wakeup01

[wakeup01]

Nice haircut. Just imagine the shorter you cut the hair, the more IQ it drains away.

Would you still chose a dope haircut knowing your ‘head don’t have the smarts it once do’? 👀😏

Funny you mention this because I have a story in the works that shares this concept. (Please be excited).

But also, yes. The shorter and more chavvy my hair, the dumber it looks, the dumber I feel. There’s something addictive about that sensation. About giving into the look, of it taking over - influencing your personality and behaviour. Maybe you don’t really notice it, oblivious to the change in how you speak, how you dress, the way you swagger. But it’s there. Calling for you to cut your hair shorter and shorter. Making it look embarrassing and stupid. And yet feeling better and better. The pleasure rewarding the decision every time you enter a barber. Soon enough you’re rocking a buzzcut with a thick, dense skull. A fat cock down below and pure emptiness on top. Maybe you should try it. Should join me.

Bruv, it’ll feel so fuckin gud.

[wakeup01]

If you’re offering haircuts I’d gladly take dumb TikTok fuckboy hair, bro~

You mean ‘mushroom’ hair. Short back and sides with a huge puffy volume on top. Weighing heavy on your mind. Squeezing your skull; condensing those needless thoughts. Give me a minute and i’ll have you sorted.

There. Perfect. It looks dumb and cringey and is a telltale sign of being a narcissistic attention seeker. With hair like this, you don’t need to worry about anything. Now open your favourite app, set up the camera and get ready to perform embarrassing skits for internet clout. Oh yeah, and don’t forget to show off your body, after all, that’s the real reason people are watching.

[wakeup01]

It’s summer haircut time 😌

Want me to do yours next?

[wakeup01]

Hey there, lately university has been so overwhelming and stressful for me. It feels like I am constantly busy, always running from one deadline to the next, and honestly, I just want to relax for once. There’s this deadline coming up, and even though I know I need to work on that stupid project, all I really want is to spend my weekend relaxing not thinking about it for a while.

Maybe you could help me with that? Just make me forget about that damn project for a bit, even if it’s just for a few hours. I do know I will have to get back to it eventually, but right now, I could really use a break.

The Test

Well of course I can help, you just have to understand that my patented assistance comes with…let’s just say ‘drawbacks’. A cost. You get what you want, and I have my fun.

The clock strikes 12. Midnight already. You lean back and listen to the rain patter against your window; A frustrated sigh leaves your mouth. Rubbing your tired eyes, you stare blearily at the mere 200 words sitting on the page. There goes another night working on coursework, you think. Another whole week wasted stressing about this University project. It’s not as though it was even hard - for the likes of you, but it was tedious. You needed a break. A holiday even, but you’d settle for a weekend. But no, deadlines won’t wait for your motivation to be resuscitated. However, maybe there was another option…

Recently, you’ve heard about the University you attend offering some new scheme, one that allowed the brightest students to find an immediate work placement. To no surprise, you had been one of the select few that had been offered the chance to enrol in the program. The idea behind it was suspiciously simple. Participants are evaluated to see where their skills would be most useful. How they would best serve society at large. Something you were still personally trying to figure out. On the other hand, places were keen to hire young talent as soon as possible. So, there are gaps that big companies are desperate to fill, and you, you’re desperate to be done with the study grind. At 22 years old, you were ready to move on from classrooms and teachers. All you had to do was agree and complete a simple test. If you passed you would be offered a job matching your qualifications immediately. Why not, you thought. Admittedly, you felt a tinge of guilt at the prospect of basically ‘cheating’ your way through the rest of Uni, but you had worked hard - hard enough to deserve this. Entitled to it, even.

After some consideration, you sign up to the program and are given a room number to take the test. Entering, you notice a slight humming sound that seemed to thrum periodically across the room. You sit at a desk in front of an outdated computer, alongside around a dozen other students. Each station looked identical. It then became clear that the weird noise was emanating from the PC. It was odd, you knew the University had top of the line equipment, and yet, here sat a CRT monitor with a tangle of wires spooling across the surface of the desk. It was certifiably archaic, almost an archeological find. You squint at the base, struggling to make out the brand name etched into the side…‘L.A.D’. The model number had mostly faded and was therefore unreadable. Shrugging, you press the large button, causing a low pitched screech to affront your ears. The green tinted screen slowly comes to life, loading as if connected via dial-up. The lights overhead are dimmed, leaving only a hint of light streaking across an adjacent wall. A lone sun-ray slipping between the window shades. Sat here surrounded by other accomplished students, you feel slightly nervous, but, you’re confident that you should be able to pass with no issues.

An ominous greenish hue fills the whole room while the computers come to life. Pulling your chair forwards, the glow reflects eerily off your face, imitating a scene you might see in some trashy Sc-fi film. Text - shuddering erratically, begins to appear across the screen one letter at a time.

WELCOME TO ‘THE TEST’

The screen read plainly, with a prompt to continue. Honestly, this was not what you expected. Something seemed off about the whole setup. But despite your reservations - using the chunky mouse, you press the icon to proceed. The loud clicking of mice circles the room as everyone initiates the test.

ENTER NAME…

> DAVID

You type your name in with the slightly yellowed keyboard, each press producing a satisfying clack. Again, you click to continue and after a slight pause are greeted by the next screen.

THANK YOU [NAME]

WE WILL NOW TAKE A PHOTO FOR REFERENCE. HOLD STILL.

A sudden bright flash knocks you off guard. You hadn’t noticed the web cam sitting atop the monitor, but the resulting photo slowly loaded onto the screen. It was you all right. In all your, well, admittedly nerdy glory. But still, you looked good - well kept. A ‘pretty’ boy, some might say. Your long hair sat neatly, combed and parted down the centre. The collar on your shirt was perfectly pressed into place, with the buttons done up all the way to the top. As was appropriate. Despite your unawareness, the camera had managed to capture a warm and affable smile that helped represent your likeable but timid nature.

Without prompting, the computer sputtered and pressed on - your photo dissolving into a hundred pixels.

QUESTION 1:

WHAT IS THE IDEAL WORK UNIFORM

> _ _ _ _ _ _

Odd question you thought, odder still was the fact the answers were multiple choice. You scoff at a couple of the options. Who on earth would choose that? This one was easy: you click the third option and watch the letters flicker into place. The computer beeps in satisfaction.

> WHITE DRESS SHIRT

The test continues like this, the silence of the room only punctuated by the sound of a dozen keyboards. Oh and the humming noise. That indistinct but all encompassing throb. The humming that seemed to be perpetually getting louder the more answers you gave. But you barely paid it any mind, focused instead on the words the computer put forth.

QUESTION 12:

WHAT DID YOU DREAM ABOUT BEING AS A CHILD?

At this point you really doubted how these basic questions would ascertain your qualifications for a job. But answering them diligently gave a strange sense of satisfaction, a little rush of endorphins as the computer beeped back at every response. Validating your answers.

You look over the choices: WRITER, TECHNICIAN, PROGRAMMER, BINMAN, ACCOUNTANT. Your hand hovers over the mouse. Sweat forms across your forehead. You stare at the words again, your eyes glancing over the options again and again. BINMAN. The hum buzzed louder than ever, infiltrating your thoughts. BINMAN.

> BINMAN

Your answer flashes on the screen in large letters, plain as day. You look at it in horror - that’s not what you wanted, it was a misclick! Undo! Your cheeks flush bright red as the computer tells you that your dream was to be a binman. It should have bothered you more, but honestly, you were feeling too relaxed to get all that annoyed by the mistake.

WELL DONE LAD

The computer tells you, somewhat patronisingly. You barely acknowledge the remark, opting to move onto the next question. You’re so preoccupied, you don’t notice as you slouch forward, your back bending you closer to the screen.

QUESTION 13:

WHAT IS THE IDEAL WORK UNIFORM

Wait, didn’t you answer this already? Ugh, why couldn’t you remember fully? The loud persistent humming was effecting your concentration. Your focus and attention span was slipping. Shrinking. The hazy pleasant hum was echoing in your mind. Growing.

You stopped overthinking your answers, instead just choosing the first thing that came into your head. It felt freeing to not have to care so much. You nodded back at the answer you made.

