of that last fart clinging to his fibers. Josh’s mind raced, his silent screams lost in the void. What now? Francesco could toss the bag in his car, leave it in a locker, or—worst of all—forget about it entirely. Would he wash Josh? Wear him again? Or would he rot in this festering prison until the app’s battery died, leaving him stuck as briefs forever?

As Francesco’s footsteps faded down the hall, Josh was left to wonder, marinating in the unknown, his fantasy-turned-nightmare stretching into an uncertain, foul-smelling future.

[no-ooone123]