top-twunk

[top-twunk]

Reason to: Hookup with That Twink

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

[top-twunk]

White Shirt, Blue Jeans

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

huhuhuhu... look at my tits bro.

[top-twunk]

Top 3341

“Welcome to the cave, bro,” said Top 3341, gesturing you into his home gym with one perfect, tattooed arm.

He had been so perfectly flirty on the apps, but now that you were in his presence, there was an artificial quality to his perfection. His smirk at the perfect angle as he flexed perfectly, his perfect torpedo cock without a hint of a curve visible in his tights as he posed for you, both your cocks growing as a sheen of sweat oiled his muscles. Still, you were gagging for his cock, and so grateful he’d messaged you, an average Black sub bottom without a single visible ab to compete with his eight.

He seduced you perfectly, guiding you through a flirtatious workout and slowly removing more of your clothes, worshipping your body attentively if a bit stiffly. “Good form, bro,” he told you as you bench pressed, his uncannily massive bulge filling your view as its sweaty musk filled your nostrils.

The scent was just as perfect as him, and soon your head was fuzzy and your limbs were shaky from the combination of arousal and heavy lifting. It took you a few minutes to realise that, instead of finishing your hip thrust set, you had your face buried in Top 3341’s tights, sucking his balls right through the sheer fabric.

“Think you’re ready for the main event, bro,” he said, picking you up easily and laying you on your back on a bench.

“Wh-what’s your name?” you slurred as he slid the tights down his massive striated legs and let that monster cock free.

“I told you bro,” the man lined his cock up with your ass, “I’m Top 3341. You’re about to be Top 3342.”

Your muscles were too spent to let you flinch away as the man speared you, but you felt no pain. Even your confusion at his absurd statement melted away as tingling pleasure seemed to emanate through your whole body from his cock.

“But I’m a bottom,” you moaned, writhing as the cock withdrew and then bottomed out again. Somehow, the word “bottom” felt strange in your mouth, like a foreign language. What did it even mean?

Every nerve in your body seemed to be in overdrive as Top 3341 began to piston in and out of your ass. Your vision whited out as your leg muscles spasmed, growing in fits and starts from your thighs down to your feet. The skin and hair lightened to perfectly match Top 3341’s torso as you wrapped your lengthened legs around him, pulling his perfect cock deeper inside you with your newfound strength.

“You sure you’re a bottom, bro?” the top asked, his voice just as relaxed and cocky as when he demonstrated a lift. He grabbed your little cock, which usually stayed soft when you bottomed. “This guy seems to be getting pretty excited.”

You screamed in pleasure as you felt your cock grow in his hand, rocketing to steel hardness and then continuing to pulse and grow. The dark foreskin retracted as the pale pink head outgrew it, and the shaft became a perfect arch, with a torpedo bulge in the middle just like Top 3341’s. As the top began to stroke it, you felt your ass become strangely numb despite his continued pounding. Instead, sparks of pleasure began to emanate from your perfect cock.

“Oh f-fuck bro,” you gasped, the “bro” slipping out unintentionally but feeling so right on your lips. “What are you doin’ to my big top cock?”

“You’re joinin’ the brotherhood, bro.” Top 3341 continued to rhythmically pound your ass, but the sensation felt distant and unimportant compared to the barest twitch of his hand around your cock. “What did you say you were again?”

“I’m a b-“ The word slipped out of your mind. It wasn’t an important word. It was a word that didn’t describe your perfection or the hive’s perfection, and that made it unimportant. You ran your hands, growing thick and callused, across your lightly tanned abs and over your thick pecs.

“Dom top, bro,” you purred, your ragged gasps smoothing out as you felt your neck expand and your voice dropped. You and Top 3341 stared into each other’s eyes, both breathing easily and smiling with eerie perfection, as your jawline, nose, and brows grew to match his.

Your hair bounced slightly from your brother’s fucking as it uncurled and styled itself into a perfect quiff. You grinned as your brain sorted itself into perfect mechanical order, just like every other drone in the Top hive. Your previous life, with all its morals and experiences, was drowned in endorphins and walled off as you made more efficient use of your processing power.

With a slight shudder, Top 3341’s cock stiffened even more and began to unload cum into your ass. You smiled deliriously as your designation locked in and saved, allowing you to shoot a massive, creamy load all over your perfect, glistening pecs. You were Top 3342, and you and your brother were ready for another workout before finding some more—what was the word? B-something?—to assimilate.

Thanks to @idesofrevolution for the inspo pic.

If this got you horny, consider putting some spare change in my Ko-fi cup so I can write even more hot stories.

[top-twunk]

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.

[top-twunk]

The Disappearance of Private Rogers

Bit of a longer one! Wanted to capture all the hypnosis and race tf. Hope you enjoy!

Colonel Hawkins sat behind his desk, his weathered face set in a grim expression as he gestured for Garrett to take a seat. "Listen up soldier, we've got a situation that needs your attention."

"Yes sir, I'm all ears Colonel. What's the deal?" Garrett was always eager- ready to do what he needed for his country.

"There's been a...truce called with one of the major cartels. Part of the agreement is the release of some high-value prisoners, including someone close to their boss, a fella named Miguel." The Colonel tapped his fingers on his desk, “Miguel has gone missing from our custody. Officially, we don't know how."

Garrett's brow furrowed as he processed this information, his mind racing with possibilities. He shifted in his seat, the fabric of his crisp Army uniform felt comfortable against his skin. Like it belonged.

"Missing? That's not possible, sir. Our facilities are secure." Garrett couldn’t understand how such a high-value target could go missing.

“Precisely. Which is why I want you to lead an investigation into Miguel's disappearance. You'll be working with a senior investigator - Dr. Logan Thorne. He's...experienced in these matters."

Something in the Colonel's tone gave Garrett pause, but he pushed the feeling aside. If the brass needed him on this, he'd see it through, no matter what. His duty was clear.

"I understand, sir." Garrett continued, “But are you sure I’m the best for the job? I’m not experienced in this kind of operation.”

"Private, it's simple really. Your track record speaks for itself. You're one of our most dedicated soldiers, always eager to follow orders without question." Hawkins leaned back in his chair, “You see things through to the end. And I only trust another man from Indiana.”