> HI-VIS GEAR

‘Yeah, that’s the dream’ you think in a daze, imagining how good you’d look. In response to your choice, the computer pulsed brightly, bathing you in a warm glow. The hum yet again bore deeper into your mind. Bouncing around your skull. You didn’t notice though, just like you didn’t notice how your smart collared shirt was being swapped for a high vis vest. It’s bright florescent material hanging over a black polo shirt. Lower down, your slacks loosened, becoming a pair of baggy grey joggers that sagged around your waist - showing off the tight boxer briefs that cupped your noticeable bulge.

Looking around, you see the clothes on other students changing before your very eyes. Their appearance becoming starkly out of place at such a prestigious University. They looked a lot more like, well, chavs. A fact that would normally be alarming, but your head felt like it was in a cloud. The guy beside you shuddered as his beanie expanded into a rigid hard hat. Honestly, it looked good on him. Your outfit change, however, wasn’t yet finished. Those shiny dress shoes you were so proud of reshaped around your growing feet. A couple of tacky and ostentatious trainers were left in their place, wrapped tightly around your huge size 13 soles. The scent of foot sweat wafted up and filled the air around you. Adding to the overwhelmingly musky stench that was radiating from the other changing nerds around you. But you didn’t mind. It smelt manly. It was…propa.

QUESTION 17:

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE LEISURE ACTIVITY

> FOOTIE

QUESTION 18:

NAME YOUR FAVOURITE BRAND

> NIKE

The test continued. As did the glow, as did the hum, as did the…changes. Swoosh logos marked you like a walking advert, football strategies filled your mind. Your hand absently rubbed at the bulge between your legs. But more and more, It was getting harder to read the questions at all. Let alone give good answers. You squint as the letters blur together on the screen. Your mind struggling to parse the sentences. Fumbling over the meaning of certain words. Why was this so tough? They used too many long words. Luckily, the computer seemed to notice your struggle and started to amend itself to be easier to understand. Compensating for your needs.

And then the next question hit, as if the test had read your mind.

QUESTION 23:

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOUR INTELLIGENCE (SMARTS) ?

> LOW

That’s it. That’s all you put, you didn’t second guess it. In fact you didn’t have to give it any thought at all. LOW. That’s just what it was, what it is. You had a low…umm…smarts. Something the machine quickly agreed with.

YOU HAVE LOW SMARTS

It was pointed and factual. And then the changes came. You could feel it, your head fully emptying. Everything being taken, absorbed into the computer. Words, concepts, years of study and education. Your shy nature, your subtle charm. It took it all. All you were left with is vulgarity and slang. With self obsessed obnoxiousness. With proud, childish idiocy and crude toilet humour. The incessant low hum of the computer had claimed you, had thickened your head and skull to blissful dullness. It would have been scary, losing everything you worked so hard for, if not for the fact it felt so good. It made you hard. Made your cock stiffen, rising against the underside of the desk. Fuck, it felt so good. Your eyes stared out, glassy eyed as you casually thrust your groin back and forth against the bottom of the wooden desk. The guy beside you had the same idea, his mouth slack as his tenting tracksuit fucked the desk. The subtle creaking sound filled the room as one by one each ‘student’ joined in. It was wholly embarrassing, but not enough for you to dare stop the intense pleasure.

QUESTION 24:

WORK OUT YOUR NEW IQ - WHAT IS 23 TIMES 12 DIVIDED BY 3

“Uh wot?” You say out loud, before remembering the test was not in fact oral, and that you had to find the letters to convey your stupidity. ‘Oral’, you repeat, snickering to yourself. You attempt to read the question several times, to no avail. You just didn’t know. You didn’t need to know. It didn’t matter.

> DONT NO

You slowly type, not noticing the glaring typo. The computer beeps, accepting it as a valid answer. A shiver of pleasure rewards you. Even still, you were getting bored of the questions, they made your head feel heavy. At this point you couldn’t even remember what the test was for. Why was a dolt like you even taking a stupid fucking exam?

QUESTION 25:

WHAT ONE WORD WOULD PEOPLE USE TO DESCRIBE YOUR APPEARANCE?

> CHAVVY

You sit and smirk, happy with your answer as the computer makes its final adjustments. Your flat stomach crunches, compressing as if 1,000 press-ups had occurred in the span of 5 seconds. Lean, fit muscle pushed out from your flesh. Your heavily neglected physique compacted into a walking thirst trap. A body for selfies, for narcissistic indulgence. It existed for ‘aesthetics’, to show off at anyone who would afford a glance. Without even a chance to react, your cock thickens - pushing out against your joggers. Blood rushing as its length expands, girth widens. Heavy balls drop between your legs, making you push your legs apart.

Nothing about you was spared as the changes rose; your neck cracking - thickening like a drainpipe. That kind-hearted face your friends recognised distorted, squaring out your facial features as you take on a more brutish appearance. A wide nose sitting under heavy brows, with a dim expression that betrayed no sense of humility or intellect. Your hair followed suit; the long locks pulling back into your thick skull; your scalp tingling at the strange sensation. Each strand receded until a tiny pathetic fringe sat at the top of your wide forehead, with the back and sides completely shaved. It made your head appear so much larger, like it was bulging at the top. Ironic considering how empty your head actually was. Similarly, your ears stuck out way more with your sides smooth, with thick tacky diamonds pierced into each lobe. Simply put, the trim looked awful - like it had been cut by some amateur, and yet, it perfectly suited you. Perfectly suited a basic chav.

Like bruv. There was something about it, looking this way. Like a walking stereotype. A chav. A scally. And not one of those fake influencer chavs that were actually rich. Fucking posers. But a classic, no nonsense, council estate - ‘u wot m8’, type of lad. The ones you used to avoid in the street. A part of you knew that you should hate this. That it was humiliating looking like what the old you would have called a ‘moron’. Having shit for brains innit. With a face that looked like a talking cockhead. But instead, it just turned you on more. You wanted people to think of you that way, to see you as an obnoxious chav. To be annoying. Untalented, unskilled. With zero fucks to give. To be able to say and do what you like. For people to judge you based on appearance. Fuck, it made you so fucking horny.

You felt complete. Whole. It didn’t matter to you that the computer had stolen away your nerdy identity, siphoned your education and intelligence for some unknown reason. Twenty two years of your life condensed and easily extracted by a bunch of spaghetti code in a machine. Its internal system was now far smarter because of you, far smarter than you were, at the very least. ‘Machine learning’ is what people called it. The only cost was everything your overflowing brain had to give. However, your head was now far too dense to even begin to worry - or comprehend, such things. Besides, it could take all that useless shit. You didn’t want it. Didn’t want the baggage that came with knowledge and ambitions. Frankly, it had done you a huge favour leaving you like this. Dimming you like a light bulb. Drawing away your energy. Leaving the whole class of students as fit as fuck lads. You were all better off this way. Stripped of the illusion that you were someone of importance. That you would make something of your life. That you were intellectually superior. Jesus, you were so horny. A propa wank was what you needed right now. To shoot a fat load.

WELL DONE [L.A.D SUBJECT 1064].

YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED THE TEST.

NEW NAME FOUND. NOW REGISTERING [KIERAN] INTO JOB DATABASE.

The camera flashed again, but this time you didn’t so much as flinch. Your mind was too sluggish to react. And there it appeared, the new you, plain as day across the screen. Superimposed over the old pretty boy picture that was taken at the start, and then enlarged to fill your whole view. Scan-lines flicker over your distinctly dim looking visage. Your vacant eyes staring back at you through a grid of fuzzy pixels. ‘Pretty’ or ‘cute’ would be the last words used to describe you now. ‘Doltish’ was a more appropriate term. Doltish. Slow. Dimwitted.

CONGRATULATIONS [KIERAN]. YOU ARE ELIGIBLE FOR JOB [BINMAN].

PLEASE USE THE MOUSE TO SIGN THIS WORK PLACE AGREEMENT.

There was a scroll of text that flew by on the screen. You didn’t attempt to read a word. You couldn’t. It was too much, seeing your new name, what you now looked like; you quickly scribble your signature and immediately cum into your boxers. Eyes rolling back. Your hefty balls ejecting what was left of ‘David’. Grunting loudly to the rest of the room. Hearing your colleagues occasionally make the same dull noise, as they too become nothing more than a chav moron. That was what you were after all, you accepted. Being dumb suited you. It was fun. Much more so than studying at least. After all, you worked with your hands, not your head. Mucking in and getting filthy was part of the new job. Thoughts were merely a distraction. You smirked as your cum soaked into your joggers and dripped onto the floor.

