#Hair growth

[occamstfs]

Man Of Your Dreams

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[futureperfectchanges]

The Woolly Socks: Part 1- Chris

Chris and Dan had been inseparable in the two years since they had met at the athletics club. Thanks to countless hours of running both men had slim toned bodies and it didn't take long for them to become a couple once they had started training together. While their physiques were ideally suited to the track, they both found it hard to keep their bodies warm in the winter. That wasn't a huge problem as it gave them a great reason to snuggle up together under a blanket. That was one of their favorite things to do together, expect for one issue - Chris's constantly cold feet.

Whenever they snuggled Dan joked about having to position himself away from Chris's feet to avoid getting a chill. Chris knew he was joking but it had been mentioned enough times that with winter coming around he decided he should do something about it. At first he was concerned it might be a medical issue, but his doctor had said everything was fine and suggested he simply wear some thick socks to help trap in the heat.

Chris looked at the socks he had picked up and worried they wouldn't work. They were a lot thinner than he had expected to buy, but the owner of the store had recommended them and assured him they would keep him perfectly warm. From Chris's perspective they looked like any other socks but he'd been promised a refund if he wasn't happy so had gone ahead and purchased them.

Chris hadn't intended on buying any socks that day, but he'd been passing the store as he was coming to the end of a run and something made him think it would be convenient to pick something up then and there.

After getting the socks, and finishing his run, Chris had taken a quick shower and was now feeling whatever warmth was in his feet quickly leaving as he stood on the cold apartment floor. So he picked up his new socks and slipped them on his feet hoping they at least do something to keep in the heat.

What Chris definitely didn't expect was to feel a sudden warmth from the bottom of the socks, a bit like he was standing on a heated floor. The warmth then started to spread up his legs. At one point his whole lower body seemed to be burning which momentarily worried him but then he remembered he had just done his normal leg day routine at the gym. Maybe he should have cooled down with some cardio at the end of the session but, like normal, he had skipped that. Dan sometimes tried to get Chris to join him on a run, but Chris had always said no - in fact he avoided any form of cardio as much as possible.

Chris then decided that if the heat he was feeling in his lower body wasn't from the gym then it would definitely be due to the hair. He'd always had hairy legs and even on the coldest days had to wear shorts to avoid his thighs from overheating. That meant that Dan always had easy access to Chris's legs and Chris loved the feeling when his boyfriend rubbed his fingers through the hair on his thighs, it was something so simple yet so intimate.

Some of the heat then passed up through the rest of Chris's body. He started to feel like the room was becoming a sauna and wondered if there was an issue with the heating. As he walked to check the thermostat, he was sure his body was still getting warmer. In particular his chest felt like it was burning up, although Chris then concluded that shouldn't be too much of a surprise given how much muscle and hair he had there too.

Early on in their relationship Chris had once trimmed his chest hair down and although Dan had said he liked it Chris could tell that his boyfriend couldn't wait for it to grow back in. He was pretty sure he hadn't trimmed it since and loved the way it complemented his muscles.

As Chris reached the thermostat he slipped off the socks he'd put on and threw them towards the laundry bin. He wasn't sure why he had put them on in the first place - normally he walked around bare foot enjoying the cool feel of the floor.

Chris then figured out what the problem was with the heating - it had been set to come on too early and was far too high. The couple had agreed that when Dan was out then the heating would be off as Chris found it hard to cool down. Even when Dan was home they'd keep the heating on low which Chris found okay if he was just wearing his briefs. Dan didn't love the cold apartment but Chris was always ready to give his boyfriend a furry snuggle if he needed warming up.

Over time Chris and Dan had tried different set-ups, but had come to the conclusion that Chris simply had a body that run hot and there was not much they could do about that.

[alternate-real-ities]

Strong like royalty.

Based on @occamstfs' story.

[poptheweasel]

Turkish Delight

——————————————

Cory quickly realised he’d made a mistake.

He just couldn’t help it. Cory was enjoying an evening coffee at one of those small classic neighbourhood coffeehouses in Istanbul, the kind frequented mostly by aged locals, not young tourists like him. He felt and looked out of place, sure, but it was fine. Sitting at a far corner of the cosy establishment, no one bothered him and he bothered no one. It took him a little while, but Cory was just starting to feel at ease.

And then he entered. Clearly a regular, judging by the way he swaggered in and interacted with the owner and other customers. But he stood out among the others in that he wasn’t old like the rest of them; in fact, he and Cory seemed to be the only men under 40. He sat at a table at the other end of the place, placing him on Cory’s line of sight.

Cory was immediately captivated by this stranger, not fully understanding why. Maybe it was because the guy contrasted so strongly with himself. Not that Cory wasn’t attractive — of course he was — but something about the man transfixed him. “Fuck, he’s hot,” Cory thought. Maybe it was the gleaming light brown eyes to Cory’s own icy blue, or the meticulously-groomed heavy stubble the guy sported that accentuated his sharp jawline; maybe it was his athletic physique, his well-defined body betrayed by a shirt that was clearly a size too small, or maybe it was how hairy he was, the dark hair very conspicuously thickly covering his sturdy legs and arms offering a stark contrast to Cory’s blond hairs barely visible from a distance… Whatever the case, Cory just couldn’t take his eyes off that Turkish guy. He wanted him, to feel him, to taste him, and imagined all sorts of scenarios.

That’s when Cory realised: he was shamelessly ogling the man. Snapping out of his reverie, he noticed the hairy hunk staring right back at him, completely emotionless. Shit. Flushed and embarrassed, Cory hurriedly paid for his coffee and left, all the while the man continuously and intently observed his every move. Just as he exited, the guy whom he mentally violated also got up to follow him.

His cheeks still ruddy and warm from the unfortunate encounter a while ago, Cory briskly made his way through the labyrinthine streets of the hilly city, desperate to return to his accommodation. The Turkish guy wasn’t too far behind him; Cory meanwhile sensed he was being pursued so he quickened his pace. In an attempt to throw him off the trail, Cory turned a corner into a quiet narrow alleyway flanked by an empty lot and vacant buildings.

Right then, a deep voice called out from behind Cory.

“Hey, you.”

Cory froze, his face drained of the redness. He stood in silence, not knowing whether to respond or run away. He was terrified and felt faint. Only the fresh cool evening maritime breeze kept him on his wobbly knees as he shuddered, half because of the chill, half because he feared what would happen next. Ultimately, after a tense while which felt like an eternity, Cory turned around to see the man approaching him. Although Cory still was scared, he weirdly felt an emergent sense of excitement as well.

Soon, Cory stood facing the Turk. A dimly-lit streetlight was the only source of illumination through which Cory could better appreciate the figure before him. He noticed how the guy was even more hirsute than he realised, with chest hair spilling over his too-tight shirt. Cory’s cock twitched.

“I saw you look earlier,” the guy drily said, maintaining intense eye contact with Cory.

“Ye… No! I mean, yeah, I was…” Cory stammered sheepishly. Fuck, why was he getting turned on all of a sudden?

“Like what you see?”

Cory gulped and nodded. His knees were about to give in when the hunk suddenly grabbed Cory by the shoulders with his hairy meaty hands and yanked him close to give him a forceful yet passionate sloppy kiss. Cory was taken aback and screamed internally, but at the same time, he liked what was happening. Wasn’t this what he wanted in the first place? He didn’t resist the surprising advances; he simply couldn’t resist. He reciprocated, their tongues roaming each other’s mouths. As the Turk continued to shove his tongue in him, Cory felt like putty — he’d let the guy do anything to him, he’d be happy to be used by this gorgeous hairy man in whatever way.

The man’s stubble scratched and tickled Cory’s soft skin around his lips moistened by the wet kisses. Cory felt strong itching sensations in the same area. He normally kept himself clean-shaven, mainly because he could only manage to grow some wispy hairs on his face. As the Turkish guy momentarily pulled away from the kiss though, the area around Cory’s mouth was substantially darker than it was just a minute ago, the beard growth process being accelerated. Cory ignored the itch and continued making out.

After a while of spit-heavy lip-locking, the Turk pulled down his shorts and grabbed Cory by the shoulders, pushing him down to his knees. Cory, at eye level with the guy’s cut 8-inch cock, was completely mesmerised by the sight and especially the scent; the pubes were so dense, they trapped and collected all the musky sweat and oozing precum. The smell was rather pungent but Cory didn’t mind at all. If anything, the odour had a simultaneously captivating and relaxing effect on him and he felt compelled to inhale it more.

Cory piggishly sniffed the ridiculously hairy crotch, even licking the beads of moisture off individual strands of pubes. While doing so, the hair on his temple grazed the guy’s leaking member, some of the precum sticking onto his blond hair. His hair absorbed the pre almost instantly and began to darken, the change in colour spreading from where the precum had been smeared. The hair on Cory’s scalp lost its sandy hue but retained its sheen, turning browner and darker as the pigmentation spread from the roots to the tips. His face still buried in the thick pubes, Cory felt the man jerk himself, squeezing out more pre from his throbbing cock. “Suck,” he commanded. Cory swiftly obliged.

Cory was dazed; the public setting, the man’s body and scent, his own eagerness… all that was happening was wilder than anything he’d ever dreamt of. After admiring the juicy rod bobbing up and down in front of him, Cory closed his eyes and got to work, savouring the taste of the musky cock with a faint taste of piss. He took the whole length in his mouth and down his throat, blowing to the best of his abilities. He eagerly lapped up the copious amounts of pre from the Turk’s slick pulsating member, coating his tongue.

The more he sucked and swallowed, the more hairs grew on his face. The itch intensified above and below Cory’s lips, little needle-like black hairs pushing out from his smooth skin and multiplying below his nose and on his chin. The beginnings of a luscious beard then steadily migrated outwards, short pointed hairs breaking out all over Cory’s cheeks and linking with his tapered sideburns. By now, Cory had grown a remarkable designer stubble which grew in thicker by the minute and slowly crept down his chin. At the same time, his face took on a slight tan, darkening independently of the hair growth that took over the whole lower half of his face. Cory’s jaw looked more rugged too, becoming more square and masculine.

Cory carried on blowing his new acquaintance, completely oblivious to the changes affecting him. “You like?” asked the man. “Mmhrrrgggmm,” Cory could only nod and let out a gurgled hum of approval to affirm. The Turkish guy then forcefully rammed his cock down Cory’s throat, making him gag. Just as he did, Cory’s Adam’s apple jutted out more prominently. He opened his wet eyes to look up at the hunk; as he blinked away the tears, his blue eyes lost their iciness as the colour shifted from a cold blue to a warmer mixture of green and brown with flecks of gold. With his new hazel eyes, Cory saw the guy with a smirk on his face for the first time.

Cory’s body continued to change. He felt bulkier, the clothes he wore starting to strain against the muscles growing on his formerly slim frame. He also felt so much warmer despite the breeze; he felt heat radiating all throughout his body from the pit of his stomach and was sweating profusely as a result. He also felt his whole body itching uncomfortably by now. Watching the Turk strip and bare his gloriously hairy body, Cory did the same — he certainly wasn’t as hairy as the guy. Yet. The hair growing on Cory’s face continued to travel down, prickly hairs sprouting on his neck, past his collarbones and on his chest. Cory initially only had a faint patch of barely-visible hair right at the centre of his chest, but as the hairs darkened and thickened, they fanned out towards his pits, forming whirling patterns around his nipples and covering his whole chest with stubbly black hair, like a freshly-mowed lawn. The prickly sensation migrated south to his midriff, a trail of nascent coarse hairs sprouting from his chest down to his navel and then his crotch. From there, the newly-formed treasure trail widened and began to spread outwards in all directions, hairs multiplying rapidly until Cory’s whole torso was blanketed in a field of short hair which connected his stubble and still-sparse pubes.

After a few minutes of Cory sucking, slurping and gagging on the fat Turkish cock, the guy made him stop. Cory reluctantly agreed. The guy then grabbed Cory by his wavy, shiny black hair and got him up back on his feet. Cory was in a state of utter bliss, drunk on pre and musk, drooling uncontrollably. The Turk lifted his arm, exposing his smelly pit completely covered in tangled wiry hairs. The dark hairs were so incredibly dense and tightly-spaced that Cory thought he was staring into the void. “Sniff and lick,” he told Cory. Who was Cory to say no? He stumbled forward, faceplanting right in the sweaty jungle of pit hairs. The pit musk was surely at least ten times as potent as the musk from crotch! The pungent scent was overwhelming; it burned Cory’s nostrils, and yet his cock throbbed even harder, dripping pre all over. What would have been torture felt more like heaven to Cory. He grunted as he took a deep whiff of the rank musk and licked the matted hairy mess soaking wet with sweat. It was absolutely acrid, and the sharp sourness also scalded his throat, making him cough. Cory was immobilised though, his head held in place in the Turk’s reeking hirsute pit; he let out muffled moans, struggling to breathe. Inhaling the musk and gulping down obscene quantities of rancid sweat accelerated Cory’s changes.

Cory’s body ached all over as he increased in size, growing a few inches and gaining muscle mass. His muscles pulsated and expanded; it really looked as if someone was blowing air into him. His chicken legs inflated to become sturdy trunks, with hard thighs and bulging calves. His arms too grew larger, the veins protruding, his forearms thickening along with his biceps and triceps which doubled in size. Cory’s shoulders and chest broadened, providing him with a more robust, rugged physique. His abs also became prominent, the tight muscles emerging with several popping sounds. Cory was granted a temporary reprieve from piggishly eating out the Turk’s pit, leaving him to gasp for fresh air. The guy then tugged sharply on Cory’s nipples, making him let out a simultaneous yelp and low moan. As if some mechanism had been activated, Cory’s pecs ballooned and jutted out forward, his nipples looking thicker, longer and juicier than the goose-pimple ones he had before. Along with his pecs, his ass also expanded; what was once fairly flat and sad-looking was now globular, the firm cheeks jiggling with every move.

Cory’s puppeteer shoved Cory back into his other, equally hairy and musky pit. With his face buried in the nasty armpit, Cory panted and grunted as the intoxicating scent continued to work its magic. Cory’s brows became wider and bushier. The stubble on his face grew darker and thicker, the hairs coarsening and lengthening as well as multiplying in greater numbers. Starting from under his nose, more hairs poked out to give him a moustache which covered his whole upper lip. The hairs on his chin grew out in all directions, growing unruly and tangling up as Cory rubbed his face in the Turk’s manly pit. His cheeks underwent the same treatment, thick beard hairs pushing out from the follicles and cascading down, following Cory’s rugged jawline and covering the entire area of his face below his nose, the new bushy growth connecting with the moustache and the hairs below his lips. The growth continued to give Cory an incredibly thick medium-length beard that he’d only ever dreamt of having, now coated with a layer of musky sweat and Cory’s own saliva owing to his ravenous worshipping of the Turkish man’s pits. The man held Cory firmly in place, as if to cure the scent onto him.

