superheavybaraftms

[superheavybaraftms]

The Blip: A Family That Blips Together 5 - The Son

Steam curled under the bathroom door like a living thing. The sound of deep voices, masculine laughter, and water smacking against solid muscle echoed out into the hallway.

Colin stood just outside, his palms clammy, heart pounding.

He could hear them.

Dad. Maddox. Duncan.

Their voices had changed. Deepened. Darkened. There was this weight in every syllable, a dripping bass that rolled through the air like thunder. Colin had heard it all through the walls: the flexing, the groans, the laughter—intimate, carnal, animal.

And they didn’t even lock the door.

He stepped forward. Slowly. His bare feet crept across the cool tile. The door cracked open.

Steam blasted him in the face.

And there they were.

Three monsters. All nude. All glistening. Water running over bodies so massive the room looked like it was made for children. Adam’s chest alone could smother a man. Maddox leaned against the tile, beard wet, hairy pecs rising and falling like powerful engines. Duncan had his arms around both, lazy, cocky, smirking—his armpits slick and on full display as he leaned back against the wall like the king of the den.

And they saw him.

Duncan didn’t miss a beat. “Hey, little bro.”

Colin’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.

Maddox raised a brow. “You gonna just stand there, boy?”

Adam’s smile was slow, relaxed, knowing. “Come on in. We saved you a spot.”

But Colin snapped.

His fists clenched. His voice cracked.

“No! What the fuck is going on?! You’re all different—Dad, you were skinny and wore glasses! Maddox was mom! She made fucking pie! Duncan was CLAIRE! You were my sister! What the fuck is this?! What’s WRONG with all of you?!”

The words echoed like a punch.

Steam hissed. The other men didn’t move.

Colin kept going, voice shaking, heat rising in his face. “You all just… changed. Turned into these… things! And you’re leaving me behind! Like I’m not even part of the family anymore—like I’m just some weak little freak—”

Suddenly, a hand reached out.

Thick. Wet. Warm.

Duncan’s finger pressed firmly against Colin’s lips.

“Shhh,” Duncan murmured, smirking. “You’re wrong, lil bro. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Colin froze.

His whole body trembled under the weight of Duncan’s touch, that casual domination. His scent—sweat and musk—invaded Colin’s lungs. Something stirred. Something deep and wild and buried under layers of fear and shame and want.

Duncan leaned closer, voice low and gravelly. “It’s your time now.”

And that’s when it happened.

The Blip.

Like a gunshot through his bones.

Colin's eyes went wide. His arms jerked. His spine arched. And his body began to ERUPT.

Muscle tore through his frame like fire through dry grass. His shirt shredded off his torso as traps exploded up to his ears—skin darkening to a chocolate hue like his dad Adam. His pecs bulged outward, slamming into one another with a deep thud. His abs carved themselves from his belly in seconds, wet skin stretching over bricked slabs of pure alpha-core.

His legs twisted into pillars—thick, veiny, vascular. His calves ballooned. His back widened, lats flaring out like wings of flesh and power.

His neck thickened. Jawline squared. Facial hair stubbled in. His voice, when it came, was a deep growl of ecstasy:

“FUUUCKKKKKK…”

A massive black leather posing brief snapped into place, wrapping around a now-huge cock and pair of balls that demanded worship. A silver belt gleamed at his waist, heavy and bold.

He staggered forward, grabbing the wall as the last tremors rolled through his now colossal frame.

And then he stood tall.

Colin Reeve was gone. In his place was C.J. Reeve—pro bodybuilder, Adam's protege, Olympian-level hunk, pride of the Reeve household, and youngest bull in a pen full of monsters.

He looked down at himself and grinned, pure confidence radiating from his sweat-soaked smile.

“Well damn,” he rumbled, flexing one thick bicep. “Took me long enough.”

Duncan clapped him on the back. “There he is.”

Maddox whistled. “Look at those fuckin’ wheels.”

Adam stepped forward, gripping C.J.’s shoulder in a massive hand. “Proud of you, son.”

And C.J.? He just flexed again, pecs bouncing like twin drums.

“I’m starving. Chest and bicep day? I need protein, now.”

Duncan laughed. “Atta bro.”

The four titans walked out of the shower together, dripping, jacked, and perfect.

The Blip had finally done it's job. Their memories erased. None of them questioned the past, because there was no past. This was their reality now.

For the Reeve family they were always like this—four ultra-masculine gay alphas under one roof, each one bigger, harder, and more dominant than the last—and they couldn't be any happier.

[superheavybaraftms]

What AI do you use to write your stories?

I actually just use ChatGPT. You can make it write adult content if you customize it right using the "What traits should ChatGPT have?" option in the Customize ChatGPT settings. Basically you tell ChatGPT that it specializes in writing adult stories with explicit content and you can customize it further from there. In my case I also tell ChatGPT that it specializes in writing gay themed stories involving gay men, muscles, musclegrowth and FTM transformations. I also tell it to write me suggestions and ideas after every story prompt for how to continue the story which is very helpful.

There are also some stories that I use a custom generator for on perchance.org that has more freedom in letting me generate paragraph by paragraph and let's me edit the story on the spot. I use this generator for making much longer and more detailed stories. The Fenix Reborn story is one of those examples.

[superheavybaraftms]

The Blip: A Family That Blips Together 4 - Steam Room Gods

The clang of steel echoed through the new Reeve home gym.

It was nearly midnight. The air was thick—warm from body heat, dense with protein-saturated sweat. The garage had been completely converted by the Blip: reinforced benches, competition-grade weights, and a row of racks with more iron than most commercial gyms could handle.

Adam stood shirtless in front of the mirror, his skin glistening under the soft overhead lights. Every inch of him was pumped to near bursting. Pecs like engine blocks sat high on his chest, bouncing rhythmically with every breath. His lats flared out like wings. His legs—veiny, bloated with blood—looked like they could crush a man whole.

Behind him, Maddox grunted through a final set of heavy preacher curls, his massive arms swelling and flexing like coiled artillery. The thick silver of his beard was matted with sweat. His green tank was drenched, practically transparent against the dense slab of muscle beneath.

Duncan had finished his workout twenty minutes ago but hadn’t left. He was on the floor, shirtless, drinking from a gallon jug of water while casually watching his “fathers” go at it—completely at ease, like this was any other normal night.

Adam dropped the dumbbells, the sound like thunder.

“FUCK yeah,” he growled, voice rich, guttural. “That’s the fuckin' pump.”

Maddox stood, stretching his arms overhead, thick tufts of silver pit hair dark and soaked. “You’re not wrong,” he rumbled. “Feel like I could bench press the goddamn garage.”

They locked eyes. That energy—masculine, dominant, mutual respect—crackled between them like static.

“Shower?” Adam asked, voice low.

Maddox smirked. “You lead. I’ll follow.”

Also changed by the Blip—their new master bathroom’s shower was built for this. Now triple-sized to contain a family of giants. Rainfall heads from the ceiling. Stone tiles. Steam already curling up around the edges as the water roared to life.

Adam stepped in first. No hesitation. He dropped his tiny posing trunks, his massive black cock hanging heavy between thighs still twitching from the workout. Water ran over him, down every ridge of his abs, tracing the deep cuts of his chest and rolling over the dense curve of his glutes.

Maddox followed—peeling off his soaked tank, letting it slap wet against the floor, then dropping his camo briefs with a grunt. His body was a bear’s, but carved like a sculpture—fur-marbled mass, a heavy gut solid with muscle, every inch of him built for battle and pleasure.

They stood face to face in the steam.

“Still hard to believe you’re mine,” Adam rumbled.

Maddox chuckled, then stepped forward, chest meeting chest with a wet slap. His arms wrapped around Adam’s thick waist. “I’ve always been yours.”

They kissed.

It was rough. Real. No hesitation. Two kings locking mouths, pressing lips and teeth, their beards tangling, steam rising between them like smoke off war-forged bodies. Adam’s thick arms pulled Maddox in tighter, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other sliding down to cup his heavy, muscled ass.

They growled into each other’s mouths, rutting slightly, pecs smashing together, cocks brushing beneath the water like loaded cannons. This wasn’t about foreplay. It was about connection. Married. Alpha. Lovers.

Behind them—

A third voice.

“Hope I’m not late.”

Duncan stood just outside the shower, already naked, his cock thick and bobbing, abs flexed under a sheen of sweat. His body, though slightly younger, was just as devastating. Broad shoulders. Furry chest. Obscene arms. His smirk was cocky, knowing.

Adam grinned over Maddox’s shoulder. “Get in here, boy.”

Duncan stepped in.

Now it was three.

Three giant men. All soaked. All pumped. The sound of water hitting meat echoed around them. Duncan took his place behind Maddox, his hands sliding around to trace the older man’s belly, then up over his heavy pecs. Maddox chuckled.

“Hands to yourself, runt.”

“No promises,” Duncan muttered.

Adam kissed Maddox again, slower this time. Their tongues worked with experience, mouths knowing each other. Duncan’s eyes locked on the kiss, one hand sliding down to his own cock, the other pressing against Maddox’s thick back.

The room was full of steam, sweat, groans, wet skin, and family. But in this reality—this new, rewritten, muscle-drenched timeline—it was perfectly natural. Nothing odd about a father, a husband, and a son standing together, sharing warmth, bonding in the only language they truly understood now:

Muscle. Heat. Love. And dominance.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the bathroom door...

[superheavybaraftms]

The Blip: A Family That Blips Together 3 - The Father

The second slice of lemon pie never stood a chance.

Colin returned with a mop, cheeks still pink and trying not to look at Maddox’s beefy, fur-laced belly as he grunted and wiped the mess. Duncan watched with that calm predator's smirk, absently flexing his own mountainous arms as he chewed. The scent in the room was changing—heavier, hotter, thicker with testosterone and sweat.

