#corruption tf

[unusualtfs]

Marvelous Corruption: Captain America

heads up, this story contains lib to con tf as its main focus, so you might want to skip this one if that's not your thing. as a disclaimer, this story is in no way intended as a glorification or endorsement of conservatism or the republican party! that being said, i hope you enjoy the ride...

Crazed cultists weren’t the types of enemies the Avengers typically fought, Steve Rogers mused as he battled his way through waves of hooded henchmen, but he supposed there was a first time for everything. Apparently this particular cult was worryingly close to summoning an actual demon, so it fell on Captain America to put an end to their plans. Not just Captain America, too — Iron Man, the Hulk, and Thor himself were there as well, racing to the center of the complex to stop the ritual before it was too late.

Sometimes Steve missed the relative simplicity of his original time. Sure, the 21st century had smartphones and polio vaccines, but it also had alien invasions and, apparently, demon summonings. But he didn’t let those thoughts distract him as he threw his shield out in front of him, clearing the path forward.

Eventually, the four superheroes reached the central chamber, where numerous cultists chanted in front of a glowing red pentagram.

“Hey Cap, look at that — a star inside a circle. I think these guys are trying to steal your style,” Tony quipped before leaping into battle, the rest of them following suit.

Steve had thought the battle was going well, but just before he slammed his shield into the last cultist standing, the circle on the floor flared with blinding light, forcing the Avengers to avert their eyes. When they were able to look again, they were faced with the sight of a muscular man with ruby-red skin and hair vaguely shaped like devil horns. Steve’s first thought was that the hair was a little on the nose. His second was that they had failed to stop the ritual.

“Mephisto,” Thor growled. Evidently, the Norse god recognized this demon. Still, he made no move against him, instead idly swinging his hammer in his hand — perhaps he was waiting to see what Mephisto would do.

“Indeed, it is I,” Mephisto said with a flourish. “And you foolish Avengers have fallen right into my trap!”

Steve tensed, ready to leap back into action, but the demon just continued standing there.

“Uh, is anyone else not seeing the trap?” Iron Man said. “Because gonna be honest, I’m not feeling too trapped right now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Thor slightly shaking his head. The four heroes stood there, wary of what the demon was planning, but it wasn’t long before the Hulk apparently had enough. With a mighty roar, he charged at Mephisto, aiming a green fist directly at his red face.

Moments before impact, Mephisto did something, and Hulk’s clenched fist stopped inches away from its target, surrounded by a faint crimson aura. Steve moved to assist his teammate, but found to his chagrin that he too was frozen in place — as were Iron Man and Thor. He struggled and strained, but it was no use. Despite the super strength granted to him by the serum, he was powerless against the demon’s occult magic.

“My, such anger! Such violence!” Mephisto taunted. “For all that you claim to fight for good, there is evil in your hearts, Avengers. Such beautiful darkness…”

Fear slowly crept into the back of Steve’s mind. Whatever this guy’s deal was, he might be too much for the four of them to handle, he realized.

Mephisto continued his monologue. “Why not embrace the dark? If you let the corruption take hold, you’ll be rewarded with pleasures unimaginable. In fact…” An eerie smile spread across the demon’s face. “…By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be positively eager to cast aside all that useless morality.”

Steve couldn’t abide by this. “You’re wrong!” he growled, struggling to overcome the immobilizing enchantment. “We’ll never give in to you!”

Mephisto turned to look directly at him, and Steve felt those demonic eyes boring into him. “Ah, Steve Rogers. Captain America himself. You’ll enjoy this process the most, in the end.” Steve felt a renewed sense of foreboding as Mephisto’s sickly smile grew wider. “After all, the brighter the light… the darker the shadow. As you’re about to find out.”

Quickly, the demon muttered an incantation as he aimed a burst of crackling red energy directly at Steve. He only got a brief glimpse of the horrified faces of his friends before his surroundings shifted impossibly around him. Although he remained stuck in place, he felt himself falling faster and faster, until eventually the world around him stabilized. Suddenly released from the spell, he stumbled forward and warily examined his new surroundings.

It looked like he was in an office, and a fancy one at that. In the center was an ornate mahogany desk neatly outfitted with stationary and all manner of documents, accompanied by an expensive-looking leather chair behind it. It was flanked on both sides by large bookshelves filled with books and binders of varying thickness. The office was decorated in a way that clearly indicated the owner’s immense wealth, from the exquisite rug on the floor to the opulent paintings placed tastefully on the walls. Currently, the far side of the room was covered by velvet curtains, which Steve opened to reveal a large floor-to-ceiling window. Through it, the Capitol Building could be seen, and much further in the distance, the Washington Monument.

“I’m in Washington?” Steve muttered. “Why would he bring me here?”

It didn’t matter, he decided. He’d simply exit the office and navigate to one of the Avengers’ safehouses. Hopefully his teammates could handle themselves without him. But that plan quickly ran into a fatal error: the door was locked. It refused to budge no matter how hard Steve jiggled the doorknob, much to his consternation. What kind of door couldn’t be unlocked from the inside?

Well, it was no matter. He’d tried doing things the easy way, so it was time for the slightly less easy way. Holding his shield in front of him, he braced himself, sent a mental apology to whoever owned this office, and then charged full steam ahead at the locked door. He expected it to fly right off its hinges, no match for his super soldier strength. Instead, it stayed stubbornly put, sending waves of pain through his arm as his shield crashed futilely into it.

Befuddled, Steve looked down and clenched his fists. How had that not worked? How had he met his match in a simple door? But that was when he noticed something odd. His gloves had disappeared, fully exposing his hands. And his hands…

Steve gasped. Before his very eyes, his hands seemed to be aging, piling on years of wear and tear every second. As if he was watching a timelapse, he could only stand there in horror as a patchwork of veins and arteries became visible over newly wrinkled skin. Before he knew it, his hands had become gnarled and leathery. These weren’t the hands of a superhero in the prime of his life. These were the hands of an old man.

Shocked, he stumbled over to the window, dreading what he’d see reflected back at him. He tore off his helmet and threw it aside, not noticing that it faded into nonexistence before ever touching the ground. Sure enough, the face he was greeted with was vastly different from the one he’d woken up with. Oh, his facial features were all the same, but they were now accompanied by a wide array of forehead creases, crow’s feet, frown lines, and more. Every type of wrinkle one could imagine was now present on Steve’s face. Making matters worse, as he gazed into the window, he could see his hairline rapidly thinning and receding like an ebbing tide. Concurrently, his blond hair was being shot through with gray; soon enough, it had become entirely silver.

That was enough for Steve to start panicking. What had that demon, Mephisto, done to him? Had he extracted the super soldier serum from his body, made it so that the years spent under the ice were finally catching up to him? Would he soon be nothing but a frail old man? He felt his legs beginning to quake from the stress, so he quickly collapsed into the nearest thing he could find: that leather office chair.

As if a switch had flipped within him, Steve felt himself calming the moment he came into contact with the chair. It was a heavenly feeling, the way the soft leather hugged his ass, allowing him to sink into it the perfect amount for maximum comfort. That comfort paved the way for his next changes as an insulating layer of fat rippled into being all across his body. It started with where he was sprawled in the chair, with his back sagging under its own weight and his ass becoming as soft and cushioned as the chair itself. From there, it spread to his arms and legs, which threatened to burst out of his superhero gear due to their newfound width. His hands grew meaty with fat, larger now than they’d ever been. His torso was blessed with the presence of his newfound flabby moobs and perfectly round musclegut. Finally, the fat reached his face, framing his square jaw with stately jowls. He should have been freaking out, but strangely, he found he didn’t mind the changes. Enjoyed them, actually. His muscular figure hadn’t disappeared — he could still feel its power underneath the added weight — it had just been enhanced. He may be turning into an old man, but with his physique, no one would ever think of him as frail, he thought with no small satisfaction.

Strangely, the sense of comfort was beginning to extend beyond the chair to encompass the entire room. The office felt strangely familiar to Steve, and he wondered if he’d been in here before. It certainly felt like somewhere he’d spent a lot of time in — as if it was his base of operations, his seat of power, almost. Was that weird to think? No, he didn’t think so. The more he considered it, the more he could distinctly remember fielding calls and hunching over legal text in here.

Lost in his reminiscence, he didn’t register anything abnormal when the color began to fade from his uniform, becoming monochrome — pure white above his waist, pure black below. His clothes were changing in other ways, too. His pants weren’t designed to hug his no-longer-muscular form anymore; instead, they became black slacks that hid how his fat legs jiggled whenever he moved. They were soon joined by spotless leather dress shoes and a belt with a simple, but elegant, buckle. Meanwhile, his upper half was soon covered by a perfectly ironed white dress shirt, and that was soon covered by a woolen black suit jacket. A tie in matching black whipped into existence, wrapping itself around his collar to form a perfect Windsor knot. Finally, his shirt tucked itself into his pants, beautifully framing his round belly in the most flattering way possible. Steve couldn’t help but love the sensation of his belt buckle digging into his belly. It made him feel masculine. Powerful.

Speaking of power, something shifted within him as the strength granted to him by the serum was redirected toward a different purpose. His physical capabilities were diminished to the level of an ordinary man of his musculature — which was still far greater than average, but nothing more. But he was still just as powerful as ever. It was just that now, he used his power in subtler ways. Beating up bad guys morphed in his mind into humiliating his opponents every six years. Motivating his teammates with inspiring speeches shifted into winning the support of skeptical voters with empty promises and divisive rhetoric. People looking at him in admiration transformed into people gazing upon him in fear and envy — a change that made him swell with pride. Somehow, these new memories were so much more pleasurable than his old ones, so he embraced the new ones.