This second explosion of hair travelled down Cory’s heaving body. Where the first wave of hair growth resulted in hairs which looked trimmed, the wiry, curly growth this time gave him a natural look, the hirsuteness of a man who had never shaved in his life, possibly unable to, due to how densely and much the hair grew. Coarse hairs burrowed their way out of Cory’s shoulders, leaving a forest of curly fur surrounding his neck, and flowed down his swollen upper arms and to his forearms, forming whirls and wave-like patterns, the wild, dense growth of black hair obscuring the view of the skin underneath — his arms looked as if they were wrapped in steel wool. Cory’s hands cracked and popped as they grew meatier and burlier, his fingers rough and calloused and speckled with thick hairs, giving him an almost beastly appearance.

The rapid growth of hair continued unabated, Cory feeling an intense itch under his arms. Soon, dark pinpricks appeared in his shaven pits, increasing exponentially. From those black dots, long wiry hairs shot out, growing thicker and longer, seemingly watered and fed by the sweat that had accumulated in his pits all this time. Radiating from the centre of the pits, the hairs blanketed a larger area, connecting with the hairs on Cory’s chest. Much like the Turk’s pits, Cory’s pit hair grew unwieldy and matted, the strands twisted and twirled from both the growth and the dampness. The moisture trapped under the massive tufts of pit hair emanated a smell. Indeed, accompanying the growing hairs was a stink, the same kind of rank smell that Cory had been inhaling for some time now, which grew increasingly more powerful as the fur grew in. Cory’s chest hair also began to lengthen at the same time, the hairs coiling out and curling and bunching up. Any remaining empty space was filled with thick wiry hair springing out in rapid succession. The amount of hair was grotesque; the eruption of wiry black hairs created a rug of fur on Cory’s toned body, completely enveloping his torso such that his pecs and abs were hardly visible at all, only his engorged nipples barely poking out from the dense field of hair.

Together with the massive hair growth and coupled with the increased pigmentation in his hairs, the light tan which had developed on his face also migrated down. Cory’s pale complexion on his face was already completely replaced by a natural tan, a light sun-kissed brown. The colour seeped down his neck, his back, his shoulders, like someone had dumped a bucket of oil on Cory. The dim orange streetlight made his tan appear darker, what little bits of skin peeking out through the dense hair glistening with the light reflecting off the sweat. Soon, all of Cory’s skin was a luscious earthy tone, not that much of it was visible under all the fur carpeting his whole body.

Cory’s raunchy pit sweat guzzling was interrupted when the Turk made him turn around and stand facing the wall of the vacant building. “Ass out,” the guy ordered. Cory immediately obeyed, panting like a dog that’s had too much sun. He was excited by the prospect of getting railed by this hot Turkish hunk, not having realised all the changes that affected him. Beads of precum dribbled out of Cory’s aching cock, which in the meantime had also darkened to match the rest of his complexion. His balls, larger than before, also churned. Cory felt the Turk holding him from behind, grinding his wet slick cock against Cory’s ass crack filling with hair. “Ready?” asked the man. “Fuck yes,” Cory responded. The guy spat right onto Cory’s tight puckering hole. Wiry black hairs blossomed around the pink ring, spreading out alongside the hairs growing on his crack. The light dusting of hair on his bouncy glutes was swiftly overtaken by curly dark hairs.

The Turk slowly inserted his cock lubed up with Cory’s saliva and his own precum into Cory’s inviting hairy hole, making Cory emit low moans and animalistic grunts sounding deeper than the previous ones. The man thrust in and out of Cory in a rhythmic fashion, Cory’s hole wrapping around his cock, basically milking him of his pre. With every thrust and pound and depositing of the Turkish guy’s precum in him, Cory changed further. His furry mounds ballooned even more. Pound. Fuzz grew in from the area of his coccyx and crept up the entire length of his spine, connecting with the thick curly hairs on his shoulders. Pound. The same fuzz then fanned out from the backbone, coating the lower back and colonising the previously hairless area of the shoulder blades. Pound. The wispy hairs on his whole back turned darker, growing longer and thicker, thousands of individual strands unfurling as they burrowed out of Cory’s smooth skin with great strength, leaving him with an impenetrable pelt of fur on his back. Pound. The wiry hairs erupted in greater quantities on his legs and snaked down, growing all over and wrapping around his thighs and calves and shins. Pound. The midnight black hairs on Cory’s legs thickened considerably that they were now visible from a distance, in stark contrast to before when he still had barely-visible light hairs against his pale white skin.

The pounding increased in speed, the Turk’s hairy low-hanging golf ball-sized balls slamming and smacking sonorously against Cory’s voluptuous hairy ass, also making his balls increase in size to those of tennis balls. Each frenzied slap caused Cory’s bush to fill in and spread beyond its confines at the base of his penis. He had previously kept his crotch trimmed, but that was history now; his pubes more closely resembled black fur due to how dense and tightly-packed it was. It was impossible to see the skin underneath the bush which had basically spread to the navel and also around Cory’s hips, even having crawled a little bit up his shaft. The wild, unkempt matted fur on his groin, much like the coarse tufts of hair under his arms, collected both musk and moisture, rendering it damp and especially pungent. It was only this time that Cory realised how much he reeked, with his arms outstretched to prop himself against the wall as he was fucked by his dream man. He didn’t care that he stunk; no, it turned him on, even. His dick responded accordingly, pulsating painfully — as the Turkish guy continued to thrust rigorously, Cory’s leaking cock grew larger incrementally, as did his balls which were engulfed in wiry hairs, and Cory produced more and more pre which trickled down his shaft and onto his extremely tangled mess of a bush, stinking it up even more.

Very little of Cory as he once was at the coffeehouse remained. At this point, he resembled an extremely hairy, beefy Turkish man, handsome and masculine, oozing testosterone out of every pore, blessed with the perfect manly genes such that luscious fur carpeted his body front and back, head to toe. After a few more thrusts and plunging and poking, the Turk erupted with one drawn-out growl and heavy panting and flooded Cory’s insides with his hot, sticky seed, depositing load after load in him. On Cory’s part, he too was close to cumming. As his cock reached a fully erect length of at least 9 inches, his foreskin retracted down his pulsing shaft and vanished altogether, leaving him with a newly-cut slab of meat. Cory blasted — hands-free — at the same time as the other Turk, leaving a puddle of splooge on the ground and painting a fair bit of the wall he propped himself up against. As he came, so came out the last vestiges of his former whiteness, his balls now filling and churning with Turkish cum.

The guy pulled out of Cory with a shlorp, cum dribbling out of Cory’s manhandled hairy hole and clinging onto the thick curly hairs on Cory’s ass and legs. Both men were breathing heavily, completely spent. They momentarily stood in silence punctuated by the sounds of buzzing insects and the occasional evening breeze. The other Turkish man, now slightly smaller in build than Cory, pulled Cory close for a kiss, gently and tenderly this time, not minding the pre and drool that had stuck and dried onto Cory’s majestic bushy beard.

“What’s your name?” the guy asked, thumbing Cory’s still-hard protruding nipples. Cory opened his mouth to respond but he hesitated. He suddenly realised he didn’t remember his name — what was his name? What a strange thing to forget! He knew it started with a C… no! It wasn’t a C, silly him. It started with a K, of course, and there was an R in there. K… Kor…? Ker…

“Kerem,” he finally answered. Yes, Kerem; that was his name, the name that he’d obviously had all his life. He’d always lived in Istanbul, hadn’t he? He liked the sea and the hills, his native culture, and the men, especially the men — those hirsute and masculine like him, of course — how happy is he who calls himself a Turk!

“I’m Semih,” said the other man who had followed Kerem all the way from the coffeehouse in the hopes of having fun with him. He certainly did get lucky, even out in public like this. “Evimde bir kez daha?”

“Peki, kanka.” Kerem was so ready for round two with Semih.

—————————————————

Hi all, decided to upload something original for a change. Kudos to @hairyjocktf for the encouragement!

[captainmalewriter]

XY

This story is a part of Occam's writing prompt challenge. I highly recommend y'all check out #occam2000 to read the other amazing entries by the other talented writers!!

LATEST REPORT ON RECENTLY DISCOVERED METAMORPHOSIS GENE 

Few things in this world are as beautifully intricate as human reproduction. However, it is not a perfect system. Any number of things could go wrong during the conception and/or birth of a human being, one of which includes genetic mutations. The chances of gene mutation are never zero. While modern-day doctors and scientists continue to fight the good fight of keeping harmful genetic disorders at bay, there is one particularly potent mutation a tiny percentage of the human population carries.

How long this mutation has existed within our gene pool is currently unknown. What is known is that although this malignant gene usually remains dormant within the human body, it can potentially rearrange an individual’s genetic composition and expression when active. Unfortunately, this information was only recently discovered after it had already wreaked havoc in [redacted]. The mutation has been dubbed the Metamorphosis (MM) gene. The MM gene is linked to the Y chromosome in humans. Fortunately, a male’s X chromosome usually functions as a suppressor, thereby keeping the malignant gene dormant in afflicted individuals. However, it is still possible for the MM gene to rekindle if certain conditions are met.

First, an afflicted male must lack the appropriate allele(s) for their X chromosome to properly function as a suppressor against the MM gene. Second, the individual’s body must be in a state of heightened activity due to intense physical exertion. Lastly, on a neurological level, the individual must experience high levels of dopamine, oxytocin, and norepinephrine (or, in simpler terms— love). Should all these conditions be met, the door opens for the MM gene to potentially awaken within the subject. 

As you may have already surmised, statistical probability works in our favor against the MM gene. Unfortunately, however, there remains a chance, regardless of how slight, that the proper conditions will align for this chaotic mutation to awaken and wreak havoc on both the carrier male as well as any surrounding, non-carrier parties. This was the case with one individual in the town of [redacted]. 

Numerous questions about how the MM gene operates and spreads among non-carriers despite being classified as a genetic disorder inundate microbiologists with, unfortunately, little to no answers at the time of this report. Further research into the matter remains a high priority. 

END REPORT 

***

It was supposed to be an ordinary day like any other when Geovanni R. Diaz stepped into the gym that afternoon. He drank his pre-workout in the front lobby while waiting for his friend/gym partner Evan Washington to arrive. The two men had met at the beginning of summer when they both started hitting the gym on the same day. They bonded over making fools of themselves as they misused several exercise machines. They became close friends and regular gym buddies since then. 

Some 20 minutes had passed, and Evan was still nowhere in sight. Geo finished the last few sips of his pre-workout and decided to start without him. It was common for Evan to flake out, especially as of late. While Geo initially shared Evan's casual approach to the gym, he eventually decided he wasn’t satisfied with doing the bare minimum. He took on an intense 60-day workout regime to really challenge himself. Evan supported his friend’s endeavor, but the differences in their goals eventually showed themselves when Evan regularly skipped days while Geo kept at it. He didn’t take it personally; he had grown used to it, although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss having someone to joke around with between sets. Regardless, Geo claimed a chest fly machine, powered up his headphones, and then proceeded to get to work. 

“Hey papi, mind if I work in with you?” 

Geo heard a familiar voice behind him as he finished his warm-up set. He smiled as he turned and saw Evan leaning against the machine. 

“Hey, handsome, I thought you weren’t coming today.” Geo stood up and embraced his close friend. 

“Wasn’t planning on it if I’m being totally honest, but then I decided maybe I’ve been skipping too many days and forced myself out of bed to come here. Did you just start?”

“Yeah man! It’s chest and shoulder day today so I figured I’d start with my favorite machine,” Geo looked at Evan with a grin. “Care to join me?” 

Evan only laughed in response. They both already knew the answer, but they enjoyed asking anyway as a joke. With that, they proceeded to go through Geo’s workout plan together. Naturally, Evan couldn’t keep up with Geo anymore and had to lower the weight after every set, but that didn’t stop them from enjoying their time together. By the end of the workout, they were both tired and sweaty in the locker room after hitting the weights hard.

“I have no idea how you manage to stay on track with this whole fitness challenge thing…” Evan huffed as he caught his breath. “I’d probably give up after the first day. You look good though! Your hard work is paying off and it really shows!”

“You think so?” Geo said as he wiped the sweat off his brow. “It’s hard to tell sometimes. I look in the mirror and I feel good, but then I stare at myself too long and I start worrying if I’m just lying to myself.”

“That’s just body dysmorphia talking, you look great!”

“Aw thank you Evan, you’re too kind.”

“Of course! Anytime you need reassurance, I’ll always be here.” 

Evan flashed Geo a broad smile, and he smiled back. A few minutes passed before Evan started talking again. 

“Hey, are you free tonight? I was thinking of making my world famous lasagna tonight, and I'd love to have you over for dinner.”

Geo stopped drying himself after he heard Evan say that. He turned slowly to Evan and saw him with a shy smile. The same smile formed on his face as he began to answer.

“I would love to have dinner with you, Evan. Of course I’ll come over tonight.”

Evan practically exploded with excitement. He ran to Geo for a hug, almost knocking him over due to the impact. Geo wrapped his arms around Evan and held him in a tight embrace. Their hugs always put Geo in a good mood. He was more than overjoyed to discover that Evan shared his feelings. He knew this hug would quickly become one of his top favorite memories. It was a tender moment between two men falling in love, which made it all the more noticeable when loud indigestion ended their sweet moment abruptly. Geo pulled away and held his stomach as he kneeled over in pain.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Evan asked. 

“Ugh… I’m fine. I think I just need a bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Geo ran off while Evan stayed behind in the locker room. Evan finished packing up their things while he waited. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty. Growing worried, Evan walked to the bathroom stalls to check on his beloved friend. He heard heavy, labored breathing coming from the only closed stall. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” 

Evan knocked on the stall door and found that it was unlocked. He pushed it open slightly. His jaw dropped to the floor when he found Geo naked and drenched in sweat on the tile floor. His eyes were clenched closed, and his face was distorted due to unbearable abdominal pain. Evan ran to his side. 

“What’s going on!? What’s wrong?” Evan asked with apparent urgency in his voice. Geo could barely get words out as he was too busy hyperventilating. 

“So… Hot…”

Evan held a hand against Geo’s forehead and almost immediately recoiled from how hot it was. Geo was running an extremely high fever, unlike anything he had ever seen! Evan’s eyes darted around the bathroom as he desperately sought solutions but couldn’t think of anything due to his panic. He was desperate. He knew he needed to act fast before—

“Ohhhh it hurts!!”

Geo’s sudden shriek stopped Evan’s negative line of thinking. At that moment, time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Evan’s gaze shot back to Geo. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw what was happening to his soon-to-be boyfriend. Unbeknownst to both of them, Geo was a carrier for the Metamorphosis gene, and all the right conditions were met for it to awaken. The gene was hard at work rearranging Geo’s DNA, and he began transforming right before their very eyes! 

