#masculinization

[mxstymvgnolia]

my journey I guess..

age 5: (male) plays with barbies and dolls

age 10: (male) got my first male crush

age 12: (femboy) tries makeup

age 13: (femboy) steals my mom's skirts at 3 am

age 14: (fakegirl) uses she/her pronouns online but still likes being called a good boy

age 15: (fakegirl) starts to grow my hair even though my parents wouldn't let me XD

age 16: (fakegirl) secretly buys estrogen

age 17: (fakegirl) moves out and discovers my new kink

age 18: (femboy) identifying as he/him on my alts

age 19: (femboy) got a male haircut yayayaya

age 20: (femboy) quits my estrogen dose after discovering tumblr

age 21: (femboy) wants a daddy to convert me back to male

[manlysun]

The Possessor

Hunter loves the whole process of possessing faggots to convert them. Their shock and confusion from being taken over and then the fear and rage when Hunter wickedly reveals he's gonna turn them straight. His victim's weak and pathetic attempts to regain control back over their bodies were hysterical, their utter powerlessness fueling his already enlarged ego.

He's hellbent on showing fags the right way to use their cocks, to assimilate them to heterosexuality. To Hunter, the only good faggot is an ex-faggot. He'd hook up with girl after girl, forcing their gay cocks to fuck nothing but pussy. When he felt their rage simmer down and turn into helpless acceptance—when souls are at their weakest—he kicked the conversion into high gear. He'd watch endless amounts of straight porn, and get as much pussy as he could, evaporating any last resistance. They'd soon begin to enjoy it, and when he feels them absolutely loving it, he finally gives them back their bodies, knowing they're permanently hooked on pussy.

After a short while, Hunter checks up on them and every single time, they identify as 100% straight, completely converted. Nothing compares to that rush of proud accomplishment and then he quickly moves on to the next faggot.

[stylerenders]

[black-is-beautiful18]

I need people to understand that Ambessa is not masculine. She is simply muscular. There is a difference. It is very clear in the show that this the case. If you want more lore, in Chosen of the Wolf it is very clear that she is the way she is, her body included, from being honed for war. Ambessa says it herself. This is exactly why she adores the softness in her husband Azizi and in her lover Rudo. It’s why she makes sure that Mel and Kino have a different childhood than she did. It is why that whenever she can she takes time out to enjoy luxuries and soft things. Ambessa makes sure to tell Rell that as well, because she knows what war can do to a person. At this point I’m gonna start assuming y’all are antiblack when you start masculinizing her. Yes, you can be masculine and feminine at the same time. They are not mutually exclusive, but this is not the case for Ambessa and it never has been. As I’ve said before: headcanons are fine but also stop to think about the very real implications some of them have on a character like Ambessa. Black women are already stripped of our femininity on the regular. Y’all do this across all platforms with Ambessa, and I will continue to call it out.

[user211201]

Modulated

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

“I ain’t no motherfuckin’ redneck, you assholes! Don’t you fucking get it? I’ll never be ok with you being here and disrespecting our gay spaces!” I had shrieked and screamed, and I was being sassy as fuck. But they had darted me, so it was too late for me already. I had been one of the hottest little twinks in Colombia back then. I had such a tight little body, I was non-binary, and I was supportive of my local drag scene. I was absolutely into resisting these fucking fascists and their goddamn bullshit lifestyles, which I couldn’t stand.

That’s how I thought of it all back then, anyhow.

Man, that dart though, it had done its dirty work. I was writhing on the floor of the club, so I didn’t even get to witness the way it transformed me as I went into spasms. It was almost like having a seizure, but I could feel the muscle growing on me, and I could hear my shrieks and wails shift in pitch as I grew on into this whole new, far more masculine body.

I was getting to be built like a brick shithouse really fucking fast, and was taking on more of a mature look. Everywhere I was getting more muscle. I was splitting the seams of my jeans, and my underwear, and felt my back pressing up and splitting my tight pink t-shirt.

When I finally was able to sit up, I was in a daze. I had rendered my clothes asunder. I had bristles of hair all over my face, and the har on my head had grown longer, too, sort of flopping in my eyes. I was a mess.

And then the headache came. I was clutching the sides of my head and moaning, almost screaming in pain out loud, as my twinkish mind collapsed and got replaced by a growing part of me I didn’t even know existed. That part, my friends, is the motherfucking, take-charge redneck stud I am today.

My friends helped me get out of there, and I was still in transition. It takes a good seventy-two hours at least until you can fully collapse one of those weak-ass brains like the one I had before and until a more dominant, superior personality takes over like the one I was starting to get.

So yeah, like I said, I was a mess, and when my friends got me back to one of their apartments, I was still sporadically ranting about how dare those fascists do this to me, they’d never win, this was fucking awful. But as I heard myself talk, there was a growing part of me that was observing myself and thinking “so what? You sound like a raving lunatic. Look at this body! Damn, boy, just look at that muscle!”

Sleeping on it, man, that twink brain of mine must have collapsed even further. I woke up and I just wanted coffee with a splash of alcohol in it, so that’s what I got. Then I added two splashed. I had already stripped out of my shredded pink t-shirt, and my friends had some loose boxers that fit me, but I was just this naked, muscular stud in awe of his own body and trying to come to terms with who I was now.

I was seeing my friends with new eyes, too. They seemed anxious to me, weak, full of nervous, overly feminine motions, jittery, immature, skittish and mostly just kind of fucking annoying. “Those are your friends,” I’d remind myself. “This isn’t you who’s thinking this.”

But that growing part of me was thinking “This is you. This is all you, stud. You’re so much better than them. They don’t even know you’re thinking this, and if they only knew, they’d probably be terrified.” That thought made me want to laugh out loud, so I did.

“What are you laughing at?” one of them asked.

“Oh, nothing man, nothing,” I said, looking away and scratching my head. “These are your friends,” I told myself again, but I didn’t really seem to believe what I was trying to tell myself that morning. “So what if they’re your fucking friends,” my new mind was saying. “They’re fucking losers, man. Don’t let them drag you down. You ought to just get out of here.”

That morning, I was feeling just hornier and altogether more fucked up than I’d ever been. I was thinking, nah, this can’t be the new me. I’m no motherfucking redneck. I don’t think like them. But already I was feeling excited, having this body, having these different feelings, realising that I didn’t feel like such an evil guy like this, not like I thought I would, anyhow. All I wanted to do at that point in time, I felt like, was get the hell away from these people. I didn’t know to where. I borrowed some shoes and a t-shirt that was so tight it hurt, pleading that I had to get back to my apartment. It felt like the shoes would split, and the shirt was riding up on my belly, as I trotted back to my place.

I didn’t know what I was doing or what I was gonna do. When I got home, I felt thirsty, just wanting to drink a little, feeling like that would make this feel better, even though I told myself no, you have to compose yourself, you have to call people, you have to report this. Just one drink, I thought. It turned into shot after shot, and before I knew it, I was drunk, hard in my boxers, having kicked off the shoes and thrown that tight-ass shirt on the ground as soon.

