#biker tf

[octuscle]

Gas Stop

Max was drenched in sweat. He had been given a high-powered Mercedes at the airport in Frankfurt and was now speeding along the Autobahn on his way to Stuttgart. The speedometer showed 180 km/h. The German Autobahns were murderous. He hadn't been here for 20 years, shortly after graduating, and had the impression that driving behavior had become significantly more aggressive. 190 km/h. Suddenly, a headlight flashed in the rearview mirror. A Porsche was not even a meter behind him. Startled, Max yanked his steering wheel around and pulled the car into the middle lane of the highway. The Porsche accelerated and sped off, followed by a Ducati whose driver revved up the engine powerfully. Damn, Max was now driving over 200 km/h, but the two speeders must be doing well over 250 km/h.

Max's knees were shaking, his hands were sweaty. There was a rest stop in five kilometers. He needed a coffee. And a toilet. He took his foot off the gas. The speedometer needle dropped counterclockwise toward 100 km/h. The exit came up. Max braked. Thank God, now a break!

The Ducati that had just overtaken him was standing in front of the wash rooms. At least it had an Italian license plate, Max had noticed. Motorcyclists who race at such speeds are all suicidal, Max thought, shaking his head, as he paid the fee to use the toilet at the entrance barrier. He stood at a urinal, unzipped his fly and peed. Someone approached from behind and stood right next to him, although the toilets were otherwise deserted. Max concentrated on the urinal in front of him. But given the smell coming from next door, it was hard for him to do so. Leather, sweat, cigarette smoke. Normally rather repulsive. But now? At this moment? Somehow arousing. His cock was getting hard.

He heard the sound of a zipper opening. A long zipper, not the short one of a pair of trousers. The smell of sweat became more intense. He carefully turned his head. The guy next to him was the motorcyclist. He had unzipped his suit, so not only his cock was exposed, but also his sweaty T-shirt, from which the chest hair on a muscular chest peered out. Max stared in the direction of the stallion next to him. He couldn't help it. He made eye contact with his neighbor. He began to jerk off his uncircumcised cock. “Fucking?” he asked. German, with a heavy Italian accent. Max didn't speak German, but he understood that. The stallion pissed, kept jerking off and left, using his boner like a signpost. Max followed without a word, his boner also sticking out of his pants. The Italian stallion went into a stall, stood against the wall and held his cock out to Max, grinning. Max understood. Even though the floor was wet with piss, he knelt down and began to suck the balls first and then the cock. Damn, the smell, the taste of salt and musk made him so horny. He had the biker's firm, leather-clad ass cheeks in his hands and the cock in his face. His own cock bumped against the toilet bowl. Shit, had the beast always been that big? The fabric of his jacket became heavier. The rustling of fabric became the creaking of leather. The thoughts in his head began to blur. Shit, somehow it always felt like this when he sucked Andrea's cock. The two were motorcyclists out of passion. And every gas stop was also time to cum. Speeding along the highway at almost 300 km/h not only released adrenaline but also testosterone. Lots of testosterone. And a lot of it Andrea squirted into Massimo's face now.

“Another espresso, Mimo?” Andrea asked. Massimo grinned. ‘Mimo’ was what his mother had always called him when he went to kindergarten. Andrea and Massimo had known each other since then. No one except Andrea was allowed to call him Mimo. “Is that a question? A break without jerking off in the bathroom and espresso is not an option!” The two had been best buddies for almost 20 years. But not gay. Jerking off and sucking off only ever without eye contact!

Pic by @ki-kink

[worldoffetish69]

[alphajocklover]

I saw this super hot biker dude on my way home and I was wondering if you could make me like him? I’ve always been a nice guy but I want to experience life as a total bad boy. I mean everything, the muscles, the tattoos, the straight promiscuous sex, being in a gang doing crime. All the bad boy biker things. You think you could make me that way dude?

I actually haven’t done much with bikers. I don’t really know why, but besides that one wolverine based transformation I haven’t so much as mentioned bikers. I suppose it could be because I’m slightly obsessed with jocks and tend to focus on them more than others but it’s not like I haven’t reported on different transformations, like surfers, dilfs, and even greasers before. Yet I’ve almost never mentioned bikers before, and I’ve absolutely never turned someone into one. There's a first time for everything though, and bikers are really hot. However, before we turn you into a bad boy biker we need to figure out how you’re going to become one. Most of the transformation methods I have on hand are jock based. But… There is one thing I have on hand that would be perfect for you.

It’s a motorcycle. Yes I own a motorcycle. It’s not really mine, I’ve never ridden it or used it. I actually inherited it from an Uncle, but that’s another story. I haven’t got a clue on how to ride it, and if I was going to use a motorcycle I’d probably use something else. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a well made machine, and it looks cool as hell, but if I were to put the key in the ignition and start the engine… while you can probably guess where this is going.