“Mate! Binman! That’s fuckin sick innit! Propa sound! I must be well smart to pass this dumb fucking thing.” You yell like some neanderthal, while a smug expression plasters your face.

WELL DONE [INTELLECTUALLY CHALLENGED CHAV]

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE TO HELP IMPROVE OUR SYSTEM.

YOUR DATA WILL BE PUT TO GOOD USE.

YOUR EMPLOYER IS WAITING FOR YOU OUTSIDE.

PLEASE LEAVE AND REPORT FOR YOUR FIRST DAY AT YOUR NEW LIFE. ENJOY.

“Yea.” You merely grunt in affirmation and give a cheeky middle finger to the screen. Getting up you switch the computer off, fist bump your mate next to you and swagger out of the room. And yet, the hum in your thickened head persisted. It just stayed there - stuck inside your thoughts. Whatevs, you think - adjusting your joggers as they barely cling to your hips, a clear wet patch staining the front. Time to get to work, innit!

Now, I know you said you only wanted a short break, Kieran. But I think you’re better staying this way. Dumb. Chavvy. Your personality as sophisticated as a horny bull. And your only talent being emptying bins. At least now you won’t have to worry about that project again. The only ‘project’ you might have to be concerned with is emptying the works porta potty. And even then you’ll probably enjoy getting your hands dirty. Isn’t that right you filthy smelly chav lad?

[wakeup01]

Mmm. Gosh I feel so submissive and…like, agreeable. I hope me and my big bubble butt please Josh and the boys. It feels great to be used and told what to do! So much easier than when I had to be in charge and make decisions. That was like super boring, being fucked repeatedly is far more fun. Hehe.

(First pic is really me, but unfortunately the second is not)

I’ve always taken on the role as a dominant Alpha; had a bunch of beta lads follow my lead. But my other chavvy mates have implied that they’ve had enough of me thinking i’m better than them. Had enough of serving my every whim. They seem to suggest that they can take me down a peg. Make me even more of a beta than they are, if that’s even possible. I overhead some remark about giving me a ‘tight bubble butt’ and a ‘change of clothing’.

Not that i’m too worried mind, those dipshits with all their brain power combined wouldn’t be able to organise a thing. And besides i’m far more assertive than those basic chav lads, there’s no chance in fucking hell I’d end up serving them. It’s proper hilarious they think they can try though, right?

You shouldn’t have been so arrogant. Maybe if you hadn’t strutted around like you owned the place, if you hadn’t sneered at the lads every time they cracked a joke, if you hadn’t acted like you were better than them, maybe then they wouldn’t have felt the need to put you in your place. But it is too late for regrets now.

The invitation had seemed normal. Josh had texted you in the evening: "Come over, mate. Just a few drinks. The lads are here." Nothing unusual. You had done this a hundred times before - drinks, banter, maybe a bit of fun with the lads.

At first, everything was normal. You cracked a few jokes, took a few swigs, but something felt… off. Your vision blurred faster than it should have. Your limbs grew heavy, your thoughts sluggish. Had you really drunk that much already? You tried to shake the fog from your mind, but your body wasn’t listening. The room tilted. The last thing you saw before the darkness swallowed you was the lads closing in their hands pulling at your clothes.

You woke up disoriented. The first thing that hit you was the smell. It clung to your skin. It was sweet and fruity. Not the musky cologne you always wore, not the faint sweat of a night out. This was something delicate, feminine.

You were in bed. The sheets were soft. You reckoned they must have brought you to a guest room after you had passed out. Panic flared as you tried to sit up, only to feel the cold bite of metal around your wrists. Handcuffs. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you thrashed, kicking the blanket away. Your body was different. Your arms, once lean but strong, were now slender, dainty. Your skin was smooth, hairless, almost glowing in the dim light. And to your shock there was a cage on your dick. A scream tore from your throat. It was high-pitched and not your voice at all.

The door creaked open. Josh stood there, arms crossed, grinning. "Not feelin’ so cocky now, are ya, princess?"

Your blood ran cold.

"Me an’ the lads reckoned you needed teachin’ a lesson," he continued, stepping closer. His fingers trailed along your bare leg, making your skin crawl. "So we made you into somethin’ a bit more… fun."

"W-what did you do to me?!"

Josh chuckled, pulling a small vial from his pocket. Liquid swirled inside, pink and shimmering. "Just a little serum. Made you more agreeable." He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t stress, bruv… by the time we’re done, you won’t even wanna kick off."

You screamed again, thrashing wildly, but he grabbed you and held you down while he emptied the serum into your mouth. Darkness swallowed you once more. But next time you woke up… You wouldn’t resist.

The golden light of evening spilled through the curtains as consciousness crept back in. You blinked slowly, your mind hazy, your body warm and pliant. You looked down at yourself. You were dressed in an oversized pink tee and some briefs. The realization of what you were wearing should have sent you into a panic. But instead, a different kind of feeling was low in your stomach. You shifted on the couch, thighs pressing together and God, you were so fucking horny.

Your fingers twitched, craving touch, craving a man to please. The lads would be here soon. Josh had promised. And they would use you, just like they always did. The thought made your pulse skip, your breath hitching in anticipation.

Wait… Always? A flicker of confusion cut through the fog. You tried to grasp at it, to remember… but your mind felt slippery. There were flashes - laughter, sneers, your voice, loud and arrogant - but they didn’t feel like yours anymore. Just distant echoes of someone else.

Now you knew you had never been the leader. You had never been one of the lads at all. You were Josh’s. His toy. His good little thing to share with his mates when they fancied a fuck. The knowledge settled into your bones, warm and right, like it had always been that way.

A mirror hung on the opposite wall. You caught your reflection - pouty lips, wide eyes, a delicate frame. Your hair was softer now, fluffier, and lighter in colour. You looked cute.

You squirmed, biting your lip. The fabric of your briefs was damp already from your precum. You couldn’t wait for them to get here. Couldn’t wait for Josh to grab you by the hips and remind you what you were for.

"Look who’s finally awake," Josh grinned, stepping inside with the others behind him. His gaze raked over you, lingering where your thighs squeezed together. "Missed us, princess?"

You nodded, breathless and started to undress for them.

______________________________________________________________

I hope you enjoy your new life as a twinky toy for your new owner. That nice bubble butt will definitely be used tonight, and I think your new clothes fit you way better anyways…

[wakeup01]

What are your thoughts on pup play and being someone's dumb pup/caring for a dumb pup?

While I probably wouldn’t be able to commit to either side, pups are fun. So happy and eager to please their owner, without a single thought of their own.

I don’t write that much of it, but I do enjoy a decent amount of furry kinks. The idea of being turned into someone’s dumb obedient dog is pretty hot. Your body forcing you down onto all fours, the humiliation of looking up at what used to be your human equal. Only able to bark your frustrations as your human mind simplifies. Thoughts turning to base instincts. Being marked as property when a collar is fastened around your neck, with a cute little tag showing your new doggy name. Your owner showing you your place by getting you to sit and beg on command. And then of course, being rewarded, getting called a ‘good boy’.

Wouldn’t you want to be a good boy? A good obedient dog?

[wakeup01]

Just read your post on Twitter and I figured you could me out? I’m a Cambridge student and I moved into this new flat but somehow my neighbours turned out to be these rowdy chavvy lads! It’s so inconvenient for studying but I figured you could help make them quieter with your transforming powers? Maybe a suit and tie out of former dumb chavs? I can’t see any way that coming to you could possibly backfire!

I would help, but your idea is a tired and overdone trope that anyone could see coming. Let me guess, you complain to your neighbours and you end up joining them as obnoxious morons. The end. Are you sure you’re a Cambridge student? If so, you’re certainly not taking creative writing.

No, see, I have a better idea. I think you underestimated these lads, assuming they must be dumb. Let’s be honest, it’s very judgemental of you. After all, they’re students too. Something they make very clear to you when they come to your flat to introduce themselves. They’re alarmingly…polite? Kind and welcoming. You feel bad for judging them so harshly, maybe you’ll get along better than you initially thought.

But as they talk and talk you start to feel odd, inadequate. They’re explaining all these complicated concepts to you and the words are just sounds to your ears. You realise you don’t understand what they mean. You know you should, you’re smart too, right? At the least you have to be smarter than these footballer wannabes. What could they possibly teach you other than how to score a goal from a free kick. And yet on and on they go, using words you’ve never even heard before. Are they even real words? And you just nod along, pretending to understand what they’re talking about. Feeling like a child in a room surrounded by adults.