Steve didn’t even stop to question where these memories had come from, as the more he thought about it, the more he realized he already knew the answers. After all, he couldn’t have served in the Senate for this long without becoming a master of the game. Coming up on the end of his seventh full term, he had seen it all, and he had thrived in this world of smoke-filled rooms and underhanded deals that weaker men recoiled from. He had rapidly climbed the ranks, going from backbencher status to national prominence in no time at all, aided by his ruthlessness and total lack of morals. His appearance was swiftly updated to match his newfound personality, as his face became capable of exactly two expressions only: a mean, unpleasant scowl, and an arrogant smirk. Meanwhile, a golden Rolex appeared on his wrist, and he fondled it lovingly — it was just one of the many “gifts” he’d been given over the years in exchange for his full-throated support for one bill or another. 

But as much as his cutthroat personality had helped him gain power, it was ultimately his ideology that endeared him to his colleagues. After all, without their support, Steve could never have become the Republican leader in the Senate. Selfish, conservative ideals rushed into Steve’s head like a tidal wave, drowning out any previous convictions he’d held beforehand. With them came even more memories, which felt more real — and more pleasurable — than ever.

He remembered voting against expanding healthcare, because he’d used the payout from the insurance lobby to buy a second summer home in the Hamptons. He remembered voting to fund increased coal mining and fracking operations, because it would be so much better for his stock portfolio that way. He remembered railing against the immigrants and the queers on the Senate floor, frothing with rage, because they weren’t real Americans, not like him.

He remembered all this, because he was no longer Steve Rogers… He was…

Wait, no!

For a brief second, his old identity reasserted itself. He wasn’t some curmudgeonly, conservative politician; he was Captain America, dammit! Desperately, he held on tight to the very pillars that formed the core of his identity as Steve Rogers: his childhood growing up in Brooklyn, his time spent fighting HYDRA in World War II, his commitment to looking out for the little guy, his loyalty to the American ideals of liberty and justice. But all of those rang increasingly hollow to the man he was becoming.

Why would he have fond memories of Brooklyn? He was a real American, born and raised in a small Missouri town — he felt nothing but contempt for that woke shithole, he thought as his hairline receded an inch farther.

How could he have fought in World War II? That was decades too late for him, and in any case HYDRA was small potatoes next to the real threat — communism. As he mentally reaffirmed his commitment to his rancid ideologies, the wrinkles on his face deepened by another year.

Why would he look out for the little guy? Unlike the so-called “little guy,” he had worked hard to reach his station in life, and he saw no problem with doing whatever it took to maintain his place at the top of the pyramid. Freed from the burden of caring for others, his greed and ego reached new heights, causing another pound of fat to be piled onto his portly frame.

And as for liberty and justice? He scoffed and cast them aside, feeling a wave of euphoria wash over him as he did so. That wasn’t the America he believed in. No, his America was one that revolved around himself, one that allowed him to line his pockets and ascend the ranks of power while closing the door on anyone who wanted to reach those same heights. Reacting to this redefined America, the shield that had served him so well in his life as Captain America floated into the air and flung itself at him. By the time it reached him, though, it was no longer a shield, but a small metal American flag pin attached to his lapel.

But still, throughout all this, a small piece of Steve remained within the new, old man, fighting desperately to hold on against the barrage of corrupt conservatism. Despite everything, he refused to give in to the alluring pleasure that tormented him. But then a familiar voice made itself known in his head.

“See Steve Rogers, didn’t I say you’d enjoy this? Like I said, the brightest lights produce the darkest shadows,” Mephisto said. “And your shadow is dark, indeed. Don’t you think it’s time to embrace it? Embrace him?” His voice lowered to a seductive purr. “You don’t have to fight it. Tell me you want it, and it will be yours.”

Steve tried to shut the demon out of his head, but his words echoed in his mind. Combining with his memories of life as an unscrupulous politician and his immaculate clothes and his fancy office and his burly old man physique, it all coalesced into a cascade of pleasurable pressure. He tried to resist. He tried to want to resist. But…

His wealth. His power. His personality. His body. The temptation was too much for Steve to bear. “Yes!” he shouted desperately. “Yes, I want this!”

And that was all Mephisto needed to hear.

Finally, his identity as Steve Rogers detached itself fully, unable to hold on in the wake of the corruption he was experiencing and embodying. He gleefully cast his old self aside. He wasn’t Steve Rogers, not anymore. No, the old man thought triumphantly as he allowed his new personality and memories to settle into their rightful places, he was someone far superior. He was Senator Roger Stephenson.

Roger breathed deeply, satisfied, as he grounded himself in his new life. Not that he had ever experienced another one, he thought as he mentally went over his biography.

Roger had been born in 1943 — ironically on the very day his former self would have received the serum if he hadn’t been deleted from reality — and many said his outdated policies hadn’t changed much since then. Consequently, he was celebrated as a hero by the American conservative movement, and equally reviled by those on the left. His approval ratings were among the lowest in the country due to his blatant corruption, and yet it was thanks to that corruption that he always won reelection comfortably. He was well-known as a slimy, cantankerous old bastard — that combined with his aggressive jingoism had earned him the moniker of “America’s Ass” — and he was proud of it. 

On a whim, he turned in his chair and gazed out upon the cityscape outside, feeling a surge of intoxicating power wash over him. Sure, the President got all the press and the credit. But up here on Capitol Hill, Roger was the one in charge. He decided which bills passed and which ones failed before ever reaching the floor. His endorsement was widely coveted, and with his mountains of cash he could swing elections however he wanted. He had all of Congress, all of the country, wrapped around his fat, wrinkled finger.

Speaking of which, he took a glance at his schedule for the day. This afternoon alone, his office would be visited by a couple of junior lawmakers, a team of auto industry lobbyists, and even a foreign dignitary or two. All of them were coming to grovel at his feet for his support, and he would give it to them… so long as it enabled him to garner more wealth, more influence, more power. To do so was his god-given right as an American.

Roger smirked. God bless America, indeed.

[hi-im-kaybee]

back on my corruption arc

[occamstfs]

Halloween Bacchanal

Greek god of madness just wants to see some fun this Hallow's Eve- what better place to start than with little Theo and his satyr costume.

Happy Halloween! Here's my take on everyone's favorite Halloween TF trope: men dressed as satyrs, knights, cowboys and more become what they wear at this hedonistic Halloween party! Hope you enjoy! - Occam

Greek mythology has been an obsession of Theo’s as far back as he could remember. From what his parents say he would force them to read him myths rather than fairy tales before bed each night before going on to spend his waking hours punching way above his literacy level to indulge in every scrap of the Hellenistic pantheon he could stumble across. His dreams were filled with visions of himself aiding Hermes in his tricks and cheering on Heracles in his trials.

It’s no surprise that his time spent in this mythological world influenced his sexuality. What with all the muscular men and tales of transformation he ravenously consumed it doesn’t take a detective to follow the throughline to his present self. In fact he can clearly remember stumbling on a far too steamy illustration of a satyr right when he was about that age that clearly had some deep-rooted repercussions. Which, no surprise, brings him to his current Halloween costume.

He never thought he’d have the confidence to dress up as one but what the hell right? It’s what halloween’s for, just a spot of fun and indulgence. Once he finally decided on biting the bullet and dressing up as his root and began construction on his little costume it’s like he was possessed. Hands worked deftly sewing goat legs and sculpting horns and hooves and before he knew it he was finished before he even realized he had begun.

When the party finally arrived he found himself walking on his toes with a shocking ease, though despite the apparent expertise, his knees began to shake more with each step towards his friend’s apartment. Theo takes a deep breath before knocking on the door, sweating despite the chilly air of autumn against his bare skin. Before he does so the door creaks open and Theo’s greeted by a man he’s never seen before.

Man is almost too inconsequential to describe him. As soon as Theo’s eyes land on him he feels content to spend every waking moment for the rest of his life simply staring at this figure. Dark skin somehow glimmering in the dim light, his teeth sparkle as his lips pull into a smirk. He then turns his gaze onto, into, Theo. It’s as if he were looking through the costumed man, languishing in his past and imagining his future, taking in everything Theo has been, is, and will be. And before a moment passes he shifts to look Theo directly in the eyes, raising a hand to cup his head as if it were a glass, he rumbles out, “I love your costume dear.”

His touch is electric to Theo’s skin, or no not electric, magnetic. The fingers clutching the young man’s jawline leave him wanting more, needing more. Despite feeling frozen in the gaze of this too-ideal figure he craves more than anything to be closer. Lost in his desires, Theo flinches as his ability to ambulate returns and the figure in front of him laughs as he plays with his words, “Dear- Or should I say faun Ah Hah!” Barely a joke, but as the figure begins guffawing Theo cannot help but reciprocate. Compulsive, heaving roars of laughter fill him with ecstasy and delight as memories of raucous nights and impossible debauchery soar into his mind. More real than reality he sees himself with a cup of wine in hand standing in audience of the man now before him.

Just as soon as it began, his laughter jarringly stops and he pulls Theo close and whispers in his ear, “Call me D.” Theo gasps as he is brought closer to D’s form and the intensity of his delight only continues to heighten. Every inch of his exposed torso is suddenly burning with intense pleasure and he shivers as his neck is grazed by D’s sticky breath. In a moment briefer than Theo is able to even grasp, a thought flickers across D’s expression before he looks down at him and his eyes glow a vibrant violet. D stretches his back, doing something between a shrug and a warm-up. Theo trembles at the feeling of his powerful traps and delts moving, allowing him to feel the power they hold as the men stand in each other's grasp.

D once more grabs Theo’s chin, this time angling it up as he cranes down to meet the party-goer’s lips. It’s not quite right to say the kiss was explosive but Theo has no better way of understanding it. It’s as if he were being suffused with power, as if the man’s lips were casting a spell, as if he were drinking in a force of pure energy. Physically, his taste buds are overwhelmed with the taste of wine, richer than any he’s had the chance to experience heavy and sweet and greater than anything. 