It began with his body hair. Like the other men from the paternal side of his family, Geo had never been able to grow much body hair, if any. However, he did have the genes needed for ample body hair, and thanks to the MM gene, it was finally able to express itself. Thick, black hair began sprouting out of his legs in spurts. With each hair follicle that grew in, Geo’s legs grew just a little bit thicker than before, causing Geo to moan obscenely loud as a result. The accelerated hair growth traveled up his legs and into his crotch area where his pubic hair grew in at an alarming rate until he had a jungle of bushy pubes covering his groin. His hairy balls hung lower than before after growing in size and his cock grew an inch thicker in width. Within a few minutes his entire lower half was transformed. His legs became as strong as tree trunks, and with a new, well-endowed package to boot— all covered in a thick layer of hair too! 

The transformation wave continued to ripple throughout the rest of his body. Geo twisted and writhed on the floor as the rest of his body underwent rapid changes. A prominent happy trail formed on his lower abdomen, connecting his belly button and pubic region with a line of long, messy hair. His pecs grew more plump as hair ran up his ab line and onto the center of his chest where it spiraled outward until it formed little rings of hair around his nipples. His chest and abdominal areas were only covered with a slight dusting of body hair compared to his legs. The stubble on his face grew until a thick, connected beard replaced the short goatee Geo once sported. 

His armpits were hit the hardest by the transformation. His pit hair grew and grew until it curled from its long length, leaving Geo with obscenely hairy underarms. Combined with the heavy sweat of an intense workout, Geo’s hairy pit smell began to fill the room. Evan recoiled from how unexpectedly strong Geo’s musky body odor had become, though he couldn’t resist helping himself to a couple of sniffs after he got a whiff of his powerful musk. 

The MM gene had thoroughly scrambled Geo’s DNA sequences, leaving him as a completely unrecognizable, alternate version of himself! 

“WHEW!! God I feel sooo much better now… Hey what’s wrong, babe? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“G… Geo? Is that you?” Evan stood in shock from disbelief. If he hadn’t witnessed it for himself, Evan would’ve never believed that the hairy, smelly jock lying in front of him, staring at him with a lustful smirk, was the same man he had just invited over for dinner. 

“Of course it is, mi hermosito, who else would I be?” Geo winked as he threw his arms up, leaving his hairy underarms exposed. “By the way, I saw you sniffing the air earlier… How about you come and have a whiff right from the source?” 

Evan chuckled nervously, but Geo wasn’t joking. His laughter died down as he realized just how dead-serious Geo was.

“No… You’re not seriously—” 

“Oh but I am,” Geo interrupted. “Just a little taste won’t hurt anyone. Call it a preview for what’s to come later tonight.”

“But right here? In the public bathrooms?”

“Why not? It’s not like anyone else is around right now. We’ll just have to keep our voices down if someone comes in. So, what do you say? I know you want to…”

Geo got up from the ground and approached Evan. He stood close enough that his scent naturally filled Evan’s nose without him needing to sniff. Evan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as his friend’s intoxicating musk left him in a state of deep arousal. Of course, Evan had some reservations about hooking up with Geo after he had just randomly transformed right in front of him, but between how close Geo’s pits already were to his face and the fact that it still seemed to be the same man he had come to know and love on the inside, Evan couldn’t bring himself to reject the offer. Before he could think about it properly, he was already leaning in without even realizing it. 

Once Evan started, he couldn’t stop. He buried his face deep into Geo’s sweaty, rank underarms. Geo’s coarse black hair tickled Evan’s nostrils as he nuzzled against the crevices of his pits. Muffled groans filled with pleasure escaped Evan’s mouth as he indulged in the manly, sweaty scent, each sniff leaving him more satisfied than the last. Soon enough, both Geo and Evan grew rock hard from all the sensual physical touch. The tents in their gym shorts poked and rubbed against each other as they continued pressing their bodies together. For Geo, the thought of getting worshiped in a public place like a gym bathroom was the hottest thing ever while Evan was just happy he got to service a hairy, sweaty gym rat. 

Evan briefly lifted his head out of Geo’s armpit for air. At that moment, Geo held his face and planted a firm kiss on his lips. Their tongues wrestled inside of Evan’s mouth as they locked lips. Once they had their fill of making out after a while, Geo began pushing Evan down onto his knees, to which Evan happily obliged. Geo’s cock stood at full mast, nearly poking one of Evan’s eyes out as he got into position. Evan was in awe as he held the heavy piece of uncut brown meat in his hands. He was drooling just from the sight of it! Not able to restrain himself anymore, Evan dove right in and guided the leaking tip into his mouth.

Arghh… Mmmmm…

Geo let out guttural moans as his friend went down on him. The sound of a man’s deep moans encouraged Evan to service him as best as he physically could. It was almost like he forgot he needed to breathe as he slurped Geo’s entire length up and down with his tongue until it hit the back of his throat. Geo squirmed and grunted obscenely loud as Evan wrapped his cock with his warm, moist mouth. He only lasted a few minutes until he couldn’t hold in his load anymore. Geo held Evan’s head down, his nose pressing against his unruly bush, and let out a loud groan from deep within his lungs as his load came rushing out. Evan whimpered with pleasure as he swallowed Geo’s heavy load, the salty taste of cum filling up his mouth. Once it was done, they both pulled away with a satisfied ahhh!

“Alright, get up. Your turn.”

Geo helped Evan up to his feet, then got down on his knees himself. Evan didn’t deny Geo’s advances, but he also didn’t help him get into position either. He had a blank expression as Geo proceeded to go down on him. Even as he swirled and sucked on his sensitive head, Evan didn’t react or say anything aside from an occasional soft moan. All he could focus on was a prominent cut on the inside of his cheek that he could feel with his tongue. Was that always there? Evan wasn’t sure, but regardless, it was already too late. The damage was done. He had contracted the MM gene from Geo. 

Evan winced as he began to notice a pain growing in the pit of his stomach. It started as a slight ache, but it quickly became unbearable. Evan hunched over, letting a low groan as he held his hands against his side where it hurt the most. It felt like he was being stabbed from the inside out! The next thing he knew, his muscles rapidly stretched and constricted as the gene started rearranging his DNA. 

Because Evan was a non-carrier and his immune system was not already accustomed to suppressing the malignant virus, the MM gene was able to activate without delay and transformed him much faster than Geo. He threw his head back and quietly moaned as the transformation happened. Geo was too busy giving him head to even notice. He just thought he was doing a good job. 

The MM gene was hard at work bringing out Evan’s hidden genetic traits. Although he was only 12.5% Black from his mother’s side, that was more than enough for the virus to play around with. Various points around his skinny body began to inflate with muscle mass. His thin frame and scrawny chicken legs filled in with much-needed mass, giving him sturdy legs with sharp ab lines and impressive cannons for arms. His biceps swelled to the size of melons as his body flexed under the tension of rapid transformation. Evan himself was surprised with how heavy his new body was becoming.

His facial structure shifted and morphed. His nose widened while his jawline became stronger and sharper. A bushy goatee beard grew in where he once could only grow peach fuzz. The once wholly flat-chested Evan Washington now sported two massive slabs of meat resting on his torso. His pecs were firm, strong, and hung low from their own weight. Coupled with bright pink nips, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he now possessed a perfect chest. Although his pale skin tone stayed the same, the MM gene brought his Black features out to the forefront, giving the once undeniably White young man a more visibly biracial appearance by the end of his transformation.

While Evan underwent a total identity change, Geo kept blowing him all the while. Although he did notice a sudden change in Evan’s girth and overall size, the taste of a nice, sweaty cock kept him focused on the task at hand. Geo simply took a breath through his nose and opened his mouth up even wider to keep deepthroating him. Evan’s body was still sensitive from having undergone rapid growth, which only made the pleasure of having his dick sucked sloppily increase tenfold. The veins in his thighs and cock twitched and throbbed as he climaxed and pumped out his thick load straight down Geo’s throat. Geo swallowed, sighed with deep satisfaction, and got up from the ground. 

“Mmm! You know, yours tastes kinda tangy!” Geo gathered and licked up the few stray drops dripping from Evan’s tip. 

Meanwhile, Evan was trembling, struggling to breathe after all the physical stimulation. Only after Geo finished cleaning up the spunky mess did he realize that the Evan standing before him no longer looked like the Evan he once knew.  

“What the— Who are you!! Where’d Evan go?” Geo yelled. Evan turned to look at him, and Geo saw his pupils dilating unnaturally rapidly. “Dude, what’s wrong with your eyes!?”

Evan said nothing in response. The MM gene fried his mind with a heavy concentration of hormones, leaving him in a state of severe brain fog. Evan stumbled forward to the nearby mirror. His cock was still semi-erect. The sight of his own dick was enough to make Evan drool as he admired and flexed his arm muscles. Geo tried calling his attention but to no avail. Evan was unresponsive to his shouts. He had one thing and one thing only on his horny mind. 

“More…” Evan muttered.

“More what?” Geo replied. Evan snapped his line of sight back at Geo. His dazed eyes wandered to Geo’s exposed junk, then narrowed as they met his eyes. He let out a low growl as his eyes suddenly had an intense look that caused Geo to take a few steps back. It was the same look a hungry lion gave a gazelle out in the wild. Geo swallowed his breath. He became acutely aware of the situation he was in.

“Dick! I want more dick!!”

Evan puckered his lips and lunged towards Geo, though Geo managed to sidestep him in time.

“Get away from me! Look man, you might be hot as hell but I’m not interested! I’m a taken man!!” 

Geo quickly gathered his discarded clothes and hightailed it out of the bathroom. Naturally, being in the hyper state that he was, Evan wasn’t going to give up until he got what he craved. He stumbled out of the bathroom stall ass naked, where he was about to run into the perfect target.  

“Man! Today is just not my day,” a bodybuilder mumbled as he walked into the locker room. Dylan was a muscle gay, and he came to the gym solely to go cruising that day. 

However, despite his efforts, he struck out. He was getting sexually frustrated, which made him incredibly willing to hook up with some random stranger in the bathroom. 

Dylan was as equally surprised as he was impressed when Evan stepped out of the stall with his cock out. The smell of sweat and cum hit his nose, arousing him. Dylan loved what he saw and decided to make his move on the muscle-bound hunk.

“Hey there, stud! Need a hand there?” Dylan whistled at Evan, catching his attention.

Evan turned to him. He was still visibly sweaty and was breathing heavily. Dylan wasn’t sure what to make of him, but Evan didn’t give him a chance to reconsider. 

Evan charged at him, planting his lips against his upon impact. Dylan was caught off guard but had no problem matching Evan’s energy. He kissed him back as their frisky hands began feeling up each other’s bodies. Although Dylan loved making out, Evan’s kissing style was quickly turning out to be way too rough for his tastes. Evan forced his tongue in, had an obscene amount of saliva, and even bit down on his bottom lip with enough force to draw blood.

“OWW! What the fuck man!?”

Dylan pushed Evan away and held his bleeding lip. He was glad that there wasn't a lot of blood, but was still rightfully pissed off. As ravenous as he was due to the MM gene, Evan was oblivious to what he had done. Instead, his attention shifted to another guy wearing only a towel near the showers. He ran off in that direction and left Dylan in the dust. 

“Prick…” 

With that, Dylan decided to just give up and get a quick workout in. He took out a rice bar and ate it as he returned to the main area. He did his stretches, picked up a couple of barbells, and claimed an open bench. But just as he was about to start his first set, a powerful hunger overcame him. He grabbed at his stomach and kneeled over in pain as the MM gene took effect.

All of Dylan’s hard-earned muscles melted away within a matter of minutes. He rapidly gained pounds upon pounds of body fat. What were once washboard abs complimented by chiseled biceps were replaced by flabby arms and a protruding, hairy gut. His pecs lost their firmness and began to sag as they became nothing but a pair of man boobs. All the while, the same overwhelming lust Evan had began growing within Dylan too.

A handful of nearby good samaritans came to Dylan’s aid after he collapsed. While they all tried to help Dylan, most stayed back after witnessing his sudden transformation firsthand. Nobody knew what was happening behind the scenes, leading to anxious rumors and worried whispers floating around the gym. While most people were too cautious to get near Dylan, one brave man decided to step forward and help Dylan. Unfortunately, as he tried to help Dylan get up to his feet, Dylan accidentally scratched him on the back. The young man recoiled and dropped Dylan to the ground as a result.

As other people began to help Dylan, the injured man stepped off to the side to tend to his wound. He felt unusually warm as he finished putting on a bandage. He didn’t think much of it and ignored it but soon found himself sweating bullets as he rejoined the group. It got to the point that he needed to take a seat to try to cool off, but it was no use. He soon joined Dylan on the floor, writhing in pain due to contracting the MM gene.

At this point, everyone in the gym had gathered around the two men. The crowd stood back as they bore witness to yet another transformation. They watched in bewilderment as the short man rapidly grew in height. He groaned and gasped in anguish as his limbs stretched out. His torso grew and widened until he had the body of a tall bear. He pawed at the growing tent in his sweats as he thrashed around the floor, massaging his manhood as hormones continued pumping throughout his body. Within minutes, the infected man had gone from a stout 5’4 to a big, burly 6’4.

Although the afflicted man already had a healthy spattering of trimmed body hair, the MM gene forced his hair to grow to what was genetically possible. His body hair grew out beyond what Geo experienced. From his chest and belly to his legs and arms, every hair follicle grew longer and thicker, leaving him a pelt of curly body hair. His facial hair, in particular, grew out the most. His mustache grew longer and longer until it practically covered his mouth! His beard became bushy and unruly with coarse black hair as it reached his chest. All the while, the hair on the top of his head fell out one by one until he had a shiny bald head. He became an unrecognizable version of himself thanks to the MM gene. Once his transformation was over, he sat up and let out a bellowing belch that echoed throughout the gym. 

“Mrmph… Feels sooooo good…”

The crowd of witnesses backed away from the two transformed men. The two men turned to the crowd and smiled. A cold, ominous air filled the atmosphere. A few intuitive individuals saw the writing on the wall and left before shit hit the fan while the majority stayed behind, anxious and confused at what was going on. A few moments filled with tense silence passed, only for it to be broken when Evan came charging in from the men’s locker room and locked lips with the closest man. Almost as if on signal, Dylan and the burly bear joined Evan’s rampage and lashed out, too.

Pandemonium broke out as everyone made a mad dash for the exit. It was like a zombie attack as Evan and the other transformed men attacked every healthy man they could get their hands on. The unfortunate victims contracted the MM gene. Once infected, they, too, succumbed to genetic rearrangements. Some grew insanely muscular, and others became incredibly overweight. Hair was grown and lost; skin colors changed, and every physical feature rearranged until they were completely unrecognizable. All those transformed men wanted nothing more than to kiss, fuck, and spread their seed to as many people as possible until their hyped-up urges were satiated. 

