thetfchangingroom

[thetfchangingroom]

After the transformation, I was huge. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t fit into even the largest clothing from now on, and my underwear looked like it might burst at any second. My muscles were impossibly large: pecs the size of yoga balls, biceps bigger than my own head…

Speaking of my head, I couldn’t grow anything more than a mustache, but now I had a full bristly beard covering a jaw twice as wide as my old one. Yet somehow, my thick black hair had vanished, and my scalp felt like a smooth dome under my touch.

I tried to process this, but my mind was running incredibly slow. I could only focus on one thing at a time, like the feel of my new rough, heavily tatted skin under my callous hands, or my growing bulge straining against my pouch. Jesus, my dick was probably a foot long now, and I was starting to get horny. How was I going to hide this?

But my mind was foggy. I didn’t just have a new body; I had a new brain. One that worked very slow, and only seemed to think about two things: my muscles and my cock. That was all I could do now: pump iron and dump fat loads—unless I was lucky enough to find a hole big enough to take this dick.

I couldn’t even remember my old name, or the life I had before. I was just a three hundred pound muscle goon. For some reason, that made me really, REALLY horny, and seconds later I heard a loud snap and felt my cock escaped the confines of my underwear. At full mast, it was even bigger than I thought, and I could see silver white precum drooling from the tip.

I knew the moment I touched it, I would experience my first orgasm in this body, and I’d never wanna go back. This was it. This was the beginning of my new life.

I gave it one solitary stroke and it erupted like a broken spigot while my grapefruit-sized balls churned out gobs and gobs of the stuff. I was horny again instantly, and set out to find a hole that could fit this hog.

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Your expression in the mirror read as curious, but you knew the real emotion you were experiencing was terror. But you had an entirely new face, one so chiseled and handsome, you were going to look hot no matter what you felt.

You’d mis-dosed the “Jock Wash:” an impulse online purchase that had promised to improve muscle definition, bone structure, and hair growth, and unlock the dude-bro inside of you. Perhaps the mysterious body wash would endear you to the frat you were currently rushing. College was rough for misshapen guys like you.

But you’d accidentally ordered the concentrate, and after just one shower with the wash, you didn’t look like a jock so much as an exaggerated comic book character. Like many of the guys in your college, you were freshly 20, but now? Now you looked like a man in his early 30’s. Your physique was insane. You couldn’t stop feeling your muscles under your hands. Fuck, they were solid like rock, and your skin had a whole new rough texture to it.

One part of you was terrified about what people might say if you showed up to class tomorrow looking like… this. Another part of you was enamored with the hair perfectly dusting your body: a forest of pits, a dense happy trail, and rough tufts on your pillow pecs. Before that shower, you could never have dreamed of growing a beard like this, or maintaining it to this level.

The body wash had turned you into the perfect man, the realization of which sent your new cock to full mast. You were amazed to find your foreskin had grown back, and from the base of your bushy brown pubes sprouted a 9-inch uncut tool and a set of boulder balls ready to be emptied.

Which is exactly what you did, naturally. The load you spewed onto your bathroom counter that morning would be the first of many—that day, even. Little did you know that you were about to embark on an entirely new life. By this time next year, you’d be one of the biggest pornstars in the world (both in popularity and size).

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Mr. Bruce

(Check out the full, NSFW version of this story HERE!)

History was never Tim’s strong suit. In fact, it was the only class he was failing. If he couldn’t secure a passing grade from the bullish Mr. Bruce, he wouldn’t be picking up his diploma later that month. Tim had already been held back once. He wasn’t going to let Mr. Bruce do it again.

So he made a wish to “be able to change his grade.” Vague enough that the universe decided to deal out some poetic justice. Within moments, Tim felt strange. His body seemed to be bloating in all directions, and the bed creaked under his growing mass. The formally skinny senior looked at his hands in horror as they ballooned into two hairy mitts.

“GAGH!” Tim cried as his structure reshaped. He stumbled onto two much larger feet, and lumbered across the room to his mirror to witness just what the hell was going on. Tim couldn’t believe his eyes: he looked like a 50-year-old man, and not just any 50-year-old man: Mr. Bruce himself. Tim felt his face as it sagged into the sad mug of his hard-edge teacher, hair bristling on his jaw as fast as it seemed to vanish from the top of his head.

Tim didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t exactly a playbook for randomly transforming into your history teacher, and Tim was utterly distracted by the muscles hardening on his naked frame. He had no idea Mr. Bruce was so big. He didn’t even notice the room start to change along with him: movie posters on the wall were being replaced with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the twin bed expanded into a California king.