Theo, sure that he’s dreaming, clutches the man tighter as their lips and tongues continue to dance. If D’s laughter instilled him with memories, their kiss infused something far more real in his mind. Mouth awash with wine, touch burning with pleasure from being lucky enough to touch the man’s powerful form, Theo opens his eyes and rather than seeing the world he knows he was in, he sees D tied up on a ship. Before he can make sense of his surroundings the man breaks from his bonds and the men who must be his jailers flee, hopping overboard before D waves his arms and they are no longer men. He knew the true name of D as soon as wine graced his tongue but it is further confirmed by a vision of him carrying his mother from the mouth of a cave before he sees her apotheosis. He sees grapevines sprouting from arid earth and finally sees the man, the god, bestowing Midas’ golden touch.

These are all brief passages however, pauses in between the meat of Theo’s visions. Accompanied by D, by Dionysus’ laughter, Theo sees hordes of satyrs and nymphs dancing in fields and in forests. He sees wine dripping through thick beards and staining hairy chests. Theo watches revelry devolve into madness as festivities rapidly degenerate from dances to orgies in grass fields. Shifting to an aristocratic masquerade he sees a crowd of straight-laced prim and proper nobles spin in clearly practiced circles until Dionysus, sitting at the main table, rolls his eyes and removes his mask. Calling their attention to himself as soon as they glance in his direction they are changed, filled with bestial need as they return to their partners with an animalistic fervor. 

Theo knows these visions should fill him with fear, they are far too real to be dreams. Despite that, despite himself, the scenes only excite him more. He doesn’t know why the god has chosen to show him these events, why he has chosen him, but then he realizes he doesn’t care. He just needs to experience the same. His chest quivers with struggled breaths as he feels consciousness waning as he lies in the god’s arms. With a blink he sees D’s face once more, clearly experiencing more pleasure than Theo could ever offer. His vision begins to fade and his body goes limp in the god’s arms. Theo sees some look of care in D’s eyes that is promptly wiped away with a wink. Smirking, he whispers to Theo, “Hope you lot have fun with my gift-”  The sound of the god’s laugh echoes through his empty mind, lulling him to sleep while whatever gift Dionsysus intends for the party festers within him.

When Theo awakens the party is in full swing. He remembers meeting D clearer than anything but everything between that moment and now is obscured. He feels a wet patch in his crotch and quickly crosses his legs to hide the mess made in his excitement. Seeing that he’s finally awoken, his friend Kevin, clad in a cowboy costume, walks over and greets him. “Yoo dude what’s up! Glad you could make it, you know it’s a costume party though ya? Hahah!” Theo narrows his eyes, preparing to call out his friend for being so drunk as to not see the horns on his head before he feels for them and realizes that they are no longer on his head. Indeed, glancing at his crossed legs he finds he’s fully not wearing the costume he so intently made. 

Clutching at his chest, his face burns with embarrassment as he so clearly remembers working up the confidence to come here without a shirt on and yet, here he is just wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Seeing his friend rapidly nearing tears Kevin puts his drink down and apologizes, “Hey hey buddy- Sorry I didn’t mean to press you. Do you want to go get some fresh air?” Theo sighs looking at Kevin’s outstretched hand, pouting for a second longer before reaching out to grab it. Never could he truly know what he is about to unleash when he takes it.

How could he, he was still under the impression that his little episode with Dionysus was just that, an episode. Some weird little dream that led to him cumming on a friend's couch like a loser. That is, until Kevin grasps his hand and grows glassy-eyed. Natural color briefly overtaken by a lilac haze, Theo is immediately concerned, “K- Kevin? Did you get some, um weird contacts?”

His friend shakes his head, not out of his stupor but further into it. He clears his throat and his voice is unmistakably deeper, rougher, “Now why’d I go and do somethin’ like that partner?” Theo feels the hand in his own thicken and grow calloused as tanner skin leaks up his forearm. Hair pokes out of Kevin’s wrist, rapidly thickening and growing dark as it matches pace with his increasingly sun-kissed arm. He breaks the handhold and Theo falls back in shock. Kevin stretches and whistles as biceps bulge under his costume which similarly changes texture from cheap linen to dense torn cotton that one would need in his line of work. His line of work?

“Whoooee! Maybe we’ll skip the fresh air eh Theodore? Love to see what else yew can do with those hands.” Theo stutters as the man starts rubbing his back, “I- You-” Kevin’s jaw widens and grows thick stubble as his brow hangs lower over his eyes, a piece of wheat lolls out of his mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Theo pushes away and the cowboy raises a hand in surrender while adjusting his large belt buckle with the other, “‘Ey now no problem amigo, we’ll put a pin in it. Check back in after spreading the love-” He scratches his newly stubbled jaw and tug once more at his crotch as an unmistakably growing package begins to need far more room than his chapped levis could allow. Staring at a man holding a few swords with shoddily sprayed green hair, Theo almost swears he can see Kevin’s dick throb as he begins tugging at his belt.

The young man doesn’t have time to question whatever unthinkable thing he just did to Kevin as he is struck with a headache greater than anything he’s experienced before, as if something were pushing its way out of his head. Throbbing with pressure he clutches at his head and feels two bumps forming and his eyes widen in fear as he remembers the parting words of the olympian, hope you lot have fun with my gift- Across the room Theo hears the voice of the swordsman grow gruffer as Kevin puts an arm on his shoulder. He hasn’t a chance to investigate as itchiness begins to rise across his body. 

Theo quickly lurches to his feet and finds it difficult to keep his heels on the ground, as if he has always walked on the tips of his toes. He grunts and keeps his head down, trying to not draw attention to himself as he stumbles to the bathroom. He bumps into another party goer wearing a homemade spiderman costume who grabs him before he can fall. 

Fearful that he’s introduced another point of impossible contagion into the party, he looks up and confirms his fears as the padded muscle disappears to be replaced by the hardened abs and arms of a superhero. The man takes off the mask to reveal he’s Theo’s friend Mark, though eyes exposed Theo can’t help but see the lavender corruption in his taking over as his hair throws itself into a middle-part. Grunting as he inches taller, his other web-shooter begins to poke into his friend. Theo runs before he hears whatever smarmy one-liner falls from the lips of a man whose name is Mark no longer.

Miraculously the bathroom is unoccupied when he stumbles in, painstakingly ensuring that his heels stay on the floor with every step. As soon as Theo crosses the threshold he is overwhelmed with a burning itch. Before he even has a chance to check his reflection he’s filled with a supernatural urge to remove his shirt. Ceding to the impulse he no longer sees the unimpressive chest he woke up with this morning, pecs have begun to pad his chest while his few chest hairs have begun to spread like weeds in its center. He clutches at the new pounds of meat piling onto his form and bites back a moan as it fills him with visceral pleasure as his fingers trail through the field of chest hair that is growing thicker. 

Only then does he turn his eyes to the mirror and discover that the changes are not limited to his newly-muscled chest. While hair continues to trail down his thicker torso to his similarly strengthening stomach, the hair on his head begins to lengthen and curl as two horns begin to rise above them. His shaky hands go to tug them off as if they were an accessory which only causes his neck to jerk. Leaning in close he parts his hair and clearly sees the keratin growing forth from his skull. Beyond his new spikes he has somehow missed the darkening of his face as just like Kevin, stubble has begun to make its home on his cheeks. Rapidly growing sideburns shoot down his jawline as a real goatee lengthens on his chin.

In shock he falls back against the wall of the bathroom, accidentally losing his footing and catching himself standing on the balls of his feet like he has so pointedly tried to avoid. No longer is it possible to force his heels down as his toes are overtaken by the transformation, hardening and becoming impossibly imobile as they are covered with black keratin. New hooves burst out of his shoes while his pants begin to stretch at an odd angle from legs changing beneath them. 

Falling to the floor Theo cries out as he tears at the pants he swore he didn't throw on as his legs irrevocably leave humanity behind. Voice pitching deeper and shifting rougher as his thicker hands struggle against his clothes, he feels the new treasure trail on his stomach thicken as it rises from a bush of pubes so dense that they could be labeled nothing other than fur.

While his hands are unable to make progress tearing at his pants, his growing thighs make light work of the garment as they begin to flourish with fur, rapidly covering with curls thick enough to totally burst the tight pants to tatters. His hands trail upward from his hairy legs, feeling the forest of fur give way to the thick human hair that covers the rest of his torso. He blushes imagining finally becoming a creature he always dreamed he could be.Thick hair trails down his forearms and the smell of the wild rises from pits to be evermore unwashed. His hair continues to lengthen and tangle as he truly becomes a spirit of the wild, a spirit of unchained lusts and unending gaiety.

Rubbing his sweaty body against the floor, hearing his new hooves clatter against the tile, Theo feels his mind begin to be overrun with the instincts and ideas of a creature whose primary goal is the spreading of mirth and the heightening of hedonistic desires. Fear of what he wrought upon Kevin and whatever other transformations launched on the other side of the door falls completely to the wayside as the idea suddenly does nothing but increase his own excitement, his own lustful desires. Groping at the decidedly still human cock hanging in between his thick thighs, Theo finds himself certainly more gifted in this department as well, heavy balls send lustful hunger coursing through him while his new powerful rod stands high and drips with pre. Theo smirks as sweat more powerful than any aphrodisiac trickles from his pores and he stands to a new height.

Were he to exit he would stand a few heads taller than anyone else fortunate enough to be in a room with him, his cock would be fencing with their torsos, and something within him tells him that it’s not beyond him to grow even more formidable. Though latching onto that idea, he realizes the true nature of the gifts bestowed unto him. He instead shifts into a form more enticing to whatever partygoers remain that need further enticing. The new satyr hides his beastier parts and watches as his reflection seamlessly shifts into that of a wild man whom no one would be able to turn down.