Then I was beating off, and cumming, and the build-up to that orgasm, man, it flooded my brain with some real redneck juice. I wasn’t thinking of the type of guys I usually did. I was thinking about redneck studs, studs like myself, feeling the drool run down my chin as I beat off. As I came, shooting way up on my pecs, rubbing it in with my hand, I was whispering to myself, almost like a confession that I had yet to voice to anyone, “You hot fucking redneck. Holy fuck, you love this, don’t you. You’re a redneck now. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.”

The desire to live for working out and fucking was already growing in me.

Thoughts were just racing through my head then. I knew I didn’t want to be some lame-ass yuppie or some weak-ass queer, man. I felt this powerful attraction to the redneck scene, the working class scene, the country scene, the military scene, the jock scene, you name it, any scene were men were men instead of the glitter fairy I had been before. I couldn’t quite pin it all down at that point yet, but my thoughts were sure racing.

Can you picture me, getting drunk in my apartment, turned on at my own body and swirling thoughts? And then I started to really know, man. I started to know. There was no going back now. The guy I used to be was a loser. I didn’t want to be him anymore. I was pissed off that I ever even was him.

I walked barefoot into the bedroom, checking out his stuff in the drawers and on the walls. Almost none of it would even fit me anymore. His feminine attire and the way his shithole apartment was decorated disgusted me. It made me want to punch the wall, even, so I did that and it felt good. I saw the paint crack and the drywall cave in. This new body had power.

I screamed then, a roar of pure rage and exhilaration. I punched the wall again, and it felt so fucking good that soon I was ripping all his shit off the walls and throwing it in a corner, ripping that flouncy shit off the mattress and I didn’t stop, screaming the whole while, until the bedroom at least look bare bones enough to resemble something a man would want to sleep in. I’d be damned if I ever let that loser back into this mind.

There were a few flashes, sure, and man was he a crybaby as he went out, as well as one hell of an angry little prick. Lots of hatred in his heart. I’d just laugh and say, “Fuck you!” sometimes out loud as I felt that twink brain collapse forever.

And now, as far as I’m concerned, he’s gone man. No longer a part of me, thank God.

I was nervous at first, when I started trying to hang out with guys I thought I’d have a lot more in common with that my old friends. Would they accept me? I was pretty desperate for acceptance at that point. I starting hanging out at a diner that I knew a lot of them liked to frequent, classic diner that pre-dated even the 1950s, a real antique. But these sexy ass guys would show up there, and soon we got to talking over waffles and hash browns.

Soon I was telling them I was darted, and they were saying that was hot as fuck, wanting to hear the story. Soon I was telling it to them, my legs in the air, sweat dripping down my bearded chin, as I was getting fucked.

Months after that, I was almost fully integrated into the lifestyle, man, and soon I was the one doing more of the fucking, especially after I got these sweet-ass tattoos all over my right arm. Getting fully into it, the desire to be that all I could be as man, hell, it ran in my veins now. I was going to let those commies know that I was better than them in every single way imaginable, and I wanted to show it off. I still get hard just at the thought of that, demonstrating my own superiority in the most tangible – well, to them, intangible, because I don’t want them even fucking touching me – methods available to me.

Yeah boys, it meant war for me, just like it had when I was a stupid twink, only this time I was playing for the other side, and it was chess instead of checkers.

Of course, there’s a lot more to life than just that for me, namely having hot-ass sex with all sorts of country studs and military men, hell, being part of that whole network of strong and powerful men who worship and respect other guys who’ve worked for it. I feel like I’m serving my country and being a paragon of virtue for it even when my legs are slung over some guy’s bull neck and thick, rounded deltoids as he plows the fuck out of me with his long-ass rod.

I had never gotten fucked this good when I was a twink.

I do real work with myself now, a man’s work. I dress like a man, I eat like a man, and I live my life like a man. I’m fucking proud of it, too. I love who I am now, and relocated to the other side of town, too, where the action’s hotter and I have way more in common with most folks.

I am sure glad I’m a buff stud with a thick-ass chest these days, and I don’t ever go clean-shaven. Been really into guy’s pits lately, and getting them to flex for me so I can lick those. Yeah, shit, I’ve gotta stop, because here I’ve got a raging boner just telling you all about that right now. I swear I’m way more horny than I used to be. At least seventy-five percent of the time now, I’d bet, I’m a top these days.

I don’t really like bottom boys, either. Their mere existence tends to piss me off, to be honest, so when I do fuck them I tend to be an aggressive power top. A lot of the time I don’t even think of it that way, though. I just think of them as so weak that the same rules don’t even apply to them. Different rules, in a way, because they’re a different kind of guy than me. Much more like women, unable to control themselves, you know how they are. I used to be one of them, and I’m so glad I’m not anymore, that’s for fucking sure.

A lot of the time I prefer to just fool around with guys such as myself. I love topping another top, having to wrestle somebody for hours in a strength and dominance competition. Gets the blood flowing. I like somebody who puts up a fight. C’mon, son, do you have any idea how fucking fun that is for me now? To meet up and hook up with another guy who’s just as manly as I am? That’s the stuff I live for now. I’m ready to just fuck my life away with hot ass guys at this point.

So, yeah, I’m a top who loves to wrestle with other tops and see who can dominate. I must be pretty good at it if I swear I’m scoring a seventy-five percent these days, but that’s just because occasionally I throw in some twink losers. Yeah bud, even some of these leftists get thrown a bone by me every now and again. They need us, and I like them to know they need us. They wouldn’t know what to do without us.

One of these days, I might even check with one of my army friends and see if I can come along on a mission so that I can dart one of them myself. I think I’d laugh my ass off when my dart goes in his neck or his shoulder, wherever it his him. Just to see the look on his face, shit boy. That could turn a guy on just by imagining it, so one of these days I’ll have to make it legit.

Fuck if I care about the loser I once used to be or what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. My life is better now and that’s all that matters to me.

Hot-ass guys, man. That’s what I live for.

[dreammusclerevo]

In my twenties, I was always chasing summits—boots caked in dust, heart racing from altitude and freedom. Nature was my sanctuary. My body? Just a vessel to get me there. Lean, wiry, sunburnt skin hugging bone and sinew. I never thought twice about muscle or mirrors.

I told myself I couldn’t commit to a "good physique." I was the guy who traveled light, lived on granola, slept in tents, bathed in rivers. Dumbbells weren’t part of that life. I’d see gym rats on social media flexing, greased up and shredded, and laugh. That’s not me, I thought. That’s vanity.

But as I hit my thirties, something changed. Maybe it was the way my reflection started to look... fragile. Or the way I caught myself lingering too long in hostel mirrors, wishing my shoulders filled out that tank top. Maybe it was the deep, quiet hunger—one I never fed.

So I fed it.

It started slow. A gym membership. Lifting with poor form, fumbling with cables and plates. But I kept coming back. And then—something awakened. That same fire I felt at the edge of cliffs? I found it again… under iron. My muscles started responding—filling out, stretching fabric, soaking sweat.

And now—now I stand in front of this mirror, thirty and changed.