Your mind starts to wander while they ramble on to themselves, looking down at a pair of sporty sneakers adorning your feet. They were not usually your style, but when you saw them on the shelf you just had to pick them up. You admire them, noting the big brand logo on both sides. They were really hot. Same with the shiny tracksuit brushing against your legs and body. They were the perfect match. You couldn’t leave the store without the whole fit. You look back up, a slight smirk on your face as your annoying neighbours narrow their eyes at you. They quickly return to talking about…about…about something. Honestly you didn’t really care. You feel a slight breeze against the back of your head and sides. You rub your hands over your recently shaved head, enjoying the sensation.

Eventually they just stop talking. Staring at you like they’re expecting some kind of response - an answer to a question you didn’t hear, or understand. You had to say something. Something…smart. “Yeah mate. Sounds fucking good innit.” You say, in an unfamiliar voice. The words naturally flowing from your mouth without thought. “I getcha bruvs.” You add, with a slow intonation; your harsh accent filling the flat. The flat that smelled overwhelmingly of sweaty socks and cheap aftershave. Not that it bothered you.

Your neighbours just look at you with a barely disguised expression of pity and judgement. “Well, just keep the noise down ‘mate’, we’ve got studying to do.” They remark, snickering amongst themselves as they close the door behind them.

‘Studying?’, you think. Who’s got time for that shit? Besides you just landed a cushy job down at the rubbish tip. You didn’t need to study or nuthin. Those guys were morons.

[wakeup01]

IDOL

“Babe, I’m horny. Is your mouth busy right now?”

Mike was your average 23 year old football jock. The type of vapid fuckboy that peaks in high school and whose bigotry was worn as a personality trait. His current target of ridicule was Koreans, or specifically the rise and popularity of K-pop. A source of frequent frustration when the topic arose with his girlfriend. The petty insults and flagrant xenophobia made him feel bigger, helped hide his insecurities. He was a ‘man’. Something he hoped was proved by his broad shoulders and large dick. Korean men challenged that conceit. The attention they garnered from girls was like an affront to his existence. Any opportunity to insult them and the music was one he took; ‘they all looked the same’, ‘kpoop,’ ‘is that a guy or a girl?’

“Not this shit again. What the fuck are they even saying? How do you even understand that nonsense babe?” Mike yelled, while his girlfriend Jen watched a music video of her favourite boy group. She attempted to ignore his comments but he just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. “Jesus, how do you find these twigs attractive, they’re obviously all flaming homos.” He claimed, as the group gyrated their hips at the screen. A joke he thought was original and funny enough to laugh at himself.

“God, I’ve had enough of your small dick energy!” Jen exasperated through gritted teeth as she went to pause the video.

“Bro, don’t be gay…” Mike began to say before a bright light enveloped the room.

It was a remark he would come to regret a bit too late. With a flash Mike was transported to the other side of the screen, standing alone within the set he had just seen playing in the music video. Jen was nowhere in sight. It defied explanation, particularly to someone who failed college. Or ‘failing upwards’ as he called it. It was if time had stood still around him. Looking down gave a bigger shock. Mike’s once muscled body impossibly slimmed before his very eyes; his biceps deflating like a balloon, pecs flattening, tan whitening. Within seconds his body had morphed into that of a lithe 20 year old twinky Korean idol. Indistinguishable from the ones he routinely made fun of. The stereotype he had formed.

It was nothing short of a nightmare. The hundreds of hours spent in the gym to bulk up was akin to a myth. This was a body made for fashion magazine covers and social media appeal. A diet and workout regime laser focused on being slim, unassuming and feminine. His unfamiliar face had turned cute and innocent looking, freckled with smooth, porcelain skin. Large quantities of makeup covered up any hint of a blemish. Colourful and bright clothes popped out from the greys and blacks he was accustomed to. A far cry from his rather brutish appearance as a jock.

Mike shuddered at a more shameful revelation; his ass was now alarmingly large, and his tiny waist would have made his girlfriend Jen jealous. He lowered a hand to cup and feel the heft of his right butt cheek, shuddering as the warm fullness jiggled within his palm. The feeling made him feel good in a way he didn’t want to admit, like the nerves on his body had been rewired. He had never even considered his rear as something he could deride pleasure from, the idea alone disturbed his conservative nature.

Mike looked up, peering through long dark hair that pulled down and covered his eyes seductively. His tiny button nose twitched. A scent of lavender wafted up from his skinny chest. Every part of him felt manufactured to be beautiful and flawless, like a plastic doll.

“Fuck me. What the hell bro!” He shouted out, to no response. “Babe! Jen! This ain’t funny!” Mike said with uncertainty, hoping this was all some prank, or at least a nightmare. Maybe Jen was just getting her own back somehow.

The shock of his new form was short lived, as his mind began to shift, the universe course correcting in light of his altered Asian appearance. It felt like his personality was splitting in two. Mike and…someone else. There was a new voice in his head and it was getting louder with each passing second. Unlike Mike, it was peppy and enthusiastic. It sounded like him, but also not. Perverted. It made him recoil. Mike’s mind started to fill with lyrics, and not ones in English. It was the voice, it had to be; it was just there, occupying the back of his head, like a barely heard whisper. ‘바꾸자!’ 바꾸자!’ It said. Sang. To Mike’s horror, the words that should have been nothing but gibberish were making perfect sense.

“The f…f…frick? This, this…uhh strange.” Mike stuttered, his English fragmenting.

“B…babe?” The usual swears and slang he used felt inappropriate, crude. It was unbecoming of someone like him. Like him? He second guessed, before that voice - that sickeningly positive voice, agreed. Like him. Yes. Besides, English was such a tough language to speak. Wait, was that true? Wasn’t he fluent? Kinda fluent? Well, maybe his pronunciation was a bit off. But it was cute, charming. He liked to play up the ‘Engrish’ and the confusion. People liked ‘the ditz’ and his lower intelligence was honestly a selling point.

‘바꾸자!’ The lyrics pressed upon him again, this time accompanied by a beat that looped around his skull like a record. A ritual. ‘바꾸자!’ Instinctually he started to hum along to the music playing over and over in his head, the melody was immediately catchy, it was as though he knew it off by heart. ‘바꾸자!’ It was stuck to his brain like chewing gum. Appropriately, the flavour seemed artificial, short-lived. The song was expertly produced, but soulless. Crafted to an exact science. Intended only to be played until the taste was gone. Content to consume and then dispose of when something new comes around. But that was the Kpop industry, that was his role. A short sell by date with a ticking clock. Capitalise on the looks, youth and popularity while you can. Michael attempted to argue, to fight back against the notion that he had anything to with it. That he was some meaningless cog in the Kpop music machine. That he existed to just look pretty, to drain easily swayed fans to make execs money. He was a true American, the greatest nation in the world. But the other side of him was getting stronger. The voice. They wanted the fame. The silly dances, the impersonal songs with no meaning. The weird infantilising and fetishising by fans. Impressionable, optimistic and swept up with the promise of popularity. The naive belief of his group ‘making it big’. Even though in reality, they were just one of dozens of new groups debuting each year. Unremarkable.

Mike felt himself slip, naively thinking about the attention he would get. The idea wormed itself in and gained leverage on his weakening psyche. Girls would be into it, wouldn’t they. Go all gooey at the sight of him. What’s worse, dance moves and strict choreography was starting to ingrain itself into his mind - overtaking all his knowledge and dedication to workouts and sports. Those topics were unimportant, useless to his future as a perfectly engineered Kpop boy. The facade of looking cool and confident took priority. Girls like the swagger though, he reasoned, as his cock shrank. They like the fakeness of it all. His hefty balls shrivelled.

A losing battle ensued inside Mike, he was quickly losing control. He cringed slightly as his lean body naturally moved and bounced to the song running through his head. His butt had a life of its own too, jiggling hypnotically to the beat. After all, his rear was his most notable feature, everyone understood it was the thing that set him apart in the group. He had ‘the ass’ as they said. The movements were immensely embarrassing to a ‘man’ like Mike, who prided himself on being as straight and masculine as humanly possible. This was ‘girly shit’, ‘gay ass’ behaviour. And yet he couldn’t stop himself in indulging his new Korean body. A body expertly trained for one thing. To entertain thirsty girls and gay boys. Whose worth would be measured against the other members and groups. To be ‘stanned’ - a culture Michael abhorred.