His hairy torso still glistens with sweat while he trades his hairy legs for sweatpants that could scarcely hide the powerful package hanging from his crotch. Smirking at his new form, Theo steps out to see what has become of his new domain. Exiting back into the steamy gathering he finds that festivities have not slowed down in his absence. The crowd around the cowboy has multiplied and devolved into quite the intimate pile of bodies, muscled arms and deep moans shoot through the air as every outsider that the horde bumps into finds the idea of joining rather appealing. He sees a man dressed as a caveman beating his chest as weight piles on and instincts take over.

Likewise the costumed superhero that was once Mark has found a crowd of his own. Mask pulled up over his mouth to find dozens of other costumed men wanting for him. Even before he changed he was charming, and now with a body made for the big screen it’s no wonder the crowds are clamoring for him. Though he hasn't the time to spend nearly as much time as his fans desire, after the shortest of moments spent with the amazing man himself they likewise begin filling out. Costumed congregants soon enough find themselves more than willing to spread their gifts with any number of lolling mouths around them.

Theo’s hungry eyes and wanting cock feel the compulsive awareness that there remain attendees deliberately avoiding the pleasures that await them. Point in case, he turns to the balcony to find one of his friends, Peter, dressed up as a knight and hiding from true jubilation. Theo’s lips twitch as he imagines corrupting his bookish friend into someone that can finally let loose.

Prior to the party the two discussed their costumes at length. Both spent a good chunk of energy and care in preparation, Peter’s dressed as his longtime DND character. Just like with Theo, the costume had long been a fantasy for the young man. That is to say, isn't it only fair that he get to experience the real thing just like the satyr? Theo doesn’t hesitate to answer the question as he makes his way towards his friend. Peter jumps as the sliding door creaks open and his friend steps out onto the balcony.

“Jesus- oh? Theo? Is that you?” The satyr smirks as he sees Peter’s anxious eyes appraise him. He contorts his body in just the right ways to get the paladin off his guard, stretching to show the power that rests within him rather than simply flexing. Inviting Pete to wonder what this new form is capable of rather than simply performing a brash display of brutish strength.

Peter blushes though remains guarded, “I um, I thought you were dressing up as a satyr?” Theo tilts his head before laughing at having forgotten his glamor, with the flick of his hand horns return to his head and Peter once more jumps back, though now facing the satyr this sends him far too close to comfort to the lip of the balcony.

Seeing Peter bump against the railing, any playful plans of slowly bringing him into his own euphoric transformation vacate as he instead moves with inhuman speed and pulls the paladin close to him. The clink of Pete’s chainmail and plate echoes on the balcony as the sound of the party behind the two men fades from their ears. Everything in the world around them is instantly muted and dulled besides each other.

Peter’s eyes grow clouded as he has no choice but to inhale breath after breath of the wild man’s sweat as he’s held close. Theo watches his eyes start to flicker violet like the dozens of other men in attendance. He grimaces and clenches at the neck of his armor as he grows unreasonably warm. “Th- Theo. What’s happening to me-” spit trails from his mouth as the metal of armor begins to grow heavier as it turns into the real hammered iron chestplate that a paladin of his station would be expected to wear. He stammers out for help and begins clawing at the suit now too heavy for him to wear, and Theo is more than happy to help.

The satyr feels his hunger for the man in front of him grow with every inch of further revealed skin. Sweaty chest now exposed, Pete’s heaving breaths begin stretching his ribcage larger. When Theo’s hairy hands begin to creep into his kilt Pete pushes the man away despite his own wanting cock begins to stir. This isn’t right, something horrible is happening. 

Theo steps back, resigned to just watch for now, and Peter goes to scratch at his arm as a nervous tic. Only then does he notice the great changes that have begun to overtake his physical form. With each movement, small as they may be, his biceps have begun to pulse larger, veins trail down new meaty arms that rival the size of his head. Powerful biceps and defined traps demonstrate his prowess in combat without his even needing to pick up the sword.

His chest tightens as he sees his hands twitch and bulge larger, calluses forming from training for hours, for years, for longer than he could recall spending on anything. His new rough hands race to his scratch at his torso, to remove a costume he’s no longer wearing, but they only find more evidence of growth. Under his chin pecs have clearly burst into existence, below them meticulously carved cobblestone abs that would make any lord proud. 

His lavender eyes twitch as the idea strikes him like a club, he’s losing his mind as well. Theo continues patiently watching and waiting for his chance, not to strike but to personally usher Pete into the bacchanal, and as the knight tears off his codpiece to make room for the surging cock beneath it’s clear that moment is rapidly approaching. Tearing off greaves and gauntlets he roars as his neck thickens from that of a modern squire to a proper knight of old. Voice deepening and growing resonant enough to shout orders and taunt those he is to meet at the other end of a blade.

Speaking of blades, returning to the present as his jaw sharpens he sees quite the specimen standing in front of him. Peter’s cock easily pokes through his skirt and stands like a beacon as he ravenously desires the spirit of sex standing opposite. The knight is more than eager to meet the satyr on a decidedly different kind of battlefield than he’s used to. As soon as Theo sees the throbbing cock he pounces and the two enjoy their new forms together on the balcony, in view of the party and the city. Deep, wild moans of pleasure echo through the streets as Theo traces battle scars on the knight's form and Peter tugs at patches of hair that cover the satyr. 

Inside, the festivities have devolved into precisely the orgy that the god of revelry and madness had hoped. Cowboys and Spidermen using their webs and lassos to quite creative ends, demons finding the new nerve endings in tails and horns, werewolves truly unleashing the beast and finding more than common ground with vampires who are likewise finally sucking something other than blood. Briefly checking in, he’s pleased that the satyr found his way to the armor wrapped gift intended for him,  fingers crossed Aphrodite doesn’t mind his brief step into her domain. But more than that he can’t wait to see where the satyr goes from here, after all, his gifts don’t stop on November first- once a sex spirit always a sex spirit. Theo’s going to find people lining up all the time to experience the reverie he now inherently offers. As the night goes on and the pair rejoin the party it becomes clear that he is not to mind. 

[stonedstr8]

TOKE 'N STROKE

"Ads are getting so damn invasive." Lucas thought to himself, clicking skip on yet another pointless car commercial interrupting the video essay he was watching. "You think the algorithm would know its audience by now, I'm too gay to drive!"

He laughed a little bit at the joke, running a hand through his soft, bleached blonde hair. He was the epitome of a high-maintenance twink, with his smooth, hairless body and perfect sense of style. He was smart too and liked to boast about it, with a scholarship for his English Lit degree and being made President of his university's LGBT Chapter, which he was hoping to use as a stepping stone to become Student Body President next year.

Leaning back again in his chair he reached for his cellphone, seeing a text from his boyfriend Alex.

Alex: "Hey cutie, still busy with finals this weekend, but have time for a dinner date Sunday night?"

He smiled to himself, giving an eager text back to set it up, and to wish him well on his upcoming exams. "Ugh, I need to start studying too, Monday's going to be one hell of a final... I'll focus on it and head to the library after this video and-"

Just like that, his train of thought was interrupted again by a stupid ad, this time some obnoxious psychedelic visuals and a bad electric guitar riff blared out of his monitor. It startled him so badly that he seized up for a second, accidentally clicking the ad and being brought to their store page. "Broski's Bud's, one stop ship and shop for weed strains to fix your brain..." He rolled his eyes at the cringe marketing, getting ready to close the tab when a pop-up opened trying to tell him all about a deal he 'wouldn't want to miss out on'. "No thanks, stupid site, you can keep your Bro Buds or whatever to yourself." but every time he hit X on the popup another would open, being more and more insistent each time about new deals, until finally a desperate '90% OFF AND SPECIAL STARTER KIT AS A BONUS WITH YOUR FIRST PURCHASE' filled his screen. "FINE," he scoffed at his computer, "I'll take a look at the stupid site. My therapist suggested I try out weed to help lessen my anxiety anyways, so might as well get a good deal on it..."

Clicking the pop-up added the 'starter kit' to his cart, it was a pack of pre-rolled blunts and some sort of mystery box, but the description didn't help him understand it much either. "Get ready to step into the zone and open ur mind with this one bros, Broski's Buds bestselling strain, Toke 'n Stroke, is sure to change your life by stimulating a high never felt before! This isn't your sissy uncle's strain, this shit puts hair on your chest like a real man!"

"God this is so cringe, I bet they get all kinds of business marketing to the dumb jocks in town, no wonder their brains are mush. Still, it's just weed and for $20 I might as well give it a try, I probably won't find it cheaper anywhere else..." sitting in thought about it for a few seconds, Lucas finally filled in his payment info and placed his order, getting a free upgrade to same-day delivery since they seem to have a storefront a few miles from his apartment.

"Well, there goes my library plans I guess, I'll have to wait around for delivery since my package will probably get swiped otherwise..." Lucas sighed, turning off his computer and plopping down onto the couch, picking up his Switch to play Animal Crossing and kill time.

A few hours passed and the sky got dark before finally a long buzz came from his intercom. "Took them long enough, it's nearly 9pm!" he complained, putting his jacket on to head downstairs. When he got down there the delivery guy had already gotten into his car again, driving away and leaving Lucas to carry the package back upstairs all on his own. It was bigger than he expected, taking both hands to lift it and keep it stable. "Jesus, this thing must weight like 40 pounds! What did they put in here?"

After a bit of struggling and the occasional break to catch his breath, Lucas pushed his package into the living room, collapsing on the floor next to it for a while. "After that workout I'm surprised I don't look like the douchebags around campus." he laughed to himself, bouncing up to get a box cutter and pry his package open. After taking the carton of pre-rolled blunts out, he started into the box with a bit of confusion and disgust, pulling things out one after the other.

"A sleeveless tank top that says 'Toke 'n Stroke Bro'... A pair of douchey sunglasses... Some red gym shorts, socks and slides... Ew, a snapback saying 'Who ate all the pussy?', why the fuck would anyone wear this!... And 2 dumbbells, no wonder this thing was so heavy! All of this is useless shit that's gonna end up in a donation bin now, I'll have to drop this trashy stuff off tomorrow on my way to the library... But hey, at least the weed seems fine, smells... potent." He said, tossing everything back into the box and taking a whiff of one of the blunts.