A hood of foreskin crept over the head of Tim’s formally cut cock, as it swelled to the size of a Coors Light. Greying pubes erupted all over the thing, which Tim was embarrassed to admit was growing firmer by the second. An unfamiliar smell wafted up from the man’s sweaty body. Tim should have felt disgusted… but instead, he was amazed by how hot he was. He was no longer a gangly 19-year-old stoner, but a proud 53-year-old muscle daddy.

Daddy. That word seemed to unlock something in Tim’s mind, as new memories flooded his growing skull. He remembered hearing his kids say it, even overhearing some of his female students use it jokingly behind his back. But most of all, he remembered his wife calling it in bed every night while he pumped load after load into her with his thick man meat.

The door downstairs opened, and he heard a woman’s voice call from the foyer: “honey, I’m home!” Tim shook his head. This was so wrong. He couldn’t be Mr. Bruce… and yet, he already was. He had Mr. Bruce’s life, his house, his wife, his kids, his job, his students, his body, his cock… fuck. His cock was big. So big that it dropped like an elephant trunk even at full mast.

Tim couldn’t take it any longer. He needed release. Mr. Bruce’s wife opened the door to their room just in time to see her husband busting a nut to his own reflection, the man’s thick seed splattering on the mirror as he growled like a hungry bear. The orgasm was so great, it shook the last vestiges of Tim from the man’s colossal form. By the time he was done cumming, he was Alan Bruce through-and-through. Always was, always had been.

Later that night, after Mr. Bruce had made dinner, put his kids to sleep, and fucked another load into his hot hubby, he lay there in bed, gazing at the ceiling and thinking about his classes the next day. He remembered a student had asked him to change their grade… but he couldn’t remember who. It was like the student was completely gone from his memory.

Oh well, he thought. It wasn’t like he was gonna do it anyway; Alan Bruce would never change some student’s grade just because they wanted him to. The man was a tough grader. Tough, but fair.

pic by aidaddybears

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I still believe in Santa.

Sounds crazy right? But I know for a fact that he’s real. I know because this year, I asked him to turn me into a big Bulgarian bodybuilder, just a massive fucker with hot hairy muscles and a thick, meaty cock.

… Anyway, thanks Santa! Merry Christmas!

Click here to read the full NSFW version on my Twitter! Pic credit @badrozicifbbpro

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Holiday shopping was in full force, and you’d been getting Amazon packages all week. You didn’t think twice when you signed for the box; it could have easily been that special Pokémon card you’d gotten for your boyfriend.

But the second you opened it, you knew something was off. Inside was a brown UPS shirt, like the one your deliver guy was wearing. But when you tried to put it on, it was enormous on you. There must have been a mistake. You had to bring this down to HQ, tell the boss.

What boss? You thought, but your mind was starting to reel, forgetting and remembering at an alarming rate. So alarming that you didn’t notice your muscles begin to fill out the shirt…

Your transformation into a hunky UPS driver was in full force. The moment you put on that shirt, every second brought you closer to Kevin Kuck: the dopey delivery stud with the big smile and the bigger body. You grunted as Kevin’s strawberry blond beard seeped through your chin, and gasped as his 9-inch uncut hog snaked down your vascular thighs.

You could have came right there and then, but Kevin knew some hot milfs along his delivery route who could take care of this. You’d inherited his whole life: his profession, his body, his memories, and his love of sopping wet cougar pussy.

You were Kevin Kuck: dreamboat UPS guy… at least for the holiday season. It’s a busy time for delivery, and Santa needs all the help he can get!

You stand, flexing Kevin’s sweat-slick, red hot muscles and adjusting his own personal package, and saunter back to your truck parked out front. You’ve got a long day ahead of you, big guy.

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[thetfchangingroom]

Juan was fresh out of college and apartment hunting in the big city. All his friends’ places were all filled up, and he wasn’t gonna live with some random creep online, so rooming was out of the question, but everything else seemed to be out of his price range.

Thats when Juan found the studio. The online listing seemed like a joke. The apartment was a modern high rise overlooking the park, and what they were asking had to be a fraction of the actual price. So he decided to book a tour. This was either a joke or a miracle, and Juan just had to find out.

Within moments of stepping into the spacious space, Juan began to feel odd, as if he’d been there before. The studio was elegantly yet sparsely furnished, save for all the workout equipment. And it was clean, just how Jan liked it.