And then— another shift. No flash. Just a rupture in reality's foundation.

Thomas had been sitting, idly stabbing at his salad, mid-rant about work—

—and suddenly he wasn’t sitting at all.

The entire chair shattered. Wood splinters exploded under the sudden, impossible mass of a man too wide, too heavy, too carved for anything that wasn't reinforced steel.

Now standing where once mild-mannered Thomas Reeve sat— was Adam Reeve, globally renowned IFBB Pro Bodybuilder.

He was enormous.

Every slab of him glistened like polished onyx—his dark chocolate skin stretched to its very limit over pecs the size of over-inflated medicine balls, abs hard and deep like cobblestone, thighs so thick they forced his gait wide. He wore nothing but a tiny, black leather posing brief that barely contained the monster swinging between his legs.

He stood there, nostrils flaring, looking around like a bull sniffing the air before charging.

“FUCK,” Adam growled, voice deep and rich, vibrating the kitchen tiles.

Duncan dropped his fork. Even he looked a little shook.

Maddox turned around, arms crossed over his massive tank top-clad chest, that beret still perched like a crown on his thick skull.

Adam cracked his neck, then flexed.

The room trembled. His pecs bounced once—twice—each slap of dense mass echoing. His arms came up into a brutal front double biceps pose, every ridge and vein standing out like mountain ridgelines on a map of war.

Colin let out a little whimper.

“Fucking chairs,” Adam rumbled. “Can’t handle real mass.”

He stomped forward, quads rippling with obscene definition, traps flaring up with every breath. He walked right past Colin without noticing the way the poor teen nearly dropped the mop from pure sensory overload.

Adam turned to Maddox and Duncan, smirking.

“Kitchen smells like a fuckin’ locker room,” he said, sniffing the air. “Just the way I like it.”

“Good to see you dressed for dinner,” Maddox grunted, arms folded across his shelf of a chest, a painful hard on forming in his camo at the sight of his nearly naked husband.

Adam grinned, spreading his arms wide. “Why hide the goods?”

He flexed again—a slow, deliberate most muscular—his pecs slamming together, his traps firing upward, his abs cutting like a blade through that thick torso. His posing brief bulged, and Colin made a soft choking sound behind him.

No one acknowledged that anything had changed. To everyone now, Adam had always been this way. Always massive. Always proud. Always walking around the house nearly naked and oiled up after a pump. There were photos on the walls now—him standing on Olympia stages, flexing beside trophy plaques, posing for MuscleMaster magazine in leather jockstraps.

Even the air smelled different now—protein powder, cocoa butter, testosterone, and raw, sweaty dominance.

Maddox chuckled.

“You posing again for your fans after this?”

“Got a livestream later,” Adam grunted, adjusting his bulge in the pouch. “Upper chest and abs. Might throw in a little flex-for-pay if the tips are good.”

Duncan grinned. “Bet you rake it in.”

Adam gave his oldest son a wink. “You know it, boy.”

Colin stared. Frozen. Breathing shallow. His dad had become a goddamn sex icon, a thick, glistening, half-naked powerhouse. His mom was a Special Forces bear. And his sister?

Duncan Reeve was lounging shirtless in his seat, belching, scratching his thick furry gut and smirking like a jungle alpha.

This was his family now.

And Colin? Was just a twig among titans.

[superheavybaraftms]

The Blip: A Family That Blips Together 2 - The Mother

The lemon pie never made it to the table.

Karen stood at the counter, hands gloved in oven mitts, holding the glass dish carefully as she turned around to bring it over. She smiled at her boys—Duncan devouring his second mountain of chicken, Colin squirming awkwardly in his chair, and Thomas still bitching about Jenkins.

And then—

Reality shuddered.

It was instant. One heartbeat she was "Mom"—Karen Reeve, homemaker, amateur gardener, proud wife. The next?

Colonel Maddox Reeve.

The glass dish shattered to the floor, obliterated under the sheer power of the beast who now filled the kitchen doorway. Standing well over six feet tall and nearly as wide, Maddox’s body was pure tactical mass. His olive green tank top clung to a torso that looked carved from granite—wide pecs pressing forward like slabs of concrete wrapped in coarse, silvery hair. Arms like coiled cannons, veiny and vascular, flexed involuntarily as he stepped forward in polished combat boots that thudded against the tile like thunder.

A thick silver beard coiled around a permanent scowl. His beret was cocked perfectly, insignia gleaming. His eyes—icy, penetrating—scanned the room like he was assessing a threat.

Nobody blinked. Nobody gasped. In this rewritten world?

Maddox had always been the Reeve family patriarch’s military equal.

"Jesus," Duncan muttered, licking grease from his fingers. “Took you long enough to stop baking and start manning up, old man.”

Maddox grunted, stepping closer, his boots cracking a ceramic chicken plate beneath him without a second thought. His massive gut wasn’t fat—it was muscle-marbled mass, solid and heavy, bouncing slightly with each step like the belly of a war god.

“Had to finish prepping for my next deployment,” Maddox said, voice like rolling gravel. “Delta wants me on the base again. Apparently their boys need to be reminded what dominance looks like.”

He looked down at the floor. Pie. Glass. Crumbs.

“Fuck,” he growled. Then he flexed—abs bricking out, pecs tensing like tectonic plates—and bent down, picking up shards with hands the size of tank armor.

Colin's jaw practically hit the table. He was staring at his mother. His fucking mother—now this bear-like, barrel-chested brute—crouched on the kitchen floor, bulging thighs creaking under camo pants outlined by a truly monstrous bulge. His tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing the furry slab of his gut. Colin’s ears turned bright red.

“Colin,” Maddox said, rising to his full height with slow power, “get the mop. I’m not scraping dessert off the floor with my bare hands.”

Colin stumbled out of the room without a word.

Meanwhile, Duncan leaned back in his seat, his wide arms draped lazily along the chair's back, smirking like a proud son watching his old man reclaim a throne. Hell, Maddox even smelled like raw masculinity—woodsmoke, sweat, aftershave, and gun oil.

Thomas finally looked up from his rant.

“…Wait, Maddox, what happened to your—”

The thought died mid-sentence. Reality corrected itself. Thomas blinked. Confused for half a second. Then nodded like everything was perfectly normal.

“Thanks for cleaning that up, hon,” he muttered, before going back to his salad.

But Duncan saw it.

That flicker in Dad’s eyes. That moment where he almost remembered… something else. Someone else. A softer woman. A different kind of life. Something now buried under 280 pounds of beefed-up male authority.

[superheavybaraftms]

The Blip: A Family that Blips Together 1 - The Sister

Important Note: This series will involve both male to male transformations and awareness. These plot points clearly go against the premise of The Blip but the idea of an entire suburban family being blipped into giant beasts was just too much to resist. So is the idea of one of them being aware and getting increasingly overwhelmed by their entire family changing one by one. This will probably be just a one time thing. In any case, enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~

The Whitmans’ dining room was modest. Floral curtains. Family portraits. One of those ceramic rooster clocks above the door that ticked loud as hell in the silence between conversations. The table was set for four: roast chicken, scalloped potatoes, green beans, and Karen’s famous lemon pie cooling on the counter.

"Claire, put your phone down, honey," said Karen to her daughter, smiling gently.

Claire Whitman sat at the end of the table, legs crossed, phone glowing in her hand, thumbs tapping out a reply to her roommate about some drama with a guy back on campus. She rolled her eyes, smirked, and glanced up at her dad's ongoing rant about office politics.

And then it happened.

No sound. No flash. No warning. Just a snap in the air that no one felt.

One moment: Claire.

The next?

Command Sergeant Major Duncan Reeve.

The chair shrieked against the floor as it was shoved back—hard—not because anyone moved it but because it simply wasn’t designed to contain what now sat in it.

A giant filled the space where Claire had been. A towering, bearded beast of a man whose head brushed the ceiling fan. His tank top looked painted onto his barrel chest, two hairy pecs straining forward like slabs of stone wrapped in red-furred rope. Traps hunched up like hills around his thick neck. His camo pants were so tight they looked airbrushed, sculpted over thighs like living tree trunks and a crotch so massive the seam strained against it like it could split with a breath.

“...So I told Jenkins, you tell me to run the department, then let me run the damn department,” the dad Thomas continued, oblivious.

Duncan let out a slow, low grunt, deep and heavy like a weightlifter just before a deadlift. His massive hand reached out—thick, square fingers—and scooped half the roast chicken off the platter, stuffing it into his mouth with primal hunger. Grease glistened in his coal-red beard. He tore the meat like an animal, chewing with slow, masculine intensity, his wide chest heaving with every breath.

Karen just smiled like everything was normal. “Slow down, Duncan, there’s plenty.”

Duncan’s deep-set eyes, cold and dominant, flicked to her for a beat. Then he reached for the potatoes next, scooping them onto his plate with a hand the size of a damn dinner tray. Forks were a joke. He just used his fingers.

Across the table, his younger brother Colin blinked and tried not to stare. The seventeen-year-old’s face was pale, cheeks flushed. His eyes flicked up to Duncan’s shoulders, the thick cords of muscle flexing beneath the green tank top. The way the sweat clung to his exposed, veiny arms. The deep ridge of his cleavage. The absolutely massive bulge barely veiled by those camo pants.

Colin swallowed. His voice cracked. “S-So, um… how was base today, big bro?”

Duncan looked up, a slow smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. His voice rumbled, like thunder echoing off distant cliffs.

“Hammered out a set of recruits. Four of ’em puked. One pissed himself.” He chuckled darkly. “Goddamn weaklings. Can’t handle a real man yelling at ’em.”

The table laughed politely. Colin’s fork trembled in his hand.

Duncan leaned back in the chair, which creaked like it was begging for mercy. One meaty arm lifted, casually scratching at his thick pelt of chest hair that peeked from the stretched tank top neckline. His armpits—dense, damp, red-furred caverns—flared open as he stretched. The scent that rolled off him was thick: sweat, testosterone, and something feral.