Chest thick with power. Veins curling like vines down my forearms. Quads like trunks, hugged tight by black briefs I never would’ve dared wear before. I can’t help myself anymore—every night, I strip down, slide into the tightest briefs, and stare. The man looking back at me… he radiates. This body is my new landscape. Hard, sculpted. Wild in a different way.

I used to seek beauty in nature.

Now, I wear it.

And damn… I can’t stop looking.

[salmonskinrolltf]

Soulmates 2

[Here's a sequel of sorts to my previous story Soulmates (you don't need to have read it to understand this story). With thanks to @guytransformedforever, @beardobession, @tf-vigilante, @maletransformationlover, @clevertreephilosopher, @scorpionofredsand, and @maletffanatic for providing the photos used as inspiration.]

Hello, my name is Tyler. This is me:

And this is my roommate, Dylan:

Now look, I don’t have a problem with gay people. My cousin is a lesbian. And Dylan is a great roommate. Stays out of my way when we’re not gymming together, but is always down to hang when I need someone to talk to. I just wish he would be less in my face with all his gay shit. Rainbow flags everywhere, blasting Ariana Grande at all hours, constantly bringing new Grindr hookups back to the apartment but giving me side-eye when I ogle women. It’s just… too much for me.

Here’s the thing. I might actually be able to change that. I have this friend Evan, who I’ve wingmanned for on a few occasions over the past year. One night, when we were getting drunk together, he shared his secret with me. He has a magic gift. He clasped my hand and said “tomorrow, you will wake up and have this magic too.” And sure enough, the next day I could feel a tingle coursing through my veins, and I automatically had the knowledge of how to channel it.

Now I have the ability to change somebody’s future. I can’t fiddle with anything that’s innate or has already happened to them. Like, I can’t just make Dylan straight. But I can shape his future decisions or actions, and my magic will make alterations to speed the process along. Like if I made him decide to work out more, he would basically become a muscle beast within the week. Not that I’d do that. I still gotta be the alpha here. I just want to make him a little more… palatable. Someone cool to kick back with all the time, even if he sucks dick. Let’s see... I think I know what will work.

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL BECOME OBSESSED WITH SPORTS

———————————

Hello, my name is Dylan:

Sports are my LIFE. I never cared about them much growing up, but about a month ago I felt the urge to join my local queer volleyball team and never looked back. It became my everything. It’s been great exercise, but on top of playing volleyball and getting totally jacked off of it, I’ve loved the sense of camaraderie. I love my team. So much so that I even pierced my nipples on a dare when we lost the semifinals. My teammate River also recommended I stop dyeing my hair, and I think the look is really working for me. For some reason, even though it’s only been a month, my hair has grown out significantly since then. Was the red dye stunting its growth or something? Anyway. I also feel like my roommate Tyler and I have really bonded. We’ve been watching baseball games together and I think he appreciates how into it I am. He says he’s excited to bro out while watching football together in the fall.

I love Tyler, but here’s the thing. Maybe I love him too much. I’ve always had this huge crush on him, and no matter how many random Grindr hookups I try to distract myself with, I just can’t stop hoping that one day he’ll give up women for good and decide he loves me. Especially now that we’re spending all this time together, bumping chests when our team wins and shit.

I know us getting together is never going to happen, but I have this… temptation. I was born with a gift. Or maybe I wasn’t. Something my twink friend Paul told me made me think maybe he had something to do with it. Anyway, I have the ability to reshape someone’s past. I change just one thing about their past, and everything about their present just ripples forward to reflect that change. It’s a delicate art. Changing something big can have huge effects that are totally unpredictable. It’s a major temptation to make Tyler gay, but who knows how he’d turn out. Plus, I think that’s just too invasive.

But… Maybe I could change something small about him. Something that would make him less my type, and allow me to move on and focus on finding a boyfriend who would actually be into me. I’m into nice guys. I really love how kind and caring he is. And come on, he’s a FIREFIGHTER. So maybe I can try…

TYLER GREW UP SELFISH AND SPOILED

———————————

What’s up, I’m Tyler.

You dig the jacket? Yeah, I’m still a firefighter, I’m just off duty. But babes dig whatever look I rock, you know what I mean? I get what I want, and what I want is a lot of one night stands. I know how to get ‘em, too. I’m so glad I made the decision to grow this beard out a year ago, it’s opened so many doors for me. And opened a lot of legs.

I’m getting what I want from Dylan, too. Finally, I have a roommate who’s willing to grab brews and watch the game with me. But I think I fucked up when I changed him. Queer volleyball isn’t exactly “sports,” at least not in my book. I thought he’d come out like a linebacker or something! I mean, nipple rings were never part of the plan. The gay guys seem to really go for them, too, so he’s got an even steadier stream of Grindr hookups coming in and out of the place.

On top of that, I’m a little sick of his shit. He’s always giving me lip about stupid stuff like leaving my dishes in the sink or dropping my unwashed uniform on the bathroom floor. He says it’s unsanitary. Like his parade of twinks aren’t dying to sniff that shit anyway. He just doesn’t get it. I think his volleyball teammates are a bad influence too. They’re all so obsessed with aesthetic and anti-hetero rhetoric. I still can’t make him straight, but I can definitely make him less… annoying.

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL START HANGING OUT WITH MORE STRAIGHT PEOPLE WHO WILL HELP HIM STOP WORRYING ABOUT STUPID SHIT AND BE LESS PRISSY, WELL-GROOMED, AND UPTIGHT

———————————

Yo, I’m Dylan.

Yeah, I cut my hair shorter than the last time you saw me. The upkeep was just getting to be too much, y’know? A couple weeks ago, about the time I dumped that lame-ass volleyball team I was on, I just got bored with shaving every day, too. I invested in a trimmer and now I rock the stubble look, and it’s working for me. I’ve gained a bit of weight since then, and it’s all for the better because I joined my local football league. Having a few extra beers with my new buds afterward just adds to my potential as a linebacker, anyway.

I thought hanging out with more straight people would make me get used to their vibe and kinda inoculate me against Tyler, but I’m still totally obsessed with him. He’s more of a bad boy now, but I’m finding that less unappealing than I used to. Plus, he’s still parading around in his uniform all the time. I can’t help it! I’ve jerked off more times that I can count to his Mr. June photos in the local firefighter calendar.

Whenever I see his mom, she’s constantly going on about how, out of all his Tonka toys growing up, the fire truck was always his favorite. She thinks that’s why he grew up to be a firefighter. Maybe I can change that core memory into something a little more… disreputable. That would definitely make him not my type anymore. I hope.

TYLER’S FAVORITE TOY GROWING UP WAS A TONKA MOTORCYCLE

———————————

Fuckin’ A, man, I’m Tyler.

God, I love my hog. She’s a beaut, ain’t she? My parents wanted me to grow up to be a doctor or a lawyer or a firefighter or some shit, but all I ever wanted to do was ride my hog. Chicks want to ride my hog too, and I let them. As long as they don’t go near my bike! Hahaha, get it? Fuck, I love life. Let me take another drag on this stogie real quick.