But Jan wasn’t the tidiest guy… and this wasn’t his studio! What was going on? He rushed to the bathroom, where he noticed all the flab on his body had turned to hard muscle. Not only that, Jabn was looking older, much later in his 20’s, perhaps even into his 30’s.

Jabnr rushed to the door and gripped the handle. Only then did he clock the changing tone and texture of his skin. Juan was becoming an entirely new man, one more suited for the luxurious studio. As Jabar’s hair receded into a smooth, shiny dome, his four years as a communications major were replaced by ten working at a prestigious advertising firm. All his hobbies and interests were replaced with strict diet and workout routines. Jabari’s studio might have been nice, but his body was a temple.

Jabarri mindlessly picked up a dumbbell and started doing reps, working up a sweat on his glistening biceps. That’s when his final change occurred, and suddenly a snake slithered down his sweats. Jabarri’s cock was big—like his studio, where he’d regularly use it to plow the cum-hungry twinks he liked to pick up at the bar after a long day in the office.

Living in the city was hard work, but it was one hell of a rush.

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Like every other witch, Anika loved Halloween. The decorations, the sweets, the spells. One of her favorite traditions: last minute Halloween costumes.

People loved her crafty Tik Toks, but nobody believed Anika was a real witch. Every year she’d get a dozen inquires from concerned, costume-less fans in search of ideas. None of them knew that in just a few moments, they’d have a completely new body.

Last year, she turned a guy into Batman, the one before that into a big sexy werewolf. This year however, she got a request. The guy was in college, lacrosse player, beach blond and rushing for the biggest frat on campus. He wanted to be Thor (obviously), but had procrastinated all month.

Now, it was the night of the most important party of his college career, and he had no costume. But Anika was about to give him something much better than a costume.

In seconds the guy shot up a full foot. He grunted as lines of age creased into his skin, and muscles began to swell on his already toned body. Anika held up a mirror, and the man watched with a mix of wonder and horror as a blond beard broke through the skin on his face.

“What have you done to me?” His voice deepened to a husky baritone with a British accent. Even the sound of it was enough to send his 9” hog to full mast. Maybe Anika had gone too far. Nobody at this frat would even recognize the frat dude he was before…

… But they’ll love him for getting Chris Hemsworth to come to their Halloween party!

Happy Halloween from #TheChangingRoom ⚡️🎃

[thetfchangingroom]

Would you rather be a ginger or blonde?

It’s difficult to choose! Both can be so hot.

How about strawberry blond? I get the best of both worlds!

[thetfchangingroom]

Would you rather be stuck as the socks of a hot gymbro or the as the singlet of a big wrestler bear?

Definitely gonna go with the singlet. I’ve never found feet/socks/etc to be hot in any way.

Singlets on the other hand? Love them. Plus, on a big hairy man, it would be a privilege.

[thetfchangingroom]

would you rather your partner have the ability to transform you however they’d like against your will, or would you rather have that ability over your partner?

I’ve actually thought about this quite a bit. It’s quite a quandary, because I’m as turned on by the prospect of transforming myself—especially into whom(or what)ever my partner wants me to be—as I am by the thought of having that power over him, being able to mold the man of my dreams before my very eyes.

But this is would you rather, and I have to chose, so I’ll chose the former. I’ve always wanted to transform. Into who, I don’t know, but my partner is with me, so he must have good taste.

[thetfchangingroom]

Would you rather be a smart twink or a dumb jock?

Dumb jock of course! Life is so much easier when you’re build like a brick wall… and as smart as one.

C’mon guys, let’s pick some hard ones (literally and figuratively)

[thetfchangingroom]

Would you rather be stuck in a twink or bear body?

Bear.

Obviously.

[thetfchangingroom]

Fuck it. Boring day at work, time for another Q&A!

Hit me up with your horny Would-You-Rather’s!

Saw someone asking for a TF version of an erotic ‘Would You Rather’ game with their followers, so I decided to make one.

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Hello and welcome to Miami Witness Protection Services! I understand you’ve found yourself in a spot of trouble, but rest assured you’re safe under witness protection, and I’m here to answer any questions you may have as you transition to your new life.

Oh, who’s that? That’s Carlos. Carlos will be your… well, it’s hard to describe. Roommate? Chaperone? Surrogate? See, here at MWPC, we’re very thorough about protecting our clients’ identity, even if it means altering said identity in certain ways.

Here, let me show you what I mean: close your eyes, and hold onto this staff. Great, okay… 3… 2… 1… open!