Garrett smiled, “I appreciate it, sir. I won’t question it and I won’t let you down.”

He always viewed Hawkins with great respect. The man taking on a mentorship role for the young private. Both born in small-town Indiana, both avid baseball fans- the man was like a second father to him.

"I knew you'd say that, son. That's why you were handpicked for this job." He released Garrett's shoulder and stepped back. "Dr. Thorne wanted me to give you these." Hawkins pushed a pair of headphones towards Garrett. "These headphones contain crucial information about Miguel. They’ll be invaluable to your mission."

Garrett took the headphones, placing them on his head.

Hawkins continued. "Remember Garrett, discretion is key here. Not even your wife Sarah needs to know." Garrett nodded, a buzzing static filling his ears, "You're relieved of your other duties for the meantime and will be provided a private room. Questions, Private?"

"No questions, sir. I understand completely." Garrett's voice was steady despite the unease churning in his gut.

Hawkins nodded approvingly, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Good man."

_____

Garrett stretched out on his bed and settled into the privacy of his assigned quarters, the headphones continuing to buzz with static. And then...

..."subject name: Miguel Antonio Mortez..." 

..."born and raised in Juarez, Mexico. Grew up in the volatile El Chavo neighborhood..."

..."Miguel likes fast cars. He owns a black '68 Mustang that he worked on restoring..."

..."Miguel plays acoustic guitar when he wants to relax..."

..."A skilled fighter, Miguel honed his skills brawling on the streets of Juarez..."

“Guess this is useful.” Garrett mumbled, wincing at a dull ache developing behind his eyes, “Fuck...” He yawned and felt his eyes starting to close, “So... tired...”

________

There’s a ball. A soccer ball? He stares at it and then up. Tall buildings around him. A dirt field. Makeshift goalposts. A firm kick. GOAL!

A woman’s voice called out sharply in Spanish, “¡La cena está lista!”

Garrett turns- panting, he sprints inside, catching a fleeting glance in a cracked hallway mirror. He pauses... the face of a young Mexican boy stares back at him. Dark hair, brown skin, eyes that hold a fierce determination.

_______

Garrett jolted awake, his heart pounding as he sits up. He blinks away the last vestiges of sleep, and caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall opposite his bed.

The man staring back at him was unmistakably Garrett. His short blonde hair, the strong jawline accentuated by his clean-shaven face, pale skin. Relief washed over him as he mentally affirmed his own identity.

"That's right," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Garrett. Born and raised in the Midwest. Played baseball, not soccer. None of that was real."

Despite the logical reassurance, a faint unease lingered. Garrett took a deep breath, steeling himself as he placed the headphones back over his ears. The unfamiliar voice filled his head once more:

..."You were born on July 12th, 1990 in Juarez, Mexico..."

..."Miguel learned to play the guitar at the age of ten from his abuelo..."

..."You spent countless hours practicing guitar riffs, strumming away your frustrations..."

..."Miguel dreamed of one day singing lead for a big time band, his voice captivating"

A sharp knock at the door jolted Garrett from his trance-like state. Before he could respond, it swung open to reveal a tall, distinguished-looking man in his 50s with salt-and-pepper hair.

"Private Garrett?" The man's voice was smooth and authoritative. "I'm Dr. Logan Thorne, the senior investigator assisting you with the Miguel Mortez case."

Garrett stood at attention, wincing as another wave of pain lanced through his skull. "Sir, yes sir. Good to meet you, Doctor."

Thorne's keen eyes lingered on the headphones. "I trust you've been reviewing the files I provided. I'm sure you find them... educational." Dr. Thorne smiles, "Tell me about yourself, Private. I like to know about the people I work with."

"I... I grew up in..." Garrett paused, "The Midwest. I think? Yeah..." His voice lacked its usual conviction, laced with uncertainty instead.

"Is that all?"

"Uh well... I-I grew up...Juarez? No, that's not right..." He grips his head, "Small town. Flyover country. Had a... a ball field, I think?" He looks up at Dr. Thorne, "I played a lot of... sports. I think baseball, but..."

"Perhaps it would be wise for you to get some rest, Private. You seem... rather disoriented at the moment."

Garrett bristled slightly at the interruption, an irrational surge of anger flaring in his chest.

"Yes sir, probably a good idea," Garrett replied.

"And private. Please continue to wear the headphones. We'll touch base later today."

Garrett closed the door to his quarters and leaned against it heavily, his mind reeling. He took a deep, shuddering breath and began to recite the facts of his life like a desperate prayer.

"I’m Garrett... From... Indiana. Born and raised in a small town. Played baseball, not soccer. Married to Sarah. Served in the U.S. Army. I am American."

He paced the room, his boots striking the floor in a staccato rhythm. "Garrett. Midwestern boy. Baseball, not soc... football...? Not from Juarez. Not a criminal." He stares at the headphones, "Loyal soldier." He places the headphones on his head, the voice reverberating in his ears.

..."You served Papi with unwavering devotion, attending to his every carnal desire..."

..."You found pleasure in submitting to his whims, craving his praise and approval..."

..."You spent long nights kneeling before him, worshipping his body with lips and tongue, relishing the musky taste of his skin and the weight of his thick shaft pulsing in your mouth...”

...“He taught you submission... broke you and exposed who you really are...”

As the relentless voice continued, Garrett felt his eyelids growing heavy. Vivid images conjured, in his mind.

"Not me... Not this... I'm not..."

The words faded into a distant hum as Garrett surrendered to sleep, his head lolling forward.

_____

He’s standing before a nude figure, muscles rippling as his large hand lazily strokes an impressive length of hard cock.

Papi.

"Eres mío, mi amor," Papi purrs seductively in a husky Spanish accent. Dark eyes gleam with lust and possessiveness.

He turns his head away from Papi, his gaze travels downward, seeing himself reflected in the large vanity mirror...

A strikingly handsome young Latin man graces his eyes. Brown skin glowing under the dim lights, eyes the color of rich chocolate framed by thick lashes, wild obsidian hair tousled artfully. His torso is lean yet defined, with a dusting of coarse black hair trailing down from his sculpted pecs to disappear enticingly below the waistband of his jeans.