“Shit’s getting crazy out here…” Geo whispered to himself. He poked his head out of the locker room and saw the chaos he unwittingly caused. He wanted nothing to do with the madness and ran out of the gym as fast as he could, though the infected men paid him no attention as he was already one of them. Police were beginning to arrive on the scene as Geo drove away with only one thought: his dinner date with his best friend and crush, Evan. 

Though unfortunately for him, the Evan he knew and loved was long gone. It would only be a matter of time before Geo forgot all about Evan, and his body gradually returned to its original state after the MM gene returned to a state of dormacy.

At least, until the next time Geo or some other carrier falls in love.

***

PUBLIC STATEMENT ISSUED BY THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE

Good evening.

As you may have already heard, a horrific incident has occurred at one of our local gyms. Dozens of men went on a rampage. It took several hours and almost all of our manpower, but our police department has successfully arrested all of the sexually rabid men and have placed them in custody. 

Security camera footage shows that all of these men were physically transformed before attacking. After an initial investigation, medical experts suspect that a rare genetic disorder called the Metamorphosis gene is responsible. Unfortunately, while there were no casualties, some of our own brave policemen were affected by the viral outbreak and were transformed themselves.

Two big questions remain tonight: how did a genetic disorder manage to spread like a virus, and how did these men contract this previously unheard of disorder? The arrested men were questioned about the events that led to this mass riot. None have been able to provide any concrete information. None of them seem to recognize their former identities, citing amnesia and severe migraines as the cause. 

Patient 0 has yet to be found. An active investigation continues as research efforts for a potential cure to the Metamorphosis gene’s effects continue. 

END OF STATEMENT

[dystopia-fantasy]

Dad Bod

[occamstfs]

Conjuration: The Call

Ozzie begrudgingly plays a thinly disguised trading card game and finds some fun teaching his meathead friend a lesson.

Something between a role reversal and devolution! Jock -> Twink and Nerd -> Brute! Hope you enjoy this tale of a wishful role-player growing to dominate a try hard, Best! -Occam

Ozzie absolutely hated trading card games, he missed the boat and loathed being made to feel stupid like they always end up doing. Perhaps some self-reflection could see him giving Conjuration: the Call a fair shake, when a game of CTC was thrust on him instead of the DND session he was coming to play, the man was in not so charitable a mood.

Prepped to play his Druid all night, Ozzie is sulking in the kitchen when his friend Lily, patient zero of getting their group playing CTC again, brings over a proxy deck she made for him. “Heyyy babe~ Sorry about the bait and switch, I thought we were going to play DND too but apparently Mark’s sick and Alex thought this would be a great chance for you to learn how to play!”

His scowl quickly shifts between Lily, her half-hearted olive branch, and their friend group’s surly Adonis, Alex, who winks before returning to set up the table for their game. Ozzie sighs, not wanting to make a scene, he reaches out to inspect the printed deck in her hands. She perks up, “perfect! You’re gonna love it I swear!

The hitherto hater sighs, “ughh. You guys are just going to steamroll me like always! Is the deck too complicated to learn on the fly?” Her eyes glimmer as she slyly makes sure Alex can’t hear, “Not at all! I’ll be right there if you need any help and-“ 

Before she can explain, the man at the table interrupts, “you ladies done yet?” In their running campaign the impatient Alex plays a barbarian which mimics both his stature and nature out of game quite well, in Conjuration however he’s emerged as quite the rival to Lucy. Which Ozzie knows as she begins to explain, now at a whisper, “okay so it’s actually a deck to counter Alex’s.”

She immediately goes to defend her ulterior motives as Ozzie’s scowl returns with a vengeance, “oh c’mooon Ozz, I made this whole deck for you! I found the commander in the bulk bin and thought it sounded like your thing!” Shuffling through the box he checks it out, Loggan the Brain, nice and holographic. He pauses to appreciate how it feels in his hands, heavier than expected and almost warm to the touch. After a moment he looks up to find Lily has already gone to join the rest of the party at the table.

Finishing up his huffing, Ozzie sits opposite Alex who performatively flexes as he shuffles his deck, “Ready to get schooled by the man?” They’re friends at the end of the day so Ozzie doesn’t try to hide his irritation as he responds, “oh I’m sure there’s nothing you love more than beating newbies huh”

Alex takes a few seconds trying to think of some clever reply but after a few playful jibes from Lily and Tim, their fourth player, he decides to save any further taunts for the game. It’s not Ozzie’s first time playing Conjuration, how else would he hold it in such blatant disregard. Resolutely he refuses a tutorial from Alex and Lily. The pair make eye contact as they try to push down the urge to take candy from the new player and instead scheme how they can both use his inexperience to their advantage.

The first couple rounds go by in a flash, the other three begin setting up decks they are clearly incredibly familiar with while Ozzie races to read the little cheat sheet Lily made for the deck before performing a decent opening few rounds himself. Ozzie figures Alex must be running some kind of counterspell deck as Lily’s notes make it very clear that this proxy is a counter-counterspell deck, as it were. 

Lily would never be able to play this deck as it relies on someone counterspelling the Loggan the Brain without checking the specifics, and Alex would never do so to someone with as firm a grasp as her. When Ozzie goes to summon his commander though there's a glimmer in the jock’s eyes as his fingers go to counter the summon before Ozzie even announces, and in doing so he falls into the trap of the deck. 

Alex reaches over to push Loggan back off the board only to be stopped by Lily, almost shaking from excitement as she bursts out into laughter and explains the situation. She points to the ability text Drain: Start of the round gains one “Devolution” spell card. When “Devolution” is used to counter an offensive spell on yourself, put a token on Loggan the Brain. After ten tokens are placed on Loggan the Brain, replace him with Ogg the Brawn.

Hearing his opponent groan from an easily averted own goal he finishes his turn to see Alex scratching his chest and complaining, “I’ve never seen these stupid cards before, are you sure these are legal?” His eyes narrow at Lily who shrugs and tries to taunt him into casting a spell at Ozzie, “Who knows man, maybe it’s not even that good? You should cast a spell at him to see what it does!” With a wry grin she meets Alex’s scowl. For now he stills his hand as they prepare to deal with the quiet Tim as he quickly becomes the biggest threat on the board.

When it comes back to Ozzie’s turn the fun begins at last, launching a spell at Alex who has no choice but to counter, which is of course met with the new player’s own “Devolution” counter. Ozzie and Alex both open their mouths to complain, about the game being convoluted and unfair respectively. Before they can lash out however both men see a token appear on Loggan the Brain without anyone reaching to put it there. 

Only Alex and Ozzie seem to notice the board changing without any human aid, before they can react however they are both filled with an alien warmth. Alex’s hands shoot to his crotch and his face flares with embarrassment. All eyes fall to him as he almost squeaks as his meaty hands struggle to hide the fact that he’s getting obscenely hard at the CTC table, “GrheEEK! AH- hEM” the macho man tries to hide the voice crack from the table, failing to do so they all incredulously stare.

“Psh jeez- can’t a dude sneeze? Fuck!” Knowing they have most of a game still ahead of them no one goes in too hard on Alex, even as his complaints sound decidedly whinier to their ears. Were they to look even a smidge closer at the sscowling man’s face they’d surely see its hard edges begin to soften as his scratchy perma-stubble starts thinning. Alex flips through his bulky hand wondering how he’s going to overcome the pair of opponents, ignorant as his arms are slowly drained of the strength he has honed for over a decade at the gym.

oes Ozzie fail to see how he too begins to shift over the next round. When all hands go to counter a spell cast once more the situation ends once more with Alex being rebuffed by a Devolution card Ozzie drew. Thin fingers go to cover his mouth as he tries to quiet his laughter at Alex’s lips pulling into a pout, looking plumper than usual. Ozzie ignores the flitter at finding that exciting to instead taunt the man looking mousier but is distracted as he scratches his cheek, “Ah c’mon there Aluh- hm.” 

Ozzie pauses as he hears his fingers scratching at, well it sounds like stubble? After a few more strokes he speaks up again, “Uhh guys did I need to shave when I came in?” The party is focussed on his question so they take no heed of his voice sagging deeper with every word. Instead they narrow their eyes at his jawline. It takes him quite a while to grow any kind of facial hair so it’s not like it just sprouted up all of a sudden? Right? Alex laughs and rubs his own face, “Ah Hah! Followin’ the lead of your favorite role model huh! Heehee! Er-”

All laugh as Alex giggles uncharacteristically, cuing him up to go all out and defend his fragile masculinity. Ozzie sits back and watches as him and Lily tag team their fourth player into an early knock-out. All the while though he begins to feel odd? His palms are sweaty, upon closer inspection he realizes his whole form is sweaty. 

Eyes off him he airs out his chest and yelps as he accidentally grabs a tuft of chest hair. He looks down his shirt, slightly obscured by a stubbly little mustache poking out of his upper lip and barely quiets a gasp from shock as he sees a few curls sticking out the center of his bony chest. His inspection then falls onto the hand still grasping at his tee, almost imperceptible blond hairs that have humbly decorated his wrist have lengthened, darkened, and spread into a truly thick jungle on his forearms.

Needing to draw a few more cards to get his target out, Alex can’t help but shoot a couple more spells out at Lily who then redirects them to Ozz. Returning his focus to the board he grunts and prepares to take the hit before checking his hand to find two more copies of Devolution in his hand. He tosses them clumsily on the table and guffaws and shouts in his gruffer voice, “Hah! When’re you gonna learn to not target the man, fucker!” Ozzie reclines once more as Alex ignores his taunts and continues to take his turn.

Half-way to switching out his commander for a card he hasn’t read yet he tugs down his shirt as he feels a breeze on his exposed midriff. There seems to be a volley of new curls stretching above his waistline, briefly making sure no one’s watching he scratches at the pubes slowly inching into a dense treasure trail and almost moans at the distracting pleasure. With each quivering new sensation the blonde curls he has long been proud of darken and recede to something choppy and brown, shrinking back as from every inch of his form curls of the same pervasive brown race to assert his primal masculinity.

With each drag into the growing garden of hair on his waist the urge to vocalize his pleasure grows more difficult to ignore. The stubble on his face continues to thicken, growing into something more than five o’clock shadow that would put Alex’s to shame at its best. Speaking of, as his usual ungroomed stubble continues to fade and shrink into a face shifting as smooth as porcelain he can’t help but stare at Ozzie’s face with jealousy, his cock pulsing once more in his gym shorts and he grits his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the game and not on how Ozzie’s sleeves almost seem to be hugging his arms.

Ozzie similarly doesn’t see as his eyes are closed to be almost obscenely lost in the fulfillment of scratching his itch. Though he feels it. His arms slowly edging larger, straining his sleeves almost to tearing with each meagre movement. He feels stubble slowly growing up past his neckline, giving him a few stray curls that would need a turtleneck to hide as his chest begins to amass new weight and muscle itself.

In his death throes Tim follows Lily’s lead and forces Alex to toss a few more spells that will hopefully be blocked at Ozzie. Still lost in the reverie of his changing form, Ozzie doesn’t even check his cards as his hand quickly shoots up from his crotch and tosses two cards onto the table. Without looking two more tokens appear on Loggan the Brain and both Alex and Ozz clench the table as they are struck with another wave of changes. 

The other two players at the table are suddenly engrossed in checking their hands, as if compelled to not notice as Alex is suddenly swimming in clothes that he chose explicitly to highlight how built he was looking today, his neckline droops low enough that it should expose his burly-hair covered chest. The only thing it shows now however are two spray-tanned pecs that seem to be shrinking.

Alex doesn’t notice as his shoes almost fall off of his feet as they drop a few sizes, no instead he bites his lip and stares hungrily at the man who was supposed to be his quarry. His cock feels wanting his balls blue, more than that though for the first time in his life his ass almost feels empty, in need of something- or someone. He doesn’t put two and two together as he continues to stare at Ozzie growing hairier. 

The once mousy man finally fills his nerdy tee enough that it begins to fray and tear. Similarly do the slacks he threw on for game day find themselves more than filled with meaty thighs and a package that has blossomed into an absolute veiny beast. His eyes widen in wonder as he takes it in for the first time. His thicker, rougher hands reach downward and with the slightest touch his hips buck and his zipper blows out as his cock strains it to the breaking point. Barely contained in his briefs Ozzie has to ignore the wet patch of pre staining through them and put all his energy towards not cumming then and there in front of his friends as the game remains ongoing.

While the two were distracted by their changing tastes and bodies, Tim was officially knocked out of the game leaving everyone worse for wear. Though after another couple rounds it becomes clear that Alex is very much off his game. His white teeth continue to chew at his plumper lips as he’s lost in thought. 

Ozzie similarly chews his lip, champing at the bit as he stares at the shrinking man. Fuuuck, he’s real cute when he works himself up. His inner monologue sinks deeper in tone to match his new voice as his thoughts grow rougher, simpler. Under the table his hand can’t help but go to his crotch as images of some massive beast of a man dominating the twink push to the front of his mind. Drool dripping from teeth bared onto Alex’s back as he arches up into heavy pecs, as if he were made to be under the man, if he were made to be under Ozz- Fuck.

Alex shivers as the table shakes from Ozzie rutting into it, gasping as his own ass fills out. He’d never really spent dedicated time crafting the perfect butt, or no- is that true? His phone suddenly fills with nudes taken of his sculpted, smooth butt and sent to- Ozzie’s bearded face forces itself to the front of his mind. Alex can almost feel his sweaty muscular chest against his own, his fingers curling around hair that inches up from his ass and down from his shoulders. He can almost feel the phantom cock he’s bouncing on before across the table the only player not lost to their lusts clears her throat.

“What is up with you guys?” There’s forced confidence but something is clearly throwing her off her game. Something’s not right. Is it? Oggie- Er, Ozzie? He’s always been a tank, it’s why he’s been so against playing right? And Alex, well shoot that twink is obsessed with Conjuration since it’s the only game or sport that he can beat his- She clenches at her head as she’s seized by a migraine. Perhaps that’s how she falls into the trap that Alex has been setting since turn one.

“Ah HA! Finally biitch! You played right into my hands!” His voice cracks higher, something in the back of her mind swears she’d never let Alex call her a bitch but as she looks at the twink she can’t imagine why. The cocky sneer remains on Alex's face as his hair lengthens into a floppy garden of dirty blonde curls, after looking at the board it fades a little as he struggles to recall how exactly he’s supposed to finish her, “Uhm?”

He scratches at his head and the sleeve hanging on his thin bicep slides back, revealing his pit as the last few hairs remaining of his once proud tuft fall away, leaving behind a fruity scent that will never quite fade instead of the heady musk that could never be quenched. Ozzie didn’t realize he was staring at the twinks pits as they finished smoothing. Looking to his own pit stains on a shirt that seems moments from bursting off his form, he grins toothily and figures he produces well enough stink for the both of them. His canines almost feel larger in his mouth.