Where was I? Oh yeah, my roommate, Dylan. I wish I didn’t have to room with anyone, but my boss at the garage keeps refusing to promote me. I should knock him around one of these days, see if that changes his mind. Anyway, sure, Dylan isn’t so much of a priss anymore. He doesn’t give me shit if I leave my grease-stained clothes on the couch or light up when we’re watching a football game.

But I wanted him to be straight-acting, you know? I tried to train him up as my wingman but he wore a super gay shirt with all these see-through holes to the party, and all the chicks kept their eyes on him the whole time! Fucker. Why can’t he be more like his brother? I’ve seen pictures. That dude is a full on redneck slob, got a Confederate tattoo and everything. I know they had the same backwater-ass trailer trash upbringing, why can’t he be rougher around the edges? You know what… maybe he can!

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL REALIZE HE WANTS TO EMBRACE HIS WHITE TRASH UPBRINGING

———————————

Hey y’all, I’m Dylan.

Hoo-ee, life has been good lately. I dunno why I resisted my good ol’ boy roots for so long. This goatee really makes me look rugged, dunnit? Also the chest hair. So grabbable. I decided to stop shaving my body, and poof! There it went. A full rug, within like two days I reckon. Like a sign from God. This is how I was always meant to be.

I know I was trying to push away my crush on Tyler by making him not my type, but what’s the fuckin’ point? I need someone who can handle me, and this hot as fuck biker dude I’ve created might be the only one who can handle me at this point. I ride ‘em rough and bareback, just like the horses back home, and weak city dudes just can’t handle it.

Will he be the same if he’s not straight? Maybe not. But as long as he can take my eight inches, I’ll keep him around. I vaguely remember having some sort of compunction about changing him so drastically, but I’m too horny to remember what it was.

Fuck it.

TYLER WAS BORN GAY

———————————

Uh… hi. I’m Tyler. Who are you again?

Sorry, I’m pretty forgetful. Daddy Dylan says I don’t gotta remember shit though, as long as I let him ride me as rough and as long as he likes. He’ll do all the rest for me. He tells me where to go, what to do, who to do. There are so many nice, hot guys who are willing to pay our rent if I turn a few tricks. I love it.

I’ve been like this as long as I can remember. My mom and dad kicked me out when I was 18, in my senior year of high school. I was caught sucking my English teacher’s dick behind the locker rooms. I never went to college after that, but it’s not like I was getting good grades anyway. Sucking Mr. Brentmon’s cock wasn’t for my health, you know. He had a nice juicy one, too. I still dream about it sometimes.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, I took up with this biker gang for a while after getting kicked out. I’ve always had a thing for bikers. But once they got through using my ass, they got bored. It was hard for a while, but now things are oh, so easy. I get all the dick I could ever want. I have a roof over my head, and no job to worry about. All I do is go to the gym and eat and fuck and I never have to think. Dylan said he might take me out muddin’ sometime too. I don’t know what that is, but anything Dylan does is fun. Fuck, I love the way his goatee tickles my skin when he kisses me, so rough, so manly. Way manlier than I’ve ever been. It’s so fucking hot. I love how he takes care of me.

I really have no complaints. I wouldn’t change anything about my life, even if I could remember how…

[occamstfs]

Man Of Your Dreams

Wallflower Dylan is gifted a new psychedelic from his friend. Used to watching frat bros from afar he finds the pill seems to affect far more than his mind.

Intended this to be plot light but so it goes! Probably going to take this week off to avail myself to other authors entering my Viral Transformation Challenge! The next story will likely be my own take on the theme so look forward to that next week alongside those from a litany of other stellar TF writers! Until then! -Occam

Dylan was fairly straight-laced, going into his senior year of university he hadn’t strayed much at all from class besides tagging along with his friend from high school to some of the more boisterous frat parties. Said friend Tony was quite more of a wild child, often invited himself because he was the source of some of the more illicit substances to be found at these parties. He’d invite Dylan whenever he’d need a more sober pair of eyes, namely if he was planning on rolling or otherwise getting high on his own supply. Despite his mild manner, Dylan always hopped on the chance, going to ragers was supposed to be part of the whole college deal right? And besides, he didn’t mind the chance to ogle brazen men he would under normal circumstances be fearful of making eye contact with.

Knowing of his friend’s meek disposition, and repressed hunger for the most vulgar of men, when Tony hears of a crazy new psychedelic on the market he has a feeling Dylan might finally let his hair loose. Reviews say the stuff makes reality feel like a waking dream. Anything seems possible and to your body it might as well be. Steamier sources swear that dreaming about sex on the stuff is even better than the real thing. Tony, never concerned about side effects of his material, gets straight to hitting up the usual channels to see what he can get and is able to scrounge up a single pill of the stuff. He wonders if he should try it out himself first before deciding he owes his friend at least first dibs.

Dylan is floored at how quickly he agreed to taking the pill. After initially being standoffish at Tony’s suggestion that he use it to fuck frat bros in his mind, once his friend started explaining what he’s heard Dylan couldn’t pass up the opportunity to really live out his fantasy. He’s not going to outgrow being a wallflower, nor is at all confident that any of the performatively masculine men would fuck him. Staring at the pill the only thing holding him back is Tony’s vapid instructions. ‘Just have a blast dude, fuck your way through those bros hah!’ Dylan’s asking about the side effects falls on deaf ears as Tony just crassly humps the air to try to convince his friend to go out on a limb. Despite his qualms and fears, and the lack of confidence inspired by Tony’s actions, Dylan feels sure that his friend wouldn’t give him something actually potentially dangerous.

Holding tight to that misplaced confidence, as soon as Tony departs Dylan pours himself a glass of water and chokes the pill down. The small tablet leaves a metallic taste in his mouth, quickly hidden by the copious amount of saliva and bile starting to rise in the back of his throat as he immediately feels the urge to vomit. Man of will despite appearances, he keeps it down and just as soon scowls as he thinks about the lack of preparation offered by his friend and prepares to tear into Tony as soon as the trip is over. Standing up he feels the room spinning around and murmurs in shock, “su- surely it’s shouldn- work this… fas-” He stumbles over to his bed and falls face down as he feels his body growing sweaty.

Before his well-practiced anxiety response can rise his mind is flooded with every pleasant hormone it’s able to produce. Every muscle in his body tenses and he feels his cock struggle to force itself erect in the awkward position he’s fallen in. Dylan moans as every sensation sends signals so intense and potent that his mind can barely maintain consciousness. Indeed he finds himself struggling to even hold his eyes open as his eyelids grow weighty. Even perfunctory bodily functions feel erotic as he begins to fade, the burning of cold air in his stretching lungs, the sound of his own heartbeat and the warmth of blood coursing through his veins. Drool immediately pools under his head as he crests into a stuporous induced unconsciousness, far too unprepared for what awaits him in his trip, and the new world he is to encounter afterwards.

Dylan is sitting in a chair across from a man he knows too well and not at all. Face to face with Ben Harrington, president of Beta Delta Alpha, Dylan has to push down the immediate rush of fear. Taking a breath he reminds himself that this is a dream, one that Tony swears he should have pretty lucid control over. As the president stands opposed, leaning on nothing he flexes his arms and the pastel button up Dylan usually sees him clad in changes into a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. He smirks as he pushes sunglasses up his face and speaks in a tone intoxicated, under the influence of nothing but Dylan himself. His raspy voice sends a shiver down the meek man’s spine as he feels himself unable to retreat, “So, uhh, Dylan is it?” 