Kicking back on the couch again, he played with the blunt in his hand for a while before finally having the courage to light it up, taking a hit. Immediately he started coughing, not used to the sensation, but it did make his brain start to feel... fuzzy. "Damn, okay I need to push past it and get used to it." he said, lighting up for another hit of the blunt, this time barely a cough escaping his throat, feeling suspiciously more used to it. Then another, and another, until finally the whole blunt was gone. Sitting in his daze for a while, he enjoyed the sensation of his mind drifting around experiencing the high, his anxiety melting away as if he didn't have a care in the world. Eventually he decided to try and get up, but his body slumped over off the couch and hitting the floor, the room fading to black...

...

When Lucas finally came to again, the first thing that hit him was the strong smell of weed floating around in the air. "Damn bro, did I smoke the whole set or what..." he laughed groggily, getting ready to stretch out and get back to laying on the couch before he was startled by the sound of moaning blasting from his TV, eyes shooting open in confusion. On the screen, two busty lesbians were making out, them taking turns groping each others boobs and fingering each other. "What the fuck bro, how long has this been on?" he cursed, nervous that the neighbors nextdoor might have heard it playing as he started desperately looking for the remote.

When he couldn't find it in the cushions, he got up from the couch only to be met with his feet kicking a bunch of empty beer cans. "Dude, there's gotta be 2 dozen thrown all over the floor, did I have a party or something? I don't even know anyone who drinks beer..." he mumbled, going to scratch his head in confusion, but was even more confused when instead of his hair he felt a hat on top of his head. "Huh?" he thought, as he looked down at the floor again, noticing that instead of his skinny jeans and converse he was now wearing the socks and slides from the box, along with the sleeveless tank top and the shorts too. He stumbled his way to the bathroom door still baked out of his mind, mouth dropping open at his reflection in the full-length mirror in front of him.

"Broooo, am I dreaming or what the fuckkkk is going on" he said in disbelief. No more was the cute, pale twink he used to be staring back at him. Instead, a douchey bro he didn't recognize was standing face to face with him. Tanned skin, pillowy muscles, his once blonde hair turned into a brown buzz cut and with that stupid "Who ate all the pussy?" hat slapped over it. He touched his face, feeling along his chin where his once smooth skin now had a rougher texture, and a trashy chinstrap sprouted from his jawline. He slapped his face a few times in his daze, trying to wake up from the dream and growing more confused each time nothing changed.

Turning around and staggering back to his living room to try and make sense of what's going on, it hit him that he barely recognizes the room anymore. His apartment used to be perfectly maintained and well-decorated, now there was beer cans all over the floor, along with dirty socks and cummed-in underwear, greasy pizza boxes and chip bags all over the table and counter, the decorations on his walls had been torn down and replaced with posters of chicks in bikinis and sports teams, his Switch replaced with an X-Box and a stack of COD games next to it, DVD cases of trashy bro-comedies were thrown around near the TV too... Then the smell hit him, it STUNK in here, like a sickening mixture of weed, cheap body spray, and sour BO wafting in a heat around the room. "Bro, it fucking reeks in here... Or wait..." he mumbled as he gave himself a whiff, "I fucking reek!"

After a bit of stunned silence he finally started to process things in his brain again. How the fuck did he get like this, was any of this even real, and how does he get back to normal? He plopped back onto the couch, picking up his phone to see he had a handful of missed texts and calls from his boyfriend before noticing the time... 2:00pm. On Sunday. He had somehow been blacked out for 2 whole nights, with no memory of anything that had happened. While getting ready to call his boyfriend back, Lucas felt his insides rumbling and at first he thought it was from the munchies because of all the weed, but then he realized "Oh bro, all that double-cheese pizza is really gonna fucking..."

*PHRRRBBBTTT!*

His body instinctively lifted its leg as it pushed out the loudest and most obnoxious fart he'd ever ripped in his life, as his body seemed to react on its own, letting out an immature laugh and wafting the air before muttering "Fuck yeah bro, smells like victory!" He leaned back into the couch, remembering he needed to call Alex, but the loud moaning on the TV caught him off guard again. This time he locked eyes with the screen, the cock in his shorts immediately bulging and straining at the sight of the lesbian porn before him. "I really need to turn this shit off and get whatever's going on sorted out..." he thought, but he realized he couldn't move his hand to reach for his phone, instead it reacted on its own, reaching down his waistband to pull out his cock and start stroking for the busty babes on TV.

"All I do is Toke 'n Stroke, bro..." a voice in his head seemed to say, except it didn't come from within, he spoke it directly out of his own mouth.

"Wait, I didn't say that bro, it's-" he tried to talk, realizing that his thoughts echoed around stuck in his own head, not even leaving the lips of his own body. He was just stuck there, watching in a dazed horror as he went on autopilot.

"Toke 'n Stroke bro, I'm such a loyal customer Broski's Buds will HAVE to take me as a hype boy this time haha!" his voice spoke again, continuing to stroke for the porn on TV, Lucas's eyes stuck fixed on the screen. Suddenly though, he was interrupted by his phone vibrating, a text from his boyfriend coming through.

Alex: "Hey cutie, I hope everything is alright? You haven't answered my calls or texts in a couple days, I know it's busy with all your studying but we do still have dinner planned for tonight. Still on for me to pick you up at 5?"

"Oh thank God," Lucas thought, reading the message, "I can tell him what's going on and have him come over to help me fix this shit!" Unlocking his phone, Lucas let out a sigh of relief as he got ready to reply, only for his body to still be taken over by whatever douchey daze it was stuck in.

Lucas: "dont u ever come around me u faggy creep, if me or my bros ever catch u within 100 feet of us we'll give u the beating of a lifetime! fuck around n find out if u dare to show ur face here."

Lucas screamed internally as the message was typed out and sent in front of his very eyes, before his hand moved to block his boyfriend's number and turn his phone off. "Something is seriously fucking wrong with me bro, I need to-"

*PHHRRRRBBBTTTTTT*

Another obnoxious and sickening fart blasted out of his ass, filling the room and breaking Lucas's thoughts down into a daze again, as he felt around under the couch for something before pulling a sweaty, well-used fuck toy of a girls ass and pussy up from the mess.

As Lucas once again locked eyes with the TV, he took another hit from his dwindling blunt stash, finishing up the last one. After throwing what was left onto the floor, he prepared the fuck toy and slid it right down onto his cock, starting to bounce the toy up and down as he edged himself closer to finishing.

"If I can't figure out a way to snap out of this, I'm so fucked..." he thought, as his voice spoke again. "Toke 'n Stroke bro, this chick is soooo getting fucked!" He moaned, as he shot his thick load into the toy, feeling some of his braincells permanently shoot out with it, sloppily wiping the mess on the cushion next to him as he laid back, feeling his insides start to bubble again.

Lucas had a lot of Bro Time to catch up on, but luckily his new favorite weed strain was making sure that he was a captive audience until he was fully converted and assimilated into just another Bro.

[tfboyzblog]

Mikey couldn’t believe it was working. That old spell book in his grandfather’s chest was for real. Holding Saul’s hand, he could feel a strange energy fill his body. 

“Holy shit lil’ dude” the older boy exclaimed. “Look at you!”  

Mike glanced to the side where he had his mirror and look at his reflection in shock. He was rapidly growing, almost reaching Saul’s height as a senior. His shirt felt increasingly constrictive as his arms bulged, chest muscles began to push the fabric, back widened. Take off the glasses and ditch the button-up and he could pass as part of the swimming team, or maybe the soccer team... 

“Wow...” was all he could muster in his new, slightly huskier voice. 

“Bro...” Saul nudged him, but the boy was too enraptured in his marvelous growth to notice the older boy begin to dwindle in height and lose much of his size. 

“Bro! I think you’re good for now! Let go!” Saul called louder this time, using his free arm to pull off Mikey’s hand from his own. 

“Oh!” Mikey exclaimed as he came to himself. “I’m sorry! I was so...” he began to mutter as his eyes went back to the mirror and his improved form “-amazed...” he concluded as he tried to move around in his too-small clothes. 

“Yeah... I noticed...” Saul commented in an annoyed tone as he lifted his arms to see how baggy his shirt was now. He silently appreciated the belt holding up his shorts. “Anymore and I’d come out of this looking like a middle schooler... “ 

Mikey looked at his friend, noticing how they practically saw eye to eye now, but the bulk and size the eighteen-year-old had before were gone. He’d still pass for a senior, maybe a junior, but a more average looking one now.  

He smirked. “Nah! You’re still a big boy.” He playfully patted him on the shoulder. “Besides, you’d probably be a cute middle schooler anyway.” He commented. 

“Don’t get any ideas, Mikey!” He pointed at Mike. “Don’t make me regret this!” 

Mikey nodded. “Don’t worry! I promise I won’t.” He hugged his friend, feeling the new power in his arms. If he wanted, he thought, he could hold Saul like that with minimal effort. It felt good. During his strong hug he could swear he felt a poke against his leg, but as he let go, he could see nothing out of the ordinary, aside from what could be a slight blush on Saul’s heavy tanned skin. 

“Thank you! I mean it!” Mikey said. “I just need to stop being kicked around by Hank and his imbecile posse. And now,” he attempted to flex a bicep, but stopping as soon as he started hearing a tear in the fabric “I can! And all thanks to you.” 

“Yeah yeah! I know I’m awesome!” Saul waved. “Just give me back my...” he looked up and down to the burgeoning athlete in dork clothes “you know, everything, next week. That should be enough...”  

“Don’t worry.” Mike said with a wink. “I’ll put your... everything to good use!” 

-- 

Saul left soon after and Mikey thanked the heavens. He couldn’t stand in these terribly tight clothes anymore! His shirt, his socks, but more urgent yet, his underwear. 