As his groin shrank, his dull and deep voice rose numerous octaves; higher and higher - with a noticeable lilt, until it was an appropriate high pitched squeak that would have people hyperventilating online. The sort of voice and accent that would facilitate shallow comments such as ‘omigosh’ ‘he serving’ and ‘high pitched fem king’. And of course comments speculating about his sexuality, his manhood. Not that there was anything to speculate about of course, Mike was as gay as a shiny rainbow with sprinkles on top. And his cock was barely worthy of mention. That much was obvious when wardrobe dressed him in those tight little shorts. Mike was…sorry, not Mike - that ugly name just didn’t fit him anymore. He was 민준 or Minjun. A gay Korean bottom. The worst kept secret among the boy group he was contracted to. A frequent point of teasing from the other members, but something they were keen to take advantage of whenever possible.

‘Mike’ internally screamed as a dreamy smile grew across his pretty manicured face, images of other men flashing across his mind. The idea of a ‘girlfriend’ - of being dominant, flittered from his memories. Servility, obedience and an eagerness to please ruled his new personality, one perfectly suited to fulfilling contractual obligations. And…other obligations, ones his more experienced group members expected from him. Huge, long, throbbing ‘obligations’. He pushed out his big bubble butt, a new feeling growing down below. Centering his whole body around his rear. A feeling of… emptiness. It elicited a whiny, girlish moan from his plump, pursed lips. A stark contrast to the low timbre voices from the groups rap line, the ones that would grunt loudly while using Minjun’s hole.

The infectious melody was getting louder, taking over his thoughts, his identity. The sound couldn’t be drowned out, it was an extension of him, his body. His PURPOSE. Minjun could feel a bubbly sense of joy rising in his chest. Unadulterated happiness. The feeling needed to escape, he needed to purge who he used to be. That foul mannish thing languishing deep inside him- like some disease. There was only one way he knew how. His eyes gleamed with youthful energy. The lights of the set flashed, cameras rolled. Music faded in from speakers. His mouth opened. Opened wide and sang. “바꾸자! 바꾸자 스위치를 켜다!” The words flowed effortlessly. Any trace of ‘Mike’ was expelled. Minjun sang and danced like there was no tomorrow. Time seemingly unfroze, the other members of the boy group jumping into the scene beside him, dancing in unison. Vocals harmonised. The kpop music video continued - with him in the centre. God he was stunning. Beautiful. An idol! He was ready for the stage, ready for the publicity, the fans, the outfits, the photoshoots, the collectable photocards with his face on them, the…the…cock. The big hard cocks that would fill him up after the filming. Excited to please the rest of the group. They all had such good…rhythm. Oh gosh, he was ready for all of it.

He shot a cheeky wink directly at the camera, no doubt setting millions of girls hearts a flutter. Including Mike’s ex girlfriend, Jen, who was happily watching her new favourite member on the screen. Enjoying their new track, titled ‘바꾸자!’ or ‘Let’s Change!’. ‘Wow, he has such a nice butt’ she thought, biting her lip, as the group did a somewhat humiliatingly suggestive twerk.

Backstage, after the cameras had stopped rolling and the horde of choreographers had all left, Minjun had another performance to ace. One that equally involved the use of his high pitched vocals and rhythmic timing. His unfocused eyes flittered and stared out across the room dimly, his lips pursed. Smiling while his back was leaned over and his feet spread into position. The other members laughed amongst themselves as Minjun felt a pressure grow behind him. Their deep voices made his spine tingle and his brain fuzzy. A pair of hands landed on his rear, kneading his bubble butt like a ball of dough. The first cock slowly lodged its way into his pillowy cheeks, before a more upbeat pace took over. A queue formed behind him, waiting to prove why they were ‘Idols’. Minjin moaned, eager to please every single member of the group.

‘Ya! The fuckable one, that’s me!’ He thought, enthusiastically while his brain melted to idiotic bliss.

[wakeup01]

Y’all understand those accounts posting like 5 stories a day are all AI generated right? I know people’s brains turn to mush when horny but try and have some level of fucking dignity and get off to something made by a person.

[wakeup01]

Happy birthday!

How kind. I’m pleased that you guys are giving me the attention I deserve. I would expect nothing less than being worshipped and served as a birthday present to me. Maybe to entertain myself I’d turn you into something. Man, the possibilities are truly endless. But a nice footstool would suffice, so that I can relax and you can ensure my big smelly feet are propped up.

That or a nice stretchy pair of new boxers - your face pulled taut over my rear. My bubbly ass is pretty sweaty this time of year, but I’m certain you’d do an adequate job of soaking all that up, isn’t that right?

Or maybe something else, equally humiliating. It’s okay, just think of it as a gift to me.

[wakeup01]

Oh shit, guess I’m just a smelly sock now. Can’t…resist…my purpose. Need to be wrapped around big…feet. Absorb…sweat 😵‍💫

A birthday gift for one of my followers @wakeup01 who wished to be transformed into a sock for his birthday. I think he meant to say "for the DURATION of my birthday" but oh well. I'm sure he's learned a valuable lesson about the importance of phrasing... which he will probably forget along with everything else over the next year of absorbing foot smells. It's fine though, he'll still be a very good sock for a long time and that's all it needs to be.

[wakeup01]

It’s my birthday this week 😌

[wakeup01]

Your confidence and you yourself are HOT

I appreciate that some of y’all just want to fucking glaze me. People still get surprised that the selfies are mine, like yes, tf writers can be hot lol. I’d post a pic now, but you know, I’m not that eager to please you guys 😘

[wakeup01]

Just wanted to say that you're an excellent writer and ask if there's another story like "Theft of a Bro" on the horizon. It is one of my all time favorites!

Thanks, glad you enjoy my work.

Maybe. I have a backlog of unfinished and unpublished stuff. I know people enjoy jock tfs a lot, and it’s pretty much the go to if you want to get engagement on here. And i’m also aware a lot of people probably follow me because of some of the ones I’ve written. I can find it fun writing jock stories on occasion but also, it can be pretty boring too. I think a lot of the appeal for people is imagining being confident and hot. And i’m already plenty confident in real life, and frankly, rather attractive too. So for me, the dumbing down aspect is what appeals to me the most. Theft of a bro was enjoyable to write because It included the perspective of someone losing their bro nature.

(Also, I don’t want to get too into it but there are probably a few dozen ‘Bro’ stories getting posted every week on here. I’d wager more than half of them are AI generated or AI assisted sludge. So my motivation to even bother with being in that space atm is rather low.)

Long story short; the answer is maybe. I never make any guarantees, but there’ll probably be similar stuff at some point.

[wakeup01]

Potentially my most popular inanimate related story. Let’s give it (and my feet) some more love.

A Matching Pair

Goddammit. Why does he always have to argue about it. Can’t he ever put himself in my shoes and try and be more understanding.” I mumble to myself as my boyfriend fades out of sight down the empty train car. I sigh and stare out the window of the train, listening to the world outside shudder past.

“This space free?” Comes an excited voice, I look up to see a fit young guy casually drop onto the seat opposite me. He looked no older than 22 and was outfitted for some kind of sports game, with a designer tracksuit sagging off his hips, a red jersey that pressed against his lean stomach and a glossy puffer jacket.

“Uhhh…not really.” I remark, side-eying his trendy permed hair, perfectly styled and faded. I had never really understood the appeal of…‘fuckboys’; rich but devoid of personality - aside from the prepackaged one they adopt. In this case even I had to admit that he was rather attractive, in a blunt, dumb ‘grammer is for losers’ sort of way. There was a casual air of confidence in the way he carried himself, narcissistic? Sure, but maybe a little ego didn’t hurt, especially in the bedroom.

Shame he obviously wouldn’t be a sub - he’d look nice around my cock, although I can picture my boyfriend tripping over himself to placate his every whim. The perks of this ‘open relationship’ we had seemed increasingly one sided. Ugh. I’m quickly reminded of our argument, and my indignation wins out over my misguided lust.

“Mate, you look proper mad.” He chuckles, kicking off his trainers. He stretches out his legs and rests them on the seat next to mine.

“Name’s Dominic and I’m not….mad.” My voice trails off.