Approaching enough to touch him, Ben puts an arm over Dylan’s shoulder, exposing his clearly unwashed pit. Dylan takes a deep breath and forces his eyes closed from the burning over-stimulation of this man baring down on him. Still, from the sticky breath blowing across the face it's clear he is continuing to inch even closer, “You want me do you?” Dylan gulps as the man gets even closer, Ben’s lips almost touching his own, “Or do you just want to be me?” This takes Dylan out of it as he steps back away from the imposing man. Eyes opening he tries to manipulate the scene as Tony implied he should be able to. The Ben of his mind tilts his head and tsks, “‘Fraid you’re not the one in charge here after all.”

Ben closes the gap once more and throws his arm around the easily manhandled Dylan pulling his body against his own sweat stained form. He smirks and leans in directly to whisper something into the dreamer’s ear, “and if you do really wanna fuck me, well. You’re gonna have to become something more my type. Yeah?” Dylan blinks in surprise, he’s heard of bad trips and the like but something seems decidedly wrong here. Before he’s able to come to any cogent conclusion the dream Ben reaches down his free hand into Dylan’s pants. His sweaty hand instantly wraps around the smaller man’s balls and squeeze. Dylan hasn’t a chance to scream in shock he feels himself lose control. Of his body, his mind, and the world around him as he begins to fall back.

He’s humping the air as he’s falling into an abyss. He doesn’t feel the fear that this descent should evoke. Usually nightmares that turn this way immediately blast him back to consciousness, instead it fills him with adrenaline that only heightens the delight coursing out from his cock. Sure that he’s now laying face down in a pool of his own semen in the real world, Dylan does what he can to focus on the pleasure as intended. 

The sound of wind tearing past him makes him unable to hear his moaning screams as his clothes are shredded by the searing gale. Rapt in delight, the blaring gusts begin to slow. Air caresses him like a full body hug and suddenly he is deposited onto soft ground. Dylan doesn’t quite repose as his body continues convulsing. Cum begins to sprinkle down on him from the plethora of loads released during his descent and he finally finds wherewithal to paw at his crotch. Grasping at his balls he finds them unmistakably larger, “Wha?” No longer falling, Dylan opens his eyes and seems to be back in reality.

Dylan awakens and blearily rubs his eyes with clearly semen stained hands. “Oh what the, ugh- Am I awake?” His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the lighting of a room that is decidedly not his bedroom. “Can’t be right?” Shaking the mess off his hands without a second thought he stands to his feet with a grunt and feels his cock bobbing, still impossibly rigid. His hands return to this turgid beacon before they almost happenstance fondle his balls. His sluggish mind struggles with how heavy and large they feel, nothing like the ones he has in reality. He smirks as the last words of Ben snake through his mind- “Become something more my type.” Who’d’ve thunk the president was into horndogs.”

Sniffing the air he begins to inspect the room surrounding him. Dirty clothes litter the floor and he finds a pervasive musk filling the air. Something in the back of his mind itches that there should be a can of axe around somewhere to cover it up, which he ignores for a number of reasons. He should be able to will the room to stop stinking. He certainly wouldn't do so with cheap body spray, and for the life of him he can’t bring himself to want to. Each deep breath of the stink he finds himself growing even hornier. Dylan feels his balls churning as he grasps them, he’s already cum a good number of times and yet he still craves release. 

He imagines the firm ass of a frat brother and leans against his dresser he uncontrollably begins to hump once more. Something flickers at the back of his mind yet again and he rips into an open drawer. Throwing clothes onto the pile of dirtied garments already littering the floor, Dylan removes a fleshlight which he proceeds to make exuberant use of. No time for his mind to question why he’s suddenly a top as his cock fills the sex toy more with every grunting thrust. 

Pubes scratch against his thumb as his crotch shifts into one that would instantly render a razor unusable. Likewise hair that has never even had to be controlled on his ass begins to thicken, growing itchy as a true jungle of curls begins to flourish on both sides of his waist. Soon enough his cock grows large enough that the toy is rendered unusable, with a furrowed brow and ungrateful grunt he tosses it to his room leaving it dripping on the floor as he somehow remains just as sexually unfulfilled as when he began, “Fuck I need the real thing…”

The real thing not present Dylan looks down at his cock and gasps as he sees what has become of his package. He doesn’t have a ton of sex but he usually keeps it clean and pretty hairless down there just for his own sake. Beyond the forest of pubes thick enough to get his hand stuck in, he covers his mouth in shock as he sees a veiny cock larger than he’s ever seen on a man with the low hanging massive balls to match. He does his best to focus up on anything besides how horny he is, but as pre continues to trickle from his hardened cock that becomes increasingly difficult. He bites his lip and looks past his throbbing cock at the floor. If he puts it away perhaps it’ll quiet of its own accord.

Dylan doesn’t pay heed to which clothes are clean or dirty as he throws on whatever best could hide his cock from his hands and mind. Nor could he notice just how far cleanliness and decency have fallen as priorities for him as he struggles to fit his package in clearly stained sweatpants. Itching at his waist as his pubes begin creeping up into a treasure trail racing to mee the spreading curls beginning to decorate his chest, his dull awareness finally notices that his whole body has begun changing. His thin arms have clearly put on powerful muscle from his mindless sessions of self-love, veins trailing down them make it difficult for him not to get straight back to masturbating at the thought of his own strength.

Similarly his eyes latch onto a chest that has somehow exploded into pecs without his knowing. Muscle that has never begun to grace his body now jiggles with every movement. He clenches his jaw hard trying to muster willpower not to give into his most basal urges, but as he feels his thighs fill the sweatpants he just threw on he wonders how long he could possibly hold out. His cluttered mind struggles to recall that he is on some kind of psychedelic trip as he fails to remember how long Tony said it would last. Instead swimming through dulling memories the voice of his, er, the frat president speaks up. “Ah god… You’re looking fucking good Big D. How’s your mind hangin’ in there?”

It takes a few moments for the words to sink in before Dylan can reply, “My, unh- mind?” His balls pulse as his eyes dash across the room while he struggles to think. God he’s been struggling to think this whole time. His cock lurches as he’s able to realize that every thought in his mind has been growing increasingly clouded. “Big D?” Dylan can’t help but smirk as his beyond impressive cock strains his sweatpants at being called Big D. He grunts as he tries to shake off the lusty delirium, “Need to chill out. Ugh. Sober up.” He hears the president tsk at him yet again, waiting with bated breath for the mans words his pecs bulge even larger on his chest. “Too late for that bro, just give in. Why have a trip into true unadulterated ecstasy when you can have a lifetime. You can finally be the man of your dreams.” 