______

Garrett bolts upright in bed, his heart pounding as he leapt to his feet. He stumbled towards the mirror, grasping the edge of the sink for support as he stared at his reflection with wide, terrified eyes.

"What the fuck..." he breathed, running a trembling hand through his hair. "It was just a dream. Just a goddamn dream."

Garrett stared intently at his reflection, taking in every detail. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin - it was undoubtedly him. Although somewhat disheveled and unshaven. But as he gazed at his own face, a sudden flicker of doubt crossed his mind.

"Why does this feel... wrong somehow?" he muttered to himself, leaning closer to the mirror. "My skin... shouldn't it be darker? Brown maybe?" He gulps, "And my hair... wasn't it supposed to be black? Thicker?" He ran his fingers through the short, sun-kissed locks, confirming their familiar texture and length. Garrett's breath quickened as a confusing jumble of emotions flooded through him, "No, no, stop it!" he growled at his reflection, backing away from the mirror.

Without warning, the door burst open and two burly Military Police officers stormed into the room. They grabbed Garrett roughly by the arms, yanking him to his feet.

"Hey! What the hell is going on?" Garrett struggled against their grip, his heart racing with confusion and growing fear. "I'm Private Garrett, not some damn criminal!"

The MPs ignored his protests, dragging him out into the hallway. Garrett's mind reeled as he tried to make sense of the situation. Why were they treating him like this? What had he done wrong?

They shoved him into an office room where Dr. Thorne waited, his expression unreadable. The MPs forced Garrett into a chair before taking up positions on either side of the door.

"Dr. Thorne, what's the meaning of this?" Garrett demanded.

"At ease, Private Garrett." Dr. Thorne greeted him coolly, taking a seat across the table. Colonel Hawkins stood beside him, his face impassive, "This is...unorthodox, I agree. But I'm afraid we have some concerns that require us to take certain precautions."

Garrett gripped the sides of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. He opened his mouth to protest but hesitated, doubts clouding his thoughts.

"But I'm a soldier, aren't I? An American serviceman." His voice lacked its usual conviction. He squinted, trying to recall the specifics of his military career. Flashes of boot camp, basic training, deployed overseas...it all felt hazy, disconnected somehow, "Shouldn't I be treated with more respect? Right? I'm still... I'm a soldier... right?"

Hawkins and Thorne shared a knowing glance, a silent communication passing between them. Hawkins cleared his throat, fixing Garrett with a penetrating stare.

"The prisoner exchange has been expedited, Private. It will occur tomorrow at 0600." He produced a small pill bottle from his pocket, setting it on the table with a soft click. "These will help sharpen your concentration and recall. Take them as directed."

“No... this isn’t...” Garrett gripped his head, “Please, something isn’t right... Colonel?”

“Don’t disappoint me, son.”

His voice was cold, somewhat strained. Garrett frowned, a sense of failure welling up inside him. He didn’t want to disappoint- he was a good... soldier? Lover? Garrett shook his head.

"You must continue listening to the headphones, absorbing every detail. The information is... vital to the success of the operation."

Garrett eyed the pills warily, his stomach churning with unease. Something about their demeanor, the urgency in their voices, set his nerves on edge. He nodded slowly.

The MPs escorted Garrett back to his room, their grips firm on his arms. As soon as they crossed the threshold, they spun him around and shoved him inside none too gently. The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding clang.

Garrett reached for the handle, twisting it frantically. It wouldn't budge. Locked. Panic started to rise in his throat as the realization sank in - he was trapped. Like a prisoner... Like Miguel... He shook his head.

“Just need to complete the mission.” He whispered, “Just finish the mission...” Despite every fiber of his body telling him no, he places the headphones on his head.

..."You existed only to serve Papi, to bring him pleasure in every way imaginable. Every inch of your body was his to claim, to mark with his touch and ownership..."

..."You ached for his domination. The delicious stretch of his thick cock splitting you open, claiming you most deeply, was heaven..."

..."Being his obedient little bottom, gagging on his cock, hole stretched and leaking his cum - that was your highest purpose...”

Garrett's breathing grew heavier as he listened to the sordid details, his body responding despite his mind's resistance. With shaking hands, he swallowed several of the pills. Warmth radiates from within him and he feels compelled to strip out of his clothes.

“Fuck...” He grunted, staring at his hardening cock.  

He grips it firmly, trying desperately to focus on thoughts of Sarah, on the love and familiarity she represented. But the vivid images of Papi, of submission and raw passion, kept intruding.

"Papi... mi amor..." The words slipped out in a breathy moan before Garrett could stop them. The headphones whispered filthy promises in his ear, urging him deeper into fantasy.

He barely noticed the door burst open. Colonel Hawkins strode in followed by Dr. Thorne and two stone-faced MPs. They carried a strange object between them - a folded, nude rubber bodysuit.

Garrett gaped at the lifelike construct, his pulse racing. The suit was crafted to resemble a stunningly handsome young Latino man, with olive-toned skin and a light smattering of dark chest hair. Intricate tattoos coiled along sinewy arms and a broad, muscular back. Jet-black hair, thick and glossy, adorned the perfectly formed head.

“That...”

An intense wave of recognition crashed over Garrett as he drank in the features of the figure. It was unmistakably the man from his dream - Miguel. Garrett's breath caught in his throat.

"Que demonios es esto?" Garrett's voice cracked, desperation evident. "Why does it look like... like him? Like me...?" He trailed off, realizing the implications, "My name is... was... Garrett. Midwestern boy. Baseball. Army. Right?"

"The pills help release the necessary bodily fluids to allow for proper bonding." Dr. Thorne says to Hawkins and the MPs, "Please help Garrett into the suit."

A second later, the MPs roughly grabbed Garrett's legs, forcing them into the waiting limbs of the rubber suit. As the material enveloped his skin, Garrett gasped at the sensation - it felt almost alive, conforming to his contours. Bonding tightly to his skin... sinking into his pores...

"No please! Don't! Arghhhh." Garrett cried out, trying to pull away. But the MPs held him fast, their grips iron-tight as they slowly worked the suit up his torso.