“Uh oh. Who is she then blud?” He gestures at me with his hands, rattling the horde of bracelets that buried his wrists.

“He.”

“Pftt. I should ‘av guessed. It’s all the same to me. I’m Trev ‘btw’. You off to the gay convention?” There’s a wry smile that is hard to be angry at, in fact I feel strangely comfortable with him. He seemed like a good listener.

“Funny, but yes. Meeting our friend Nate there.” I cross my arms in a futile attempt to appear more dominant.

“Wait, they have those now?” My eyes squint at him. “Just fucking with you. I got a game the next town over. I’m a player.”

“Wow, you don’t say.”

“Maybe you’ve seen me play on the tele eh?” He puts on a face and flashes his shiny white teeth proudly.

“Sure…” He was in a professional team? Like I’d know.

“So spill, what’s the issue with yuh ‘boy’? His ‘bussy’ too small?” My mouth begins to move before I really get the chance to think about what I’m saying, or why I’m telling him at all.

“Ugh. He just never tries to see things from my perspective, he always expects me to play the ‘top’. About everything. And I don’t share his weird kinks.”

“TMI. Oh. You’re the top? And your name is Dom? ‘Lolz’. Is your boy called SUBastian?” He laughs mischievously. His brazen use of text speech was strangely endearing, something I thought impossible.

“Dominic. And no, his name’s Addy.” I correct, flatly.

“Uh huh. Yeah, and have you tried the same? See things from Addy’s point of view. Find equal ground right. Maybe I can help. It’s like when there’s a disagreement in our footy team.”

“I don’t think it’s quite the same thing…”

“Should give it a try Dom, see how it feels to be the sub. It can be fun to let someone else take charge. Easy too when you don’t overthink it. Go on, just lay back and relax.” Yes, I’m sure this will solve all our problems. I humour him anyway, resting my back against the seat’s cushion. Ten seconds pass in silence, just the hum of the train carriage throbbing rhythmically.

“This is stupid-“

“Shush.” Trev stares at me intently, trapping my eyes into his own. I don’t think to look away, why would I. He continues talking, I hear the words floating past me but don’t register what they are. It feels like minutes until his fingers snap in front of his face, and the spell is broken. He just smiles and waits expectantly for me to reply. His legs move from the seat next to me and I follow their movement.

“I—I guess.” I stutter, unsure of what I’m replying to, feeling slightly dizzy, like waking from a dream. For some reason my eyes seem drawn to his feet, now resting on the edge of my own seat, fidgeting between my thighs. I didn’t notice that they were sockless before… or that they were so big.

“Deeper.” He snaps his fingers again. My eyes are feeling so heavy, it’s becoming harder to keep them open. “Picture your boy sitting in your place. See it in your head.” I think about him, see his dreamy smile, like the one growing on my face. “So easy.” Trev repeats, my head nodding absently to his words. He adjusts and pushes his feet against my groin. Hmmf. I should tell him to stop. To stop…

“Uhh.” The dull sound leaves my lips instead of the words I wanted, the rubbing sensation fraying the edges of my thoughts.

Trev’s fingers fiddle at his pockets. He pulls out a vape stick and blows a huge bubblegum flavoured cloud of smoke into my face. The fumes flow through my open mouth and circle my head. His hands appear to be moving in slow motion, like everything was suddenly at half speed.

“Being in charge is exhausting huh. Much better to just relax and follow along, like your boyfriend would.” Yeah, he would probably do whatever this guy asked him to.

“I bet he’d rub my feet If I told him to.”

“Yeah.” I agree, wrapping my hands around Trev’s chunky feet - he definitely would. I run my fingers up and down his sole, picturing my boyfriend in this situation.

“Eyes up here fam.”

*snap*

I look back up at him, falling into his stare once more, entranced. My hands continue to massage him, passing over the curves and arches of his large feet. The shame of doing this in a public place completely lost on me. “Good foot boy.” I fail to hold back a moan at the validation. Is this what it feels like? It feels…nice, good.

I sense my body start to slowly lean forward of its own volition. Trev loudly exhales, his lips pursing. Another dose of bubblegum mist fogs my view. “What else would your boy do?”

“Don’t know…”

“Bet he’d love to sniff my lush feet hm?”

Probably, I think. He was way more kinky than me about such things. This guy’s feet were quite ripe after all, maybe if I got a bit closer…no—no what am I doing? I begin to pull back when his intense eyes narrow at me.

“It’s okay. I can see you want to take a whiff too. Boy.” His inflection changed on the last word. There was something about the way he said it. Powerful.

“My—my boyfriend will be-“ My voice cracks.

“Put your fucking nose here. And sniff my cheesy feet.” He orders, accentuating each word, dropping all pretence - his finger snapping and pointing down.

It’s like a switch being pressed in my head. The words cut like a knife right through any lingering hesitation. My face lowers and inhales deeply, sucking up his harsh scent.

“Yeah.” I mumble from behind his feet in a daze.

“Yeah what?”

*snap snap*

“Yes sir.” I don’t know why I said it, it just slipped from my lips and then it was too late to take it back. Too late to stop, as my face leans down to his foot like a magnet. Too late to pretend I didn’t want a sniff, my nostrils breathing the thick musky air.

“A good start boy.” I tentatively take a couple more whiffs, a part of me still attempting to hold back, feeling self aware. He rolls his eyes and shoves his feet forcefully into my face, my nose pushed snugly between his big toe. His stench shrouds my head like a cloud. The concept of ‘disgusting’ faded to nothingness.

“Salt and vinegar flavour, your fav.” Trev asserts. It became true the moment the words left his lips. Salty and eye watering. My favourite. My cock liked it too apparently.

“You look so much better under me, worshiping me - where you belong. Keep going.” And I did. Breathing deeply, in and out. In and out. The heat from his foot radiates outwards, travelling down my body, seeping into my skin. “Wouldn’t your boy agree to be at my feet at all times If that’s what I wanted?” He—I would. I want nothing else.

“Of course sir.” I say, unaware that the words would seal my fate.

Something is changing. A shift in weight. My whole body starts to feel lighter, filling with air. My skin itches, a rash forming across it’s surface - bleaching every inch an even, clean white. The rash crawls down my chest, flattening my modest set of abs, leaving everything it touches incredibly soft, absorbent and flexible. Tiny strands of fuzzy cotton fabric poke out from each pore; the changes showed no sign of stopping.

Everything is happening all at once, alarms try and go off in my brain but it’s preoccupied swimming in a musky drunken stupor. My feet seem to leave the floor as my form inexplicably shrinks, the length of my arms folding inwards as my body simplifies.

“Look at you bruv. You were easy as fuck.” I gaze up at him, his smug face towering over me, looking so far away. A puff of vape smoke floats down towards me, particles dissolving on my cushioned skin. The sweet aroma mixes with the smell of his sour feet. “Just one look into my eyes and you were done. Get socked bro.”

Trev started to appear bigger and bigger, his feet dwarfing my new size, now taking up my whole view. It was like my essence was being pulled around his foot. My mouth opens and his toes slip effortlessly inside, stretching me out and making themselves at home. The rest of his foot follows, his ankle resting at my opening. It sets off my gag reflex momentarily, before feeling perfectly natural, like I was tailor made for his foot.

“Sorry bud, they’re a size 13.”

The taste of his potent sole explodes into me. I’m violently shaken out of my trance-like haze, the world around me speeds up. I try and desperately pull away, lucidity returning like a slap to the face. Why am I on the floor? Why is his foot in my mouth?! Oh shit oh shit!

“Get socked!” Trev yells enthusiastically. “Get fucking socked!”

Control is slipping away. My skin pulls taut around his foot, the fabric digging between his toes. It feels as though every part of me is pressed against him, his warmth surrounding me. My new shape settles into place, defined by his smooth curves.

I can’t move my ‘body’ at all, but all my senses still persist…somehow. My blurry vision clears, a sudden shift in view makes me disoriented. It’s as if I have a pov of the room from the bottom of Trev’s foot, he lowers it to the floor and my worldview erratically drops to carpet level before going dark. The material of the carpet brushes against me, the strange sensation is embarrassingly pleasing; bringing attention to the absence of my cock. Relief now seemed impossible.

“Socked. Man, I love that initial freshness. Tbh, it makes the inevitable even more fun.”