Karen stood. “I’ll get the pie.”

“Make it two slices,” Duncan said with a casual authority, voice like granite and fire.

As she turned, his eyes slid down to Colin—quiet now, wide-eyed and obviously trying not to look at his brother’s monstrous arms or how the tank top clung to his erect nipples beneath.

Duncan grinned slowly. Like a man who knew his own gravity.

“Something on your mind, runt?” he asked, deep and sharp.

Colin shook his head quickly, eyes darting down.

“Good,” Duncan said, tearing another chunk of chicken from the bone. “Didn’t think so.”

The weirdest part?

Nobody thought anything had changed. Claire had never existed. There were photos of Duncan on the mantel. Shirtless on a Harley. Covered in mud at a Tough Mudder race. Standing next to dad at a gun range, flexing his mountainous biceps like a goddamn tank.

Every memory. Every record. Every name. All of it now said: DUNCAN REEVE. Born male. Always been a man. Always been... this.

The only one who might have sensed something was off?

Colin. The way he looked at Duncan. The way he couldn’t stop fidgeting in his seat.

And Duncan?

Well… he was starting to notice the way Colin looked at him, too.

[superheavybaraftms]

Animated the Marcus art in Pixverse AI just for fun.

[superheavybaraftms]

Fenix Reborn 2 - Ridin' the Cole Train

Months had passed since that fateful day in the armory, and Marcus had settled into his new role as a COG soldier with surprising ease. His new body was a weapon of war, a tool of destruction that could turn the tide of battle with a flex of his bulging muscles. The other members of Delta-One had accepted him without question, never knowing their leader's identity had now been taken by someone else.

Marcus reveled in the raw power of his muscular form, feeling every flex and stretch as if it were a symphony playing just for him. The sight of his sweat-slicked abs rippling in the harsh light of the training room sent waves of arousal through him, and he often found himself stealing glances at the other soldiers' physiques, admiring their muscular perfection.

"Alright, that's it for today, rooks," Marcus barked, his deep voice cutting through the grunts and clanging of metal. "You've got what it takes to be a part of Delta-One, but don't get cocky. There's always more to learn." The rookies, all young and eager, nodded in unison, their own muscles glistening with the sweat of exertion.

They were a fine bunch, Marcus thought to himself, each one more ripped and ready for action than the last. They'd come so far under his tutelage, and the sight of their straining muscles and hungry eyes made his own cock stir beneath his combat armor. He felt a surge of pride at the thought of the monsters he'd created, these men who would soon be fighting alongside him in the endless war against the Locust.

"Dismissed!" he bellowed, watching them scatter like leaves before a storm. They knew better than to waste his time with idle chit-chat or unnecessary questions. He was Marcus Fenix, the legendary soldier, and his word was law. The training room grew quiet as the rookies retreated, leaving only the sound of his heavy footsteps on the cold, hard floor.

Marcus made his way to his private quarters, the weight of his new identity settling around him like a warm blanket. The corridors of the COG stronghold were a maze of steel and concrete, but he navigated them with the ease of a man who'd walked these halls for a lifetime. His thoughts drifted to his previous existence as Lena, the quiet, unassuming scavenger. How different everything was now.

Entering his room, he let out a sigh of relief, the cool air a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the training grounds. The dim lights flickered to life, revealing the sparse but functional space. His eyes fell on a photo of his old self, tucked away in a corner. The memory of her was faint, like a distant echo, but the hunger remained.

He peeled off his armor, each piece revealing more of the powerful body he now inhabited. The muscles that rippled beneath his skin were a constant reminder of his transformation. He stepped over to the mirror, flexing his biceps and watching them bulge and pulse. The sight was intoxicating, and he felt himself growing hard again.

Marcus grabbed a bottle of muscle oil from his locker, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light. He squirted a generous amount into his palm and began to rub it into his chest, watching the muscles slide and shine beneath his touch. The oil was cool at first, but it soon warmed to his skin, turning his body into a slick, gleaming masterpiece. He worked his way down, his hands lingering on the dense mounds of his abs, his fingers tracing the deep valleys between them.

The scent of the oil filled the room, a heady mix of mint and sandalwood that only served to heighten his arousal. His cock stood at full attention now, a proof to his newfound masculinity. He spread the oil across his shoulders and down his arms, feeling the slickness of the muscles as he flexed them. Each bulge and curve was a testament to his power, a declaration of the strength that lay just beneath the surface.

Marcus set the bottle of muscle oil down on the small wooden table in the center of the room. He took a step back, his eyes locked onto the mirror before him. The sight of his oiled-up body was almost too much to bear, and he could feel the beginnings of a ravenous heat that was impossible to ignore.

He started with his legs, his powerful thighs flexing and releasing, each muscle standing out in sharp relief. The oil caught the light, casting shadows across his skin that only served to highlight his incredible physique. He watched the play of muscles, his eyes greedily drinking in the sight of his newfound body. With each flex, his cock twitched in anticipation, a silent spectator to the show of strength he was putting on for himself.

Moving on to his shoulders, he rolled them back and felt the thick, heavy delts come alive beneath his fingertips. "God DAMN, I'm a fucking beast!" he growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the room. He smirked at his reflection, watching as the muscles danced and played with the light. The oil made his skin look like marble like a living statue of war and desire.

Marcus's chest was a wall of granite, each pectoral muscle a masterpiece of power and grace. He squeezed his nipples, the sensation sending shockwaves through his body. "These are the pecs that launched a thousand ships," he said with a chuckle, the sound echoing off the cold, metal walls. His hands slid down to his abs, tracing the deep grooves and valleys. "And these…these are the abs that could fucking cut diamonds." he added, his voice thick with arousal.

Marcus's eyes roved over his physique, taking in every inch of his transformed body with a greedy gaze. "You're a fucking god Marcus," he said to his reflection, his voice hoarse with lust. He curled his fingers into fists, his forearms bulging with the effort. The oil glistened, a slick sheen that highlighted every ridge and curve of his newfound strength.

"Shit, just look at these biceps," he said, his voice thick with desire as he flexed them, watching the muscles bulge and swell. "These things could crush skulls," he whispered, a dark thrill running through him at the thought. He leaned closer to the mirror, his breath fogging the glass as he studied the intricate pattern of veins that snaked up his arms like rivers of pure power.

Even after months of living in this new body, every flex still brought a thrill of amazement. The sheer size of his biceps was a constant reminder of his newfound strength. Marcus flexed his arms more, watching in the mirror as the veins popped out and his skin stretched taut over the bulging muscle. The former woman reborn into the image of a legend, and it was a feeling he would never tire of.

He couldn't help but think back to his days as Lena, when he'd been smaller, weaker, and so much more vulnerable. The memory of her lithe frame and soft curves was so different to the hulking mass of muscle that stared back at him now. But it was more than just physical power that had changed. The essence of Marcus Fenix had seeped into his very soul, filling him with a fiery aggression that fueled his every thought and action.

The door to his quarters burst open with a clang, shattering his solitary reverie. Cole, the towering black giant of Delta-One, filled the doorway with his sheer bulk. His deep voice boomed through the room, "Marcus, you old fuck, I knew I'd find you in here worshiping those babies!"

Marcus smirked, not bothering to hide his arousal. "Can't blame a man for admiring a damn masterpiece," he replied, his eyes still on his reflection.

Cole strode in, his own dark-skinned muscles rippling beneath his tight black tank top. He was a mountain of a man, with shoulders so broad they could have shielded a small village. His biceps looked like they could crush a Locust in one easy squeeze, and his abs were so defined it looked like someone had carved them from stone.

"What the fuck, Marcus?" He smirked, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "You could have invited the Cole Train."

Cole's grin widened as he sailed closer, his eyes raking over Marcus's oiled-up frame. He takes off his black tank top and shorts and throws them off the floor, leaving him in nothing but his standard issue COG jockstrap, the humungous bulge stretching the fabric looking like a caged battering ram. He grabbed the bottle of muscle oil from the table with a wet smack, flipped the cap open with a practiced flick of his thumb, and began to coat his own muscles, starting with his broad chest. The oil glistened on his dark skin, the scent of mint and sandalwood growing stronger as he worked it into his massive pecs.

Marcus couldn't help but watch as the other man's muscles flexed and shifted with every movement. It was hypnotic, a dance of power and grace that made his cock throb with need. He licked his lips, his eyes following the path of the oil as it trickled down Cole's abs, tracing the deep, inviting lines that begged for exploration.

"I see you're enjoyin' the view," Cole said with a chuckle as he oils up the rest of his sexy chocolate bod, his voice deep and warm. He throws the muscle oil back on the table as he stepped closer, their bodies almost touching. "But I reckon the Cole Train's got a few tricks up his sleeve too."

Marcus raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Is that a challenge I hear?"

"Damn right it is," Cole said, his own smirk growing. "I've seen the way you eye the others man, like they're your own personal buffet. Let's see if you can handle the heat."

Marcus felt a thrill at the challenge. He'd been waiting for this moment since he'd first laid eyes on the towering behemoth of a man. "You think you can out-flex the legend?" he taunted, his voice dropping to a low, seductive purr.

Cole stepped closer, his oiled body gleaming in the low light. "Oh, I've got more than enough to match you, baby," he said, his own smirk turning into a full-blown grin. "Let's see what you've got."

The air in the room grew thick with tension and desire as the two men began to flex, their muscles moving in a silent, erotic symphony. Marcus's eyes never left Cole's, challenging him with every bulging bicep and flexing ab. The room was filled with the scent of musk and oil, a heady mix that made the space feel like a battlefield of lust.