"You see, Miguel was selected for Operation Rising Phoenix." Dr. Thorne said, "His memories, intimate details were saved. And his body was converted into this suit. He could’ve been used by an operative to go undercover."

"Unfortunately, or fortunately, the truce was made." Hawkins sighed, "But we couldn't return him in well... that state." He looked down at Garrett with pity, "So to ensure the deal can be completed, we needed Miguel back."

Garrett thrashed and bucked as the MPs forcibly pulled the rubber suit up his body, covering his abdomen and starting on his chest.

"Déjenme ir! Por favor, quiero ver a Sarah! Quiero vivir mi vida! No hagan esto!" Garrett’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as his cut cock was encased in Miguel’s uncut member, sending waves of new pleasure radiating up his spine, “Oh fuckkkkkkk..... Papí... I need you... please..." Garrett whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the unwanted thoughts and sensations flooding his mind.

He opened them again to find the MPs standing over him expectantly. Looking down, he wasn’t greeted by his pale skin or light hair. His muscles leaner... more toned... skin darker... the body of Miguel. One of the MPs seized Garrett's chin, forcing his head still as he stretched the mask over Garrett's face. Garrett shuddered violently as the elastic material sealed over his skin.

"There, there. It fits perfectly." Hawkins nodded in satisfaction as he examined the encased man closely. The rubber flesh clung to his curves, indistinguishable from real skin save for a subtle sheen.

“Are you sure...”

“Colonel, the Private’s eagerness to please blends nicely with Miguel’s psyche. They were a perfect match to allow for seamless integration.” Dr. Thorne lifts up the headphones, gently placing them on Garrett’s ears, "Just relax you’ve done so well."

"Sarah... please, I'm sorry, No sé qué me pasa..." Garrett's voice broke.

He doesn’t register the men leaving. Only able to run his hands over the rubbery surface of the suit encasing his body. His fingers dug into the pliant material as he tried to ground himself, to cling to his fading sense of self.

"Mi nombre es Garrett... soy americano... army..." He mumbled deliriously, his eyelids fluttering. But the litany of his own name sounded hollow, drowning beneath the tidal wave of new memories crashing over him.

Miguel, Papi, Juarez... the fragments swirled in his mind, threatening to overwhelm his last threads of resistance. A smile forms on his face.

As the lines between his lives blurred, Garrett clung to one final, desperate thought before surrendering to unconsciousness.

“I... I'm still here... Inside. I’m still... me...right?”

______

The first rays of dawn filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over the sleeping form sprawled across the bed. As the light increased, Miguel stirred. He stretched languidly, the sheets sliding off to reveal his bare chest and toned abs.

“Mierda...”

Miguel sat up slowly, running his hands over his arms and torso, marveling at the feel of his own smooth, warm skin. Nothing but skin... his skin...

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, padding naked to the full-length mirror. Miguel turned this way and that, admiring the play of muscle under tanned skin, the intricate lines of his tattoos. A slow, sensual smile curved his lips as he appreciated his own beauty.

“Hoy es el dia.”

Colonel Hawkins entered the room flanked by MPs, “Good morning.”

He stopped short when Miguel turned toward him with a blank expression, clearly not comprehending the English greeting.

“I forgot you don’t speak English anymore.” Hawkins lamented.

Miguel squared his shoulders instinctively, his posture radiating street-honed defiance. "¿Qué mierda queréis ahora, putos?" He gestured angrily at the soldiers. "Me tenéis aquí como animal enjaulado mientras mis hermanos están fuera luchando por lo nuestro!"

"Still got that fire, eh Miguel? Must mean the conversion took properly."

_____

The heavily guarded exchange point buzzed with tense activity as Miguel was led out, his wrists shackled. His dark eyes darted around furtively, drinking in every detail. There, standing tall amidst the armed escort, was a striking figure - Papi. His chiseled features split into a radiant grin as his gaze locked with Miguel's.

"Mi amor!" Papi called out, reaching for him. "Ven acá, mi chico malo."

Miguel surged forward as far as his restraints would allow, straining towards his lover. The second the shackles fell away, he was in Papi's arms, crushing his body against the solid warmth he knew so well. The display of submission, of pure unbridled love, was an unexpected sight. But they didn’t care who saw.

"Papí..." Miguel breathed, nuzzling into the crook of Papi's neck.

Hours later, Miguel lay tangled in sweat-slicked sheets, Papi's powerful body curled protectively around him. The events of the day replayed in his mind - the confusion, the fear, the overwhelming rush of memories and sensations. But now, nestled in his lover's embrace, everything felt right. He smiled and looked up at his lover.

Miguel tilted his head to place a tender kiss on Papi's stubbled jaw. "Te amo, Papí. Soy el hombre más afortunado del mundo tenerte."

His voice was low and thick with emotion, the words flowing in their native Spanish as naturally as breathing. In this moment, lost in Papi's scent, his touch, the familiar cadence of their lovemaking... Miguel knew he was exactly where he belonged.

[top-twunk]

Max Growth Ultra Hydration

Liam wiped the sweat off his forehead as he stepped into the cool air of the corner store. The summer heat was unbearable, and he could already feel the fabric of his oversized T-shirt clinging to his skinny frame. He was a week away from starting his freshman year of college, and while he was excited, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t ready.

He headed straight for the refrigerated section, eyes scanning the rows of bottles. His hand landed on a sleek, black can labeled Max Growth Ultra Hydration. He didn’t bother reading the fine print—he just needed something cold. Twisting off the cap, he took a deep gulp as he approached the register.

The effect was immediate.

A wave of heat surged through his veins, spreading from his chest to his fingertips. His vision blurred, and he stumbled, gripping the edge of the counter for support. The cashier, an older man with thick glasses, barely glanced up from his magazine.

“You okay, kid?” he asked.

Liam opened his mouth to respond, but his voice came out deeper, richer. His breath hitched as his arms stretched longer, his shoulders broadening with a satisfying crack. His T-shirt strained against his swelling chest, the sleeves digging into thickening biceps before the seams finally gave way. His torso expanded, muscles forming as if sculpted by an unseen force. His stomach tightened into defined abs, and his legs thickened, his shorts riding up as his quads grew too large for the fabric.