As soon as the words of Ben, his president, are spoken in his mind it becomes clear that Big D doesn’t even have the ability to fight back against the ever-present urges that now control his body. He tears off the sweatpants that were barely holding in there as he fully give himself to whatever is calling out for him, the drug, Ben Harrington, whatever. His body bulks beyond measure to become man enough to carry the vulgar package that lies in his crotch. He masturbates into the leg of his sweatpants torn asunder as his torso bulks up, evidence of his endless celebrations as a man of Beta Delta Alpha.

Bestial body hair begins to cover his torso as his beard grows thick and dark. The tangle of hair in his pits thickens and spreads enough that it, nor it’s dominating musk, could ever be hidden. Muscle bulges on his arms large enough to haul kegs and toss out fuckers that get to rowdy at their festivities. Beyond apathetic to manicuring his appearance as he knows he’ll have people lining up at his doorstep regardless of needless things like hygiene or cleanliness he rubs his thick sweat covered thighs and feels how sensitive every inch of his skin has become. 

He smirks as he imagines, recalls rather, how constantly he gets to enjoy the sensual opportunities offered by his new form. He’s got all he needs dangling between his thick thighs and everyone who matters already knows it. The president certainly does. Big D smirks as he thinks of their vacations together on the frat’s dime. He puts his arms behind his head and sniffs his musky pits as he lays in repose, a thick cloud of musky sweat surrounds him as he begins to hear the sound of festivities breaking out on the floor below him and someone’s fervent footsteps racing up the stairs to his den.

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and Big D imagines that some couple is looking for an empty room with urgency. He paws at his crotch excited to join in on their fun. Instead he sees some nervous looking guy who freezes as soon as he sees the behemoth, fear in his eyes. “D-Dylan!? I- That drug, there was something, something s-” He stutters and his hands shake as Big D rolls his eyes and stands almost two heads taller than he should over Tony, one of their frat’s little party drug dealers. Still, he wouldn’t have come up here for no reason. Big D silences him with a finger and slams the door shut behind him. Tony’s brow furrows as he looks around the room in confusion. Even his perpetually drug-addled mind can tell something unreal, something impossible has happened to his friend. “That pill can’t have done this right?” Tony takes nervous breaths and Big D’s musk rapidly fills his lungs, distracting him from whatever petty issue brought him in. Who cares about concern when his small cock is beginning to rise from simply standing near the priapic titan.

Big D’s voice rumbles through Tony, making him weak at the knees, “You wanna have some fun don’t you?” The drug dealer can’t help but nod and swallow the drool pooling in his mouth as the bestial Adonis stands over him, cock dripping ever-ready for another round. Tony isn’t sure if he’s started tripping himself or what, but as he begins making out with the frat bro he finds himself not minding as memories of whoever Dylan was disappear. After all pleasure is the most important thing, and no one is better at spreading heady delight than Big D.

[manlysun]

New and Improved

Just look at my boyfriend, fully enamored with his reflection. He's turned into such a cocky douche bro since bulking up, far from the meek and well-mannered geek I initially fell in love with, all thanks to the obnoxious gym bros he's recently befriended. I had no idea a body could transform in such a short amount of time! He's packed on so much manly muscle! He's almost unrecognizable! Not that I'm really complaining. Don't get me wrong, his new bro-ey way of life can be a bit much, but, my god, has he never been hotter! I could spend all day worshiping every masculine inch of him and I often do. I swear, his cock's bigger too. My holes can barely take him now. Again, not that I'm complaining. He loves how much of a tight squeeze it is now and so do I! He gets off on the challenge, the manly dominance. He never pulls out anymore, flooding my twink ass on the daily!

[stylerenders]

Optimized for dominance rather than softness.

[anglowrongn]

[dreammusclerevo]

The mirror used to mock me. I’d trace my fingers over soft skin, wondering what it would feel like if it were tighter, harder, more powerful. I didn’t just want to be stronger—I needed to become a living sculpture, a monument of raw masculinity and inked aggression.

It started with a pump.

My first real one—the veins swelled, my skin flushed, and I felt it... that sweet rush, like a lover's breath against my neck. The steel bar, warm with my sweat, started speaking to me. Every rep moaned under my grip. My chest thickened. My arms ballooned. My waist tapered. The compliments turned from casual to hungry stares. That attention? It fed me.

But I wanted more.

The tattoos came next. I remember the sting of that first needle—how the pain lit a fire in me. I craved it. The more muscle I packed, the more canvas I claimed. Demons roared across my chest. Chains wrapped around my ribs. The ink danced with each flex, every pose now a performance of strength and sensuality. My body wasn't just changing—it was seducing.

I’d catch people watching—eyes locked on the veins rippling over my biceps, tracing the curve of my traps down to my sculpted lats. And I flexed harder. I lived for it.

I was addicted.

Not just to size, but to the feeling of becoming more. The friction of skin against latex as I stretched tank tops to their limits. The hiss of ink being etched deeper into meat that barely fit in shirts anymore. The scent of iron and sweat became my cologne. I was high on it all.

Now, when I stand before the mirror, inked chest rising with every deep breath, I don’t see the boy who once dreamed of being noticed.

I see a beast born of obsession.

Steel made my body. Ink claimed my soul.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Image pics: Amiro Tofan

[occamstfs]

Couples Counseled: Confidence

Sean convinces his boyfriend to go to therapy with him. Both him and the therapist have something besides conflict resolution in mind however as Kyle accidentally wills his twink to be the domtop he never knew he wanted.

Part 1 of a 2-parter! Follow Sean's transformation into a muscular, hairy brute who's sole priority is pleasure, hope you enjoy! -Occam

Couples counseling was all Sean’s idea, they had been dating for well over a year now and neither boyfriend particularly wanted the relationship to swirl down the drain. So, despite his DL boyfriend’s preference to break an arm rather than a single exposed emotion, after setting an ultimatum Sean convinces Kyle to give it a try.

After having been forced to accept the idea, once convinced Kyle was all-in. He even volunteered to find the perfect therapist for the pair, after the hassle of convincing Kyle to try couples therapy Sean was more than happy to let him have a hand in the process. Arriving at the office of Lucien Faust, Sean wonders if he should have done some preliminary research on the therapist.

It’s not as if it’s outwardly shady or anything, something about the place simply sets Sean on edge. The receptionist greets the pair and offers Kyle preliminary paperwork which he promptly begins to fill out. Sean eyes this with a head tilt, wondering why he got no such form, before returning his primary inquisition to the clean waiting room they reside in. 

That’s what it is, it’s too clean. They’re clearly the only patients in right now but surely not the first of the day, and yet Sean is filled with the feeling that nothing in that room had been moved. He’s possessed with the feeling that something horrible is afoot. Narrowing his eyes at a plant sitting directly under a vent he elbows Kyle to get his attention on the ficus.

“Psst, hey- Kyle! That plant’s leaves aren’t moving from the heater!” Pausing from his paperwork Kyle doesn’t feign interest, looking for half a second before returning to his assignment, “I’m sure the thing’s just not running Sean.” The boyfriend purses his lips and wags his hands as he tries to determine what to do, clearly the only one concerned. 