He pushes the weight of his foot into me, his sweaty soles sticking to my tight fabric body. It feels humiliating to be literally stuck on the ground. His stench clings to me, soaking me in his foot musk. The imprint of his toes yellowing my surface. It’s like having his foot down my throat, perpetually swallowing his mind numbing sweat.

“Mmm that’s good, you hang so tightly. A perfect fit. Hope you like sucking on my rank fucking toes. Cuz now you’re just my stinky ripe sock. Fucking idiot. Can’t wait to get you worn in.”

That’s not possible, I can’t be a sock…it defies logic. This is a nightmare I’m about to wake up from, any second now…any second…

He pulls at me and stretches my ribbed opening up and over his tracksuit, stuffing the silky material into me.

“So much more… pliable.” Trev wiggles his toes and my body conforms to it’s every movement, lodging in between each one. I try and desperately struggle, do something. I manage to achieve a light wriggle that only helps pull myself tighter against his skin.

Trev lifts his foot and points it towards the window, the dark night air rushing past outside. A clear reflection echoes back. I stare at it in disbelief, wanting to blink the reality from my eyes. A caricature of my shocked face is crudely printed on the underside of the sock - trapped frozen in time, with the word ‘SNIFF’ sewn into the fabric. The material was already beginning to discolour. Logic or not, That’s all I am now - a cheap white sock. His sock. An object.

“Basic as fuck boy makes basic as fuck sock. Lit.” He points out, smirking in the reflection while he checks out his new kit. Trev puts his feet back up on the seat, letting me watch the empty space where I had been sitting - back when I was more than just his property.

“Enjoy the view, while you can cheesy. You’re going to spend most of your time staring at the floor, or the inside of my fumigated sneaker.” What joy. I hadn’t even thought about that, about what comes next. Surely he didn’t plan to keep me like this? “Hmm. I think the name Dominic is a bit too fancy for you now, how about…sock. Simple, to the point.” Trev steps me back against the ground, his heel slightly raised. “Suits you, don’t you think sock?”

Light footsteps thud from down the carriage, getting closer and closer. “Hey babe. I wanted to apologise, Nate thinks—who are you? Umm where’s my boyfriend?” Addy had returned, this was my chance.

I wanted to shout and cry out to him, to get his attention anyway possible. I conjured a barely audible rustle and then nothing. All it did was reinforce how small and subservient I now felt, forced to listen to my owner in silence.

“Oh he’s not gone far, cutie. Sit.”

I hear my boyfriend stammer from above. All it took was one compliment and he turned to putty. In most cases it was endearing, but right now I needed him to be anything but agreeable.

I feel the weight on me shift. I glide through the air again, Addy’s expression coming into view across from me, from us.

“He’s…” Addy looks me over curiously.

“Yep. He got socked.”

“Gosh. That’s…hot.” His cheeks blush.

WHAAT! You’ve got to be kidding me! Damn, why did he have to be so kinky when I need him to rescue me. I can recognise his horny face a mile away.

“Now it’s your turn. Look at my eyes.” Trev’s voice taking on a more serious tone. Addy’s eyes dart up, quickly becoming ensnared by Trev’s hypnotic gaze. No, please snap out of it. “Good, keep looking. Relax. Let me give you the deets. In a few minutes you’re gonna have the privilege of having my foot up your arse, sucking up my sweat as a thin piece of fabric like your bf. You’ll be my sock puppet, controlled completely by my foot. You can already feel my toes pushing at your mind. You want it. Say it.” Trev waves me back and forth, hypnotically.

“But…mmm,”

“Say it.”

*snap*

“I — I want to be your smelly sock puppet. Pleaseee Master.” He moans in a trance.

“Course you do.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Addy’s shorts were noticeably tenting, a wet spot forming at the tip. He was getting off on the idea! “Sock puppet. Look at your boy, read the word sewn into him. You know what to do.”

Addy’s head leans towards me, eclipsing my vision. His huge nose presses up against me, his eyes dilating. I can feel his wavering breath brush at my cotton skin. He did exactly what the sock - me, said to and sniffed. The hesitant whiffs quickly devolve into enthusiastic huffing.

“Babeee. Hmmf. You smell so niceee. Mmmm.”

“That’s an obedient sock sniffing sock puppet.” Trev assured him. ”Now onto the other one.” Addy moves away from my view, I can only see him shuffling at the edge of my narrow locked vision. “Ready to join him?”

“Yes masterrrr.” Addy’s voice slurs monotonously. “Enter me and take control. We’re both yours.” Like hell we are!

“I want you to lick this foot clean like a dirty dog before it becomes your new home.” I hear him start to slobber all over Trev. “Good puppet. Get socked.”

The sound of my boyfriend licking and moaning in heat continued for what felt like an eternity. There was nothing I could do but be suspended in the air like my owner deemed appropriate.

“It’s time to become a puppet. Turn around and spread that cute bubble butt. There we go, feel my foot enter your rear, filling you up, fucking your tiny brain. Ufff. Tight. Fuck. Let’s stretch you out, nice and wide. Ahh that’s better. Your hole clamping around my ankle. Yeah. Becoming soft and flexible. A sock puppet. A sweat guzzling, empty-headed, dirty filthy sock puppet.” I can just about see Addy’s head, craning back in pleasure as he’s foot fucked.

“Butt feels…Hnng my—my body…” Addy pants desperately.

“Now belongs to my fat fucking foot. SOCK. PUPPET.

“Pu—puppet.” Addy’s bobbing head pulls out of sight, compressing around the invader inside him.

“Sock puppet. Surrendered all free will. Sock puppet. Commanded by feet. What are you?”

“I’m a sock… a sock puppet. Mmmmf…I’m a soooommfff.”

His voice goes silent. I can only assume he’s turning into a perfect match for Trev’s other foot. The thought horrifies me, but also gets me a little excited. I glimpse a pristine white shape shudder next to me. Trev sits up and places both feet flat on the ground, in order to admire his new additions to the collection.

“Hell yeah. You two make the cutest pair. Glad I could help bring you ‘together’. And no more worries about disagreements ‘lmao’. Go on, kiss and make up.”

Trev bends his legs and points me at Addy’s new form, his lustful face captured on the socks sole; the word ‘LICK’ was immortalised above. I was for sniffing and he for licking, it made a bizarre kind of sense to my addled brain. He brings his feet together and rubs us both against each other, our ‘faces’ pressed closely. My mind blurs, the friction bringing searing white hot bliss. God it’s amazing. He was so soft! Please more. More! Babe. Don’t stop. Get socked!

Trev eventually pulls us apart, I watch the folds of Addy’s loose fabric pull taut, finalising his transformation. He made a cute sock, just like me. We were now on equal footing. Wait, what am I thinking? This is insane, I don’t want this! Was I stuck like this? Would it be really so bad? No, stop.

I realised that the smell was permeating my thoughts, twisting them. Knowing that didn’t change how good it felt, how good his touch felt, his musk.

“Don’t worry, when I go to replace you I’ll be sure to sell you on as a pair to one of my foot sluts. Let’s be honest, as socks go, you’re kinda ‘mid’ at best.” The comment did nothing to reassure me about turning back to human. “Man you gay nerds are so dumb, none of you can resist my scent. It’s like you want to be part of my fit. Even my sneaks gave more of a struggle than you two lovebirds. All I need now is some new undies to stretch over my ass and hug my fat dong and balls. Know anyone?” Trev pauses and then laughs to himself.

As each minute passed my mind became more subdued, it was relaxing, becoming content. The part that was angry, defiant, was shrinking. A bubbling happiness was slowly expanding within me. I did my best to push it back but with my senses overwhelmed, it was a seemingly losing battle. Addy was probably already loving every second of it.

“Let’s have some fun. Which one of you will make a good cum sock? Who am I kidding, you’ll both be great. But for now…”

He peels me free from his foot, holding me limply in the air. For a moment I feel incredibly empty, already missing his warmth. The disappointment is short lived; I’m quickly filled out as he pulls me over a stiff pole. His cock. His glorious thick shaft. I’m forced to swallow it whole, it’s tip poking at my edges.

With his hand around me he wanks me furiously, using me as sleeve. ‘Don’t enjoy it’, I shout internally. This sucks. This sucks! It’s hard to ignore the pleasure it brings the both of us. Oh god I’m being stretched out by him completely. It sucks. Sucks… this…mmm. Faster. Go faster! Fill me! Cum inside me, mark me as yours!