He reached up, feeling his jawline now chiseled and strong. His fingers traced the stubble that hadn’t been there moments ago. A lock of dark, slightly damp hair fell into his vision, and he realized even his face had matured. He was no longer the scrawny, nervous freshman—he looked like a man in his prime, a fitness model straight out of a magazine.

He turned to the security mirror behind the counter and nearly staggered back. His new reflection smirked at him, lips parting slightly as he took in the impossible transformation.

“What the hell…?” he murmured, running a hand down his now-rock-solid chest.

The cashier finally looked up, his eyes widening. “Uh, you sure you’re the same guy who walked in here?”

Liam swallowed hard, still flexing his fingers as if trying to prove this wasn’t a dream. His clothes were in tatters, his old sneakers barely fitting over his now-larger feet. He looked back at the drink in his hand, the label catching his eye.

“For Extreme Growth and Maturity—Warning: Permanent Effects.”

His stomach dropped.

“…Oh, crap.”

[top-twunk]

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.

[top-twunk]

Don't Climb the Stairs in the Woods

Carter isn’t what you would expect from his appearance. He hated how even in the year of 2025, people made assumptions based on what he looked like. Yes, he was a twink but that didn’t mean he was gay. In fact, he was the opposite. He was the elusive straight twink, having the slender youthful pale white frame often held up by gay men as one of their beauty standards while having only attraction for the opposite sex. He was entirely straight, not even remotely bi-curious. It was a constant social problem but it particularly plagued him in his love life. The hot girls he wanted to bang friend zoned him as they wanted their own little gay best friend. Surprisingly despite his looks, he wasn’t very tolerant of the gays or their lifestyles. Unfortunately, he would learn tolerance and acceptance the hard way.

Today was one of the few dates he snatched with a woman. His tactic of deepening his voice and making his flirting extremely obvious worked this time. He was in the middle of talking to the cute blonde named Carrie at a coffee shop when her muscle-bound gay Asian best friend, Tristan, came along. He sashayed in his walk, wrists limping and hips swaying, as he hugged his bestie. While Tristan’s only direct interaction with Carter was a friendly wave and “Hello, how are you?”, Carter felt the atmosphere had been spoiled. He got sick of the man at first sight and hated it even more when Tristan opened up his mouth and all that came out was his overtly-flamboyant cadence. Carter abandoned his date and left the shop instantly, explaining that he didn’t want to date a girl with gay friends like Tristan.

Now he was walking through the woods, attempting to find a peace of mind like he always did. He took on his usual trail, passing some pine trees and a pond that had geese and ducks. Strangely enough, there were no sounds of creatures. No things hissed or slithered. Even the ducks that honked at him were silent. Everything in the forest was quiet save for the crunch under his feet and the breezy wind that haunted him. Something is wrong here.

He tried to turn back on the trail but the forest had reorganized itself, his path now blocked by a thick brush of trees. It was too thick to get through. He turned forward and a staircase stood there. It was made of concrete with graffiti of rainbows and nets of vines on the side. Chills ran through his heart that warned him to not get on it. He became paralyzed as voices without a source whispered for him to go on it. There was something exciting only seen at the top. No matter how hard he tried to push his legs back, they could only move forward, his body out of his control.

“I don’t deserve this. I wanna go home,” He tried to speak out but his tongue didn’t follow. He hoped that this was all a bad dream and not karma for acting like an asshole earlier.

As his sentient body slowly went up the stairs, the voices got louder. As he got on the top, the voices felt like they were screaming in his ear but with both feet on the final step, only the ground afterwards, it stopped. Everything was frozen in time like someone had paused the channel. The only noises he heard were his heartbeat and stomach churning before it all returned. The trees swayed in the softer wind and the ducks quacked and tackled each other in the pond.

His entire body felt cooler, and he felt his raised goosebumps. He was naked! All of his clothes gone and out of sight. God this was embarrassing. He covered his average-size junk with his hands, realizing he was in control of his body again.

Happy that nothing severely bad occurred, Carter carefully went back down the stairs.

He noticed that the steps seemed lower down than before, as his legs made larger strides. His skin was changing, while initially thinking it was a trick of the light, he finally realized his skin tone was shifting into a darker and tan shade. His flat cardboard of a chest popped up like two meaty balloons as his skinny abs hardened into a vascular 8 pack. His jawline felt sore as it elongated into a more rectangular shape and chiseled out for a more mature appearance. His stick-thin legs became tree trunks. His curly brown hair shortened into jet black and straight short hair dyed with a tinge of brown. On the arms he held on the rail, they exploded with muscle. His bicep grew more prominent with veins that pumped testosterone through out his whole body the closer he got on the bottom. His ass felt heavy as it had expanded with muscle.

After getting off the stairs, Carter ran to the pond and was shocked by the stranger in the reflection of the water. He was a Chinese hunk now!

His member poked out as he became aroused from his own reflection. The more he stroked, the more of his memories transformed. All the nights he spent in his car banging woman turned into Sniffies and Grindr meetups where they flip-fucked in his car. His attraction to woman replaced by an attraction to men, notably Asian muscle men like himself, like a real man. His name was not Carter, it was Cade. Before he could climax, his phone dinged, ruining his streak.

He sighed, opening past the lockscreen off his near naked body in front of a tropical sunset to a Grindr notification. It was from Azn muscle, “U at the trail yet?”

“Yeah. Got so horny I almost got off lol.”

“Lmao save your hot cum for me. Be there soon.”

Cade exhaled with impatience. After a blink, a backpack and bike manifested on the ground next to him. After another blink, a pair of tight white shorts appeared on his body, not leaving much to the imagination. He began to remember that he was biking shirtless as usual to his Grindr hookup spot and passed the time by admiring the gorgeous nature and his handsome reflection.

Once his hookup, whose name was Tristan and was complaining of a bitchy straight white twink earlier, arrived, it didn’t take long for them to get on their knees on the warm sun-heated ground, taking turns as they pounded each other’s bubble butt with their monster Asian cocks. Cade reveled in being used by a fellow muscle Asian, their mouths fondling their asses and cocks. After they filled each other with their hot potent seed, they parted ways, messaging each other to meet at the same spot again next week.