It won’t happen all at once. It’s going to be a more gradual than you’d think. You’ll gain muscle slowly over the next few weeks, just slowly enough that it seems less like magic and more like an unexpected growth spurt. The mental changes will go at about the same rate, with you slowly losing old interest over the next few weeks, replacing your geeky hobbies with more… biker appropriate ones. You’re going to end up with a fascination with motorcycles, a love of beer, and a knack for getting into trouble. The most starling change will probably be the tattoos, as I believe they’ll just appear towards the end of your transformation. In a matter of weeks you’ll go from a skinny nothing to a beefy, beer guzzling, motorcycle obsessed, pussy fucking leader of a biker gang. Yes, you’ll be the leader. You’ll probably attract a gang quickly without much effort too. People are gonna be drawn to you, your sheer badass manliness.

No more mister nice guy for you. From here on out you’re anything but fucking nice.

**hey there guys! Hope you like the Biker TF. It was nice to try something new. And it gave me an idea for the mystery uncle I mentioned. Enjoy!**

[ki-kink]

Like, seriously?! Why do you even need to ask why he got his motorcycle license? Duh, because all he needs is a mirror to instantly get revved up, bro!

[fredwkong]

hi. I was finally given a vacation for the first time in 2 years of work, and I would really like to spend it away from home. I want to travel around the world and visit remote corners of Asia, Africa and America. but I'm afraid that with my 25-year-old blasphemous body and European type of appearance, I will look like a typical tourist, and I would like more inclusivity. what do you recommend? ;)

Thanks for your booking with FWK Vacations. Your world tour is sure to be a blast!

You wake up as your nose fills with the thick, rich smell of a man’s sweaty body odour. The smell is so strong that it takes you a moment to get your bearings. You’re in a hostel room, the other bunks full of gently snoring men. Outside the window, dawn is just starting to break.

There’s no AC in Malaysian hostels like this, so you’ve been sweating all night, and the stench is thick around you. But it’s not like you wouldn’t be sweaty again in a few minutes, so you decide to skip the shower. You ran out of deodorant somewhere between India and Myanmar, and you don’t have the spare cash to buy any more.

As you slip back into your still-wet biking gear in the bathroom, you check yourself out in the mirror. You’re paler than most of the people in this part of the world, but with your dark eyes and arresting features, everyone can see that you’re mixed. That means that you’re welcome everywhere, and no guy has ever hooked up with a boy like you before, well, you. Hopefully, by the time you and your motorbike roll up to Singapore, you’ll still be cute and sweaty enough that a hunky daddy will pay for you to continue your travels somewhere else.

Enjoy your vacation!

Want to go on vacation? Book via my ask box!

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

TF141 + cars

SOAP is a car guy in the sense that he drives a junker manufactured the same year he was born (the significance of which, he says, speaks for itself). 

refers to the car as she and loves bringing up how sexy she is when she chugs to life. you think it's a weird flex until you realize he's not talking to you; he's talking to the car. 

often tells her he's gonna get her all fixed up as soon as he has the money.

GAZ is a car guy in the sense that he drives a sleek, sporty, low-ass car. a convertible. keeps it pristine enough that he can keep whitewall tires on his baby and they stay clean.

cream interior. all the bells and whistles because if he's gonna cruise around london when he's off-duty, he's damn sure gonna do it comfortably. 

pays to keep it protected in covered parking while he's gone on leave.

side-eyes Soap's mismatched aftermarket parts; can't help but respect his dedication.

PRICE is a car guy in the sense that he's had his since Gaz was in diapers. the thing can't possibly have any resale value anymore but it's the first and only new car he's ever bought.

uninterested in getting her fixed up because she's no ship of theseus. no sir. he fixes only what need fixing when it needs fixing. the rest is original parts. no need to fix what ain't broken and all that.

she's almost come back into vogue as a classic car. wasn't his intent, but he's glad to see so-called collectors putting respect on her name again.

GHOST is a car guy in the sense that he's a motorcycle guy.

scoffs at Soap and Gaz preening over their rides. they don't know what it is to love their rides until they've squeezed their legs around it while it purrs.

[sneakyparsnipslicer]

A Chance Encounter

[A request from @leathercanuck90, enjoy folks!]

Neil had been on the road for hours. Driving down the motorway returning home from work, the sky was blackened and the rain was chucking it down. It wasn't exactly his ideal weather to be driving in, in fact he was anxious each time a car sped by on another lane.

It had been a rough few months for Neil, work had needed him to stay on for overtime in the office, his wife had divorced him taking the kids with her, his luck was just about running out and sometimes he wished it was all over. But he kept telling himself it had to get better at some point.

Driving on, he checked a sign at the side of the road, about 5 miles to home, and a service station coming up. He considered it for a moment. He did need to piss from all the coffee he'd been drinking on his shift, wouldn't be a bad idea to stop and get something to eat either. He switched on his indicator and moved to the left-most lane, turning onto the road that led to a car park. Neil parked his car and undid his seatbelt, turning the engine off. He sighed and looked ahead. He could see the lights of the garage in the distance. He put on his raincoat and opened his door, being greeted to the cold, wet rain hammering down outside. He shut his car door, locking it and proceeded to hurry over to the building.