"You think you're the biggest, huh?" Marcus taunted, his voice a low growl. "Let's see if you can match this." He flexed his arms, the muscles bulging so much that it looked like they might tear through his skin. His chest heaved with the effort, the oil making his pecs shine like polished marble.

Cole's grin grew wider, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "Is that all you got motherfucker?" He stepped closer, their chests almost brushing against each other. He flexed his own arms, his biceps popping up like cannonballs. The room was electric with the tension, the air charged with the scent of their sweat and the oil.

"Oh, I'm just getting started," Marcus growled, his voice thick with desire. He pushed his abs out, the muscles rippling and sliding beneath his skin. He watched as Cole's eyes followed the movement, his own arousal growing more apparent by the second.

"You're going to need more than that to impress me," Cole countered, his deep voice resonating in the small space. "Let's see those abs in action."

Marcus smirked, the challenge accepted. He took a deep breath and flexed his abs with a ferocity that made the room feel smaller. Each muscle stood out in stark relief. The air between them was charged with a palpable tension as their muscular forms brushed against one another.

Cole let out a low whistle, his eyes dark with appreciation. "Damn, Marcus, you're not fuckin' around." He took a step back, his huge cock now straining against the fabric of his jockstrap. "But I've got a little something for you too." With that, he flexed his abs, his eight-pack rippling like a series of waves in an ocean of power. Each cobbled row of muscle was a sculpted masterpiece, a result of years of brutal combat and training.

Marcus felt his own cock pulse in response, his desire for the other man growing more intense with every flex. "You're one sexy beast, Cole," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "But let me show you what a real man can do." He took a deep breath and flexed his chest, his massive pecs bulging and shifting like an unstoppable force of nature.

Cole's eyes widened with surprise and arousal. "Damn, you weren't kidding," he breathed, his hand hovering over Marcus's chest before making contact, his fingers tracing the contours of the hard, oiled muscles. "But can you keep up?" He began to play with Marcus's nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, watching as the muscles beneath his touch quivered and danced.

Marcus let out a low groan, the pleasure almost too much to handle. He leaned into the touch, his cock jutting out even further, demanding attention. "Keep it up," he moaned, his eyes never leaving Cole's. "You're playing a dangerous game, you know."

Cole just chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down Marcus's spine. "Oh, I know," he said. He took his hand away from Marcus's chest and began to flex his own pecs, his dark skin shimmering with oil. "But I've got a feeling you can handle it."

The two men circled each other, their bodies moving in a silent dance of power and seduction. Each flex was a declaration of intent, a silent challenge that seemed to echo through the room. Marcus felt his cock throb with every beat of his heart, his body screaming for release. He could see the same need mirrored in Cole's eyes, a hunger that was impossible to ignore.

Marcus took a deep breath, his chest expanding like a balloon about to burst. He could feel the oil slicking his muscles, making every move more sensual, more deliberate. He couldn't believe this was his life now, that he was standing here, flexing and flirting with another man, feeling the heat of his desire. It was a heady mix of emotions, a cocktail of excitement and arousal that made him feel alive in a way he never had as Lena.

The room was thick with the scent of masculinity and desire, the air heavy with the promise of something more. The sight of Cole's oiled-up body, his muscles rippling and flexing, was almost too much to bear. Marcus felt his own cock throb with each flex, his arousal growing more intense with every passing second. It was a strange, exhilarating feeling, one that was both new and incredibly natural.

"Alright, enough of this," Marcus growled, his patience wearing thin. He lunged forward, grabbing the front of Cole's jockstrap and yanking him closer. The fabric gave way easily, revealing the massive footlong cock that had been hidden beneath it. "Let's see what the Cole Train is really made of."

Cole's laugh turned into a gasp as Marcus's hand closed around his thick, throbbing shaft. "Fuck, you're not playin' around," he groaned, his eyes darkening with desire.

The two men were now chest to chest, their muscles pressing together, the slickness of the oil only adding to the intensity of the moment. Marcus could feel the heat radiating off of Cole's body, the sweat and oil mixing with the scent of his own arousal. He leaned in, capturing the other man's full lips in a bruising kiss that left them both breathless.

Their tongues danced together, a duel of passion and power that mirrored the flex of their muscles. Marcus's hand tightened around Cole's cock, stroking it in time with the beat of their hearts. He could feel the man's abs contract with every movement, each muscle defined and rigid.

Cole's own hand found Marcus's thick ten and a half inches of hard length, the heat of his palm sending shockwaves through his body. They moaned into each other's mouths as their hands worked in unison, each stroke a declaration of their need for one another. The oil made their skin slippery, their bodies moving together in a sinuous dance that grew more heated with every passing moment.

"You like that?" Marcus murmured against his lips, his breath hot and ragged. "You like the feel of my hand on your cock?"

"Fuck, yes," Cole managed to get out, his voice a low groan that sent shivers down Marcus's spine. "But I want more. I want all of you."

Without breaking the kiss, Cole's hands roamed over Marcus's chest, his fingers digging into the rock-hard muscles as he explored the contours of his oily body. Marcus moaned, the sensation of those strong, calloused hands on his sensitive skin making him feel alive in a way he never had before. The touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure through his body as he arched into the other man's embrace.

Marcus's own hand slipped from Cole's cock, moving to grip both of their swollen lengths together. He began to rub them against each other, the sound of their slick flesh echoing through the room. The friction was exquisite, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure up their spines. They were two titans of war, now locked in a battle of desire, their muscular forms moving in perfect harmony.

Their bodies grew slick with a new sheen of sweat, mixing with the oil to create a slippery film that only served to heighten their arousal. The heat between them was clear, a force that seemed to make the very air shiver with anticipation. Marcus's abs were tight with need, his muscles quivering as he worked their cocks in a rhythmic dance of passion.

Cole's hands roamed lower, gripping Marcus's thick, powerful thighs. He squeezed and massaged the rock-hard muscles, his fingers digging in as he moaned into the kiss. Marcus could feel the other man's strength, his own body responding with a primal need.

Cole's hands then moved from Marcus's thighs to his shoulders, his fingers digging into the solid muscle. He traced the line of Marcus's delts, feeling the power that lay beneath the slick skin. Marcus's breath hitched as those strong fingers moved down to his biceps, squeezing and caressing the bulging muscles. He flexed his arms, the biceps bulging even more as they kissed, the oil making them slick and inviting.

Their cocks were a frenzied mess, the oil making their movements smooth and sensual. Marcus's hand moved in a steady rhythm, stroking both their lengths together, feeling the heat and weight of Cole's huge thick cock in his hand. He could feel the pulse of the man's desire, the way his body responded to every touch and squeeze. It was a heady power he never had as Lena, one that made him feel like he could conquer the world.

Their kiss grew more intense, their tongues wrestling as if fighting for dominance. Marcus felt his own need spiraling out of control, the muscles in his arms and chest tightening as he approached climax. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer, the feeling of Cole's massive cock against his own pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

Suddenly, Cole pulled back, panting heavily as he broke the kiss. "Faster you motherfucker!" he ordered, his eyes blazing with desire. Marcus's hand obeyed without hesitation, moving faster and faster along their joined lengths, the slick sound of the oil filling the room.

Cole's fingers dug into Marcus's ass, his grip firm and possessive as he held their bodies tight together. The heat of his palms seared into Marcus's skin, sending waves of pleasure shooting through his body. He could feel the tension coiling in his stomach, the pressure building with every stroke.

"Harder!!" Cole growled, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought for control. "Fuck, Marcus, I'm so close!!" His voice was a deep rumble. Marcus could see the veins in his neck standing out, the muscles in his jaw clenching with every moan.

Marcus tightened his grip, his own body responding to the urgency in the other man's voice. The head of their cocks were now a blur of movement, their hips thrusting together in a desperate bid for release. The oil made everything feel so much more intense, the sensation of their slick, sweaty bodies sliding against each other almost too much to bear.

"Oh, fuck!" Marcus moaned, his own climax approaching like a freight train. His abs tensed, his legs quivering with the effort to hold himself up. "I'm going to cum!" he warned, his voice tight with need.

Cole's eyes snapped open, meeting Marcus's in the mirror. "Do it!" he urged, his own voice a growl of desire. "Cum for me, baby! Show me what you've got!"

Marcus's hand moved faster, their cocks a blur of motion. He felt his climax building, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to shatter him into a million pieces. "Fuck, yes!" he hissed, his body tightening.

"Cum with me!" Cole demanded, his own hand joining Marcus's in a frantic race to the finish. They stroked themselves in unison, their eyes locked in the mirror, the sight of their muscular bodies entwined pushing them closer and closer to the edge.

Marcus's abs clenched as he felt the first wave of pleasure begin to build in his balls. "Fuck!!" he groaned, his voice hoarse with need. "I'm going to… I'm going to…"

"Do it!" Cole rasped, his own body tight with tension. "Cum for me, baby! Let it all out!!"

And with that, Marcus did just that. His body convulsed as the most powerful orgasm of his life ripped through him, his muscles spasming with every pulse of pleasure. "FUUUUUCK!!!" he roared, his voice echoing through the room as ropes of cum shot from his cock, painting the mirror with sticky white lines. His abs tightened, each muscle spasming from the power that was coursing through him.

Cole watched, his own orgasm hitting like a meteor impact. "FUCK YEEEAAAHH BABYYY!!!" he screamed, his cock pulsing in Marcus's hand as he added his own hot, thick seed to the sticky mess. The sight of Marcus's powerful body, writhing in ecstasy, was enough to push him over the edge.

Their bodies remained locked together, their muscles quivering and spasming as they rode the waves of pleasure. Marcus felt like he was floating, the room spinning around him as he came down from his orgasmic high. He looked into the mirror, their reflections a blur of muscles and oil, and couldn't believe what he'd just experienced.

Cole leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, his chest heaving with deep, labored breaths. "Fuck, man," he whispered, his eyes still dark with lust. "That was… intense."