Cade returned to his apartment to prepare for the rest of the hookups for the day. In an hour, he had to meet in the bathroom of a closing down mattress store. In three hours, he was back in the trail. He would finish his last hookup in an upscale luxury apartment at the stroke of midnight before sleeping on the stranger’s bed.

Cade sometimes had nightmares that he was a straight white twink lost in an eternally paused forest but they went away after a few weeks. After all, he had always been Cade and no one else. He was a gay Asian muscle slut and was proud of it.

[top-twunk]

TaskRaccoon Premium: Chapter 1

Josh was at a dead end. For years he had put his entire focus and energy on his education and studies, above his social life, his health, and his finances. He came top of his class in History and Classics and so in his head all that hard l work had paid off, but now that he had graduated... what was next? His classmates had swanned off into internships and graduate programmes, but Josh found himself in the summer after graduating with no job, no prospects and, most importantly, no money.

Josh's parents had supported him throughout his further education, but now that he was back home they decided to treat Josh like an adult. And that meant rent. Josh balked at the suggestion, but his parents were adamant and so Josh found himself on the job hunt.

This proved trickier than Josh anticipated. Turns out the local libraries and bookshops didn't care about his top degree; they wanted experience. And as Josh lowered his sights to restaurants, cafes, even the bowling alley, he found himself receiving the same feedback.

Needing to save making cash quick, a sympathetic interviewer told Josh to pick up the odd job on TaskRaccoon - an app where Josh could choose to help people with tasks like moving furniture, watering plants, doing shopping in exchange for a small fee. It wasn't perfect, especially as Josh didn't really have the build or inclination for manual jobs, and Josh often found himself doing jobs he never expected while at school. But over time Josh felt an unexpected satisfaction with earning a buck and paying his parents. So much so that Josh had bigger aspirations - moving out of his parents place.

That, of course, required money. And while Josh worked hard with the TaskRaccoon jobs he was given, he needed something more.

On a random Tuesday afternoon, a solution seemed to land out of nowhere on Josh's TaskRaccoon app: TaskRaccoon Premium. Out of nowhere, Josh's app pop-up with a link to a Premium version of the app. It was an additional service where workers such as Josh would get a boosted fee for the same types of tasks plus, according to the app, receive "all the skills and know-how to complete the task to perfection." Josh figured that last bit was maybe the app providing how-to guides on how to complete the more common tasks, which he took as a nice freebie.

To lure users in, there was even an offer - sign-up to TaskRaccoon Premium, perform a randomly assigned task, and receive double the boosted fee. Josh had done his fair share of the most common tasks on the app already (walk my dog, assemble my shelves, do my groceries) so figured it was well worth his while to take the gamble. And so Josh bit the bullet, sign up for a Premium account, and waited to be given his first random task.

Without any pause and without any fanfare, Josh's first random task appeared: "I need someone to clean my pool". Josh groaned; it wasn't the first time he had seen a pool cleaning request but it was one he always chose to ignore because he felt he didn't have any of the right equipment and would have no idea where to start. And while this new Premium version had offered access to "skills and know-how", there only thing on the app was an address. Josh couldn't even see an option to cancel.

Josh wavered, but as he saw the blue sky outside and remembered the promise of a doubled fee, he decided to go for it. He could rake some leaves out of a pool easily enough. The address was only a 15 minute drive away, so Josh grabbed the keys to his mum's sedan and got going.

It felt good to be outside and Josh enjoyed the sunny drive. So much so that he didn't notice his mum's humble car begin to change. The front section became blockier and more basic, her touchscreen sat nav becoming an older model. The seats and interior decor became faded, and Josh had to readjust his seating position as the car seemed to somehow lift off the ground. The steering wheel grew in size and, to match it, bizarrely, so did Josh's hands. Without warning, Josh's pale hands began to darken in complexion and as they grasped the now-rough wheel Josh didn't notice the veins that ran down with now lean and well-rounded hands.

Josh pulled up to a red light, momentarily confused about how he seemed to sit above the surrounding cars. He also felt cramped in the car and realised that his seat was pushed up way too far. He, a bit embarrassingly, was the same height as his mum so he never normally had to adjust the seat, but as he pushed the seat back he realised just how much he needed to stretch out his legs. As the light turned to green, he was oblivious to his jeans riding up and becoming a loose pair of swimming shorts, revealing his now lengthy and toned legs, feathered with dark hair.

Josh pulled up at the designated address shortly after, a sizeable house in a nice neighbourhood. As he got of the car, he was for a moment confused by his need to climb out of the car and then felt off balance when he landed on the tarmac. Before he could interrogate any further though, he looked in surprise at the pick-up truck boot filled with pool cleaning gear. A voice in the back of Josh's mind told him to panic - why the hell did he suddenly have all this gear - but remembering that he had a job to do Josh collected the gear and approached the house. Josh stopped en route to take his jumper off to enjoy the warm sun, not noticing the way his new well-fitted tank top which hung closely to his chest and showed off his slightly more toned arms or the darker shade of his skin...

Josh carried the gear with surprising ease to the front door, and was warmly welcomed by a middle-aged women who introduced herself as Beth. Beth showed Josh to her garden where a medium-sized pool sat, clearly long overdue a clean. Josh thanked Beth, pausing a little at the vague lilt coming out of his month. Was it just him, or just his voice sound deeper...

Josh got to work. The pool needed much more than just some leaves removed but with every task, Josh found himself instinctively knowing what to do. Which pump to use, when to apply chemicals, how to get the pH levels perfect, it all just flooded into Josh's mind. And he was surprised at how flexible he was at reaching all the right places - Josh didn't love manual jobs but he almost felt like his reach had gotten better. It was hot work though and Josh removed his baseball hat and towelled his brow and face, briefly feeling unfamiliar stubble on his face and thick short locks of hair on his scalp.

It wasn't long before Josh has completed his job, a sense of pride sweeping over him as he stared into the now pristine waters. That pride however quickly morphed into confusion as he gazed at the reflection in the shimmering water. Maybe it was distorted, but there was no way that that tall, dark reflection could be him. He was shirt, slender, pale, wasn't he?