Getting inside he lowered his hood and dried his shoes on the mat. Looking around he could see a little cafe with a seating area, nearby toilets, not too many people around. It wasn't too bad, quite charming infact. Neil wanted to have a look at the cafe to see what was available, but then he remembered his bladder was full. He could get some food after.

Hurrying into the men's toilet, he ran over to the urinal closest to the door, unzipped his trousers and began to piss, sighing in relief. He hoped for a moment that nobody had heard him, but there seemed to be nobody else there. He shrugged and continued pissing. A few seconds later he heard footsteps and the door was slammed open. A sweaty-looking man dressed in motorbike leathers burst in panting, spooking Neil. The man looked to see Neil and composed himself, giving Neil a nod and walking over to the urinal next to him.

'Hey, sorry if I frightened you pal. I'm bursting! Bit of a bad night huh?' the man asked, unzipping his trousers and pulling his dick out.

'Oh yeah, it's awful!' said Neil, nervously chuckling. He eyed the man next to him, he seemed to be impressively built and he couldn't help noticing the size of his cock.

'Where you coming in from then?' the biker asked, looking to Neil, who he noticed was looking and began to chuckle. Neil looked to him and read the situation.

'Oh, oh no sorry!' stammered Neil.

'Hey it's alright. Hell, I've got nowhere to be if you've got time' said the biker, winking at him. Neil froze on the spot. Was this man offering himself to him.

'Umm, sorry Sir, I'm not about that life' said Neil, looking away and beginning to zip up his trousers.

'Aww come on buddy, it'd be just us, nobody has to know!' teased the biker, leaning towards him, knocking him playfully on the shoulder. Neil thought about it. It wasn't like he was married anymore, life had been pretty shit lately but this absolute leather stud of a man was offering something he knew he'd always been curious about.

'C'moooon!' whined the biker. Neil looked to the ceiling, shaking his head.

'Fine, why not?' said Neil, flapping his arms in surrender.

'Oh hell yeah!' cried the biker, zipping up his flyers and getting a good look at Neil.

'So, uh. How would we go about this?' asked Neil. The biker approached him, sizing him up.

'Well first' began the biker, lifting Neil up by his armpits and slamming him into the wall, pinning him close to it, giving his neck a good, deep sniff.

'Oh, my…' said Neil in surprise, not expecting such force.

'Mmmm, you smell so good' said the biker seductively, kissing Neil's neck. Neil could feel himself hardening in his pants.

'It's Imperial Leather' Neil chuckled, the biker thrusted his pelvis into Neil causing him to moan out.

'Oh you like leather huh? Guess it's your lucky night!' said the biker smiling, looking at Neil's lips. He moved in and kissed Neil passionately, pushing him even more into the wall.

'God I want to be inside you!' the biker growled, moving his hands to feel Neil's slim frame. Neil thought about it, he'd never actually been fucked in the ass before.

'Does it hurt?' asked Neil absent-mindedly, to which the biker pulled back and looked at him confused.

'I mean does it hurt when a guy's entering your backside? I've always wondered' said Neil. The biker began laughing.

'Oh Honey! You're new to all this huh?' he asked, kissing Neil gently.

'Well I mean this is the first time I've had the chance to have sex with a man' Neil explained. The biker nodded in understanding.

'I see, well from my experience it doesn't. You'll love what I'm gonna do to you. You're a bit of a tight squeeze, but I can work with that' the biker said, reaching around to caress Neil's ass.

'Oh, I see. Well then, should we go somewhere so nobody finds us?' asked Neil. The biker shook his head and turned Neil to face the wall, pinning him to it again.

'Nah, this shouldn't take long' said the biker, massaging Neil's ass, crouching down to undo Neil's belt and pull his trousers and pants down. Neil placed his hands on the wall and looked down as he saw his own dick spring free of it's confines. The biker proceeded to plunge his tongue into Neil's ass hole, making him yelp out in surprise. He could feel it tickling the sides as it explored, lubricating it. It felt amazing. Neil looked to the ceiling, breathing heavily, moaning and panting.

'Alright buddy, going in!' said the biker as he unzipped his own leather trousers and dropped them to his ankles, pulling down his own boxers and placing his dick between Neil's ass cheeks. He started out slow as it slid into the untouched territory. Neil began moaning, slapping his right hand on the wall. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced and he was loving it. The biker began grunting as he began to fuck his way in gradually deeper and deeper. Eventually his whole dick was inside Neil's ass.

'Now here's where the magic happens Baby' whispered the biker, and he placed his hands on Neil's shoulders, which to Neil's astonishment began to sink through his shirt's fabric and merge with his shoulders. He was lost for words, he could only watch as the biker's arms proceeded to slip into his own, taking control of them and giving ownership to the biker. The arms began to feel Neil's body.

'Feels good don't it?' asked the biker. Neil nodded, gasping from the warm, orgasmic sensation he was feeling. The biker rested his chin on Neil's right shoulder and placed the hands against the wall, pressing his chest against Neil's back.