 After the song and dance of Lily walking Alex through her own defeat, accompanied by a fair share of giggles from a man who wouldn’t be caught dead speaking even vaguely ‘like a chick’ before the game, Lily heads off with Tim to go grab pizza before the next game. Leaving behind Alex and Ozzie as the game nears its close. Both men struggle to decide on their next moves, or rather if they care enough to even make them, as the other players depart. Ozzie scratches the back of his head like an ape, apathetic to his arm finally bursting free from its sleeve and exposing a hairy pit that Alex eyes hungrily. 

Drooling and wanting to be done with the game as soon as possible the once jock eyes his hand filled with spells and wonders why he has so many? Was there a reason he wasn’t using them? He hesitantly throws one down and is immediately met by a counter. Ozzie grunts as his form bulges larger, brow jutting slightly over blue eyes that don’t quite look so bright any more. He tears off his shirt with one meaty fist before moving to scratch at the carpet of hair covering his torso as if it were a shirt itself.

Ozzie’s own eyes glaze over as he drops his cards on the table, he want game over. His underwear is filled to breaking and he grimaces before going to tear them off just like his shirt. Grunting he punches the table in shock as the elastic band snaps back against him. Veins bulge everywhere across his form as rage fills him enough to rival his hunger for the twink sitting across from him. Struggling to control his breathing as he sits stewing in lust and anger he speaks in a gravely town as his stomach begins to bloat, “Your turn,”

Alex similarly is lacking the focus to continue the game, tossing his hand down his eyes flash as the remaining tokens stack onto Ozzie’s card. Neither man notices as a final line of text appears at the end of the dense paragraph, “If you lack a copy of Ogg the Brawn in your deck, become one.” He doesn’t read the card of course, nor will he chase the urge to read much of anything anymore, but as the ability is activated OzzOgg obeys the instructions to a tee.

Spit drips between gnashing teeth as Ogg stands to his new height. Waist filling out as he pounds onto the table and he grows into a true brute. The elastic band digging into his waist acts like a flank belt as he glowers at Alex and bucks into the table, making a mess of the organized decks as he feels his mind unable to focus on any pursuit other than chasing his hunger.

Alex stands and his pants fall to the floor, unable to remain on his thinned waist, “O-Ogg?” he squeaks out, what was was a tight muscle tee now hangs off a shoulder, perfectly framing a hard nipple and hiding the noticeably smaller bulge where his dick must be. Ogg knocks the table over and tackles the twink with power he never imagined or desired to have. 

Grunting, Ogg can’t control his hips as they continue to rock and thrust as he struggles to position his twitching cock over Alex who endeavors to roll over and present his perky ass. Ogg forces his face down into the nape of Alex’s neck, breathing in his scent, magically alluring and the diametric opposed to the bestial musk that steams off the man whose eyes dull to a dark brown as his stomach bulges into a massive muscle gut.

Underneath, the twink’s mental faculties grow similarly vacant as he feels the hairy stomach scratching against his back, as Ogg’s massive cock finds purchase and fills him with far more powerful pleasure than what Alex has inflicted on many a partner throughout the years. His moans fill the air, rivalling Ogg’s grunts as the pair leave sweat and cum stains on the cold tile. 

The air of the apartment is filled with Ogg’s primal, almost proto-human musk which only makes Alex hungrier for the man he is evermore to be obsessed with. When his face is shoved into Ogg’s jungle of pit hair he wonders how he lived before now as his cock is pressed up against Ogg’s bulky, curl-covered torso.

Eventually their preternatural lusts absolve themselves and in a brief refractory period Alex rushes to clean up the worst of their mess before the other two return with pizza. Ogg of course is no help as he throws on a pair of boxers Alex would’ve sworn were his own and goes to sit on the couch, arm behind his head to air out his steaming pit and continue to rile Alex up. After righting the table and wiping away all the stains he could see the twink indeed goes to nestle up alongside the man on the couch as he throws on some nature documentary.

Alex doesn’t notice as his head finds itself almost immediately in the man’s crotch as his cock starts to poke out the leg of his boxers. Well, when in Rome- Before they can get up to too much fun, they hear the door being jostled. Alex jolts up and swallows the pool of pre-cum filling his mouth before doing a poor job of hiding the rock hard rod in Ogg’s boxers. The brute grunts in irritation and grasps at his needy balls, apathetic to the return of the other platers.

Setting down the pizzas Tim looks over at the clearly worked up pair and rolls his eyes as if this is normal, “Well are you two horndogs up for another game?” Eying both Alex and Tim something besides the Id in Ogg rears up, still seems like there’s a lot left he can drain from the two men. Bulge already inching larger, he stands and goes to pick up Loggan from the floor. Time for round two-

[futureperfectchanges]

H-Otter Whisky: Part 1 - The Twink

It was bear night at Infernos nightclub and the bartender took a moment to see how busy the club was. It was always packed on these nights as it was the main occasion where going shirtless, or at least showing a lot of flesh, was almost a requirement. So as well as the usual bears the night attracted anyone wanting to show off, from slim twinks gyrating on the dance floor to gym bros taking every opportunity to flex their muscles.

The bartender could see the various groups that had formed across the club, and was himself being kept company by another group - the barflys. These were the individuals who would come to the club on their own and then spend the night people watching from the bar. He could tell a lot of these men were shy and too nervous to head out into the club, but he wanted them to have a good time so would make an effort to talk to them whilst serving their drinks.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked to one of the barflys, a young looking twink who had been perched at the end of the bar watching the dance floor for the last hour.

"Just another beer please." came the reply.

"You going hit the dance floor in a bit?" the bartender asked trying to keep the conversation going whilst he poured out a beer.

"Oh, er, maybe later, i'm not a very good dancer."

"Well I think you'd be popular regardless of how well you dance - if you catch my drift." the bartender replied with a bit of wink, although the twink quickly went red and looked away. "Perhaps you just need something a bit stronger to give you some confidence?"

"I don't think any amount of confidence is going to work with the type of guys i'd like to dance with. Let's just say they would be looking for someone a bit more manly." the twink explained.

The bartender thought for a second and decided he'd try and help this guy out. He finished pouring out the beer, then opened a cabinet at the back of the bar and pulled out a bottle. "I might be able to help you with that actually. We got sent this bottle of H-Otter whisky from one of our more niche suppliers in Europe. They say it is guaranteed to put hairs on your chest. So how about a shot of that, on the house?"

"If only it were that easy, but I guess I can't turn down a free shot, so thank you very much."

The bartender measured out a shot and watched as the twink downed it in one. He had had a few bottles from this European supplier and knew they could be quite effective with regards to what they promised, so was curious to see what would happen.

The bartender saw the few hairs already on the twinks chest start to spread up towards his shoulders and then down to his navel. Within a matter of moments the guy had gone from a few whispers of hair in the centre of his pecs to a thick forest of curls covering his whole chest. That was quickly followed by hairs pushing out across the guy's face forming a dense scruffy beard. It looked like if he ever shaved he would struggle to avoid a persistent five o'clock shadow on his cheeks.

The new otter coughed as he put down the glass. "Wow, that was good, real strong stuff, you can feel it burn as it goes down. Thanks again." he said smiling at the bartender. He then looked down and rubbed a hand across his chest. "Not sure it has put any hairs on my chest though, there isn't really room for any more!"

"Glad you liked it." The bartender was happy to see the changes had been accepted without question - that was a sign with these drinks that they had quenched the right thirst. "So are you ready to hit the dance floor now?"

"Yeah, you know what - I think I am, although I do have one quick stop that I want to make on the way there."

The bartender watched as the guy picked up his beer and then walked straight over to one of the bears by the dance floor. He wondered what was being said, but whatever it was must have worked as a few moments later the bear and the otter made their way together onto the dance floor.

[alternate-real-ities]

Change me from lean muscle to bulky muscular features based on various regions such as Latino,black,etc

Quick to the point, huh. Well, let me see what I can find that satisfies your bulking needs. :)

First stop, a reality where you've been blessed with African blood:

In this world, your toned physique has taken on rich, dark hues and a powerful, chiseled form reminiscent of an Adonis from the motherland. Every muscle is a work of art, etched into your skin like the lines of a master sculptor's finest creation.

As a part-time model in this alternate reality, you're no stranger to the spotlight. With each confident stride, every flex of your huge biceps or bounce of your pecs, you exude an aura of raw masculinity that leaves men weak in the knees and women aching with desire.

Here's another angle to appreciate your sculpted glory. That bulge isn't going to take care of itself. Lucky for you, what ain't missing is the amount of twinks that beg to touch your body every day on insta. Perhaps you'll tell one of them to come meet you and show him your real African heritage. :)

Now, let's move on to another realm where your muscular build takes on a distinctly Asian flair...

In this alternate universe, your physique has taken on a sturdy, softer form - not exactly lean muscle, but built for power and endurance like a well-oiled machine. You're no ordinary man here; you're an elite sumo wrestler, renowned across Japan for your brute strength and unstoppable force in the ring.

Just look at those round pecs. Your huge body is full from consuming copious amounts of chankonabe to fuel your training sessions! And don't even get me started on those tree trunk thighs - built for crushing opponents into submission. When you're not busy defeating rivals or preparing for the next tournament, which lucky fan will be tempted for a private demonstration of sumo moves? Maybe one brave soul will even try to squeeze into your loincloth…

Last but certainly not least, let's saddle up and gallop into a reality where your Hispanic heritage has given birth to an unforgettable stud of a man.

In this reality, you're a proud Latino stud born and raised in the heartland of America - a rugged cowboy at heart with a soft spot for the boys back home. Your muscular physique boasts a perfect balance of hard work and natural charm, from your broad shoulders to your chiseled abs and tree-trunk thighs.

In the heart of the Midwest, you own and operate a popular cowboy-themed bar, where patrons come not just for drinks but to catch a glimpse of the hunky Latino owner who likes to don a cowboy hat and vest. Your muscular frame is more defined than in the previous reality, with broad shoulders and huge daddy milkers that get all your patrons drooling for some action.

But it's not just your body that turns heads - when you're dolled up in cowboy duds at your popular nightspot, every detail screams pure machismo. Just imagine strolling through the bar, hips swaying to the rhythm, as thirsty gringos and Latino cuties alike can't help but drool over your irresistible charm. Who knows how many eager bottoms you'll have riding your horse tonight? Better saddle up and prepare for a wild ride. :)

I guess this is it. I really liked your latino version, maybe someday we'll be able to pay him a visit. 😏

[brainz4sale]

trans masc dysphoria tip!! 🏳️‍⚧️

✨ ROSEMARY WATER / COCONUT OIL ✨

helps to grow and thicken bodyhair :3

you can buy it cheap or just make it yourself! It’s not a gendered product and easily accessible <3 for me personally it works wonders when I apply it all over me every few days :3 I also recommend eye brow brushes to temporarily dye facial hair! just make sure to find the right tone and not stain your face

[reality-detective]

Batana is an ancient natural hair growth oil. 🤔

[occamstfs]

Court Ordered Change

Cyrus has long tormented those he sees as beneath him, his students, his roommates, just about anyone. When he's challenged by the university Honor Council he'll learn to treat others with decency whether he wants to or not.

Standard asshole academic to hairy himbo! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

“This will conclude the hearing on the behavior of Cyrus Washington towards his fellow dorm-mates.”

Cyrus was aghast, from the start he had been livid at being called to the honor council on drummed up charges that are purely non-academic. He’s got his second degree to work on, and just as those brutes in his classes do every day, the people he’s supposed to trust for help have simply wasted his already limited time. In a huff, Cyrus checks his watch and impatiently stands to leave. 

He is stopped by the gavel-handed bureaucrat sitting at the head of the council raising a finger as he tilts his head, “Oops! Nownow  Mr. Washington, there remains sentencing! I believe it would be prudent-”

“Oh what? Do I have to say I’m sorry!? Do you assh- judges not have anything better to do than waste the time of an actual student? You know there’s an AI Plagiarism epidemic right now so if you, uhm.” Cyrus freezes as he turns to see the man indifferently taking in his words, staring straight through him. Smiling wider than could possibly be comfortable, Cyrus catches the slightest lip twitch before he speaks up once more.

“I believe it would be prudent for you to walk a mile in the shoes of those you so denigrate Mr. Washington. As your roommate Reg suggests, you do not know the ‘struggle.’”  Cyrus grimaces hearing the pallid, still-grinning man say his roommate’s name. As if it were alien in his mouth. He hammers his gavel and his pale eyes lock in on Cyrus directly. He swears he can feel heat from the gaze as the freak finishes his sentencing, “The court sees fit to force you to change as you clearly will not better your behavior of your own volition.” 

The academic glances between the people sitting at the table ahead of him, force? He tries to speak up but is unable as the central judge continues, “Each further step you take on the path of belittling your fellow man, demeaning his intelligence, judging his appearance, insulting the core of his being. You will find yourself more than a step closer to joining him yourself. And with that, we adjourn this meeting of the Honor Council.”

Cyrus sneers, the honor council. A bunch of good-for-nothing little tyrants. They certainly never responded to the reports he’s levied against handfuls of students plagiarizing in his classes but when Reg Allen can’t take half the shit he gives Cyrus suddenly the world comes grinding to a halt. That, that oaf!

As soon as the thought takes pride of place in Cyrus’ mind it becomes irrevocably clear that the council was not being fanciful. He didn’t see them leave but they are suddenly gone. He does not know what they did but he feels it in his bones, intense pressure and throbbing. Cyrus could feel himself begin to change.

Perpetually thin from skipping meals to lead discussion groups and grade essays on top of his own research, Cyrus feels something novel. Not usually that sweaty of a person, he wipes his brow with his sleeve and notices how it catches just short. He feels his thin bony arm somehow straining a sleeve that has always hung limp, as every garment has to do on his slack shoulders and frail arms. 

The academic grimaces as he clearly sees not-quite-biceps for the first time ever, begin to fill his sleeves. Cyrus feels them slowly throb larger through layers of clothing as he runs the numbers on reality. Sticky with sweat he quickly disrobes from the suit jacket and runs into the bathroom. This could well be a nightmare, staring at his reflection he sees his curls lengthening, growing thicker as they fall down the back of his neck.

His lip twitches in disdain as they crest towards his shoulders. He shakes his head to focus and is immediately distracted, feeling his hair bounce lower. The words of the honor council echo through his head, they said they’d force him to change. These steps do not seem to be taken in that direction. An image of Reggie flickers in his mind and he is filled with irritation that the brute has any place in his subconscious, or whatever this wretched dream is.