He dropped his net and stared at his hands. His suddenly thick, dark hands. Josh began to breath sharply as he noticed just how high up he was, that he was in an outfit that he had never bought, and that his short, pale self had seemingly been replaced with a tanned, lean body.

As Josh was clutching at his newly stubbled face and grasping at the space where his small paunch should be, Beth came out with a pitcher of cool lemonade. Josh spun around in panic, and before Beth could say anything he muttered "lo siento" and ran back to his car.

Josh stopped sharply outside as he stared at the beaten up pick up truck outside Beth's drive, a truck that sat where he thought his mum's sedan should be. A truck that keys in his pocket unlocked. Breathing deeply, and trying his best not to panic, he clampered into the car and pulled down the mirror, staring at the unfamiliar dark eyes that stared back at him. Dark eyes amongst a handsome face, with a strong chin covered in thick but trimmed stubble and framed by dark, tightly curled locks. "What the fuck" Josh uttered, eyes widening at the accented deep voice that emerged.

Josh explored his tightly muscled body now covered in a light sweat when his phone pinged. He unlocked it - the phone recognised his face even if Josh didn't - and the TaskRaccoon app popped up, showing a task completed and $500 dollars deposited in his account.

But what kept Josh's eye though were the other task options appearing. There were more pool cleaning jobs, but also other tasks ranging from moving furniture, plumbing, and even covering people's work shifts. Josh noted that there was an option to cancel his "Premium" membership, but some of the fees weren't to be sniffed at. His breathing calmed down and Josh sat into his car seat, and pondered his options.

To be continued...

****

Hi all!

Some of you may have seen this story on other sites, but I'm bringing it to Tumblr for the first time and with pics! There will also be some small tweaks as I post over the next few weeks.

As always, welcome any feedback or chats!

[top-twunk]

The Locker Room Curse

Caleb and Jordan had always been the last ones out of school. Whether it was detention, sneaking into the AV room to play old horror movies, or just wandering the halls after dark, they liked pushing boundaries. That’s how they found the locker.

It was at the very end of the dimly lit hallway near the gym, a row of old, rusted lockers no one used anymore. Except one was… different. The number was worn away, its metal dented and scratched as if something had been trying to escape. But the thing that really caught their attention? The green glow leaking through the vents. “Dude, what the hell is that?” Caleb asked, taking a cautious step forward. Jordan smirked. “Only one way to find out.”

As they got closer, the glow pulsed, almost like it was… breathing. And then they heard it—whispers, calling their names, hissing promises of strength, power, something more.

“Open it,” the voice urged.

A normal person would’ve run. But they weren’t normal. With one final glance at each other, Caleb grabbed the handle and yanked it open.

A wave of stench hit them like a brick wall. The air was thick with the overwhelming odor of sweat, mildew, and decades of unwashed gym clothes. Inside, there was nothing but old sports gear: reeking cleats, yellowed tank tops, sweat-stained football pads, rank basketball shorts. The smell was unbearable, yet… intoxicating. Jordan coughed, eyes watering. “Bro, this is foul!”

Caleb felt the air shift the moment he opened the locker. The stench hit him first—a rancid, overwhelming wave of old sweat, mildew, and decades of unwashed gym clothes. It was the kind of smell that clung to the back of your throat, thick and nauseating. His stomach churned, and his eyes watered, but beneath the disgust, something else stirred. Something deep. Something primal.

Inside the locker, the contents looked mundane at first—battered cleats with laces frayed to the core, a cracked football helmet caked in dried sweat, a set of shoulder pads with yellowed foam and a stiff, sour texture. But the longer Caleb stared, the more the items seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy, glowing faintly under the sickly green light spilling from the locker’s depths. And then… he heard it. A voice, not quite a whisper, yet not fully formed, slithered into his mind.

“You’re not strong enough, Caleb.”

“You’re not tough enough.”

“But you could be.”

His hand moved on its own. Trembling, hesitant, he reached for the jersey draped over the pile—a faded maroon and gold football jersey, its fabric stiff with the ghosts of a thousand games. The second his fingers brushed against it, a jolt shot through his arm, freezing him in place.

The whispers grew louder.

“Put it on.”

His breath hitched. His skin crawled with an alien sensation, like something ancient and sweaty and overpowering was seeping into his pores, claiming him. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to turn back. But he didn’t. With a shaky breath, Caleb lifted the jersey and pulled it over his head. The moment it settled on his skin, his body seized.

A raw, burning heat ignited in his chest, spreading outward like wildfire. His veins pulsed, his muscles clenched, and then—It began.

His arms bulged, the once wiry limbs thickening with heavy, corded muscle. His pale, thin fingers swelled, his nails darkening as calluses formed on his palms—hands meant for gripping a football, for tackling, for dominating the field. The sleeves of the jersey, which had once hung loose, now stretched tight around his broadening shoulders as his chest expanded, his pecs pushing against the fabric.

A deep, bone-cracking pop echoed through his body as his spine lengthened, his torso widening, ribs pushing outward to accommodate his newfound bulk. His waist remained trim, but his legs—God, his legs. They exploded with power. His thighs thickened into massive trunks of pure muscle, the kind built for speed and impact. His calves coiled with strength, tendons reshaping to give him the reflexes of a seasoned athlete. The worn denim of his jeans strained, seams groaning, before splitting apart entirely.

Beneath them, his skin had darkened to a golden tan, the complexion of someone who had spent years under the relentless sun, practicing, sweating, grinding. His breathing hitched. The scent in the air—it wasn’t just coming from the locker anymore. It was coming from him. A thick, acrid musk seeped from his pores, pungent and overpowering. The smell of locker rooms, weight rooms, and endless summer practices baked into his very being. It clung to him, an unshakable part of who he was becoming.

His face twisted, his features shifting, molding into something new. His jawline became sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced. His nose broadened slightly, his lips plumping as a hint of stubble darkened his jaw. His straight, dull brown hair darkened, thickening into black waves, slightly damp with sweat, as though he had just come off the field. And then, the memories hit.

Flashes of games under the Friday night lights. The roar of the crowd. The brutal clash of bodies on the field. The sweat dripping down his face, his jersey clinging to his body after hours of practice. The pride, the adrenaline, the hunger to win.