Taking off his button shirt with effort, Mikey was in awe of his new sculpted pecs protruding from his chest, he caressed them and followed down to an immaculate row of abs connecting to his waist. He pulled off the trousers, that now looked like they were close to tearing at the seams. His legs were wide and powerful. His feet looked bigger, even. And gazing up he stopped at his poor white briefs, pushing and compressing an impressive bulge. 

“Wow...” He moaned. “I guess I got some of Saul’s ‘other’ size too...” He thought as he pulled down the last piece of constrictive clothes. A long, girthy semi erect dick whipped out of the small nerdy briefs. “I must be, like... 7 inches now!” Mikey said, grabbing his newly improved fuckstick. It felt heavy in his hand, being accustomed to his 4 incher. “Poor Saul.” He thought, making a note to return him his size as soon as he could. 

“But for now...” He smirked and flexed his huge biceps. His dick twitched at the sight. “I want to enjoy the ride.” 

-- 

Saul was getting restless. The week was almost over and not a word for his neighbor. Mikey was always a good kid, and he was tired of hearing how he was constantly getting bullied by some idiot jocks... 

He looked at his mirror. He missed his muscles and the size he used to carry, but he couldn’t help thinking how he kinda looked cuter with a bit less meat in his bones, more of an average but still charming high school boy. He felt a tingle in his lower area, making him rethink all of that. If he knew Mikey’s weird spell would also drain away his size down there, he’d probably reconsider being a donor. Even in his boxers, there was hardly any bump in the front. His healthy looking 6 incher, now closer to 4, at most... 

Suddenly there was a strong knock at the door. 

Mikey! It had to be him! 

Saul flew down the stairs, only in a baggy t-shirt and boxers. He wasn’t prepared for who was waiting on the other side of the door. 

A hulking muscular beast walked in. “Hey there little dude.” He said in a deep voice as he looked down at Saul. “Did you get smaller since I last see you?” 

“Mikey?” Saul asked incredulous. This muscle god was at least 7 feet tall by now, his massive chest barely covered by a tank top, strong thick arms stretched behind his head exposing a pair of sweaty and moderately hairy pits. The monster smirked at Saul, and it was clear it was his friend’s face. More masculine, more defined, perfect skin instead of the normal zits, a killer smile... 

“I go by Mike now. Mikey was giving people the impression I was some tiny nerd or something.” He brings one of his arms down and casually adjusts his crotch. “And there’s nothing tiny here, right?” He laughs.  

Saul could see the outline of the massive snake in his underwear, easily spotted in all its thick glory even through the sweatpants Mike was wearing. 

“What...what happened? You were like...not half as big last week.” Saul asked the giant teen boy. 

“Well, it was all thanks to you, buddy!” He said as he walked towards Saul and grabbed him in a strong hug. Saul’s head resting against the boy’s giant pec. He suddenly felt inundated by the smell coming from his arms. Saul’s head started swimming and a tingle made his dick twitch. 

“You should’ve seen Hank’s face!” Mike laughed and let go of Saul, walking towards the living room and sitting in the sofa, legs wide apart. “When he saw I was as tall as him and was like, as jacked as him, I think he shat his pants. For the first day in my high school life, they left me alone. I couldn’t believe it was that easy!” 

“That’s great! But then-” Saul tried to speak. 

“I wasn’t done speaking, bro.” Mike interrupted, in a calm, but authoritative way. His voice caused a tingle to spread down Saul’s spine and into his lower area. 

“Well, you won’t believe what those pussies tried next!” He continued, now in a friendlier tone. Saul, however, couldn’t shake off the force the boy exuded and the respect he commanded with a simple sentence. He stood in front of the huge teen as he stretched on the couch.  

“They waited for me outside the school the next day. Waited for me to be alone and then Hank grabbed me and dragged me to old warehouse. I guess he thought he couldn’t put me in my place alone now, so he wanted to gang up on me where no one could see. Can you imagine though? How could those losers ever think my place was beneath them?” He laughed at the notion. 

“And wasn’t he surprised when he noticed my shoulders were too wide for him to grab me like that. And weren’t his friends shocked when he let go of me and was just a skinny brat. You should’ve seen his face. Wait. You can actually see it. I took pictures.” Mike said, picking his phone from his pocket. Turning the screen to Saul, the awe-struck boy could see a kid looking no older than 12, swimming in his oversized clothes, looking up in shock. 

“Glad I remembered grandad’s spell, eh?” He winked at Saul, who nodded, not wanting to interrupt his friend again. 

“Well, after the brat was taken care of, his friends were easy pickings, to be honest. With every bit of muscle I took, I took ability, masculinity, everything that made them jocks. They had nowhere to run, and I took it all.” He laughed. 

“So, what do you think lil’ bro?” Mike smirked at Saul as he flexed his gigantic biceps. 

Saul dry swallowed. What did he think. Right in front of him was the biggest 15-year-old in the world, most likely. He exuded power and masculinity. He fumbled for words. He felt butterflies in his stomach and the tingling in his dick was stronger than ever. Not just his dick, either. He felt a yearning, inside... 

“Mike-” he almost used his old nickname. “That’s insane. You’re like, bodybuilder huge!”  

“I know, right? Pretty sick!” He guffawed. “Didn’t feel the need to drain them as much as Hanky boy, but they’re pretty much nobodies now. Horny submissive nobodies, actually.” Saul was shook. “They can’t seem to quit my dick, now.” 

“But then again.” Mike grabbed a handful of cock “I got about four jocks worth of testosterone and musk so...” He looked suggestively at Saul “who would be able to...” 

Saul tried to repress the growing feeling inside him. “But your folks? I live right next door and saw nothing different. No one was surprised about this much growth?” He tried to change the subject. 

“Oh that!” Mike waved. “Another one of grandad’s spells. Basically, it normalized things. If you’re outside the spell, that’s how things always were. Kids at school all think that this is how I always looked. Well except for Hanky boy and the bottom bunch. Even if they wanted to tell someone what happened no one would believe them. I think they like knowing their muscles made me this huge, and if they don’t, they should. But yeah, since you were outside that spell it probably, sorta normalized things for you too...”   

Saul just nodded. It made sense. Even though his head was spinning from all this information and the increasing muskiness in the room. 

“So yeah. It’s all thanks to you, lil’ buddy!” Mike reached in front and grabbed Saul until the smaller 18-year-old was straddling his huge quad. Mike’s strong arms surrounded the boy and hugged him tightly. Saul couldn’t help himself but sitting on his friend's leg and putting his hands on his muscular body. 

“I came over to honor my end of the deal. Give you back your muscle. Your height. A few inches down there...” he chuckled. “Unless you don’t want me to.” 

Saul looked shockingly into his friend’s eyes, still holding to his pecs and shoulders. How could he think that was the case. For an entire week he’s been forced to live without his hard-earned physique. It’s not like it’s that bad, and he had to admit he fit real comfortably on Mike’s lap like that, but still... 

“Unless you want me to keep them. Keep looking like this.” He spoke softly, in a voice that twisted his thoughts. 

 “I think that’s what you want.” He chuckled softly; poking Saul’s modest but raging boner. A large wet spot already had formed on the front of his boxers. “And if that’s the case, I’m sure I can pay you back some other way.” Mike’s big meaty hand slid down Saul’s slender back until it found his supple ass. Saul yelped as the hand caressed his backside. “I’ll make sure to give it all to you. Again, and again...” He whispered at his ear. 

“But you have to be the one to say so.” He continued. “So, what will it be?”  

Saul still looked at his friend’s eyes, his hands wandered freely on Mike’s massive chest. He couldn’t think straight, and the yearning inside grew and grew until he finally admitted to himself what it really was.  

He wanted this muscle god inside him. He knew he’d gladly give all his muscle, all his masculinity, just to be owned by this perfect specimen. No matter how many others there were; to know he was Mike’s. To be used as he saw fit. Saul could only hope he was able to give more to this example of athletic perfection. More of his height, so he’d be smaller, and Mike could manhandle him with even more ease, more of his dick and balls, now useless for Mike’s intended purpose, so he could add more to the python and orange sized balls his former nerd friend now had. 

And as he imagined that and he became even more hungry for cock, Saul felt himself sink deeper, fit even more snugly in Mike’s embrace. He could feel the teenage titan stretch a bit more; his spine extend a couple more inches; his frame swell with some more pounds of muscle...  

Saul looked up at Mike and approached his mouth to his, still afraid to make any noise, and meekly nodded. After all, the choice was obvious. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well this has been my first "longer" story and the first experiment in making stories without a picture for inspiration and instead drawing random themes from a choice wheel. This time the themes were Muscle Theft and Corruption ;)

The AI picture is just meant as a placeholder for now, as I haven't found a appropriate picture for it ( and I know you pervs prefer TF stories with pictures). I invite people to submit pictures to accompany this story. And finally, if you have suggestions of other places I could post my longer stories from now on, please let me know!!

[idesofrevolution]

Cult of Personality

The blistering New Mexico heat bared down on Douglas' '99 Chevrolet Cavalier. The small blue coupe meandered up I-25, enroute from Las Cruces to Santa Fe. The old man quietly sighed to himself, fruitlessly trying to think of a better pitch to sell his Solar Panels to the rich folks up in Albuquerque. Las Cruces ended up being a bust, just as much as Tucson: the damn things were just too expensive up front. Not that the company gave a single damn, quotas are quotas. Thus, still empty handed, he passed the exit sign for Socorro- still an hour until he'd reach his destination.

As he passed the exit, he noticed a bright red glint a bit further up the road. Douglas adjusted his glasses, squinting his eyes to see. He slowed down on the empty highway as the sight became clearer. It was a car. In fact, it was a bright red '67 Mustang; it's owner leaned on the hood as black smoke bellowed from the tailpipe. Douglas looked down at his watch, knowing fully well that he needed to be in Albuquerque before sundown. Though, as he approached the broken down muscle car, the sweltering heat of the Chihuahuan Desert at high noon would be a killer. The young man leaning on the car turned his head, not even sweating a single drop, and stared blankfaced at Douglas as he pulled up.