Reflexively his new heavier arm goes to smack down on the porcelain sink he stands at. His brow furrows as he sees the meatier hand act so aggressively, as if he weren’t controlling it. His already thicker arms bulge and finally begin to send tears down the length of his ironed button-up. In between them he sees buttons beginning to strain and dark nipples poking out from the fabric as for the first time in his life there is something akin to definition on his chest.

Hastily he tears open the button up and gasps as he sees small pecs hanging on his thin chest, pushing larger with each increasingly anxious breath. Mouth open in shock he sees a shadow appear on his face and his eyes darken as his perpetually clean shaven face is darkened by a meager mustache goatee combo that he would never be caught dead having. 

As trimmed pubes begin trailing up towards his belly button, across a waist that has grown thicker but remained lithe, Cyrus can’t help but feel up his new form. His torso is slick with sweat and feverishly warm against his wider hands. Letting himself enjoy this bizarre dream, feeling himself start to chub up, in the corner of his eye he sees his expression dull. Just before he can bite his lip, Cyrus alights with rage as he recognizes the dumb look on his face. “God! This is all Reg’s fault!”

He will not find any pleasure in this clumsy inelegant form. He will not waste time working on biases that he has every right to have. The athletes in his university housing and dullards whose work he has the misfortune of grading are in fact not going to revive the benefit of the doubt. He pictures them sailing through life, imagining opportunities tossed at their feet due to their appearance or athletic abilities.

Jaw clenched hard enough to crack a tooth, he grunts in pain as it cramps. Feeling real pain he rubs his chin and ignores the feeling of more stubble growing underneath his fingertips. Wanting control of his dreamscape he imagines a chair behind him and petulantly crosses his arms as he goes to sit. This is of course, not a dream and he falls on his ass.

Grunting in pain he lands on glutes that have already begun to put on healthy weight. His dress pants tear from his vain attempt to catch himself and his crotch is freed to the open air as thick thighs send tears coursing down the length of his heavy legs. 

Cyrus reaches up to the sink to pull himself up, frowning at the dark hair that stretches down from his wrists. Until now he’s never even had to be concerned with body hair at all, let alone shaving. He’s been happily almost hairless for as long as he can remember. Feeling the wet jungle in his pits scratch his side as he pulls himself up he clicks his younger as this is apparently no longer to be the case.

In front of the mirror once more, his half-acceptance of his hairy pits and a paltry treasure trail immediately fades as he sees hair has spread far beyond these realms. Fertilized by the sweat still dripping down every inch of bare skin, his body has continued to grow, and with it comes a forest of thick dark curls. Like a trail of gunpowder, his pubes have steadily raced up his torso and now connect with an explosion of tight curls in the center of his chest. His thicker nipples are haloed by hair while the center of his chest is buried by still racing branches of curls.

Scratching at his itchy skin as in every corner of his growing body new forests of hair continue to sprout. Cyrus once more tries to mute the chaos of his changing mind. Rubbing his burning chin in thought as his small goatee puffs out and connects with his mustache, he desperately tries to ignore how the sound of it scratching and crunching makes him feel. Chest both anxiously hollow and full of pride as it continues to pile on weight, he resolutely stares at his reflection. 

Somewhere in the recesses of his increasingly foggy mind he finally realizes how changes seem to accelerate whenever thoughts of his obnoxious roommate take the wheel. Point in case as he crosses Cyrus’ mind once more he bursts larger. The man barely catches himself as he falls to the sink once more, weighed down by his entire upper body expanding at once. Had he taken any of the council’s words to heart perhaps he would realize that it’s clearly only when he digs at the man, but wont to blame anything but himself that seems a bridge too far. 

Looking decidedly athletic, as his shaky eyes take in his reflection and his quivering lips label him a mouth-breather evermore, what may be his last saving grace flows through his mind. He looks so fucking good, sure a little like Reg, a little like men he’s sure couldn’t stumble their way through a thesis. But he looks good. His eyes lose focus again as his fingertips dance across his muscled form. Imagining how good he’ll be in bed he’s halfway to drooling when he hears Reg’s voice in his mind, “Brooo let’s hit up the town!” The man’s face is clearer than his own reflection as Reg leans in closer than Cyrus could ever remember letting him, “Bout time we see if we can get a third like you wanted eh?”

The words that cannot be a memory strike him like a tackle, his attention is red hot as blush burns across his sweaty face. He tries to speak but finds his throat dry. Mind struggling to mediate between the two egos now inhabiting him, and filled with a thirst too great to ignore, he forces his head under the faucet and drinks from this public restroom sink. Shooting back up he has to fight the urge to punch his reflection as he sees red. Water dripping down his goatee he sneers and almost shouts, “I am not like him.” 

It echoes throughout the tiled room, sounding deeper as it returns, making the already sunken slow bass of his voice even lower. He swallows hard as an Adam’s apple bulges out if his neck underneath stubble that has begun to thicken on his neck and up his cheeks. “I’m not fucking like him! He’s so-” Cyrus hunts for an insult derogatory enough to suit his needs and comes up short. “He’s such- he’s so–” His hands shake with rage as they grow clumsier, arms hanging lower and biceps bulging larger with each anger-clouded heart beat and struggled breath.

Curls that once sat atop his head and hung down his neck begin to retract as with each refrain of I’m not like him, and each half-created thought of insult towards Reggie only compounds the fact that he is now more like him. His hair retracts and forces itself into a generic haircut almost exactly like that on Reg’s head. His mustache and goatee expand into a full beard that hugs his jaw as it too squares out. Body sculpted beyond belief, painted with hair that Cyrus has long denigrated, the once mousy academic finally realizes that this is all his own doing.

Watching his hair seem to straighten as his eyes lose the intelligence he has long held above all else, Cyrus tries to speak up too late to make a difference. And just then his cock bursts his shorts. He moans loudly in the bathroom as his briefs fall to the floor, exposing a mass of curls surrounding a cock harder than it’s ever been before. Standing out straight it smears pre across the porcelain sink before dripping even more onto the tiled floor. 

All the fight left in Cyrus drains alongside his haughty sense of self. He feels his balls pulse with a heavy need for release as they hang lower in the open air, staring at his hairy reflection he simply scratches his ass and laughs. The new Cytrus poses in the mirror flexing and quietly moaning as even the slightest movement sends his cock bouncing. Only when he hears the door to the bathroom creak open does he realize he’s standing nude in a public bathroom.

Under his thicker brow his unfocused eyes turn to see what poor or lucky visitor is going to stumble upon this stud. His ajar mouth turns to a smile as he instead hears the mystery guest announce himself who else but Reggie. His bro. “Yo Cy! You in here? Heard from the hammer guy that ya might be?”

Turning to find his roommate with torn clothes scattered at his feet, Reg laughs and makes sure no one else is going to stumble in on him. “Bruhh you can’t be goin’ around like this huhuh,” smile wryer than you might expect on his face as he goes for his bag. “Don’t work though bro, I’ve got some shirts for ya here throw them on.”

Cyrus quickly tosses them on commando and thanks his bro with a degree of kindness that he’d never exercise, even minutes ago. “Shit thanks Reg! Dunno what came over me, guess I just hit the gym too hard or uhhh, somethin?” His thicker brows furrow together as he tries to understand how he ended up in this compromised state. He’s not too worried though, his bro came to help before it was even an issue. Almost as if Reggie knew he’d be here.

Before that line of thought can be followed, if coming to conclusions was something Cyrus even remained capable of, Reggie throws an arm around him. “Ohh kinda sweaty bro aren’t ya?” Cy just laughs and smells his pits. Adjusting his shorts as his cock throbs from such close proximity to Reg, he tries to lean in even closer.

“Let’s get you back to our room huh? Seems like you could do with some rest bro.” Cyrus nods in agreement, eyelids drooping as soon as Reggie puts the idea to words. Despite whatever part he played in all this, with each breath of Cy’s new musk and each stamp towards their shared domicile his mind too begins to change. Cyrus has always been his bro, fuck they even share a bed. Way cheaper to bunk together.

Yeah that’s what it is, the economics of it all. His own jockstrap is strained as he feels the sweaty man burning under his arm. Scratching his beard with his free hand he lets his mind swim. The life shared with his bro quickly usurping the months spent lodging with someone who treats the world as beneath him. 

By the time they’ve made it back to their suite Cy’s already half asleep. Reggie deposits the sweaty man face down onto their bed and he immediately begins snoring. The bed creaks as his changes come to their conclusion, growing heavier as he becomes the perfect complement to his roommate. Then he sets about his day as always, not quite noticing how the world around him has changed. Pictures on the wall now showing him and Cyrus together, of course, as they always have been. 

The thought, ‘it’s better this way’ briefly crosses Reggie’s mind but he promptly shakes it off. No idea what it could possibly be referring to. Scratching his chest he starts preparing lunch for the both of them. Getting a ping from Grindr from a twink excited to pay the pair of them a visit, Reg just smirks. Doesn’t get much better than this. He wouldn’t change a thing.

[futureperfectchanges]

The Leather Jackets

"How about this one?" Finn asked as he held up a leather jacket to show to his friend Greg. "Seems a bit smaller than the others."

"Maybe, although perhaps we should try somewhere else?" Greg replied, he was getting a bit nervous now that they were actually in a store looking at jackets. A couple of nights ago they had gone to Infernos, their local club, and seen a flyer for an upcoming leather night. One thing had led to another and Greg had admitted that he had always had a bit of a thing for guys in leather. Greg had definitely not expected Finn to then suggest going to the leather night, but was excited when he did as he would never have had the courage to go on his own.

The only problem was that the flyer had said wearing something leather was mandatory, and neither of them owned anything suitable. They had joked about getting some harnesses, but had decided to play safe and go for leather jackets. Finn had already found a jacket he thought was good, but everything had been a bit too large for Greg. "Let's just try these on, and if they don't fit we'll try somewhere else."

So the friends made their way to the changing room where Finn was the first to try on his jacket. Finn was the more outgoing of the two, and had always enjoyed going out in fancy dress which was why he'd suggested attending the leather night, but even he was now worrying they might not be able to pull these costumes off. Finn had a bit of a baby face, so once he slipped his jacket on and saw himself in the mirror his first thought was that he looked like a child wearing adult clothes trying to look tough.

Finn had expected the leather to feel cool, which it was to start with, but once the jacket was on he was surprised to get a bit flushed. He was worried he might start sweating into the leather, but the warmth quickly faded away at which point he noticed just how comfortable the jacket felt.

Finn smirked a little as he looked at himself in the mirror. He straightened his back and pushed out his chest to show off his chiselled body. He started thinking of the other leather jackets he had but couldn't remember any fitting as well as this one.

"See Greg, nothing like a leather jacket to help make you look like a man. I'm glad you've finally agreed to join me at a leather night, and if you are anything like me you're going to love it." Finn said confidently as he checked himself out in the mirror.

"That's fine for you to say, you've worn stuff like this for years and have the body to suit it. I just don't think I can pull it off, especially not with something that is too large for me. I think we should go somewhere else." Greg said starting to lose whatever confidence he had.

"Well we are here now so you might as well try that jacket on. You'll at least know if you like the feel of it." Finn replied. He knew his friends at the leather night would love Greg regardless of what he looked like in the jacket.

Greg reluctantly started to put on the jacket. What he had not told Finn is that his interest in leather was not about looking cool. Instead it was about domination. He had always been small, weak and mostly submissive, but when he thought of leather he thought of heavily built intimidating men and everything he wasn't.

So Greg knew that even if the jacket had been his size it would never be right to him, something which was confirmed to him as he looked at himself in the mirror. Greg thought he looked ridiculous and knew that the idea of going to a leather night had been a huge mistake. Greg started to feel anxious as he thought about how he should never have said anything to Finn. The jacket started to feel suffocating around Greg's body, but before he could take it off he felt the ball of anxiety in his chest burst out across his whole body.

"Wow, that looks great on you Greg" Finn said as Greg admired himself in the mirror.

"What did you call me Boy?" Greg barked back whilst staying focused on the mirror.

"Sorry, I meant the jacket looks great on you Sir."

"Another slip up like that and i'll be forced to punish you." Greg firmly replied as he turned to face Finn, with both of them getting turned on by the thought of what might come later.

[alternate-real-ities]

No longer a good boy...

Based on @occamstfs' story.

[king-craftsman]

To Be Shipshape

The night was still young and in its youth came hope. For many, these hopes were for a good night, dinners, dates, excited outings and illicit dealings. For Dean Winchester, hope came as a new lead. As his Impala drifted into the nearby parking lot of the harbour, his tense jaw and tight grip refused to loosen. This could be the night, the night where his hopes were met too, the night where he found out what happened to the missing men of this country. It had been nearly two months now and eight disappearances, all men, all at night, all at seaside towns. 

Someone joked that maybe it was some siren song that drew these men to the ocean; to let their bodies soak in the sea and taste its salt before they disappeared into the depths. In Dean’s line of work, something like that wasn’t a joke, it was a possibility. The engine of the Impala died at once as Dean stared at his target, the old ship that may have been the witness to it all, or the cause. Some said they saw an odd looking ship around the harbour, usually sailing away to disappear into the mist of the sea. 

There was only one conclusion Dean could come to, ghost ship. The ship looked like it was out of time, a wooden behemoth that creaked as it slowly danced upon the waves. Its sails were rolled up, an anchor of a rusted chain planted into the ocean and ropes that tied the ship to the docks. It was ancient, it was imposing and as Dean stepped closer, getting the hint of sea salt and something else, warm and spicy, he had to admit, it was beautiful. 

He glanced around, only the tides and the creaks of the ship were his companions at the docks. He had everything he needed and years of dealing with the supernatural to help, so he didn’t understand why he was taking so long to walk up the wooden steps, to let them groan underfoot and for him to board the ship. But it did, he stood there just taking it in. He had seen so many odd things on his journey but this ship, this odd slice of time that had thrown itself into the present, was definitely up there. 

Dean ventured forward. He didn’t know if it was perhaps the night, the growing height or the Fates themselves, but the wind soon picked up. Suddenly, the howl of the winds and jangle of chain were newfound companions as Dean climbed up the steps and went aboard deck. To say it was like entering a new world was an understatement, this felt to be a new realm, with its own laws, the first of which came through its sway. Dean had been on ships before, hell unlike Sam he never used to even get sea sick. But he stumbled as he took the first step and realised just how much the ship was swaying. 

For a second it felt as if the world was warping, as if to turn upside down and let the seas fall nowhere. But then the next second the sway came in the other direction and Dean stumbled again, struggling for footing until he clenched onto the bannister of the ship. It took a moment for him to be able to stand and then, it felt as if he would fall any minute, before he heard a voice. 