He wasn’t Caleb anymore. He was Carlos.

Carlos Gutiérrez, the star linebacker of a high school football team, a natural-born athlete, built for brutality and victory. He lived for the game, for the weight of his shoulder pads digging into his skin, for the smell of sweat and dirt filling his lungs, for the unbreakable bond between teammates forged through blood, pain, and glory.

Carlos exhaled, rolling his massive shoulders as the old, sweat-stained football pads settled onto him like a second skin. His thick, muscled arms flexed instinctively, and he grinned. He stank. God, he stank. And he loved it.

Jordan watched in horror… and fascination. The whispering voices curled around him now, seducing him, calling to him. His fingers brushed against a pair of old basketball shorts, and before he could even think, he was stepping into them.

Carlos stood beside him now, a hulking, sweat-drenched football player, reeking of masculinity, muscles pushing against his pads, veins thick with strength. But Jordan barely noticed—his gaze was empty and lost.

He gasped.

His chest seized, his muscles tensed, and then— Everything snapped. Heat rushed through his body, a fiery, electric sensation that crawled beneath his skin, reshaping him, molding him, building him into something new.

His legs exploded first. The once-skinny limbs thickened, lengthened, stretching toward the ceiling as his femurs expanded, his knees cracking, his calves coiling with fast-twitch muscle built for speed and agility. His thighs ballooned with dense, powerful strength, the kind that could launch him into the air with effortless grace and dominance. His sneakers groaned, the rubber soles bending as his feet grew larger, broader, sculpted for the relentless pounding of a basketball court. Then came his torso.

His spine elongated with a sickening pop, his entire frame stretching upward, pushing past six feet with ease. His ribs shifted, his shoulders broadened, his chest expanded into a lean, chiseled masterpiece of athleticism. His arms, once gangly and unremarkable, swelled with defined muscle, his biceps and triceps sculpting themselves into perfection, his forearms corded with strength meant for fast breaks and powerful dunks. And the sweat. Oh, God, the sweat.

It erupted from his skin, thick, salty, pungent. A powerful, musky stench filled the air, soaking into the shorts he now wore, mingling with the decades-old scent of past players. It was ripe, overwhelming, completely inescapable. And it was his. Jordan choked on his own scent, but instead of disgust, he felt pride. He smelled like a baller, like an athlete, like someone who had spent his entire life drenched in the effort, the grind, the glory of the game. His skin darkened, shifting from pale to a rich, warm brown, smooth and glistening with sweat. His features morphed—his jawline sharpening, his cheekbones becoming more defined.

The two new athletes locked eyes. A strange understanding passed between them. The boys they had been—the nerds who had snuck around school, who had never set foot on a field or court—were gone.

Carlos rolled his massive shoulders, the dampness of his pads seeping into his skin. “Damn, bro,” he grunted, his voice thick with a Spanish accent he hadn’t had before. “I feel… good.”

Jamal bounced on the balls of his feet, spinning a phantom basketball on his fingertips. His body dripped with a constant layer of sweat, his scent thick, overpowering, dominant. “Hell yeah, man,” he smirked, cracking his neck. “Feels like I was born for this.”

The locker door slammed shut behind them, the green glow fading. The whispers died away.

All that was left was the stench of the two stinking boys.

[top-twunk]

A bully, thinking he is better then anyone. Claiming to be the alpha male on campus. I hated him, yet I was drawn to him as well. I heard the rumors about how he fucked every night, usually another girl. I also heard he doesn’t differentiate between a guy or a girl, as long as he can ram his cock inside it.

That would be me, I dreamed about how his cock would be. One night i accidentally bumped into him, on his way to his dorm room. He could see he was completely smashed, too much to drink really. I walked him to his room, but the moment he opened it he pushed me in. His shirt was out in no time, as his he pulled out his already rock hard cock from his pants. Looking at me, ordering me to start sucking. He called me a good fag when I opened my mouth and began sucking. His cock thick, and also big. His hairy bushy crotch smelling like sweat and cum. His hands on the back of your head, he just thrusts, skull fucking me. The way I felt his cock deep down my throat nearly had me throwing up, I gagged as he told me to be quiet. The smell of alcohol on his breath so intense.

He ordered me to get naked and lay in the bed, crawling on top of me as I did. He grabbed lube and covered his veiny meat with it. He rubbed it against my hole, as he said he almost didn’t have a hole to fuck tonight. He penetrated my hole, as deep as he could get it. He got rough right away, saying how tight I feel around his big cock. I could feel it getting bigger, it just reached deeper as he pounded me.

His muscled arm wrapped around my neck, I could feel it. He cock felt so good, and wham… just penetrated my second hole. The way it felt made my eyes roll back, my body trembling and I moaned loudly. He moaned as well, the head of his cock kept penetrating my second hole. Then it just latched on. The grip on his hard cock tightened, he moaned and kept going hard on me. Telling me how perfectly tight I feel, how my hole is milking his big alpha cock. His balls slapping against my ass, I could feel his hot sweaty body shocking. He said to get ready, for he is about to breed me.

The moment his cock again penetrated my second hole he began cumming in me, but in that moment I could feel a shift in me. My second hole completely locked in his cock, the grip so tight he could not pull out. In that moment I could just feel my ass beginning to suck him there. He moaned, his over sensitive cock getting the pleasure of being really milked.

The heat from his body radiating through his cock in me, his warm cum filling me up. His balls emptied out. As my hole kept milking him for more, his heavy body began to feel lighter on me. His moans beginning to chance into a higher and higher pitch. The big muscled arm around my neck beginning to be thin.

The moment my hole finally let go of him, and he rolled off from my body I saw. His entire physique changed, a small hairless twink lay there. Not a hint of masculinity to be found, and that big cock looking like a little nub.

It was then I looked at my own arms, veins across it and a thick slab of muscle and hair on them. Looking down I saw two big pecs, and abs. Lower hang a very thick and long piece of meat, I looked as it swelled and grew. It got thicker and erect in seconds. I looked again at the twink in my bed, his little ass looking so inviting. I crawled on bed, aligned my cock and pushed in.

[top-twunk]

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