The biker began to move his feet into Neil's legs, starting with his right one, letting it sink in, and then the left one. Neil was beginning to lose all feeling as this new sensation of the biker invading his body overtook him. All responsibilities, all the shit going on in life just didn't matter to him anymore. It was all about this biker now.

The biker began gyrating his hips, sinking further into Neil's body, merging with his ass, back and chest. Then he pushed Neil's head against the wall as he proceeded to merge his head with Neil's. Eventually the biker was fully inside Neil's body and grabbed his new dick, pumping several loads of cum out, alongside all of Neil's memories, anxiety and sorrows. He stood there a new man with a mix of Neil's clothes and the biker's leathers. He began to chuckle.

'Well, Mr. Neil that was glorious, but I think I'm gonna go by Larry now' said the man, removing his clothing. He felt everything, his new ass, his dick, he checked himself out in the mirror. A lot of Neil's face had been kept.

'Oh Honey we're looking cute as fuck now!' Larry chuckled, flexing and admiring his own muscles. He put on the biker's leathers, leaving Neil's clothes behind and walked out of the toilets, he took a nose ring out of his pocket and clipped it on and headed back to the car park. It was still raining outside, but that wasn't a problem. He sauntered over to his motorbike and began to rev the engine.

'Mmmm, yeah. Hear that baby purr!' whispered Larry. Putting on his helmet and speeding off into the night.

[21wanderer]

Final Goal

Body a day - #30: Pecs

The final entry in @max-the-many's challenge.

“Paul? Why?” those were Lucas’s last words before he collapsed on the floor, his hand still pressed against his throat, his gaze becoming vacant. I chuckle, “you really haven’t figured out yet? I’m not Paul,” I pinch my cheek and pull, making my face distort grotesquely as Paul’s face detaches from my own underneath. I let go and Paul’s face snaps back in place, restoring my disguise. There’s a brief expression of soul-crushing horror on Lucas’s face, but then it disappears as the sparks in his eyes fade.

“Paul was a really nice disguise, as was your other friend, Stefan, but they were just the means to an end,” I say gloatingly to the unconscious hunk on the floor, kneeling to stay level with him, “you were always my final goal!”

There’s no response, Lucas seems to be well on his way in the conversion, soon he’ll be ready to wear.

“All it took was a couple of bodysuits to get close to you, your friends will become part of my collection, but you – you are the crown jewel.”

I begin to undress, taking off Paul’s bike leathers, his undersuit and the rest of his motorcycle equipment.

I place my hands on Paul’s forehead and begin to push it backwards, causing his mouth to expand for my own head to poke through it. Feeling the air on my original face feels strange and weirdly unfamiliar, but I’m not staying like this for long, once I’m inside Lucas, I’ll never take him off again.

Slowly I squeeze out of Paul’s skin, struggling to get my body out of his. It isn’t exactly a graceful transition as I clumsily pull out of Lucas’s biker friend, then again nobody is going to know.

I let go of Paul’s skin, letting it collapse on the floor as I eye up my new possession: Lucas Wilson.

He’s ready. I lift up the hollowed-out skinsuit, that used to be Lucas. I was aroused and excited with making this my new permanent body, but I wanted to savour the moment. I strip Lucas, pulling off his clothes piece by piece, placing them in a neat little pile, smelling them as I remove them – it’s a musk, I can’t wait to make my own.

Stripped naked like myself, I admire Lucas’s beautiful and sculpted body, those gorgeous muscles, especially those pecs. And they are all mine!

I carry the Lucas-suit into his bedroom, technically it’s my bedroom now – almost. I place it on the bed, even when deflated and visibly hollow, this body still looks amazing.

I run my fingers gently across his impressive chest, his defined abs, (they aren’t exactly rock-hard, but they will be, once I’m inside,) his well-endowed… his thick thighs and calves. I also run my fingers down his massive arms, from his broad shoulders, to his toned biceps and triceps and big hands. Finally I run my fingers across his angelic, handsome face, distorted by the lack of a skull, but still beautiful. I’m insatiable and feel like I’m about to burst with excitement, I can’t delay this any further.

I grab Lucas and stretching his mouth wide open, I begin to slither in. It’s always such an indescribably arousing feeling to pull on a bodysuit. It’s warm, smooth and squishy inside, and I slid my feet in like I had done a few times before taking my time to get the toes in. I pull Lucas up around my legs, his muscular legs now back to life. I slip his ass over mine and I slip my own meat into his; and like pulling it on like a condom, it springs to life, perfectly reflecting how aroused I am.

I pull Lucas’s mouth further up my torso, making my flat and featureless stomach disappear, and be replace with Lucas’s sculpted abs. I keep pulling, so that I can get the pecs almost in place, then I plunge my hands into Lucas’s impressive arms. Stretching out Lucas’s mouth wide enough to pass my shoulders, I finally get the upper torso into place. Running Lucas’s finger across my wide shoulders, muscular arms and perfect pecs, I smile to myself, before I flex hard, the muscles respond flawlessly. They are ready to serve their new master. I look at my reflection, seeing my face one final time, I must admit, that this pristine body suits me, but I want it all. I then stretch Lucas’s mouth one final time to stretch it over my head, then I let go with a snap. It’s dark for a moment, but I soon open my eyes and see the room again through new eyes.