Douglas hit the brakes, stopping his car right alongside the young man. He strode up to the old man's car, leaning in and resting his elbows onto window ledge. His stoic expression slowly melted into a wide grin, licking his lips before he spoke.

"You headed toward Albuquerque?" A thick Texan accent flowed from the man's lips, his dark brown eyes nearly black even in the blinding light of the sun. Douglas felt an odd twinge of nervousness as the grinning young man casually smiled; it felt off. Behind that handsome visage, something was brewing within.

"I'm headed to Santa Fe, but I can call you a mechanic from Socorro, he'd be here in a jiffy!" The young man's smile didn't fade, he simply shook his head 'no.'

"Phone's got no service out here, brother. I sure would appreciate a ride. It's just a mile or so up the road." He turned, pointing down the seemingly endless highway. Before Douglas could deny the young man his request, the hitchhiker leaned in closely. It may have been the heat, or it may have been his exhaustion, but for no more than two seconds, he thought he'd heard whispers blowing in the wind. Douglas said nothing, and the young man's grin grew wider. "Thank you, brother. I'll hop in the back."

As he strode back to his car, grabbing a duffel bag from the trunk of his car, Douglas wanted to slam on the gas and blitz out of there. An air of menace surrounded this man, despite his magnetic charisma; yet his foot did not press down on the pedal. The passenger side door opened, as the man hopped into the back seat of his coupe. Too late. The door slammed by itself, evidently thanks to a gust of wind he neither felt nor heard. He pulled the car out of park, and off the duo went. He glanced into his rearview mirror, taking in the sight of his hitchhiker.

He nearly took up the entire backseat. The duffel bag sat next to him, his muscular arms tightly holding it against his side. He was easily above six feet tall, likely even more than six and a half. He threw his arms behind his head, kicking his large feet onto Douglas' armrest. Outwardly, he seemed like just another good looking guy- one he'd likely see on his granddaughter's TikTok. But his guard remained on high alert.

"Just keep driving, brother. I'll tell ya when to turn off." His velvety voice was disarming, a carefree confidence just wafted from him alongside the strange heat which seemed to emanate from his muscular body. For about an hour, the two sat in silence as they rocketed down the highway. Each glance he shot into his mirror, Douglas would see the man smirking- his gaze never meeting the old man's. Thus, as the road veered to the left in the distance, their silence was broken. "Don't turn, just keep going straight." He carried a tone of authority in his voice, a natural command that would be highly unlikely to be ignored.

"There isn't a road straight ahead..." The hitchhiker finally stared into the mirror, his eyes locked on Douglas' reflection.

"Go straight."

As if of their own accord, the old man's hands kept steadfast on their trajectory. As the road began to curve, the Cavalier shot in the commanded direction, straight into the sands of the desert. They swerved, avoiding large rocks and towering Saguaros, before the foothills of the mountains started to come into view. Through the mirage before them, Douglas could see what looked like a campsite ahead, just beyond the thicket of green brambles. A crowd of maybe 50-70 people had gathered in the bowels of the desert. For what purpose, Douglas did not yet know. But as he slowly began his approach, the entire crowd had turned their eyes toward the car. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the crowd split in two; leaving a clear straight shot toward a makeshift platform right at the base of the mountain.

"Thank you for the lift, brother. Do me a favor, will ya? Stick around. I have a feeling you'd love what we have going on today." Again, his timbre was less of a request- and far more of a demand. The tone was never raised, nor was it ever aggressive. However, he felt as if one would be wise to heed his instructions. Douglas simply nodded, turning the car off, and opening the door.

The crowd was filled with a diverse cast of people, all of which were fit, energetic, and young. Not a single soul had seen a day over 30, no less than 21. They stared with vacant expressions in silence until the hitchhiker exited the backseat, at which point they erupted in cheers and applause. Douglas watched with confusion and shock as the young man walked toward the platform, shaking hands, playfully punching shoulders, giving out high fives like condoms at a clinic. Who the hell had he picked up? Where the hell was he? As he hopped atop the wooden structure in one single leap, easily five feet off the ground, he shucked the grey tank top and tossed it into the crowd. A young woman caught it, tenderly holding it against her chest as the onlookers admired his chiseled build. Raising his arms, the crowd went silent.

"Brothers and Sisters, today is the day! Are you ready? Are you rearing? Tell me!" The crowd erupted, Douglas stared around the transfixed athletes, feeling entirely out of place- as if he wasn't meant to be there. "For one full year, you have trusted me to build your bodies into machines: daily training, nightly runs, some of y'all are out there doing some of the hardest workouts we have to offer. Look at you now!" More cheers. "When I told you that your bodies were temples, to treat them as such, each and every one of you took my words seriously. I said that each of you had the potential to become something incredible. You said, but Cameron, I can't ever get to where you're at! But guess what? You followed the regimen, you became part of our family, you became a part of something so much bigger than you even knew. And we are here today, your induction into our movement, the final hoo-rah!" Mimicking the leader, every single one of the parroting people began to chant hoo-rah, once... twice... thrice... like a warcry on the battlefield. Douglas turned, searching through the sea of people to find an escape route. Instead, he only saw five men of the same jacked physique of the leader handing out what looked to be bottles of water. Peering closely, the unlabeled bottles carried a milky white liquid.

"What sort of Jonestown shit is this..." The bottles were disperse quickly amongst the crowd, the cheery if not dim young men had seemingly finished in minutes as the leader droned on. Douglas took the opportunity to make his way back toward the car, only for a moment of dread to wash over him. It was gone. In it's place, a line of tire tracks came to an abrupt end, no vehicle in sight. The old man felt a hand on his shoulder, turning quickly to be face to face once again with 'Cameron' himself.

"I wanted to thank you for helping me, Douglas. I'm more than happy to reimburse you, you've saved the day." Whispers again started to rise around him, incoherently babbling a language far outside of his own knowledge. "Today, my friend, your journey begins." Douglas tried to pry his eyes away from Cameron to no avail. The deep brown eyes seemed to swallow any thought, any desire, any need. Cameron's pupils started to pulse, mimicking the old man's heartbeat, growing larger and larger, until the inky blackness had swallowed his entire iris & sclera. Cameron smirked as he watched the old man's posture fall forward, his shoulders drooping and his jaw hanging loosely. "Mmmmmmm. Good, fall deep, vessel. For your assistance today, your reward is to be one with me, just as all in my inner circle have done."

The black-eyed stud gently guided Douglas away from the crowd, who were busy downing the contents of their respective bottles just as moans and groans started ringing out from the poor fools. The five members of Cameron's inner circle followed suit, their eyes flooding black and mouths curling into devilish grins. The group soon arrived in a clearing of the thicket, circling around a pile of filthy clothes strewn across the dirt. Douglas was slowly guided to them, entirely unwavering in his stonefaced obedience.

"Well, my children. You continue to serve me well. I admit, this body must be hard to say no to. He is a joy to wear." The five goons chuckled menacingly, one or two of them groping at their bulges through their running shorts. "Today, as you all did before him, Douglas aided me in my time of need. On a momentous day as this, such acts must be rewarded. Today, you welcome your new brother." With a swipe of his hand, Douglas' corporate clothing dissolved into thin air, burnt ash flying into the desert wind. He stood there in the nude, the group watching in anticipation as Cameron simply pointed down to the pile of reeking clothes, and Douglas could do nothing but obey.

One by one the articles began to tremble, before sliding across the sand toward their soon-to-be owner. Cameron snickered, snapping his finger. A sweaty jockstrap quickly flew into the air, levitating for a moment before shooting toward the old man's groin. Like a liquid hitting a solid, the grimy fabric collided with Douglas, warping and wrapping around his legs and package until it had settled into it's new home. The brothers grinned, as they watched the old man's admittedly humble bulge swell rapidly. It expanded outward, his balls dropping like ten pound weights as they grew, and his cock elongated and widened until it peeked it's head out from the bottom of the sweat stained pouch. Douglas moaned as his ass swelled thick and bulbous, the formerly wrinkled and smooth skin sprouting dark brown hairs as his bush followed suit. Cameron grinned, strutting over to cup his hand over the musky horsecock and balls that had sprang from his jock.

Another snap of his fingers, and the shorts shot upward, wrapping around Douglas' legs, quickly inflating them with thick mass. His hamstrings widened, his quads becoming hard as iron while his calves tightened. The chicken legs he used to possess now were two massive slabs of hard meat. Cameron continued to grope and massage his prey's bulge, the fabric of the jockstrap growing sticky with his pre as he moaned. The five grunts slowly lowered their own shorts and jockstraps, releasing their sweaty dicks into their waiting palms.

"You humans are so... simple." *snap* The socks slithered like snakes across the ground, surrounding Douglas' toes and sliding around his heel and fastening around his ankle. "All it takes is slipping into some attractive male, and you'll be worshipping at my feet. As will you." The old man's feet cracked and stretched wide, his soles growing soft and sweaty as the stinking running shoes melted around his gigantic feet. The rubber and fabric contorted and stretched, the funk of a thousand runs in the desert heat wafting from within their confines as they reformed into a perfect fit. The group started to stroke their cocks, small droplets of black sludge seeping from their slits. Cameron grinned, sliding his hand into Douglas' jockstrap and wrapping it around his throbbing member. "You, however, will be a prince among men."

*snap* The pot belly which had plagued Douglas for 30 some odd years slowly receded, fading into obscurity as if it had never been there to begin with. His abs tightened, his pecs became lean, his waist slimmed quickly with powerful obliques and cum gutters pointing toward his hose. Whispers started to echo in the wind as the five cultists stroked their cocks, streams of black, tar-like slime coalescing into pools at their feet.