Feels weird, right? Being in Carlos’ body? Feeling his deep, unfamiliar voice in your throat? You’ll get used to lugging around all that extra muscle. The guy is some big workout influencer, he’s got a like million followers or something. He's always posting topless shots of himself pumping those thick hairy muscles down at the beach. I doubt he owns a single t-shirt. I hear he even has an OnlyFans too. I think you’ve got a lot to look forward to.

Woah woah, calm down big guy! I did warn you how thorough we are. Nobody is gonna recognize you as a rock-hard 6’5” Miami gym bro. Soon, you might not even recognize yourself. We’ve found our clients take pretty strongly to their new lives, so just know that whatever reservations you might be having right now, in two weeks you’ll be a huge, horny Hispanic bodybuilder through and through.

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I consider myself a pretty attractive guy, but I’ll also be the first to admit I’m a little addicted to the gym. More specifically, I’m additcted to the hot guys I see all the time there: big buff goons, perfectly proportional yet intellectually bankrupt.

I don’t know why I decided to take a stray sip out of that guy’s shake bottle, but if I knew about the weregoon virus, I might have thought twice.

The strangest thing has happened to me since. Every full moon, I wake up to find myself passed out in some random part of town, usually in the apartment of some girl I don’t know. It’s so odd and super uncomfortable.

But then one day I was scrolling through Reddit and I found a video of this smoking hot muscular surfer dude absolutely railing this brunette chick and—oh my god, it was the girl who’s house I woke up in!

The next full moon, instead of going to sleep, I stayed awake, staring at myself in the mirror. At midnight, it happened.

I felt my whole body grow numb as it wobbled and bloated in my reflection. My hands explored the odd curves of my shifting skin as it hardened into solid muscle. I watched my own cock grow almost a foot long while my nuts swelled to the size of ping bong balls. My brain was buzzing, but just with static. The last thing I remember was cracking open a beer (which I normally save for guests) and rubbing one out to my own reflection in the mirror. The cum stains were still there the next morning.

I was turning into a dumb blond himbo every full moon, just like a werewolf. The worst part? I have no idea what I do when I’m in that state. One of these girls called me saying her pregnancy test came back positive. What do I do??

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“What’s the matter dude? Come on in! The water’s great!”

But you didn’t dare move. Michael must have been totally oblivious to what had just happened, to what became of his one gangly, unremarkable body after it came into contact with the crystalline waters of the cove.

You thought it was a mirage at first, perhaps a trick of the sunlight. Michael had transformed so quickly that within seconds of stepping into the water, perfectly proportioned muscles all around his body cast shadows across subtly tanning skin, and gold hair cascaded from his scalp and his formally bare jawline. Now, it was sharp to the point that it could have been chiseled from marble.

Michael had become a golden god. You were sure of it. What would become of you when the water touched your skin? There was only one way to find out. The thought terrified you: your body fundamentally changing in the blink of an eye. But the thought also excited you, especially if it meant looking even half as hot as Michael did.

So you waded into the cove. You didn’t feel anything, but the look of shock on Michael’s face told you everything you needed to know. You glanced down to find your view obstructed by a bushy black beard and a big pair of furry pecs. But the reflection you saw cresting over your chest in the water below was unrecognizable.

“Woah dude,” said Michael, jaw slack with awe, “when did you get so hot??”

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“Immature.”

That was how most people referred to the boys of the Alpha Pi fraternity. They were all rich—usually white—boys masquerading as men, walking into every establishment like they already owned it.

But they picked the wrong country club to mess with this time. This time, they weren’t leaving until they’d been taught a lesson. The guys of Alpha Pi were about to discover what real maturity looked like… and fast.

Within minutes of starting their meal, some guys were complaining about the tightness of their clothes. Some had even started to clock their change in size, but they said nothing for fear of sounding like a complete maniac in front of their fellow bros.

Instead, they just kept eating. The food there was delicious, and yet no matter how many steaks they devoured or complimentary bread baskets they emptied, they just couldn’t stop eating… and couldn’t stop growing.

By the time desert came around, they all looked ridiculous; all big balloons of muscle and fat with preppy young heads on-top, slack-jawed with satisfied stupor. Desert as it turned out wasn’t desert at all, but complimentary cigars, which the guys took without a second thought.

As the room filled with smoke, so did their faces fill with hair. Beards blossomed on every chin in the room, as the hard lines of age creased the frat boys’ skin with every puff they took.

When the fraternity left the club that night, not a single member was under the age of 50–and not a single one of them weighed under 200 pounds. In fact, the group of burly bears was no longer a frat, but a men’s club that had been meeting for decades. They were everything the frat boys weren’t: enormous, gentlemanly, and most importantly: mature.

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