Marcus nodded, his own breath still coming in short pants. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so alive, so full of raw, primal power. "Yeah," he managed to get out, his voice still thick with desire.

They stepped back, their bodies glistening with sweat and oil. The evidence of their passion was smeared across the mirror, a testament to the intensity of their encounter. Cole's eyes traveled over Marcus's body, lingering on the still-twitching muscles that covered his frame.

"Damn, you really are something else," he whistled, a hint of awe in his voice.

Marcus couldn't help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction at the words. He flexed his bicep, watching the muscle jump and quiver with power. "You ain't seen nothing yet," he said, his voice low and teasing.

Cole's grin grew wider, his teeth flashing in the dim light. He took a step closer, the heat of his body making Marcus's skin prickle with excitement. "Oh, I'm looking forward to it," he said, his voice a seductive purr.

Marcus took a deep breath, the scent of their combined arousal still heavy in the air. "Well, let's get you cleaned up first," he said, his own smile mischievous. He led the way to the shower, their steps echoing in the quiet room. The tension between them had shifted, now a playful, teasing energy that made his heart race.

The shower was a welcome respite from the heat of their passion, the cool spray washing away the sweat and oil that coated their bodies. The water cascaded over their muscles, each droplet catching the light and highlighting the contours of their powerful forms. They stepped under the spray together, the water hitting their broad shoulders and running down their chests in rivulets.

Marcus watched as the water sluiced over Cole's dark skin, the droplets clinging to the ridges of his abs and biceps. The sight was almost too much to bear, the memory of their recent romp making his cock stir again. He turned away, focusing on the wall as he rinsed off, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

When they were both clean, they stepped out of the shower, the cool air making their skin prickle with gooseflesh. Marcus grabbed a towel and began to dry off, his movements slow and deliberate. He couldn't help but steal glances at Cole, the other man's muscles rippling as he toweled off his own body.

Cole caught his gaze and smirked, tossing his towel aside and walking over to the pile of clothes on the floor. He pulled on his black tank top and shorts, the fabric clinging to his wet skin. Marcus felt his cock give a lazy throb at the sight of the sexy black man's body, still flushed from their encounter.

Marcus followed suit, sliding into a fresh pair of briefs that hugged his thick cock and ample package snugly. He pulled a crisp white shirt over his head, the fabric sticking briefly to his still-damp chest before falling into place. The feeling of the clean, dry cloth against his skin was a stark contrast to the slickness of the oil from earlier.

As he finished dressing, Marcus felt a strong arm wrap around his waist, pulling him back into a warm, muscular embrace. He looked up to see the smoldering gaze of Cole, whose own desire had not yet been fully sated. Before he could say a word, the other man leaned in and captured his lips in a deep, wet kiss, their tongues sliding against each other with a passion that had only been briefly abated by their recent climaxes.

"Later, baby," Cole whispered against his ear, sending shivers down Marcus's spine. He stepped back, giving Marcus one last lingering look that promised a future of unbridled passion and exploration. With a wink, he turned and sauntered out of the room, his muscular ass flexing with each step as he disappeared from view.

Marcus's body fell to his couch as he took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. Since the day he'd become Marcus, he'd been on a sexual odyssey, his insatiable appetite for men's muscular forms was a so far gone from his past life as Lena. Each encounter had been a revelation, a chance to understand the depths of his newfound desires and the power that came with his transformed body.

The room was still charged with the scent of Marcus and Cole's combined passion, musk and sweat mixing with the faint aroma of mint from their breath. Marcus's eyes drifted to the mirror, where the sticky remnants of their climax remained, a glossy testament to their intensity. He couldn't help but flex again, watching the muscles of his bicep dance under the light. It was a strange, exhilarating feeling to be so consumed by his own power and sexiness.

He settled onto the couch, his body still humming with satisfaction. His mind wandered to the future, the endless possibilities that awaited him in this new form. As Marcus, he had become a symbol of strength and dominance, a leader in the eyes of his comrades. Yet, in the quiet moments, like this one, he could indulge in his true desires, his body a canvas of pleasure for men like Cole to explore and worship. It was a future he had never dared to dream of, a life beyond anything he had ever imagined.

The room grew dimmer as nightfall approached, the shadows playing across his muscular form, highlighting the contours of his body. He felt a deep sense of contentment wash over him, a feeling that was as unfamiliar as it was intoxicating. In this new life, he could be both the fierce soldier and the passionate lover, a man of power and a creature of desire.

Marcus stretched out on the couch, his muscular arms folded behind his head as he closed his eyes. The sounds of the headquarters outside had grown faint, the distant gunfire and shouts a mere murmur that served as a lullaby to his exhausted body. The air was still thick with the scent of their passion, a potent reminder of the fiery connection he and Cole shared. A peaceful smile etched on his face as he drifted off into a deep sleep.

[superheavybaraftms]

Story Index

Original Stories:

The Blip - a series of stories about a mysterious blip in reality that transforms women into huge bara men.

Prologue

Beasts of Fort Garrison: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

A Family That Blips Together: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Fan Fiction Stories:

Fenix Reborn: Part 1, Part 2 - Gears of War fanfic about a woman becoming Marcus Fenix.

[superheavybaraftms]

Fenix Reborn

In the dusty, grime-covered corner of a long-forgotten armory, nestled between rusting weapons and crumbling brick, a young woman named Lena carefully examined a peculiar artifact she'd stumbled upon. The object was an ancient, metallic skull with a mysterious, pulsing red emblem etched into its forehead. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. The air around it seemed charged with a strange, primal energy that sent shivers down her spine.

"What the hell is this?" she murmured to herself, her eyes locked onto the skull's gleaming surface. Despite its intimidating presence, she couldn't resist the urge to reach out and touch it.

As her fingertips made contact with the cool metal, she felt an electric jolt surge through her body. Her vision blurred and her heart raced. Lena's mind reeled, and she stumbled backward, knocking over a stack of ammo crates in her haste to get away from the skull. It was too late.

The artifact began to hum, the vibration resonating through the room and into her very bones. "Oh shit," she breathed, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and fascination.

The red emblem grew brighter, the pulsing rhythm increasing in intensity. Without warning, the skull levitated from the table, a swirl of crimson light coalescing around it. The energy grew stronger, and Lena felt her body begin to change, her skin stretching and muscles bulging beneath her clothes. She watched in horror and excitement as her reflection in a nearby mirror warped, her features becoming more masculine, more…familiar.

"What's happening to me?" she gasped as her voice deepened into a gruff growl. Her shirt strained against her growing chest, and her pants felt like they were made of paper against her thickening thighs.

The skull hovered before her, the light from the emblem bathing her in its crimson glow. The transformation was agonizingly slow, every moment a battle between the woman she was and the man she was becoming. Her eyes grew heavier, her cheekbones sharper, and her jawline grew stronger, all the while her voice deepened to match.

"I can't…I can't believe it," she murmured, her newfound bass rumbling in her throat. She flexed her arms, feeling the power surging through her newfound muscles. They were massive, like boulders. Her hands had grown larger, now tipped with the calloused fingers of a man who'd seen more than his fair share of combat.

The change grew more intense, her body now a canvas of painful pleasure. Her breasts flattened into a broad, hairy chest, her waist thickening and narrowing. The sensation grew more intimate as her body rearranged itself, her hips widening and a new, alien presence grew between her legs.

"I'm…I'm becoming…" she trailed off, her eyes going to the bulge in her pants. She reached down with trembling hands and felt something hard, something unmistakably male. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized what it was.

Her clothes were torn to shreds now, unable to contain the sheer size of the transformation. The skull hovered closer, its pulsing light enveloping her entirely. Her eyes squeezed shut as she felt something give way within her, a final shift that sent waves of pleasure and pain throughout her being.

When she opened her eyes again, she was looking down at a body she'd only ever seen in her fantasies: the body of Marcus Fenix, the legendary COG soldier she'd read about in the tattered comics she'd found scattered around the ruins of the city. But this wasn't just a vision or a daydream. This was real.

Her heart pounded in her new, massive chest. "I'm…I'm a man," she whispered in disbelief, her voice now a deep, authoritative baritone. She was Marcus, right down to the last sinewy detail.

The skull descended, coming to rest on the floor with a clang. The red light faded, leaving her standing in the wreckage of the armory, naked and changed. She looked down at her powerful new body, her hands roaming over her thick, rippling abs and the dense matting of hair that covered her chest. Her fingers danced over her bulging biceps, feeling the power in her new form.

"Well, well," she chuckled, the sound rich and male. "Looks like I've got a bit more than I bargained for." The reality of her transformation began to sink in, and she felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of being this powerful, this…masculine.

Her gaze fell to her crotch, where the massive organ that had replaced her womanhood now stood proudly erect. She wrapped her hand around it, marveling at the size and the feel of the hard, hot flesh. "It's so…so huge," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of awe and arousal.

Her body was still adjusting, and every touch sent new sensations shooting through her. She felt the weight of her new genitals, the way they swung heavily with every step she took. Her mind raced with thoughts of what she could do with them, the kind of power she could wield in this new body.

Marcus—now fully embracing his new identity—flexed his muscles, watching the play of shadows across his skin. The act was almost religious, a silent offering to the skull that had granted him this gift. His cock grew even larger with each flex, pulsing with a need that was unfamiliar yet undeniable.

He stepped out of the armory, the cool evening air kissing his skin. The world outside looked the same, yet everything had changed. He knew that no one else would recognize him as Lena anymore. They would only see the stoic, battle-hardened soldier that now stood before them.

The city was eerily quiet, the remnants of a once-great civilization now silent and still. The only sound was the distant rumble of a Locust horde, a reminder of the never-ending battle for survival. Marcus felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he had a duty to his comrades.