“Ahoy mate. Can I help ya?” Dean wasn’t sure what surprised him most, the fact he heard a voice or the voice itself. It sounded sultry, deep, a strong accent that carried itself on the winds. Dean looked to see a man step out of the doorway that led below deck and couldn’t believe what he saw, for all intents and purposes, it was a pirate. He was a short lean man dressed to the nines in dark leather. A short head of hair swayed in the wind and the bearded man was rugged, an undershirt exposing a slither of a muscular chest and a pendant. Fingers were adorned in rings that glinted in moonlight. And as he stepped closer, there was a new smell, a different smell, that emanated from the man and almost caused Dean’s eyes to water. “Mate, are ya alright? Ya look like ya don’t even got yer sea legs.” 

It was hard at first for Dean to understand what he meant until he realised he was still holding onto the side of the ship. 

“Uh right uhh...Who are you?” What the hell are you was more like it. Was this some sort of renaissance fair thing? Why was Dean on a swaying ship talking to a pirate? 

The pirate himself chuckled as if he could hear Dean’s thoughts. 

“Captain Killian Jones,” Killian introduced as he gestured out to the ship. It creaked in response. “And this is me ship, now I’ll ask again, who are ya? And what are ya doin’ here?” Dean didn’t think he’d get caught this easily. When he saw nobody was around, he thought maybe this was some enchanted ghost ship, somehow taking people and he’d be in and out. But the Fates laughed through the whistle of the wind. Nothing was ever so simple. 

“Dean.” He didn’t offer his hand to shake but instead stood up straighter as he glanced around at the deck. It wasn’t as if anybody else was coming up. “So...Who are you? What is this? Are you like part of some...I don’t know, some show or something?” 

Killian chuckled. 

Dean furrowed his brows. 

“Show? Aye mate, the best show on earth,” started Killian with a cocky grin that showed off his pearly whites. “A show of the seven seas itself, pirates, treasure, gallivanting and shanties. It’s a sight to see mate.” He gave Dean a wink, causing him to be taken aback. “Why don’t I show ya?” Dean thought about it. Every sense in him told him to get off the ship, that he’d come back with Sam, Cas and figure this out. But he was sure this was the ship and the ship always got away. This was his chance. But he shook his head. It was too risky a chance.

“Thanks but I…” Dean started but his sentence died in a weakening drawl as Killian stepped forward and suddenly the scent was back, stronger than ever. Dean couldn’t quite place it, this foreign concoction that had him blink away watering eyes and stifle a cough with how strong it was. All he could get was a hint of leather and a taste of that same spicy scent that greeted him as he stepped closer to the ship. “I...Yeah sure, I have some questions.” Killian’s smile widened as his eyebrow raised in interest.

“Great mate, come with me! We’ll get this all sorted and get ya shipshape,” And the two of them were off. The winds whistled louder. The Fates laughed harder. All the while as Dean started his descent below deck, a gust of wind shut the door behind him.

As Dean Winchester delved into the depths of the ship, he felt himself being entombed by wood, shadow and those otherworldly scents. The different squeaks of the steps and the general feeling of descent told him that he was going down. 

But every other sense was wholly distracted. All he could see was darkness and all he could smell were those mingling scents that loomed closer with every step down. It wasn’t until Dean’s eyes adjusted that he could see a soft glow emanating from a doorway deeper inside. 

It danced and it was only a moment later Dean realised it appeared to be some sort of torchlight as he smelled the faint scent of flame. One last step and Dean found himself on the same footing as Killian and soon into the hallway of the ship where the air felt twice as heavy. It was almost like he had to push himself to move as Dean stifled a cough and waved his hand in front of his face.

Ugh that smell...Dean scrunched his nose as he tried to focus on breathing through his mouth, but that only made him cough more as he got smoke into his lungs. Killian chuckled as Dean coughed a couple more times.

“Ye aint used to the smell are ya? Don’t worry lad, you’ll get used to it,” commented Killian as he sauntered on forward. Dean could still barely see as he cleared his eyes but other people were down here too, all men and all dressed like pirates. He glanced over towards them, to see if any of them matched the missing people’s description, but it was hard to focus as the ship’s swaying felt far worse below deck. 

At any rate, Dean was far too shocked at how none of these guys seemed to break character. All of them greeted him with thick piratelike accents and lingo, as if they weren’t just playing pirates, as if they were pirates. 

“I don’t plan on staying long,” replied Dean as he narrowed his eyes towards Killian. He couldn’t see what the pirate’s reaction was, but he could somehow tell that the captain was still smiling. After the fifth or sixth pirate greeted him, Dean was thankful when he saw Killian open a door at the end of the hall.

“This is me quarters here,” Killian announced as he swung the door open and a blast of heat and scents jetted out the room. Dean didn’t get seasick, but this was all making him nauseous and he quickly stepped in and let himself fall back into a chair at the end of the desk, a hand kneading his temple as he tried to focus. “So mate...What can I do ya for?” 

The door was closed and suddenly Killian was sitting at the other end of a long desk, adorned with maps and parchment, a dagger in the wood and loose gold coins strewn around. The office itself was slightly cramped, a collection of knick knacks that formed an odd fusion of living and working space. On one side of the quarters was bedding, an end table, and the next was an office, for a meeting of the minds, bookcases, plans on parchment, the scent of gold that had been won and gold to be found. 

But that wasn’t the only scent that lingered in the quarters of Captain Killian Jones. It only took a few moments for Dean to feel sweat start to form on his brow. He pulled at his shirt and tried to hope that he could ignore the stifling heat. That he could handle, but what was more difficult was that smell, as persistent as a predator, it didn’t seem to worm its way towards Dean. He had been following it the entire time, as he looked towards Killian Jones, taking a deep sniff and realising that the smell was twice as intense in here, in the captain’s living quarters. He reminded himself to try and only breathe through his mouth. 

“Okay so uh...Killian is it?” Dean blinked. For a man who had met archangels, the name still sounded ridiculous. Killian cocked an eyebrow.

“It can be whatever you want it to be mate,” the captain winked. Dean blinked again. “But for now, how about we stick with Captain, or if ya must, Captain Jones, seven seas I’ll even let ya have Captain Killian.” Dean rolled his eyes. Seriously? At this point, if it was just a guy playing a pirate then it’d be ten times worse, the idea of someone staying in-character for so long. The smell reminded Dean that there was no way he’d be able to sit in here for too long. 

“Sure...Captain Killian,” said Dean, addressing the name with the same seriousness as a child’s nickname. “Didn’t mean to just wander onto your...ship.” The ship croaked in response. “But I need help with this...investigation I’m doing.” 

For the first time Killian’s cocky demeanour vanished. His smile fell and the focus of his eyes seemed to be more threatening than amusing. 

“An investigation, ya say? What kind of investigation lad?” He reached over for one of the coins on the table, starting to fiddle with it as his other hand drummed against the table. Killian took a cursory glance to the porthole where he saw nothing but the endless dark oceans of sky and sea. 

“Just about a...crime I guess, someone said they saw a ship like yours nearby,” Dean paused to take a breath. Even breathing here felt slower with all the heat and (he took another sniff and frowned), musk. He frowned in disgust. “I’m not a lad by the way.” Killian’s amusement threatened to return. 

“Aye? That so mate? Well ye see anyone who don’t even have their sea legs here is a lad, lad,” replied Killian. He began to spin the coin on the table and slamming it down after a few spins. Spin, slam, spin, slam, spin...and slam. Dean’s eyes were drawn to it in annoyance. “But mate I dunno if I can help ya, I’d have to see what night it was, who was the lookout-” Dean reached into his jacket and fished out a folded piece of paper. He threw it towards Killian’s side of the desk. The ship swayed again and Dean gripped his chair much to Killian’s amusement. He didn’t even try to hide his smirk as he took the paper. 

“That’s the night the...crimes took place,” explained Dean. His jaw tensed as he studied Killian, still playing with that coin (spin, slam, spin, slam…), still clearly not caring about what the ship did or didn’t see. Or rather, what the crew did or didn’t do. “The crimes…” Dean blinked as the ship swayed again, he still wasn’t used to it and it made it even harder to focus as his stomach churned. He felt like his head was churning along with it, his next words lost to nausea. 

“Crimes, crimes, ya keep goin’ on about crimes...Can I ask what exactly happened mate?” questioned Killian. “Help me…”  Spin… “Help you lad.” Still spinning... Dean was growing more and more frustrated with that coin. It was like the longer Killian played with it, the more his eyes wandered over, just to glare at it, just to have to blink every time- SLAM. That happened. Dean inhaled and almost instantly regretted it as he resisted the urge to cough from all the musk around. Even hints of the scent, the salt and leather of it all was too much for him. 

“Men-” started Dean. Spin… 

“I tend to bed em,” interrupted Killian. SLAM. “What about em?” Spin…

“A lot of them have gone missing,” exclaimed Dean. “I just thought you might-” SLAM. God he hated that sound. “Might know anything-” Killian shrugged.

“I might mate, but I doubt it,” replied Killian. “Besides…” Spin… “Why’d I know anything about that sort of thing?”

“You’d know because your ship was nearby and could you stop playing with that damn coin?!” Dean snapped. The heat was unbearable. The smell was worse. The coin was the last straw. Killian stared back at Dean. “Look, either you know something or you don’t, but you should quit wasting my time.” 

“Aye mate? Is something…” Spin… Killian smiled darkly. “Bothering ya?” SLAM. Dean just glared back.

“Yeah actually it is, can you just stop for a second and take this seriously?” said Dean. Spin...Dean swore to God that the coin was growing louder. It was going to drive him crazy.

“Tell me about em,” Killian purred. His voice had grown lower as he continued to play with the coin. He let it spin just a moment longer before- SLAM. It was Dean’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Killian chuckled lowly. “Tell me about ya complaints lad.” Spin… 

“What?” Dean wanted to ask more, namely what kind of joke was this? But he saw Killian’s expression darken and knew that in some odd way the pirate was being serious. “Fine, I’ll tell you. The smell, the musk, the chair is sticky, your coin is annoying and you-” SLAM…

“Are one of the hottest men you’ve seen,” interrupted Killian. “Is that right?” Dean scoffed. 

“Yeah, you wish,” said Dean. Killian smirked. Spin…

“Then why are you hard mate?” Dean looked down and suddenly gasped. His eyes widened as he suddenly felt a presence in his pants, a presence he should’ve felt before. His dick was hard! But not just hard, but almost throbbing, that was until… “Or should I say...Throbbing lad.” SLAM!

Dean’s cock bounced for attention, suddenly throbbing as he panted and looked down at his member. He had never gotten so horny in his life, so hard, so desperate as his cock almost felt like a whole new limb, so solid as it bounced in his jeans. Sooner or later, he was going to get so hard it was going to start a tent against the worn denim.

Spin…

“F-Fuck! What? N-No…” Dean panted as he swallowed, his throat having suddenly felt dry. “This can’t be happening! What are you doing?!”

SLAM!

Dean grunted as his cock hardened even more and started to tent in his jeans. “No! No...Stop it!” Killian chuckled as he...

Spin…

“Oh too late to stop it mate, too late to stop…” SLAM! Dean bit back a groan. “Anything. It just…” Spin… “Feels so good to be…” SLAM! Dean couldn’t stop groaning then. “Controlled.” Spin… “To be…” SLAM! Dean moaned. “Mine lad...Cause that’s what you are...As you start to…” Spin… “Leak out all your thoughts.” Dean’s eyes widened as he felt himself fall back into the chair the more he tried to get up.

“No please dooooh-” SLAM! His cock throbbed again and began to sputter pre-cum, as Dean looked down, half-lidded and flushed.

“You were saying mate?” Killian teased. Spin… “Or were you too busy…” SLAM! Dean groaned out loud. “Leaking out your will out ya cock…” Spin… “And getting to obey Killian...Hook...Ya captain...As you…” SLAM! Dean moaned again. “Leak out for Captain Killian…” Spin… 

“N-No-” Dean grabbed his cock hard with both hands, so hard he knew he wouldn’t even find it in himself to stroke. It wasn’t painful but he put enough pressure on his cock to squeeze out some more pre-cum and slow down any more from flowing. Uncomfortable enough that there was no way he could throb more.

“Oh, a fighter are ya? Well what if I…” SLAM! Dean grunted but kept his grip tighter. But he suddenly began to smell something as he heard leather shift and then plop. “Help with that…'' 

Killian suddenly put both his sweaty feet on the table, having taken his leather boots off behind the desk. 

The musk hit Dean like a heatwave and his eyes stung from the sweaty salty musk. 

But worst of all his grip loosened. 

“No I-” Spin… “I can’t-” SLAM! “Give in…” Spin… “Can’t…” 

“Resist?” Killian finished as Slam! The stain in Dean’s pants grew. His mind felt far away. All he could hear was Killian. “Can’t…” Spin… “Resist obeying ya captain?” SLAM! Dean groaned and to his shock it sounded like a groan of pleasure and approval. “Can’t resist…” Spin… “Staring at me feet?”

SLAM! Dean groaned and this time it was a groan of approval as his body instinctively humped the air and his half lidded eyes focused on Killian’s feet. Everything and anything from the sweaty soles to the musky scent to the wriggling toes, wriggling back...

SLAM! And forth…

Spin… Back…

SLAM! And forth…

Dean couldn’t even hear himself moan at this point because he just did it so easily, it was like breathing, he wouldn’t know until someone pointed it out. And Killian never pointed it out beyond a hand at his leather clad crotch and his signature smirk. 

“Please…” Dean let out a weak moan, a whimper that sounded of pleading rather than resistance. He could barely think, barely understand what was happening. But he was still as strong as ever, and he knew he had to resist. He had to. He wanted to. He didn’t want to. He...Spin...Fuck….Not again anything but...

SLAM!

“Oghhh god-” He moaned and realise now his breaths were becoming pants, taking in more and more musk. The toes were still wriggling, still captivating, still so hot. 

“Now mate…” Spin… “When my foot touches your face, you’re gonna just…” SLAM! Moan. “Sink! Understand mate?” Killian sat on his desk, the foot now beginning to raise and reach closer and closer as Dean moaned and whimpered and tried his bet to back away. But the seat didn’t budge and neither did he.

All he could do was crane his neck back as the foot got closer and closer.

“N-No...Stop…” The foot was half a foot away. “Please...Fuck…” Getting closer now, still wriggling, still spiralling. “Can’t…” The musky foot was inches now. “Can’t…” So close. “Can’t…” So big. “No…” So good. “I-”

The foot pressed against Dean’s face and with it he was under, sinking deeper and deeper in both his mind and the chair as he was forced to breathe in Killian’s musky foot. He even licked his lips, his tongue tasting some of the sole as Killian let the foot slowly descend down, toes brushing against his lips. It just went down and down and down like Dean’s mind, as the foot caressed his chest, his abs and then reached down until it rested right up against Dean’s denim clad throbbing cock. Dean whimpered and shifted slightly, grinding his cock against the sweaty foot as Killian just chuckled at him.