The second-to-last thing I have to do is to push Lucas’s facial features into place. Staring insatiably as my handsome features fall into place, the facial massage has done it’s trick, I pull a few faces, it’s perfect. “Looking good, Lucas, looking really good,” I say to the stud in the mirror with my new voice.

I rub my new pecs, I’ve dreamt of rubbing hands my hands all over them since I first saw them on Lucas’s social media, and now they’re all mine! I twist the nipples, each placed on a big slab of muscle. My muscles!

Finally I inject myself with another syringe, I am making this process irreversible. I am Lucas, now and forever. I have never tried this injection before, but it feels like I’m bubbling inside, binding with my new skin, I can feel my senses sharpen and I feel ‘more real’ than ever.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I laugh, a fiendish laughter expressing my sheer delight of my accomplishment. I rub my nether regions, not able to contain myself any longer and a chill rushes through me, down my spine as I climax satisfyingly. Not bothering to clean up the stains right now, and done with what would only be the first of many sessions of self-gratification, I walk out of the bedroom, where I left the Paul-bodysuit. I smirk to myself, then I grab Paul’s motorcycle leathers, the ones I arrived in, and begin pulling them on my naked body. I’m now bigger and stronger than Paul, so the suit is going to get tested to see if it can contain my new muscular frame. I had no reason to worry, the suit is a perfect fit. It looks even better on Lucas me, than on Paul. Lucas doesn’t have a lot of motorcycle gear, but I’ll make sure to change that, in the hallway I find Lucas’s own motorcycle boots and gloves, well, my motorcycle boots and gloves, both several sizes bigger than what I wore before, but now they fit perfectly on my feet and hands. Riding a motorcycle as Paul was incredible, but going as Lucas is going to be many times better, but it’s going to have to be a short ride for now, there’s so much else I have to do - to put this new body to the test. Pecs and everything!

[octuscle]

Accountant wanted

Let's not kid ourselves: no one expected Dylan to have a career. He'd barely managed to get through school, and probably only got his bachelor's degree out of pity. But he really did look like he needed to be pitied. Slightly overweight, bad skin, a squeaky voice and an annoying laugh. Most of his fellow students who were not doing a master's degree had job offers in the bag before they had even started their bachelor's thesis. Not Dylan.

In the beginning, Dylan kept his head above water with his old student job. Cashier at the supermarket. Sometimes he was also allowed to help out in the accounting department. Sometimes he also helped restock shelves. Nothing you'd need a bachelor's degree for. Sometimes Dylan also checked the supermarket bulletin board, but aside from tutoring jobs or babysitting for babies or pets, there were rarely any offers. Until that one day. There was the note. Handwritten. Blotchy. Not quite grammatically correct. But it said “Accountant wanted”. And Dylan could do accounting. Sort of. While he was working, Dylan didn't dare to use the phone. But right during the first break, he called the phone number listed. Someone answered whose English was rather broken. In a mixture of Spanish and English, Dylan conducted a kind of job interview. However, his Spanish was even worse than the English of his interlocutor. But somehow it seemed to have worked, because in the end Dylan received a WhatsApp message “Come mañana at 8:00 oficina. We looking forward to seeing you. I'll send the address later.” Dylan was so excited that his puny little cock actually got hard.

The next morning, Dylan got up at 5:30 a.m. It was quite a distance to Little Cuba. And he wanted to be on time and look good. With his white shirt, unfashionable tie, and tassel loafers, he looked a bit out of place on the bus. But he was at the specified location at 8:00 a.m. sharp. Dylan. No one else. Dylan checked the location again, which he had received via WhatsApp. He was exactly at the agreed place. It was 08:15, it was 08:30. It was 08:45… At 09:30, a man on a motorcycle stopped in front of Dylan. “You Dylan?” Dylan's mouth went dry. The guy was a mountain of a man. Muscles, hair… Tattoos… Leather… The man got off his bike and gave Dylan a fistbump that nearly knocked Dylan to the ground. “Soy Enrique. Pero call me Lobo. ¿Qué pasa con esa clothes tan silly?” Opened the rolling grille of the store they were standing in front of. Lobo pulled Dylan behind him. He went to the back. Dylan stood a little unsettled in the empty room. A mixture of cafe, leather clothing store and motorcycle repair shop. It smelled of oil, leather and sweat. For whatever reason, Dylan got a hard-on again.