It’s still the dead winter and unseasonably warm in this room, that vent has to be running. Sean slowly stands and ambles over to the plant. The receptionist continues staring at the screen on her desk, apparently unconcerned with the pair. Making his way over, Sean raises his hand and is shocked to find indeed the heater is not on. One mystery solved he is immediately possessed anew, wondering to himself “Then why’s it so stuffy in here?” Suspiciously eying the ficus he messes with the leaves just to prove that he has some will yet, then he hears the bassy voice behind him.

“Now now son, no need to treat old Chuck there with such aggression.”

Sean slowly turns to see Kyle has finished his paperwork and given it to this mystery large man wearing a suit such a deep shade of burgundy it seems black. Sean tries to get backup from his boyfriend but finds Kyle nervously looking at the reception desk. Following his gaze, Sean turns to find the receptionist staring directly at him, standing with a wide smile on her face she states flatly, “Sean Gilroy, the Doctor will see you now.”

The massive man reaches out a hand, “Pleasure to meet you Mr. Gilroy.” He waits until Sean shakes it before turning and ushering the young man towards his office. Before leaving Sean turns to scold his boyfriend for getting him into this mess and notices him nervously looking at the papers in the doctor's hand. Sean immediately reads through this regret and assumes his boyfriend has not taken this seriously. Before the door closes behind Kyle mouths a ‘So Sorry’ and a ‘Good Luck’ with a shaky thumbs up. And then Sean is alone with the therapist.

Sean blinks and finds himself sitting across from the man at his desk, gasping in shock, he clutches at armrests he wasn’t aware he had. The therapist then looks up slowly with quite a canine forward smile, “Ah! Seems I lost ya for a second there Mr. Gilroy. I know day one is boring but let’s try to not fall asleep!” There’s a pause where one might expect him to laugh but he simply continues to smile before continuing, “So! Your loving boyfriend filled out this little preliminary worksheet for us to better understand the problems in your relationship.”

Still on edge from having no idea how he got here, Sean is struck with how unfair it is that he didn’t get to have any input on this session. As if he were reading Sean’s mind, Lucien raises a hand, “Worry not there Sean. Once we’re finished you will have the opportunity to do likewise, filling out the exact same questionnaire for my time with Kyle.”

The therapist pauses, performatively grabbing a pair of glasses before clearing his throat and continuing on, “If you are all-set then Sean. Shall we begin?” The patient nods and goes to cross his arms before deciding to leave them at his side, to at least present as open and not anxious. Lucien, while still looking down, certainly takes note of him quibbling with himself.

“What is your favorite quality of your partner? Ah, how sweet.” Sean stares at him, convinced that Kyle has somehow made this a complete waste of time, “And your boyfriend answered ‘His Confidence’,  well is that something you agree with Sean?” 

Sean blankly stares as he tries to temper his response and calm his ire. The whole reason to their doing couples counseling was an argument about Sean’s lack of confidence. The memory of Kyle getting home late with a suspiciously hickey-shaped bruise on his chest sent waves of paranoia through Sean. He knew Kyle wouldn’t cheat, it was just- So clearly can he see the look of betrayal on his boyfriend’s face at being labelled a cheater. So clearly can he hear the sting on his voice as he explains the injury as being peened by a baseball.

“You need to work on your fucking confidence Sean.”

He has half a nerve to flee into the lobby and slap Kyle for the deliberate disrespect. Clearly he’s not willing to act like a mature adult and talk this out. Sean’s blood is boiling as he stands, though before taking a step towards the door, Lucien adjusts his glasses and speaks up, “Do you not agree with his assessment Mr. Gilroy? You do seem quite confident to me.”

His mouth falls open in shock as he points at himself “Me!?” Sean’s mind flies through every memory in his life in which his self-critical mind rules his actions. He’s been a steaming mess of nerves and self-criticism for as long he can remember, he delves into his mind to try and explain his usual anxious state to the doctor. Only, whenever he focuses too much he hears the echo of Dr. Lucien’s words, you do seem quite confident to me. Hands shaking, as he remembers he sees his memories begin to change. 

All throughout school his time hiding towards the back of class to avoid the gaze of bullies is washed away as Lucien’s appraisal of confidence washes over him. No, he survived not by hiding but by being louder, standing taller. He feels pain in his right hand as he sees a memory of him punching out a particularly cruel adversary. He feels his knuckles reshape as they heal from being broken on another man’s face. 

Wait? What’s the problem, he is confident? He’s always been confident. He sees the vision of himself as a wallflower at a bar when he met Kyle. His brow furrows as he can scarcely recognize himself being pulled onto the dance floor by the bleary eyed jock. And then he remembers that isn’t what happened at all! Blush burns clear on his face as whatever meek shred of self remains is rife with embarrassment as he sees himself approach Kyle at the bar and begin grinding on him. 

Just before he starts getting too worked up from the memory, he shakes off his distraction and clears his throat, “Woah uh, sorry doctor what was your question?” The man at the desk simply smiles, “Do you feel confident, Sean?” Sitting back down the twink makes a weird smirk, as if the question were something that needn’t be answered, “I mean, yeah?” Gesturing to himself exactly as he did when confidence was the furthest thing from his sense of self, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

image?

“Very good!” the therapist’s eyes are hidden by his glasses but judging by the smile Sean assumes him to be very pleased. He continues onto the next question, “Oh looks like we’re getting into it now. What do you hope to achieve from your couples counseling sessions.” Sean racks his mind wondering what Kyle could have written. Fixing our compatibility maybe? Keeping it up? Sean almost laughs at the idea before Lucien raises his eyebrows and reads what his boyfriend wrote, “Oh my! Well no way forward but head on. Kyle says ‘For Sean to learn how to chill out.’”

While his confidence is now boosted to excess, such a change does nothing to Sean’s perpetual high strung state. One can almost hear that too-taut string keeping him composed snap as he recalls the face he saw on his boyfriend as he left the waiting room. Bolting up he shouts, “Chill out!?”  Dr. Lucien watches tepidly, taking a sip of tea while his client paces the small office, railing against his boyfriend. Half-tuning the ranting man out as he goes on and on about how his energy is the only thing keeping them together, Lucien sits and waits for Sean to tucker himself out.

Arranging papers on his desk, Lucien looks out over his glasses to see Sean has worked off enough of his anger and now simply sulks. Ready to get on with it Lucien launches his volley, “So, do you agree you could chill out more Mr. Gilroy?” 

Sean meets that with a sneer though he is promptly struck with a horrible headache. Chill out. The past few minutes of his life rewind through his head and he grimaces at how intense he was? How on edge he was and how he was making it everyone else's problem. Maybe- Maybe he could stand to take it down a few degrees. His shoulders crack as his posture shifts to something more relaxed. Thin chest held high now accompanied by shoulders never raised in anxiety.

Finding every spot of tension across his body soothing unnaturally, relaxing all at once, he sinks into the chair behind him like a puddle as his history begins to change yet again. The GPA he graduated with, one he was always proud of shoots down a few digits. Not from stupidity, sharp as a razor he remains, but from apathy. Sleeping through 8 AMs on the reg and only putting in an effort when there was a consequence hanging directly over himself. He remembers many times his usually chill boyfriend had to put out all the stops to get him to do an assignment.