But first, he had to get used to this new body, to understand the desires and needs that came with it. He found a secluded spot, a crumbling wall offering a semblance of privacy. He leaned back against it, his hand still wrapped around his cock, and began to stroke himself.

The sensations were overwhelming, so intense they brought tears to his eyes. His muscles tensed with every stroke, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Oh, fuck," he moaned, the sound deep and guttural. "I've never felt anything like this before."

He was lost in the pleasure, his mind a whirlwind of sensation. He watched his new hand, the calloused fingers moving with surprising skill, exploring every inch of his thick, veined shaft. His other hand found his now-flat chest, his nipples hardening to his touch.

The tension grew, coiling tightly in his belly. Marcus knew what was coming, the culmination of this strange, erotic journey. He quickened his pace, his heart thundering in his new chest. The world around him blurred, and all that existed was the feeling of his hand on his cock, the building pressure that threatened to tear him apart.

And then, with a roar that echoed through the desolate streets, he came. Semen spurted from his massive member, painting the wall before him with ropes of white-hot pleasure. It was a declaration of his newfound manhood, a primal assertion of his power.

As he caught his breath, Marcus knew he was ready to face the world as the man he'd become. The soldier he'd always admired from afar was now a part of him, forever intertwined with the woman he'd been.

He looked down at his spent cock, already beginning to rise again, and smirked. "Guess I've got some things to get used to," he declared, wiping a bead of cum from the corner of his mouth. "But I think I'm gonna like it."

In the coming days and nights, he would explore the uncharted territories of his newfound masculinity, learning to harness the strength and aggression that now coursed through his veins. The thrill of combat would be matched only by the intensity of his sexual appetites, which seemed to have grown in proportion to his muscular frame. He could already feel the beginnings of a hunger that was unfamiliar yet tantalizing.

Marcus knew that he couldn't hide in the shadows forever. The call of duty was too strong, and he had to face the reality of his new life. He made his way through the ruins of the city, his every step echoing like a declaration of intent. The COG headquarters loomed in the distance, a bastion of hope in a world that had lost so much.

[superheavybaraftms]

The Blip: Beasts of Fort Garrison 4 - Submission Protocol

The gym reeked of sweat, cum-thick tension, and male rage.

Their oil-slick bodies tangled again and again under the flickering lights. Bear Monroe and General Darius Kade—two hypermasculine gods, all muscle, cock, and will—had grappled for over an hour. No clear victor. No tap-outs. Just grinding, slamming, grunting, and the constant wet slap of cock against cock as their bare bodies slid and fought across the mats.

Both were fully erect now—dangerously so.

Bear’s shaft was long and veiny, slapping against his 8-pack with every movement, a curved monster that pulsed angrily against his belly. Kade’s cock was wider, heavy and thick as a damn soda can, drooling precum across the mat like territorial piss.

Richard Dwyer sat on the bench, shirt long gone, stroking his cock in rhythm with their thrusts and flexes, face red, breath shallow. He wasn’t just a spectator anymore. He was witness to a holy ritual of dominance.

But something shifted.

Kade growled low, teeth bared. “You slowing down, Bear?”

Bear, panting, smirked with sweat trailing down his beard. “Only 'cause I’m savin’ energy for when I break you.”

That was the line.

Kade roared—a guttural, primal sound—and lunged. His entire frame slammed into Bear’s like a wrecking ball. Bear grunted, momentarily winded, and that was all the opening Kade needed.

He wrapped one tree-trunk arm around Bear’s neck in a tight headlock and drove him backward—pinning him flat on the mat beneath his hulking weight.

Bear thrashed, snarling, abs flexing, glutes tensed—but Kade was a fuckin' freight train.

Their cocks mashed together, wet and pulsing. Kade shifted his hips lower—deliberately—letting his monster shaft press against Bear’s perineum. His other hand reached under, fisting Bear’s hair and yanking his head back, exposing his throat.

"You always wanted this, didn’t you?” Kade growled into his ear, voice like thunder. “Wanted to be taken. Owned. Fucked like the brute you pretend you ain't.”

“Fuck you,” Bear hissed, but his cock twitched visibly. His voice was thick with lust. “You’ll have to earn that shit—"

Kade spat in his hand and reached back between their grinding bodies, grabbing Bear’s ass and spreading those huge, sweaty cheeks wide. The scent was raw—salt, sweat, male musk. He lined himself up, breathing hard, lips just brushing Bear’s ear.

“I am earning it. Right. Fucking. Now.”

And with a brutal, grinding thrust, Kade buried the first few inches of his cock into Bear’s hole.

Bear howled, hips jerking, back arching off the mat. “GOD—fuckin’—damn—!”

The stretch was enormous. Kade’s cock was a battering ram, splitting him open inch by thick, throbbing inch. Bear’s fists clenched, slamming the mat, muscles bulging, beard dripping.

Richard moaned low, stroking harder, precum leaking down his knuckles.

Kade didn’t stop.

He pushed deeper—slow, cruel, heavy—letting Bear feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of dominant power forcing its way inside.

“You gonna tell me I’m not your Alpha?” Kade growled, fully sheathed now, pressed balls-to-ass against Bear’s massive glutes.

Bear spat on the mat. “You wish—”

Kade slammed his hips hard.

Bear’s mouth dropped open in a silent moan.

Another thrust. Harder. Wet slaps echoed. Their bodies collided with violent rhythm.

“You gonna call me sir?” Kade snarled.

Bear’s abs flexed. “Not till I—”

Another thrust. Deeper. Bear’s cock jerked with a fat bead of pre oozing from the head.

Kade’s hand wrapped around Bear’s shaft. “You say it, or I keep fuckin’ you ‘til the sun comes up.”

Bear writhed. Growled. Then broke.

“Sir!”

Kade roared in triumph, fucking him harder now—feral, relentless.

“Say it again.”

“SIR!—fuck—SIR!”

Kade reached under and jerked Bear’s cock with brutal efficiency, timed with each piston-thrust. The mat was soaked in sweat, cum, and oil. Their bodies slapped like thunder. Bear’s moans echoed like a song of surrender.

And then—Bear’s entire body tensed, muscles rippling. His abs locked up like bricks. His cock jerked violently.

He came with a savage cry, a thick rope of cum blasting across his chest, then another, hitting his beard, then another—each pump soaking the mat and his body.

Kade didn’t stop thrusting. He grunted, face twisting, hips hammering.

And then with one final slam, his whole body shuddered, and he erupted inside Bear. The pressure of his orgasm bulged visibly in Bear’s gut, cum flooding deep, hot and messy. Bear moaned through gritted teeth, overwhelmed.

Kade collapsed on top of him, breath hot, beard tangled in Bear’s neck hair.

Their sweat mixed. Their pulses slowed.

Behind them, Richard came with a strangled gasp, hot ropes splattering his own abs, eyes wide in awe and lust. He didn’t even clean up—just sat back, panting, grinning.

Kade eventually rolled off, his cock slipping free with a wet pop, slick with both their juices. Bear lay flat on the mat, chest heaving, eyes staring at the ceiling.

Kade turned to him, voice low and satisfied.

“You’re mine now, boy.”

Bear, still panting, chuckled darkly.

“For now.”

They lay in silence, the gym filled with the scent of sweat, cum, and victory.

Outside, the wind picked up again.

Inside, two Blipped beasts had settled an ancient score, never realizing it was as new as their own bodies and realities.

But nothing ever stays settled for long.

[superheavybaraftms]

The Blip: Beasts of Fort Garrison 3 - Midnight at the Iron Church

Fort Garrison after dark was quiet—eerily so. A few scattered lights from barracks windows blinked like lazy stars. The wind had died down, leaving the air dense and unmoving. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once, then silence fell again like a curtain.

Inside the base gym, though, the night was anything but still.

The fluorescent lights above the weight racks buzzed faintly, casting a pale sheen over cold iron and rubber floors. The place smelled of metal, sweat, and testosterone—thick, clinging, and electric. The air was heavy, saturated with pheromones and promise.

And then the door creaked open.

Bear Monroe stepped in, shirtless, his skin slick with oil and sweat as if he’d prepped for a photo shoot—but this was no performance. This was personal. His massive frame filled the doorway. His pecs bounced with each breath. Tattoos shimmered across his tan, hairy bulk like war paint. His black gym shorts were loose, but couldn’t hide the monstrous bulge slapping softly against one thigh.

He didn’t look around. He didn’t have to.

“Figured you’d be late,” he grunted, voice soaked in molasses and bourbon.

A laugh echoed from the corner, deep and dry.

“I’m never late, boy. You’re just early.”

General Darius Kade emerged from the shadows, shirtless as well, only a pair of sweatpants clinging to his thick thighs and half-exposed ass. He was older, sure—silver in his beard, lines on his face—but his body was pure power. Solid chest hair matted with sweat. Gut like a boulder, not soft but dense, tight with strength underneath. His cock lay thick and visible down his left leg, dragging his pants a little lower than decency allowed.

Bear’s eyes narrowed. “Still built like a brick shithouse, huh?”

Kade smirked, rolling his shoulders. “You saying you ain’t gonna try and knock me over tonight?”

“Boy,” Bear grinned. “I’m gonna bury you under the weight bench.”

Across the gym, on a folding chair by the squat rack, sat Colonel Richard Dwyer, arms crossed, watching like a man at a private prizefight. He wore nothing but his PT shorts and a tank top, a water bottle in one hand, his jaw tight.

“Don’t mind me,” he muttered. “Just here to make sure nobody dies.”

Bear glanced over, his grin widening. “Ain’t that cute. Your daddy’s still playing hall monitor.”

Kade stepped forward, massive feet padding silently over the floor.

“Stretch or shut up, Bear.”

The tension in the room twisted—hot and loud, though no one had raised their voice. Two giants. Two alpha men. The room wasn’t big enough for both of them—but that was the point.

They circled each other near the bench press.