Lobo came back and put a pile of clothes on a counter next to Dylan. A pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a leather vest. “Take them off! Get dressed!” It wasn't a request, it was an order. Dylan looked around for a sheltered spot. But there wasn't one. And Lobo barked more than he said: Here! So Dylan stripped. Thank goodness Lobo wasn't watching because he was looking for something. When Dylan put on the jeans that were loose-fitting on his legs, Lobo put a pair of boots in front of him. Dylan shielded his soft pale man-boobs from Lobo's gaze. He could hardly take his eyes off Lobo's steel-hard, tanned pecs. Lobo noticed this and made his muscles dance. Small damp patches from his precum formed in Dylan's jeans. Dylan pulled on the T-shirt, which was actually a cut-off tank top, and the leather vest. A mirror hung next to the rack of leather jackets. Dylan looked into it. He looked so ridiculous. His pale, chapped skin didn't match the masculine clothes at all. Since he was freshly shaved, his double chin was even more visible. And the gelled parting just didn't fit in at all. Not with his outfit. And not in the store!

Dylan asked Lobo what he should do now? Lobo looked at Dylan as if he wanted to eat him. “¿Soy yo el maldito contable? ¿Sé usar este puto ordenador?” he asked. “Todo lo que necesitas está ahí, en tu despacho.” Dylan had to make an enormous effort. Dylan didn't exactly speak the Spanish he had learned at school either. But he replied, somewhat haltingly and with a heavy accent, “¡Lo tienes, jefe! ¡No te defraudaré!”

In the corner that Lobo called his office, there was a surprisingly new and high-quality laptop with a Post-It with “clave: Lobo” stuck to it. Not exactly a high-security wing, Dylan thought to himself. But then, he wasn't employed for IT security. There were a few pieces of paper with notes next to the computer. Maybe there was a folder somewhere where he could file the notes. Dylan opened a drawer. And dollar bills poured out of the drawer. Small, large, hot off the press, worn… There had to be thousands of dollars. Lobo called out to him that he would like to know what yesterday's takings were and what outstanding debts there were. Well, counting the money was still the easiest task. Dylan was done with that by lunchtime. Then he had 18,743.00 dollars neatly bundled on his desk. His hands stank of money. It was hot and stuffy in the store. Dylan's hair was wet with sweat. He was hungry and thirsty. Lobo called out to him to get some tacos. And a few bottles of beer. Dylan took 20 dollars from the pile, made a note in an Excel spreadsheet and ran to get lunch. For Lobo, himself and, just in case, one or two of the guys who occasionally came into the store between errands.

Miguel greeted Dylan with a fist bump and asked if he wanted the usual. Dylan replied “¡Claro, amigo! Para cuatro personas, por favor. Y dame una botella extra de cerveza, estoy sediento como un buey hoy.” The two talked about the usual while Miguel prepared the tacos at his street food trolley. Soccer, the cursed Republicans, motorcycles… A few of the other guys, who were already eating or waiting in line behind Dylan, joined in the passionate discussion. Gringos rarely strayed into this neighborhood. Especially when it came to talking shit about Trump, there was no need to mince words. One of the guys asked Dylan how he spoke ghetto Spanish so fluently. Dylan shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea. It was just the Spanish he knew not only from Miguel, but also from Lobo and the boys. And Lobo was now snapping at him on the phone in exactly the same Spanish. He wouldn't be paid to blaspheme and gossip.

Dylan said goodbye to Miguel with a fist bump. He would have preferred a deep French kiss. But Miguel was a prude. Too bad, really. Well, maybe Dylan would be able to suck off one of the boys in the store later. As the youngest in the team, he was the one furthest down the hierarchy. And as an accountant, he was worth less than the money collectors, pimps or protection racketeers on the team. The others chose when and how he was allowed to have fun. When he arrived with the tacos, he took a quick look in the mirror: yes, he was the gringo on the team. But he worked hard on his body, his language and his attitude. He did everything he could to fit in.

It was only a short bus ride to his apartment. He shared a room with a couple of guys who worked in one of Lobo's restaurants, with whom he laundered money. They were cool. They helped Dylan improve his Spanish, they always brought food from the restaurant in the evenings and if none of the guys from Lobo's headquarters felt like playing with the gringo, Dylan always had the chance to fill a hole or get one filled. Not that early though, the guys rarely finished work before 10pm. So Dylan took the opportunity, swapped jeans for nylon shorts and boots for sneakers and headed for the pull-up bar in the small park around the corner. Time for a little workout.

The next morning, Dylan's morning wood led him straight to the bathroom. The boys hadn't come home until around 02:00 and he didn't want to disturb them. But fuck, his morning wood was almost painful. He stood in front of the mirror, sucked in the smell from his armpit and jerked off with his other hand. Shit, he was 19 years old now, this permanent horniness of puberty had to be over by now. But…. No… It…. Was… FUUUUUUUCK! Not over yet. Dylan wiped the mirror and the sink clean. Shit, too late to shower again. The boys had probably dropped off the last day's takings by now and if he didn't finish booking them by the time Lobo arrived, there'd be trouble. So he quickly wiped his upper body with the washcloth, brushed his teeth and set off.

When Dylan arrived at the store, no one was there except Juan. Juan repaired the boys' bikes. He'd been doing that since Lobo was still shitting in his diapers. And now he was working on Dylan's baby. Technically, it wasn't his yet. But if the month went as he expected, it would be his bike by the end of the month. Finally, no more of this damn bus driving. He hated riding the bus, almost like he hated that his parents had given him that silly name “Dylan”. That's why he'd been nicknamed “Gringo” by Lobo and his boys right from the start.