“Well mate, seems ya found me secret. But now it’s time to get ya...Shipshape,” Killian smiled down at Dean as he let his foot nudge gently against Dean’s member. “Everytime I click me fingers, you are going to slowly turn into more and more of a pirate lad.” 

Dean’s brows furrowed, some part within him still fighting, still resisting. 

“You are going to forget this whole thing happened and think we had a normal meeting in me office. But everytime I click me fingers, you are going to obey, going to become more and more of a pirate as part of me crew. You are going to forget your old life, ya old friends, that don’t matter now. What matters is ya crew and most importantly…” 

Killian let his foot play with the wet slick head of Dean’s cock through his jeans. 

“Ya captain.” Dean moaned lightly in agreement and let out a small nod. “Now how about I let ya…” He moved the foot up to Dean’s lips. “Have some fun…” He slipped the toes between Dean’s lips, smiling wider when Dean let out a muffled groan and took the toes in deeper. 

“Before long it’ll be time to…”

Wake. 

Dean shot up with a start, unfortunately taking long breaths as he tasted something salty on his tongue. He looked down at himself, seeing he was fine and then around at the room. The ship was still swaying and Captain Killian Jones was sat on the other end of his desk, feet up as he inspected one of his rings. He looked up, piercing blue eyes meeting Dean’s as he gave a weak smile.

“Good mornin’ mate,” Killian said jokingly as he saw Dean look around confused as the ship swayed again. 

“The hell? What happened?” questioned Dean as his eyes locked onto Killian. For some reason that sickening sensation, that churning of the stomach, seemed slightly duller now. Killian gave no answers, only a smirk. Dean broke his gaze with Killian as he looked around. 

Everything about this place seemed the same, the same disgusting odd scent, the same rickety aged interior, and the obnoxious charming captain at the helm of it all. Even behind a desk, it seemed as if he was in charge of the room, the conversation, perhaps even of Dean. From the way Killian Jones glanced at him, with a raised eyebrow and stupid stunning smile, Dean wagered the man knew it too.

“Nothin’ mate, we were just talking and you fell asleep is all, musta been real tired.” There was almost a mocking tone to Killian’s words, as his words wavered slightly like the surface of the sea. It was an odd way of talking, hell, the accent alone was an odd way of talking. But it did make Dean feel the need to listen. “So what were ya sayin’?” 

What was Dean saying? He sighed and sat up in his seat, hearing his back click as he stretched out. He glanced down to his notebook, looking over some usual notes and some he barely remembered making, before a last stroke of the pen that slips off the page. 

“Well mate?” 

“Yeah I’m getting there,” exclaimed Dean as he looked up annoyedly at Killian. It frustrated him more how all the man could do was smile and take glee at the situation, as if he was incapable of taking anything seriously. Anything that wasn’t playing pirate anyway.

“Alright, alright mate just chop chop,” Snap. Snap. Killian snapped his fingers twice and with each snap, the sound echoed in Dean’s mind and for a moment he looked through Killian. He blinked as he felt something shift in him too. His feet suddenly felt colder as the socks around them were gone. The arches clicked and the toes sprawled forward as Dean’s already sizable feet grew a size larger. His once roomy brown leather boots now suddenly felt tight and cramped on his feet, causing him to groan lightly in pain as he peered down at his feet. But that was something he’d come to soon regret, as he smelled something musky emanating from beneath him. He wasn’t sure if it was somehow his feet, but as they continued to fill the shoes, they began to feel warm and sweaty. “Something the matter, mate?” 

Dean looked back up.

“Uh no so uh…” He began to flick again through the notepad. “You’ve told me...Most everything but, like I was saying, has there been anything...Weird to you? Anything you’ve seen that’s just...Unnatural?” Dean narrows his eyes, watching Killian as they look away, seeming like they were suddenly deep in thought. There was nothing about this man that Dean could take seriously, the sooner he could get out of here, the better. 

“Hmm, well there was something lad,” spoke Killian as he turned to look back at Dean. “Something...Bloody hell, I can’t remember uh…” Dean leaned forward with anticipation. 

“What was it?” Dean questioned. “Look, anything, even the slightest thing can help.” Killian drummed his fingers on the desk, looking upward as he was trying to remember. 

“Seven seas mate, it was on the tip of me tongue, it was…” Snap. Snap. Killian clicked his fingers twice as he tried to remember. Dean shifted in the seat as he suddenly felt his feet become less cramped. The shoes themselves changed, the leather beginning to ride up his ankles as it darkened all over. The shoes themselves turning into dark tall leather boots that were more than sizable enough to contain Dean’s larger musky feet. But the boots themselves stunk of it, making the scent even worse. Dean was about to look down before- “Oh! I remember mate!” Dean quickly looked up at Killian.

“Yeah? What?” Dean quickly asked, almost forgetting about checking out what was going on with his footwear and his feet. He tried his best to ignore that pungent musk filling the air but it was starting to get too much and he could already start to feel slightly light headed. But only slightly, as if he was getting used to the scent. 

“One of me crewmates uh…” Snap. Dean grunted as his ass cheeks began to protrude. They grew rounder and softer, making him feel cushioned in the chair. He shifted in the seat, feeling like it had suddenly grown tighter on him as he swore he was an inch or two taller in the chair now. He glanced back to check why he felt so odd. “Derek I think it was, he saw something real strange mate and he...Mate? Hello?” Snap. Dean instantly looked back to Killian and let out a gasp as they felt their cock grow hard, suddenly throbbing as it made itself known as a bulge formed at Dean’s crotch. 

“Huh? Wha-” Dean bit back a groan, biting his lip as he glanced down concernedly at his cock. Why was he getting so hard now? What the hell was going on with him? He could feel sweat beginning to form at his brow and only realised now that he hadn’t even been taking notes since he started asking Killian questions again. “Sorry, what?” 

“You alright mate? You seem a little, I don’t know…” Snap. Dean gasped as his cock throbbed and he swore it seemed to grow an inch. At the very least this was the biggest boner he’d ever had. “Distracted mate.” 

“Yeah, yeah look I think I gotta go I really-” Dean said as he was about to stand up.

“Oh no stay mate,” Killian purred. Dean shook his head, still halfway in his seat.

“No, I’ve really-” Snap. “Oh!” Dean fell back in the seat, moaning as he looked down to see his cock throb again, only this time he could see that it was starting to leak. His navy blue jeans were beginning to appear stained only...Wait, that wasn’t pre-cum, or at least it wasn’t just pre-cum. 

It was something else, something darker...something shinier… 

“Wha...What...What the fuck?!” Dean glanced down in shock and horror as he went to tug at his jeans, but they wouldn’t budge. His belt was nowhere to be seen and the button had all but disappeared. Killian sat back and watched the show unfold as he saw Dean desperately try to wriggle his way out of the jeans. But they wouldn’t budge, mainly because they weren’t jeans anymore. They were quickly darkening into tight black shiny leather pants, matching his boots and growing tighter. “No, no what the fuck is this?! What’s happening?!” 

Dean’s breaths became pants, as his hand continued to try and pull at the tight leather, to drag it off of himself. But everything around him seemed so distracting. From the musk that permeated from his boots, to the ship that he swore swayed just when he almost got a good grip on the pants, to Captain Killian, sitting there and staring eagerly. But the worst came with his dick, his thick and sensitive length of arousal that he could feel was smeared by pre-cum that had no choice but to flow over and down his cock. 

His breaths became gasps that became pants that became light groans of arousal, much of them snuffed out by this constant resistance that tried to stop his voice. Dean managed to hook a finger into the pants when...Snap.

“What’s wrong mate?” Killian smirked as he saw Dean look up with a shock and then look down at his pants. As if his legs were made of jelly, he could see them wobbling slightly, and feel them grow warm with the heat of change as he started to feel them stretch.

“No, no, no! What the…” Dean gasped and then groaned as he felt the first changes, his thighs growing just slightly wider, causing the leather to groan as it stretched out. “What the bloody hell have you-” 

Dean covered his mouth, partly to stop the groaning but partly because...something sounded different. And he saw that Killian heard it too. The man raised an eyebrow and gave a smile that was of a welcome surprise before Dean moved his hand, trying to grab one of his legs, to see if his strong hands could stop the growth.

But his thighs widened with muscle, as if he was on his legs all day, every day. Dean knew his brother told him about the benefits of cardio, but he thought hunting was all the exercise he needed. Now his legs looked like he went running every other day. 

“What’s wrong mate?” Killian chuckled. “Go ahead lad, speak.”

Snap.

Dean groaned and writhed in his chair as he looked down to see his own leather jacket was now starting to disappear. He knew the only one with a leather long coat was Killian...Captain Killian.

No, fuck! Not a damn captain! Dean thought to himself as he looked down, more preoccupied with what was happening to his shirt. His own shirt began to transform into some thin undershirt of cheap fabric, slowly lightening to a pale, almost ivory colour. 

The sleeves grew slightly wider and were peppered with strings that crossed over. It looked to be one of those shirts some knight would wear on a medieval historical show. But a moment later Dean realised it was one of those undershirts from older times, only this one wasn’t a prop.

This one was real.

The neck hole was slightly larger and the opening of the shirt exposed some of his chest. Dean continued to grunt and groan, refusing to let these moans of pleasure escape easily. But most of all he didn’t dare speak, in fear he’d-

Snap. 

“I said speak!”

“Fuck, I don’t…” Dean grunted as his lips moved all on their own. He tried to urge his hand to cover his mouth but he suddenly didn’t want to disobey Captain Killian. He couldn’t. Snap. “Fuck please man don’t-” Snap “Fuck m-m- mate!” Dean gasped as he could feel more and more of his southern American accent was fading, as more and more of his clothes did. The pen in hand turned into a quill. The notepad became sheets of parchment that fell to the floor. Everything about and around Dean was changing, growing perfect to be on a ship like this, to be…

Oh god, not that, Dean thought.

“Sounding a bit...Different lad?” Snap.

Dean watched as his chest began to itch. He groaned out loud as his pecs grew even larger, becoming two sizable pouches of muscle that jiggled as he writhed and gyrated his hips in the chair. His own cock was practically leaking out a fountain of pre-cum, so much so that some arrived in spurts with each-

Snap. 

“F-Fuck mate, my- me voice...What the hell did you do to me...my fuckin’ voice!” Dean yelled as he looked down. He wanted to get up, but it was like his body was incapable, as if he was trapped in this very room, right where the captain was.

Fuck, he wish he could stop calling Captain Killian, captain.

But he couldn’t.

“Sounds like yer wantin’ to join our crew mate.” Snap. Killian chuckled darkly as he watched Dean struggle, looking down to see chest hair beginning to sprout out across his enlarged pecs. Dark blonde hairs that spread across his upper chest and down beneath his undershirt, tickling him as they grew and radiating more musk. “Come on mate…”

Snap.

“No please I’m not...Not some bloody- Oh fuck gotta...Gotta make this stop mate,” cried Dean as his arms began to balloon out with muscle. They widened, growing a couple inches thicker as all his tattoos along his chest disappeared, as if the chest hair itself rubbed it away. Dean could feel the changes racing up to his neck now, as his previously shaved jawline was beginning to grow hairy again. “I- I just fuckin’ shaved, ya can’t...Fuck me fuckin’ voice, please make it...Make it stop!” Dean’s voice wrestled between his grizzled deep southern voice and a more smooth and seductive British accent. 

Words and knowledge of piracy, life on the sea, the different parts of a ship slowly started to make themselves apparent. They first appeared in Dean’s dialect, and then like ink on parchment, sank further into the material, drying there and making its place more permanent in his mind. Soon, the word starboard wasn’t just something he kept thinking about in his mind, but it was something he knew the meaning of, something his voice itched to use.

“Oh come on lad, just give in…” said Killian.

Snap. 

“No please don’t fuckin’ do anythin’ you bloody-” Snap. Dean throbbed and writhed in the chair, cock throbbing as not much changed about his angelic face besides the beard that made him seem more grizzled. His body was done. It was his mind that was now the plaything.

“Just let go…” continued Killian. 

“I’m not lettin’ go of anything you fuckin’-” Snap. Dean moaned and fell back in the chair, he was losing the battle of resistance. His cock felt so good, everything felt so good.

“Join me crew…” purred Captain Killian.

“No stop before...Me voice, no me fuckin’ voice what the bleedin’ hell have ya-”  Snap. 

“Ohhhhhh-” Dean moaned.

“And obey ya Captain…” declared Captain Killian.

“No...Please...Fuck I ain’t a bloody pirate, you can’t-” Dean saw Killian raise his fingers slowly. “Fuck mate! No! Don’t do it! Don’t make me some fuckin’ pirate! No! Don’t-” Snap.

“Come for ya captain,” commanded Captain Killian. And how could Dean disobey? The last of his mind slipped off that cliff of resistance and basked in a freefall towards lust, debauchery, chaos, a crew, a Captain. 

His cock throbbed and then, the dam fell, with one last pump, he felt his cock shoot out jets of hot seed into his leather pants. He grabbed his cock, trying to stop it, but all it did was make it worse as he felt his leather clad member practically vibrate with how hard and fast it throbbed, almost fucking his hand as he came again, and again, and again. Dean’s eyes rolled into the back of his mind and fittingly saw nothing but darkness back there, as if he was staring directly at his brain to see it just cloaked by the shadows of musk and lust and obedience for Captain Killian. 

Dean Winchester was no longer the Kansas born supernatural hunter. He was now Deacon of Winchester, one of the most handsomest pirates of the seven seas, a traveller and like much of the other crew, occasional lover to the one and only Captain Killian Jones. 

After he came out of his senses, he came back to them as he woke up with a start in the captain’s quarters, his captain’s quarters. 

“Bloody hell mate, what happened?” Dean Winchester, or as he was now known, Deacon of Winchester looked around. Captain Killian just smiled down at him.

“Looks like ya hit yer head mate, ya feelin’ shipshape?” Killian looked down at him with a smile and a look of expectancy. Dean Deacon didn’t know what he was doing in the captain’s quarters but he just smirked towards the captain.

“Right as rain mate,” shot back Deacon much to Captain Killian’s satisfaction. 

“Well then, get back to it mate. That’s an order,” Captain Killian winked at Deacon, causing their smirk to widen. They stood up and gave a nod.

“As ya wish, Captain Killian,” replied Deacon and with that, he left the quarters feeling like a new man. He took in the deep scent of the sweat, musk and rum, the manly scent of a hardworking crew. All before he got back onto the deck of the ship, the sea around them and the salt in the air. Nothing felt better than being here, to be sailing on the open seas with his crew, his rum and his captain. It sure felt good to be a pirate. 

This story was originally posted on my Patreon, but I've decided to release it for FREE. Click here to check out more stories like this on my Patreon and feel free to message me if you want to find out more or if you just enjoyed this story!

[austinbutlerslovers]

His hair is growing so fast 😍