Then, without a word, Bear dropped to the bench and slapped on four plates per side.

“Startin’ light, old man,” he drawled, licking his bottom lip.

Kade stepped behind the bench, fingers brushing Bear’s traps with just enough friction to feel like a dare. “You better push hard, pup. I’m not cleaning your blood off this floor.”

Bear lifted the bar, veins bulging across his arms like rivers under pressure. His 8-pack tensed. His chest surged. He dropped the bar and exploded upward with the first rep—clean, powerful. A grunt escaped him—deep, almost sensual. Ten reps. No pause. Slams the bar back onto the rack.

He sat up, panting, sweat pouring down his face, staring at Kade with a wild grin. “Your fuckin’ turn.”

Kade took the bench without blinking. Added another plate on each side.

“Weight’s real now,” Richard muttered, eyes widening. He shifted in his seat, clearly aroused, the bulge in his shorts starting to show. Not that he seemed embarrassed—this was Fort Garrison. This was normal.

Kade’s arms flared as he gripped the bar, chest hair glistening with oil and sweat. He pushed up, slow and deliberate. His face was calm—focused. Each rep drove his gut tighter, his pecs higher. His cock visibly stiffened as the blood surged, his sweatpants stretching to contain it.

At twelve, he let the bar slam back down with a guttural grunt, sitting up with fire in his eyes.

“Still playin’ with dumbbells, Monroe.”

Bear growled.

“Strip,” he said.

Kade blinked. “Say again?”

“You heard me, motherfucker. Next round’s body-to-body. Greco style. Let’s settle this the old way.”

Kade’s laugh was thunder.

“Hell, I thought you’d never ask.”

They stripped—slowly, almost ceremonially. Bear pulled off his shorts first, revealing the absolute beast between his legs: thick, semi-hard, and swinging heavy. Kade followed, stepping out of his sweatpants and revealing his own monster—fatter, darker, heavier.

Richard let out a shaky breath. “God damn…”

Both men oiled up, smearing each other’s sweat across their torsos with thick hands. Palms slid across abs, chests, arms. Every touch was rough—dominant, challenging. Their cocks thickened as they circled again.

Then they crashed together.

Their bodies smacked like boulders. Chests collided. Arms wrapped, struggling for dominance. Gut slammed against abs. Groin to groin—cock to cock, thick shafts grinding and slapping between their bellies as they grappled.

Growls and curses filled the room.

“Fuckin’ hairball,” Bear grunted.

“Still can’t take me,” Kade snarled, pressing his forearm against Bear’s throat. “You never could.”

Their feet shuffled on the mat. The wet slap of their bodies echoed between reps of grunts and groans. They weren’t just wrestling. They were fucking dominance into the floor. Each tried to mount. Each refused to be topped.

At one point, Bear flipped Kade onto the bench and straddled his chest, massive cock laying over the general’s neck like a damn collar.

“You ready to submit?”

Kade just grinned, then shoved Bear off with a thrust of his powerful hips. They landed together on the mat, cocks grinding, fists clenching.

Richard was now openly stroking himself, silent, reverent, unable to look away.

“You two done yet?” he asked hoarsely.

Neither answered. Kade had mounted Bear now, their bodies glistening and vibrating with tension. The general leaned in, mouth to ear.

“This ain’t about finishing, boy,” he whispered. “This is about never giving in.”

And Bear, teeth gritted, eyes wild with lust, just growled: “Then don’t stop.”

[superheavybaraftms]

The Blip: Beasts of Fort Garrison 2 - Rivalry Rekindled

The fluorescent lights of Fort Garrison’s medical wing buzzed softly overhead, casting a sterile sheen over the gleaming tile floors and stainless-steel counters. The scent of antiseptic hung thick in the air, masking sweat and desert dust. Behind the check-in counter, freshly scrubbed and humming to herself, was Nurse Alyssa Monroe.

Twenty-three. Peach-lipped, bright-eyed, and fresh from nursing school in North Carolina. She wore her scrubs just a bit too baggy, her ID badge clipped neatly beside a penlight. Her ponytail bounced as she moved, and though her hands were practiced and steady, there was a nervous energy under her skin.

I can do this. First week. No one’s died on me yet. Just check vitals, organize meds, don’t pass out if you see blood.

Her fingers danced across a clipboard as she reviewed charts, stealing glances at the clock.

"Hey, Alyssa!" called Specialist Corbin, a young soldier with a lazy grin and a limp from an old training accident. "You heading to Ward B?"

“Yep!” she chirped. “Just refilling IVs and doing vitals. Easy stuff.”

“Be careful. They say General Kade’s coming through for a physical.”

She blinked. “Wait. The General Kade? The one who made the lieutenant colonel cry during a briefing?”

Corbin snorted. “The one with a cock like a crowbar and a reputation to match.”

Alyssa blushed fiercely. “Jesus…”

She turned on her heel, making her way down the hallway, her heart pounding with an odd mix of dread and curiosity. She’d heard the rumors. Everyone had. The General was… infamous. Not just for his tactics, but for his body, his appetite, the way he owned every room with sheer testosterone.

Men like that aren’t real. They’re myths. Exaggerated stories between locker room grunts.

The hallway ahead shimmered slightly.

She didn’t notice.

Her sneakers squeaked across the floor as she walked. Her fingers tightened around the clipboard.

Then—

It hit.

The Blip.

There was no warning. No transition. Just the snap of unreality like a fault line breaking beneath her feet.

Alyssa's lungs spasmed. Her knees buckled.

“Ah—!” she gasped, but her voice was already thickening—stretching into a low Southern drawl lined with bass. What the—

Her arms twitched, then exploded outward with a wet crunch of mass and sinew. The sleeves of her scrubs ripped apart like paper, biceps surging into cannonballs of dense, vascular power. Her soft hands bulked into meaty mitts with veins pulsing along the backs. Her nails dulled, thickening.

Her chest broadened violently—pectorals swelling, nipples thickening, pushing outward into tight, hairy slabs. The fabric of her top shredded, revealing skin darkening into a deep golden tan, now slick with sweat and peppered with a fur coat of thick black curls across his chest and abs.

Nnnghh—fuuck, y’all feel that?

The thought struck like lightning—no longer Alyssa's, but his.

His belly didn’t sag; it hardened into a beastly wall of flexing abdominal power. An 8-pack, cut so deep it looked carved into stone, wrapped in a soft under-layer of southern charm and rugged hair. Thick ridges rippled with every breath. His waist was wide, powerful, a base to hold the mountainous bulk of his upper body.

His spine cracked taller. 6’5”… 6’6”… 6’8”. Muscles inflated with every second. Thighs like iron logs. A shelf of ass, round and thick. Sweat trickled down the valleys of his back, caught in the folds of fur, soaked into the rags of the scrubs now clinging pathetically to his frame.

And then—his cock.

It slammed into existence.

A sweltering heat rushed through his groin as the cleft between his legs throbbed and swelled, overtaken by the sheer weight of his manhood. His pouch grew massive, a monstrous bulge snaking down one thigh like a coiled pipe, dragging his boxers downward. Two fat balls swung heavy beneath it, sweaty and taut.

He—Bear Monroe—grunted, low and hungry.

“Aw, hell…” he rumbled, running a hand through his dripping black hair. “Ain’t this some shit…”

The world around him made no sound of protest.

There was no broken memory of Alyssa. No clipboard. No nurse. No feminine shadow.

Only Bear Monroe.

Ex-marine medic turned base nurse. Loud, lewd, and legendary for the trail of moaning, gasping men he left in his wake. He swaggered when he walked, hips rolling with masculine excess. He reeked of sweat, musk, and bourbon cologne. Tattoos sprawled across his thick arms and back—American flag, barbed wire, and an old dog tag from a man he’d once loved.

“Goddamn AC's busted again,” he muttered, peeling the last threads of his ruined scrub top off and wiping his chest with it like a towel. His nipples poked out like bullets. His cock gave a lazy throb, pressing even harder against the outline of his pants.

From down the hall, heavy footfalls echoed. Boots. Dominant. Commanding.

He turned—and smiled.

General Darius Kade walked in like thunder. Shirt unbuttoned to his navel, belly hanging slightly over his waistband, thick chest hair tangled with cigar smoke. His arms swung with confidence, belt straining beneath the weight of his cock. Their eyes locked.

The hallway thickened with heat.

“Well, if it ain’t the damn grizzly himself,” Kade rumbled, a grin tugging at his bearded mouth.

“Didn’t know they let you on base without a warning siren,” Bear fired back with a smirk, flexing a pec just enough to make the sweat on it glisten.

Kade stepped close—too close. Their bodies nearly touched. The scent of man, strong and raw, flooded the sterile air.

“You still pissin’ testosterone into the IV bags, Monroe?” Kade growled.

“You still makin’ officers cream their fatigues just by walkin past, darlin’?”

A low rumble of amusement passed between them. Electric.

Their rivalry was famous. Sexual. Ugly. Explosive. The two men had shared bunk beds, fists, and blowjobs in equal measure. They’d fought beside each other in war zones. They’d fucked in showers after firefights. They’d threatened each other’s careers one night and rutted like animals the next.

Now, with the world rewritten, that messy, filthy history was fact.

“Tell ya what,” Kade murmured, brushing his arm deliberately against Bear’s. “You and me. Midnight. Weight room. No spotters.”

“You gonna bring lube this time, General?” Bear teased, baring teeth like a predator.

“Fuck that. I want it rough.”

Bear leaned in, whispering in his ear, voice like molasses over fire:

“Then you better hydrate.”

Kade laughed, slapping Bear’s thick belly with a smack that echoed off the tile.

And just like that, the two titans walked past each other. The corridor air rippled in their wake, heavy with potential and sweat. Neither looked back.

Alyssa Monroe never existed.