17,776.00 dollars. Less than the day before. Lobo would be fuming. But Dylan's job as an accountant was done. All the income had been properly booked to the restaurant, the laundry and the motorcycle workshop. Even though he himself stank of sweat and musk, his books were all clean and tidy. Maybe he could give Lobo a blowjob to thank him when he arrived. And then Dylan would take care of booking the expenses.

Pic by @ki-kink

[worldoffetish69]

[kylestfs]

Think I’m gonna take this Kawasaki Ninja. I know nothing about bikes - seems kinda dumb, but this one looks pretty sick. I can probably handle it, even with my twunky body.

Know nothing about bikes…? « Twunk »…? Yeah, none of that is true, and I have no idea where you got that from. Must’ve been a bad dream, you’ve literally always been absolutely obsessed with motorcycles, mechanics, cars….and you’ve always been straight as a pencil as well. Typical biker, all you want is to breed, dominate and be superior to others, and your body certainly helps with that. The constant sweat coming from your armpits, the horrendous funk emitting from your feet, filling your Nikes with a cheesy strench makes you a true alpha, and you’re full of that, although you don’t even care. You’re too dumb to realise that you smell, and you don’t care about anything except your motorcycle.

Statistics :

Identity :

Age : 20

Name : Matt

IQ : 72.

Personality : Dumb, arrogant, childish and immature, dominant and bro-ish. Very annoying, loud, and obnoxious. Extremely and excessively egocentric and full of yourself.

Sexuality : Straight, but doesn’t mind filling a twink when your alpha instincts take over. All you want is a hole to fill, « no homo ». 100% top.

Body :

Body type : Jock bro & biker boy

Overall attractiveness : 10/10, absolute stud.

Private’s size : 7.5 inches hard.

Rear end size : Small, firm and closed hole, making sure you never use it for anything that’s not farting, and other things related.

Overall B.O : 9/10 (very strong, manly and sweaty smell.)

Armpit scent : Sweaty, salty, strong funk.

Gassiness : 10/10, can’t stop farting around your biker bros, the rotten egg smell getting stuck in your leathers, and making your entire body stink of fart scent.

Foot smell : Absolutely odiferous strench, smelling of rotten cheese, sweat and old socks. Your shoes smell even worse, as the smell keeps piling up, and you obviously never ever washed them, filthy biker boy.

Muscles : Strong, gym-goer muscles.

[alphajocklover]

Hey bro, I have a bit of a strange situation going on. You see, I’m a big nerd, like playing dnd, good at math, into card games nerds. And I never really questioned it. But recently, I’ve found myself wanting to be more active, I’ve been wanting to become something I am not, a big strong guy. And it all stared when I rediscovered the Xmen through the show and upcoming movie. Could you, I mean, would you mind helping me become like my ideal man, Wolverine?

I want to be the small hunky and hairy beats he is, oozing with libido and sex appeal.

It's a little strange, but I’ve been getting a lot of superhero requests recently! Not that I’m complaining, I love writing about superheros. They’re interesting characters who have long histories and decades of lore to use. Plus they’re usually hot as fuck. And Wolverine is one of the hottest. Muscular, with a thick layer of hair, and gruff as can be. He’s traditionally a loner, but he has a certain rough charm to him. There’s a reason he’s been a part of almost every superhero team at one time or another. People can’t get enough of the guy. It could be his inventive power set, his ability to change with the times and still remain interesting and relevant. Or it could be that he’s an incredibly manly hunk whose animalistic nature makes people weak in the knees. He’s everything you ever wanted to be, or at least everything you’ve wanted to be since you saw those new X-Men cartoons. When you watched them, something awakened in you. And now… you’re becoming just like him.

You’re not becoming him, if that’s what you’re thinking. Whatever is happening to you can’t give you claws like Wolverine or coat your skeleton in adamantium. I mean, in our world adamantium doesn’t really exist, and even though some transformation methods could turn you into a perfect replica of wolverine or add onto the periodic table, this one won’t do that. It’s more fun to be a stud without the responsibility of being a superhero anyways, especially since one of his main powers is to survive incredibly painful situations. Now you get all the pleasure, none of the pain, and an absolutely studly body.

One common fun fact that people like to bring up about Wolverine is the fact that he’s… while he’s short. Really short. Since Hugh Jackman is over 6 feet tall, people tend to forget that in the comics Wolverine is a complete shortstack, standing at 5’3”. So, I’m afraid to say that you’re going to shrink quite a bit. Luckily, being shorter just makes your new muscles look even bigger and better. Your biceps are enormous, your pecs are amazing, and your abs are almost inhuman. That, plus a heavy layer of manly, thick hair, and you look like you walked right off the pages of a comic book. Or out of a very suggestive movie. Of course you don’t want to just look like Wolverine. You want to be like Wolverine. Which means a few… adjustments to your personality.