My sexy owners pumping reaches a crescendo, now with both hands thrusting me up and down. One final tug. A grunt. A twitch. Thick copious splooge unloads right into me, flooding my interior. His fuckboy seed is absorbed into me, my cotton body sucking up every drop. A dark patch spreads across me and crusts over as it dries. The bitter taste lingers, like the cum was sat on my tongue.

“Fuck me, that was sweet. But enough fun.” Trev pulls me off his dick and janks me back over his foot, his toes push against my cum stained dark spot, still damp.

Trev’s phone starts to ring with some loud trap song. “Trev. Yeah. Yeah mate. Course, you fucka. Be arriving soon. Mint, I got me some new gear too. Ace. Uh huh…K, chat tomorrow.”

What would have normally been inane babble to me made a concerning amount of sense, like his identity was somehow rubbing off on me.

He stands up, dragging something over to him with his other foot. I’m lifted high into the air, tauntingly hovering over his beat up shoe. I can’t help but look down at my future smelly prison. I don’t think my mind can take any more…

It didn’t help knowing that the sneaker was once a guy, now heavily used. It was like seeing a glimpse of my own fate. Mmmm.

“Let’s get you acquainted.”

I see the trainer hurtle towards me as I’m lowered to the floor. My edges slide effortlessly into the pungent confines of his sneaker, the thick stale air engulfing me. I’m pressed against the stained sole and squelch against it’s moist surface; the outline of his foot clearly indented into the material. My vision goes pitch black.

The stench is blasted at me from all sides. Fuck me. I don’t stand a chance against it, my mind is drowned beneath its waves. Sinking below as new, more simple desires emerge.

There’s a muffled sound of an announcement playing overhead. “Guess this is where we get off lads. I should probably warn you, me mates and I have a footie match tomorrow. And I don’t plan on removing you, after that I expect you won’t even want to be turned back. Not that I ever planned to. I’m sure you stinkheads don’t object? Sorted.”

I didn’t object, in fact, I— I think I was looking forward to it. My printed face would probably be completely yellow by the end of it, as it should. Mmm.

The weight of his foot lifts as I feel myself rise from the floor and then just as quickly I’m pushed back down to the ground. My boyfriend being subject to the same in tandem. A second later and it happens again and then again, each step the strength of his body squishes me against the shoes insole, which sticks to my surface. And each time, my brain is submerged in a pleasant sweaty haze, scattering whatever dim thoughts I had left. The weight flattening my mind to sodden mush. Rewarding me for fulfilling my role as his smelly, mindless sock, us both huffing at our owners beautiful addictive feet. Together.

“Maybe we should stop off at that gay convention first, see how many noses we can get pressed against you two while you get sucked dry. Plus, we could find that friend of yours to get wrapped around my big sweaty butt.”

Yeahhh…I bet Nate would make a perfect pair of fucking briefs.

[wakeup01]

hey just found your page and you’re the stuff of legends and dreams, it’d be an honour to have the opportunity to become your property transformed and hypnotised as an object that exists solely to serve a king like you!

thank you for gracing my feed with your gargantuan bulbous ass ❤️

Thanks but I really shouldn’t make my butt any bigger. Every time it happens I feel myself get a little dumber. My head a little emptier. I don’t want to become some bubble butt himbo twerking on tiktok. A ‘buttboy’. But it’s hard to say no to the impulse, to the increasing hunger of my rear. It needs more guys to fuel its growth and it’s never satisfied.

It’s slowly taking over who I am. I feel like a passenger in my own body. Every photo needs to now contain my big butt front and centre. It’s the real star of the show and my face is unimportant, benign. Speaking of, it’s time for my daily selfie. Stare at it, mesmerised. Either you join my rear or you become an airhead buttboy yourself. Mmm. I think my giant cheeks have already chose for you.

Oh shit, it’s happening again. My head…I can’t stop the….huhuhuh. Bro. Check out my jiggle physics.

[wakeup01]

My feet so fucking popular, they infecting other blogs now. Love to see someone get put in their place, their place wrapped around my superior chavvy Alpha feet. Just admit it, you wish it was you sucking on those ripe toes as a crisp white sock. Hahaha.

Refurbished into usefulness

This is a story inspired by the story "Refurbished" by the amazing @wakeup01. Most of the photos used in this story were kindly provided by him too!

Corey walked thoughtfully through the new shoe shop, looking at the products on display, all seemingly used goods put up for sale to a new owner. The thought of wearing another man's discarded footwear was kind of gross but Corey heard that this place had some good deals. He wanted some new clothes and if if the gear was refurbished, what was the harm, he thought to himself.

The fact that Corey never really seemed to see anyone sell or donate clothing as he walked past this store on his commutes before was strange, but what was stranger was the fact that all the products on display had a name attached to them, like the size 12 Nikes that had labels with the names "Luke" and "Cody" stuck to them. Could they be the former owners of these shoes? Even stranger, the names had a date attached to them. For some reason, Looking at the shoes close up gave Corey an uncomfortable feeling. In fact, the entire store seemed to carry an odd atmosphere, like hundreds of unseen eyes were staring at Corey...

He tried to shake it off, and turned to leave the store, only to bump into one of the employees. Corey grunted before quickly apologizing. He looked up and saw the employee smirking at him. The young man, roughly 20ish years of age was adorned completely in Nike gear, with the only thing not matching the Nike clothing was a nametag, Josh.

Josh smirked lazily as he eyed Corey up. "Watch where your going, gaylord". Corey took a step back from the domineering aura Josh gave off. He could not help but look at the employees feet, wearing a tacky but sexy pair of slides. Corey quickly looked back up to Josh, hoping the employee did not notice him staring at the younger mans feet.

"These slides are fucking sick, right?" Josh said, with a arrogant tone "Got them right here in this shop, speaking of which, are you gonna buy something, or are you just gonna keep creeping around at straight guys feet all day?". Corey shook his head awkwardly and turned to leave, his face red with embarrassment. "I should g-get going, sorry!". Josh just lazily nodded in disapprovement as he pulls out a small white piece of fabric and quickly grabbed his latest target. "Tch Tch, well bruv, if you won't buy anything from the shelves, I will just have to put you on them instead" he slaps the white fabric on to Corey, a slight sting as it sticks to the skin easily, making Coreys legs wobble and his vision blur slighty. "Store Policy, Mate, should have just bought something. He pulls the fabric... no, the label, and scribbles onto it with a pen, before smirking back to his latest acquisition, Gesturing at the dazed man to look. Though my blurred vision, Corey could barely make out the handwriting. His eyes slightly widened in a fearful confusion as he saw the label.

"Wha-What the fuck?" Corey stammered in panicked confusion, much to Josh's amusement, as he replied "It's a label with cleaning instructions, ya know, for a sock, innit?" Corey tried to stammer out a response but he could open his mouth anymore, no matter how hard he tried. "Sorry, buttfucker, socks don't talk, do they? Now C'mere, look at my big, straight, size 14 foot"

Corey stared at the big meaty foot, as Josh took off his slide and sock, and held it right in Corey's mesmerized face. The cheesy musk wafting into his nose, enticing him mindlessly to press his face into the soft, warm foot skin. Corey leaned forward, his body moving against his will. He knew this was a bad idea, he did not want to touch the big foot. The big... sexy... meaty... smell straight chav foot.... He could not stop focusing on it. It beckoned him, it called to him as he pressed his face into it. The foot was almost... hypnotic. Like a siren calling out to a sailor. He could barely process the sensation of his body as it slowly hallowed, threads of white cotton quickly overtaking his skin, his body turning soft... warm... hollow... like his body was turning into a ... sock. Corey moaned one last sound before his body shrank, his face turned to cotton, and he became a simple sock, that quickly wrapped around Josh's big foot.

Josh chuckled. "That's where you belong, bruv. On my alpha feet, you need this, gaylord. You need to be serving your straight owner, soaking up my sweat like a good little footmuncher bitch. You turned into a pretty comfy sock, fucking mint!"

Josh went back to working, making sure to dig his toes and work up a sweat to keep his little gay sock bitch nice and wet. By the end of the day, the stupid little sock was barely able to think, only caring about being comfy, being useful, being property... Josh's property... forever a cotton slave to its alpha chav god's stinking foot...

Check out @wakeup01. If you liked this, you will love his tumblr page too. I love his writing and his tumblr page, so I am pretty hyped that I got to collaborate with him to combine both of our kinky worlds with this story!