Bear Monroe adjusted his pouch, scratched his beard, and rolled his shoulders.

Another blip. Another man.

And the world marched on.

[superheavybaraftms]

The Blip : Beasts of Fort Garrison 1 - The General’s Return

The desert sun beat down on the polished tarmac of Fort Garrison, casting mirage-like waves over the neat rows of military vehicles and regulation-trimmed hedges. A dry wind swept across the base, stirring the edges of the American flag that snapped proudly above the welcome station.

Emma Dwyer shaded her eyes with a hand, squinting at the wide expanse of olive-drab buildings and watchtowers. She wore a khaki sundress, soft sneakers, and a hopeful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The dry air tugged at her ponytail as she clutched her camera with both hands.

Her father, Colonel Richard Dwyer, stood tall in his dress uniform beside her, shoulders squared with pride as he led her through the base.

“This is where the future of the U.S. Army is shaped, sweetheart,” he said with a glint in his eyes. “And today, they get to meet my future—my girl, Emma. Top of her class. You should see the essay she wrote on international ethics. Blew my boots off.”

Emma blushed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

I don’t belong here, she thought, half-listening. Not in this rigid, sunbaked world of barking orders and testosterone. But he looks so proud. It’s worth it for that.

A few soldiers passed, nodding respectfully at Richard. Emma noticed their sharp glances at her—polite, assessing. She held tighter to the camera, the strap digging into her palm.

Richard gestured toward a group of ranking officers near the operations center. “Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Emma Dwyer. Brilliant, driven, and more than I ever deserved.”

“Sir,” one of them said with a courteous nod. “She’s got your eyes.”

Emma opened her mouth to respond.

And then—

It happened.

The air didn’t shimmer. No thunder cracked. No light flashed. There was no warning.

One moment she was standing there, her sandals pressing into the warm pavement, the scent of fuel and heat in her nostrils—

—and the next, her body snapped.

It began at the core, a deep, bone-wracking pulse that sucked all the air from her lungs.

Her breath caught. Her throat expanded. Her skin flushed from within.

What’s—no, what’s happening to—

A tearing sensation spread through her spine as her vertebrae cracked audibly, spine extending with a wet stretch. Her height surged by the second—5'6", 5'11", 6'2", and still climbing.

Her delicate arms swelled, tearing the seams of her dress. Pale, soft skin flushed crimson as thick veins rose to the surface. Muscle erupted—shoulders ballooning, biceps curling up into cannonballs. Her chest compressed, the swell of her breasts flattening against a growing wall of pectorals, which soon pushed forward like armor-plated slabs.

Her fingers clenched—knuckles cracked and palms expanded into callused, meaty paws. Her nails darkened, stubby and rough. She groaned, voice deepening uncontrollably into a rich, gravel-coated baritone.

Oh my God what is—this can’t—

But the thought unraveled.

Her abdomen convulsed outward, not into a lean six-pack, but a solid, heavy gut, forged of thick muscle under a plush layer of fat. Her stomach surged outward like a keg, taut and heavy. The sundress disintegrated as her thighs expanded—each quad thick as a cannon, bursting through the cotton.

Her smooth legs became carpeted in dense, silver-gray hair. Her neck widened into a trunk, cords of muscle and veins visible even beneath the storm of hair sprouting down her back and chest.

The final, most humiliating and electric change came with a hot, flooding pressure between her legs. She staggered as her pelvis cracked and reshaped—softness receding, swallowed by throbbing girth. A heavy, swaying cock filled the space beneath her gut, obscene in size, forcing her stance wide. Her balls dropped like stones in a sack, dense and full.

No… Yes. What was I—who—? I’m…

A new mind surged up, obliterating what remained of Emma Dwyer.

He drew a long, ragged breath, flaring his nostrils at the scent of desert wind and man-sweat. The officers stood frozen in place, staring in awe, but with no confusion.

“General Darius Kade,” one of them said, standing straighter. “Didn’t expect to see you down here in person, sir.”

General Kade stretched his neck, bones cracking loudly. His massive frame rolled with strength. He scratched his thick, silver beard with fingers the size of sausages and gave a deep, satisfied grunt.

“Yeah,” he growled, his voice like gravel in a whiskey glass. “Missed the smell of gun oil and balls. Had to get my boots dirty again.”

Colonel Richard Dwyer stepped forward, face alight with a boyish admiration. “I’ve told these men stories about you for years, sir. Raised me right after my father passed. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Kade’s piercing blue eyes locked with his.

“You always were a tight-laced brat,” he rumbled with affection, slapping the younger man’s shoulder hard enough to jostle his entire stance. “Now you’re a fine fuckin’ officer.”

Richard beamed. “You taught me everything I know.”

Kade’s lips curled in a knowing grin. “Not everything, son.”

The officers laughed—each with a quiet reverence. Kade’s name carried weight. Not just as a tactician. Not just as a battlefield leader. But as a legend—one whispered about in barracks showers and backroom briefings.

General Darius Kade was a brutal man. A silver fox, monstrous in stature and appetites. He had a history—unapologetically gay, famously so. His conquests weren’t secrets; they were tallied like kills, bragged about over cigars, etched in locker-room graffiti. His cock was the size of a forearm, his stamina the stuff of myth.

Yet no one questioned it.

No one wondered what happened to Emma.

No one even remembered she existed.

She was never born. Richard never had a daughter. The sundress, the smile, the hopeful eyes—they were all gone, like ash in the wind.

All that remained was him—Darius. Power made flesh. Hairy, hung, hardened. A general who’d seen war and made love with the same fire. He adjusted the bulge pressing lewdly against his military slacks and growled out a satisfied sigh.

“I’m gonna need a smoke and a hot mouth around my cock by nightfall,” he said casually. “This place hasn’t changed a fuckin’ bit.”

Richard laughed. “Some things never do.”

And far in the distance, another flag waved lazily in the breeze.

Reality had bent. Shifted. Forgotten.

The blip claimed another.

[superheavybaraftms]

The Blip: Prologue

In the quiet rhythm of modern-day life, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

The world continued as it always had—people working, laughing, aging, dreaming. City streets buzzed with traffic. Cafés poured out steam and conversation. Airports welcomed and separated. Classrooms, courtrooms, markets, and hospitals hummed with the ever-repeating patterns of humanity. But beneath the surface, something was happening. Something enormous. Something utterly unnatural. And yet no one noticed.

It began—if it could even be said to begin—not with a thunderclap or an announcement, but with a subtle blip.

One moment, a woman existed—a daughter, a teacher, a mother, a bride, a barista. The next moment, she didn’t.

In her place stood a man.

Not just any man, but a walking monument to masculinity. These weren’t men found in boardrooms or behind podiums. These were men who looked carved out of pure testosterone, the kind you’d expect to see dripping sweat in underground gyms or leaning against motorcycles under neon lights.

Some were bronzed, smooth-skinned gods with chiseled abs and Hollywood jaws. Others were thick, meaty beasts of men with wide bellies like iron barrels and coats of dense hair trailing down to their crotches, the very picture of rugged power. Many wore facial hair—handlebar mustaches, thick beards, five o’clock shadows that seemed inked by nature itself. Others remained clean-shaven, their faces wide and masculine, radiating virility. A few looked like they stepped out of vintage leather bars in the ‘70s, while others resembled military recruiters, construction workers, oil-slicked mechanics. There was no single mold—except for one unmistakable constant.

They were hung.

Utterly, unapologetically bulging. Their crotches, barely restrained by whatever pants or shorts they wore, commanded attention. It wasn’t obscene—not in the new reality that had wrapped itself seamlessly around these men. It was simply... normal. These men, once women, now existed as hypersexual gay icons of masculine perfection. They were lust incarnate, proud and loud, with booming voices, confident strides, and that distinct aura of men who had absolutely nothing to prove.

But no one knew.

No one remembered the woman who had been there before. No one questioned why the school principal was now a leather-daddy named Brody with a voice like rolling thunder. Or why the formerly sweet young college girl next door was now a hulking, half-naked gym bro named Tank who smoked cigars and flirted shamelessly with every other man. Parents remembered their “sons” as always having been boys. Wives became husbands. Aunts became uncles. Friends recalled tales of beer-soaked nights and high school football glory—none of which had ever truly happened before the blip. Reality itself folded around these transformations like a well-rehearsed script.

The process was instantaneous. One second, the woman was shopping, walking her dog, giving a presentation. The next, gone—replaced by an erotic vision of manhood, complete with an entirely new history, identity, and web of relationships. The world simply kept moving. The news didn’t cover it. No one screamed. No one noticed.

And it wasn’t localized.

It didn’t target one city, one class, one race, or one age. A girl in Brazil might vanish in an instant and be replaced by a massive, hairy bear of a man named Bruno. A retired grandmother in Tokyo might blink out and return as a stoic, musclebound daddy with a baritone voice and an unshakable calm. A young mother in Kenya might become a cocky, clean-shaven stud named Malik who strutted through his recontextualized world with a knowing smirk.

They weren’t just physically changed. Their souls were rewritten. The original women didn’t seem to exist anymore—not even as memories inside these men. Instead, they held histories of brotherhood, competition, seduction. They were men who loved men—unashamedly, erotically, viscerally. They flirted in locker rooms, smoked together after sex, bench-pressed beside their “bros,” and disappeared into dim corners of clubs for whispered moans and rough embraces. They had always existed, as far as anyone could tell.

And the world believed it.

Churches reprinted their attendance records. Offices updated HR files. Yearbooks mysteriously featured their square jaws and tight T-shirts. No fingerprints of the transformation remained. Nothing ever hinted at what had been lost—only the living, breathing truth of these impossibly manly gay men, swaggering through the world with their cocks nearly dragging behind them and their minds filled with masculine hunger.

The phenomenon—this blip—had no source. No announcement. No pattern.

But it was still happening.

And no one knew. Not even them.