That might seem daunting or scary at first, the idea that your personality is going to change. But you won’t feel that way very long. Nothing is going to faze you anymore. Just like Wolverine You’re tough as nails and you act like it. Literally nothing throws you. You’re a certified badass. Yes, you have a sensitive side like the real Wolverine, but most people aren’t gonna see that. Most people, from your manly new friends to the girls you hook up with, are going to see the manly man, the strong warrior, the beast.

There are some small differences between you and Wolverine of course. The main one being that the guy in the comics doesn’t hook up with people very often. Too busy saving the world. And when he does get a love interest, the feelings between them are pretty serious. You don’t have the same patterns. You’re the type of guy who has a new girl every night and is constantly looking for more pussy. You can’t help it, with a massive cock and an even bigger libido. You’re the best at what you do, and what you do is fuck.

**Hey guys! Hope I did Wolverine justice. He’s a super hot character and I had a lot of fun writing a tf inspired by him. Hope you enjoyed!**

[ki-kink]

Of course, a sick motorbike suit provides some protection. But seriously, the crotch and booty are always the weak spots, man! Get that gear tight to stay safe, fam!

[malestransforming]

I’ve always wanted to be a young stud biker. Dumb, smelly leather gear, and obsessed with fucking.

snap

Welcome, slut. I love leather too. Bikers are fucking hot, right? And you’re about to become one!

That’s it, take off all your clothes. Swing your dick around just like that. You’ve got some extra weigh on you, let’s get rid of it. You’ll need to be slender and aerodynamic. You’re not jacked, but you’ve got some muscles. A nice flat stomach. There, that’s nice. You have a big ass too; some perfect cushion for those long rides. And with a perfect hole that will beg to be filled, but I’ll get to that in a second.

You want a bigger dick? This thing is a two-hander! Go ahead and give it a rub. Feels good, amirite?

Back to that hole of yours. You’re gonna crave dick inside you. You’re gonna love it when guys cum in your ass, sloshing their seed up in you. You’re gonna drip cum out your asshole and love it. You’re a fucking cum slut.

I got the last piece for you - your very own motorcycle leathers. Go ahead and throw them on. You don’t need underwear! You’ll be able to rub one out on the side of the road this way. Trust me, it’s easier. Slide into those boots. You don’t need sock either. Let your feet get nasty inside. The smell makes it better.

Fasten your helmet and straddle your bike. You look fucking gorgeous. Now ride off and find a dick to worship.

[burrcapts]

Phillip came to the barbershop in search of his missing son Adam, but he ended up finding so much more during his visit. As a respected, high level executive he refused to be intimidated by a bunch of thugs like the ragged members of the biker gang who appeared to have now taken over the place. Threatening to call the authorities if they didn't explain why his son insisted that he came here out of all places 'if he really wanted to see him so badly', as he put it in the message he'd received. Phillip had no idea just how many members of the local police department were already standing in the crowd around him. Or that the burly biker with a massive beard that he'd been talking to until now was none other than Adam himself. He was quite happy to show his dad what's been keeping him so busy recently. Ordering the boys to hold him down as he reached for a can of balm spiked by the biggest and baddest bikers in the entire gang that he'd been saving up for a special occasion. It sure as hell proved to be useful. Not many people have managed to maintain enough of a presence of mind to still try to escape once their muscles had grown large enough to potentially allow them to. Yet at least until now, none had enough of the determination to actually walk through the door when they saw themselves in the mirror on the way out, Phillip included. He suddenly froze, his already massive cock left as the only part of his entire body that moved at all, furiously throbbing and leaking in uncontrollable arousal at the reflection he saw in front of him. The reflection of one fucking hot biker daddy! "Give me... give me more of that fucking thing!" he growled and began madly beating off. Watching as his rapidly swelling body covered with even more fur and tats and his gigantic beard cascaded further down his chest each time he slathered every inch of it with more of the biker balm. Only getting his eyes off the mirror for long enough to grab one of those bastards who dared to hold him down earlier, bending him over and giving his ass the pounding it deserved. Since the moment he flooded that pig's hole with his massive load, the thought of returning to his old office job never once crossed Phillip's mind again. Who the fuck would want to when you could spend your days doing this, riding with your brothers and picking up new cubs to turn into real men?

If you enjoyed this story and would like to read more stuff like it, or have something written for you, - check out mcbaer on Patreon!

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[21wanderer]

Rigging a race

Body a day - #24: Sports

- “Is he done yet?”

- “Not quite, but the vacant expression on his face means, there’s only a little time left. Then he’ll be ready for you to wear.”

- “How did you do it?”

- “Slipped the serum into his sports drink, he didn’t even notice it.”

- “Not very sportsmanly.”

- “Shut it. There’s a lot of money on the line… Some distinguished people have bet a lot of money to see this guy fail big-time at the Grand Prix next week.”

- “Yeah, alright… Can I keep him afterwards?”

- “As long as you don’t screw us over, he’s all yours.”

- “Nice!”

- “So yeah, let’s get you inside.”

- “Right, can’t wait to become a real sports-biker.”