Pawing at his crotch, his mind latches onto his boyfriend, now apparently the more enthusiastic of the two. He sees someone who looks just like himself struggling to get Kyle ready and out the door for his date, then the memory shifts to their new reality. He sees himself watching some trash on the TV, clothes straining from a slightly less maintained figure as Kyle does a paltry job trying to get his boyfriend excited for his date.

Smirking as he sees just how affected Sean has been from the session already, Lucien almost laughs as he sees the man scratch his crotch like an animal. Chilled out indeed! The therapist sees a small belly appear on the man though reading ahead it seems that is soon to get fixed, “Well let’s get on with it then. I’m sure you’d like to get this wrapped up soon hm, Mr. Gilroy?”

Sean doesn’t even dignify the doctor with words, just waving him ahead nonplussed. “Very well! Onto the final question! What is something you wish your partner did.” The patient purses his lips, he feels he should have a problem that this survey apparently only has three questions and that they were these three at that. But he simply can’t bring himself to care, when met with the idea that this final one is going to be things for him to do for Kyle he frowns as the impulse to do nothing has never been more compelling. 

That is soon to change, skimming the response Lucien finds that Kyle must have spent most of his time on this response, not surprising given how apathetic he was to the process. Lucien fights back a smile when he imagines the man seeing what his boyfriend has become at his own hand, though who knows how he too will be molded. But he’s getting ahead of himself, hemming to himself he goes so far as to scratch off part of the answer he’s disinterested in, knowing that Sean clearly couldn’t care less. “Ah! Here’s one for you Mr. Gilroy, ‘Wish he would hit the gym more with me.”

Sean frowns noncommittal and nods in agreement, he could stand to lose a few. Then his blood starts pumping. He sits up straight once more and his dull eyes get wide as he feels himself surging with energy, his arms start to burn as he clutches at his chest. Sweat pours down his long hair as it pulls into something less obstructive towards his pursuit of gains. 

Going to fan his shirt as his clothes are quickly soaked through he finds his arms struggling against his sleeves as they quickly bulk large enough to impede his range of motion. Soon enough they burst free, exposing sweaty pits as his chest too surges larger, bursting open the neat top he threw on for the couples therapy session he had long been awaiting. Looking down at his torn clothes, Sean then turns his attention to the therapist, having been barely listening he asks, “Sorry, did you say go to the gym more?” 

Lucien’s teeth gleam as he smiles, “Seems to be what he wrote, Sean.” The once-twink crosses his arms in thought, sending matching tears down his back as his whole chest widens and traps burst above his shoulders. Abs hide under the remnants of his shirt as he adjusts his seat to more comfortably hold the perfect bubble butt above his mouth-watering thighs. 

“Ah and here lies the root of most disputes Mr. Gilroy, finances! ‘I wish he would stop wasting so much money on his appearance’” Sean rolls his eyes, he barely does that to begin with! Sitting there steaming in his own sweat he racks his mind to recall what this could even refer to, much of his superfluous spending on manicures and face washes having already been dropped when he chilled out. Scratching his cheek he feels the scritch of stubble and figures that must be what he meant.

He always thought Kyle liked him hairless, but if he insists. Stubble lancing onto his face quickly shapes into a beard as he sits there contemplating what Kyle wants. The curls already extant in his pits expand and lengthen as they long to spread down his bicep and over towards his chest. For now though, they lie content as similar forests pop up everywhere they’re able. Curls pattern his meaty pecs as pubes quickly curl around his crotch, up towards his abs and onto his thighs with expediency. 

Sean rubs his new sweaty fur with delight as he sits there rapt in changes he is worlds away from understanding. Seeing the last message written by Kyle, Lucien can’t help but editorialize, “And last but certainly not least,” corrected in deep red ink from wish Sean would top more the doctor launches the final nail into the coffin, “I wish Kyle was more dominant, like the top he is.”

The top he is. The platonic ideal of a top flashes into his mind, big dicked, muscled up, and always ready to fuck. He clenches his jaw as his body begins following the blueprint he laid for himself. Hairy arms bulking up even more as they go to handle a cock that is already pushing against the briefs that were almost too roomy when he walked into this office. The elastic band snaps free as his dick swings into the open air, flinging pre onto the floor as he moans heartily.

His brows thicken and hang over his eyes as his expression becomes one of almost perpetual sneering. Surging taller he is filled with new ideas about asserting his dominance, always standing over his bottom, always displaying his masculinity in every way he can. Skin tight tanks that allow his pits to breathe, that allow his musk to proliferate. He can feel his hard cock poking into the back of Kyle as they stand to take a thirst trap together, his hand on the man’s throat. 

Biting his lip at the idea his hips begin bucking out of his control as he is unable to prevent himself from losing control at the height of his ecstatic transformation. And so he does, loosing load after load into the couple counselor’s office. Lucien simply watches in glee as the twink finishes becoming the monkey’s pawed version that Kyle asked for. Self-conscious and type A no longer. Lucien can’t help but laugh at the burly man rubbing cum into his new body hair with abandon. And then checking his watch, he figures it's time to turn the tables.

Lucien claps and the room changes at once, cleaned up from the mess Sean made with his release. So too does a new outfit appear on him, one befitting his new appearance and temperament. Beanie hiding his short sweaty hair, a stringer allowing him to show off at will, and sweatpants drenched. One would assume he was at the gym rather than a therapy session, though it seems  The massive new top shakes his head as if awaking from an intense dream as Lucien coyly speaks up, “Seems I lost ya for a second there Mr. Gilroy. But that’s alright, I believe we are done with this part of the session, wouldn’t you agree”

Sean just scratches his pecs and motions for the therapist to get on with it, “Whatever doc, if that means I’m good to go then fine. This shit’s just as much a waste of my time as I knew it’d be.” Lucien pretends to make a few notes as Sean stands with quite a bit of effort, totally unaccustomed to moving in a body over a foot taller and hundreds of pounds heavier. “You are indeed good to go sir, though, if you are interested I do have a copy of that form for you to fill out for Kyle, if you are so inclined?”

Hand on the door, the promise of inconveniencing his boyfriend as much as Kyle did to him, Sean feels himself turn with a decidedly unkind smile. “You don’t say doc?” He makes his way over, heavy footsteps stomping as he casts a shadow over the seeded therapist. “Can I borrow your red pen?” Lucien meets the man’s expression with his own predatory grin, “Be my guest Mr. Gilroy!” 

From behind his glasses he watches as Sean crosses out Kyle’s name and rewrites it Ky. His grin grows wider, he thought Sean’s transformation was the only bit of fun he’d get today, should’ve remembered that every street goes both ways. Watching the brutish man crunched over the form, the doctor can’t wait to walk Kyle through the life his top imagines for him.

Part Two!

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[sleazedudegoonerpants]

Tying up my big, burly bear boyfriend and zonking him out sooo hard till hes completely blank. and then edging him to straight gooner hypno, only stroking whenever he flexes his biceps like a good breeding stud. this occurs daily until he’s obsessed with putting a baby in someone btw.