"You will be a father of my spawn, a carrier of my seed." Cameron continued to pump the massive dick, watching with malicious glee as his arms grew sinewy and lean, his hands large and wide, his fingers long and slender. "Today, our army is founded." The possessed stud placed his hand on the balding head of the former salesman, pushing him to his knees; his mind blank as his master's shorts slid down to his thighs, releasing a grotesque sight. Whatever his host's member used to be was long gone, now corrupted with demonic seed. It stood upright, intricate black symbols wrapping around the foot long shaft all the way to his foreskin. "Receive my blessing, mortal. Be one with me." The ripe rod inched forward, dripping thick globules of the black sludge onto Douglas' thighs as it pressed against his face. His mouth opened, and it was over.

In a single thrust, the monstrous cock pushed past his lips and deep into his throat as Cameron began to face fuck the old man. The pools of black sludge from his minions writhed toward him, engulfing his legs in their glistening form before slinking toward his tight hole. Cameron threw his head back in ecstasy, howling a thunderous and unnatural roar as his underling's seed seeped into Douglas' rear. The sounds of squelching, cracking, suction rang out as the roars began to grow louder. Each slap of his face against Cameron's bush reformed his aged face. New hairs sprouted on his scalp, a thick forest of black spreading across his head. His lips plumped as they slurped on the smelly cock, his skin tanning and all wrinkles disappearing. The last vestiges of the black sludge squeezed into his hole, and with a wicked, fiendish grin the possessed stud cursed out into the open desert air:

"WE... ARE... ONE!" 'Cameron' released his gift down into his new son's throats, a torrent of black seed rushing out of his length and into Douglas' transformed body. His veins started to flush dark, until an inky blackness had sprawled across his lean, taut figure. Whatever remained of Douglas sunk into a void of darkness, only to be encompassed by the viscous corruption. 'Cameron' grinned, his will quickly overwhelming the spirit of the old man before slipping his demonic essence within it. More and more of him flooded into the body, squeezing into the soul, until it was unclear where Douglas began and 'Cameron' ended. Dismounting his new creation, he watched with glee as the convulsions died down, and it's eyes opened, revealing an endless inky black as it grinned.

"Yes, my master, this vessel shall fit our needs quite nicely." As his eyes slowly started to return to their normal hazel, the corruptive sludge within his veins reformed, pushing upward through the capillaries and into the skin, now little more than tattoos to the naked eye. 'Cameron' grinned, another human ensnared into his dark consciousness, little more than a husk to house his essence.

'Dougie' smirked as he pulled up his fetid shorts, quickly masking his cock dripping the black sludge of his master and brothers as he threw his sweaty arms around his new family, walking toward their new army.

---

"Alright, Santa Fe! Are we ready to get fit?" The crowd erupted as Cameron stood before them, his arms raised on the roof of the building, grinning over the 200 new disciples he was prepared to imbue with his gift. Those who had been with him at Socorro stood silently amongst the unsuspecting enthusiasts, ready to 'assist' their 'ascension' should the need arise. Just beside the building, his sons had gathered behind the truck in a circle, chanting words beyond our most vivid imagination as they stroked eachother's musky cocks into the large vat of water. 'Dougie', now a favorite of Cameron, devilishly grinned as he felt the first torrent of his corruption spew into the clear water, the thick black sludge slithering about before dissolving into the liquid as if it were never there. Round after round, they shot their father's seed into water, until there was more of the seed than there was of the water.

"Alright, brothers. I think that should do it." His deep, bellowing voice brought each of his brothers attention on him as they put their cocks back into their shorts. "Hah, and not a minute too soon." The crowd of feckless initiates began to line up, in desperate need of hydration, of which 'Dougie' was more than happy to provide. He hopped up onto the bed of the truck, as his brothers ladled their refreshment into individual bottles. Snatching one, 'Dougie' snickered. "Who's thirsty?"

[starburr]

I'm definitely biased towards the subtle anger in his face, that even while just offended at Optimus receiving the Matrix, that he feels he's been cheated out of the opportunity to do more with his life now that he's been given a choice. His much blockier, and imposing build after denouncing the Primes and taking Megatronus' t-cog in contrast to the gentle smoothened out design of Optimus. The way he feels betrayed and never does his anger fade at Optimus' saddened expression. The way Optimus keeps that soft yet grief-stricken expression of "Why?" while staring him down. The way Optimus' axe was about to collide with his head but you can see he purposefully veers it down after cutting down the cannon in half. How he doesn't want to hurt Megatron but disarms him from hurting anyone again because he still tries to make him see that violence isn't the way for them. Or at least, what could have been of them. It's heartwrenching to say the least.

[phyrexian-phucker]

Sexual side effects of phyresis (NOT exhaustive)

Genitals display visible phyretic changes: prominent black veins that thicken during erection, metal ridges hardening on or just underneath the skin of penises, much stronger squeezing pressure and ridges lining orifices.

Every orifice self-lubricates.

The body produces more oil during arousal, and not only through genital openings. For example, the appearance of "Phyrexian tears" intensifies as oil production ramps up and leaks out the eyes.

Oil is discharged all throughout arousal.

As a result, arousal accelerates the process of phyresis, speeding the proliferation of oil inside the body.

Libido increases. Triggers of arousal may change or intensify. In particular, the idea of spreading oil, compleation, or becoming one with Phyrexia become overwhelmingly arousing.

The whole body becomes more of an erogenous zone, everywhere oil runs beneath the skin--those are nerves, after all, and without fully developed plating to cover them, they are sensitive.

Endurance increases. You can push yourself for longer as muscles metallicize and metabolism switches to ichor-based. Multiple orgasms become more likely.

Orgasms become a full-body sensation, conducting through the circulatory system up to the brain. When you cum, you feel it shooting through your veins.

[warping-realities]

Online Scam - An OnlyFags Story

Inspired by the concept created by @johnbrand and @boysmentfs

Henry wasn’t having a good day; hell, it wasn’t even a good week or month. He had been stoked for college, ready to hit up new places and live it up, but the truth was that everything was turning into a total shitshow. His roommate was barely tolerable and he hadn’t made a single friend yet. All of this was messing with his head. But what really got to him was being totally broke, not having a dime to his name. His dad sent him a bit of cash, still stuck between being proud of having a son in college and feeling ashamed that son was openly gay. Henry, a name picked by his late mother, who passed down her delicate traits both physically and mentally, knew his dad earned that money busting his ass as a mechanic at a big car shop, and it didn’t come in large amounts, but surely he could send more than the pathetic little sum he was sending. The young man wondered if he’d get more cash if he had a sports scholarship instead of one for his grades.

While hunting for a side gig that could hook him up with some cash, Henry got blindsided by a new message alert on his computer screen. It wasn’t just the message itself; it was who it was from. Larry Thomas was in charge of the more complex systems at the car company where Henry’s dad worked. He was a relatively new hire, and Henry’s dad didn’t get along with the guy at all, with Henry only knowing him from the last company holiday party, since Henry’s dad didn’t want a “degenerate faggot” near his son. The irony of the situation was lost on the old man.

“Hey, kid, I heard your dad telling the guys he cut your funds to force you to man up or whatever. Maybe this will help you scrape together some cash!” the message from the man said, along with a link. Feeling like he had nothing to lose and pissed off at his dad, who he was now sure was punishing him for being gay, Henry clicked the link, which immediately started downloading some kind of app.

“Shit, I hope this ain’t a virus,” he muttered in front of the computer screen.

After loading, a logo popped up at the top: OnlyFags. What the hell was that? Some kind of joke from Larry? Did he team up with Henry’s dad just to humiliate him? Nah, that didn’t make sense; they hated each other. Still, Henry had caught a few looks from Larry directed at his dad that made him think there was some kinda unrequited attraction there… Before he could do anything, a text box popped up asking “Are you a creator or a user?” followed by two more boxes for a username and password. Henry’s computer acted on its own, typing in a sequence so fast he couldn’t read anything that was written or checked. The screen froze for a moment, a spinning circle indicating something was loading, and soon a bunch of boxes appeared on the screen with various profiles.

A massive shock hit Henry with what those profiles showed. He stared in horror and disgust at what they displayed. Mostly dudes between twenty and forty years old with their bodies on full display, playing with pierced nipples, licking feet, or even getting off in plain sight! He moved the mouse, intending to close that crap and delete that app from his computer ASAP.

But fear took over as, instead of shutting down that damn app, the mouse pointer moved on its own to click the profile button in the opposite corner of the screen. The screen loaded again, and there was a profile filled out for him— name, age, height, weight, shoe size, and even dick size. All of it wildly different from reality. A warning popped up quickly: “Your profile picture is outdated! Would you like to take a new one?”

A sudden wave of even greater horror washed over Henry as his hand clicked “yes.” The front camera opened, and his hand set the timer for twenty seconds before propping it against the headboard of the bed, moving to the other side. Almost robotically, he took off his shirt and tossed it on the floor before adjusting his pose for the camera. He moved, trying to get his foot in the shot while flexing one arm, not realizing he’d gained a bunch of pounds of pure muscle and that his delicate size 7 feet had ballooned to a more robust size 10.

Paralyzed and unable to move, he saw a message pop up on the computer screen. “New photo uploaded! Error!!! Photo does not match profile. Correcting parameters!” Scared, he quickly summoned the last bit of willpower he had and tried to get up and shut that app down once and for all, only to be shoved back by an invisible wall, with all the impact you’d expect from a high-speed crash. Dizzy and confused, he felt his face and body go through a sensation of distortion, and suddenly… nothing! The most complete emptiness reigned in his mind. He didn’t know who he was or even his own name. And he stayed like that for several seconds, staring into the inner void.

Until a new notification appeared on the screen, grabbing his attention. “Success! Parameters corrected; new profile picture published!” Immediately, likes started flooding in on his photo and profile, making him focus on the computer screen just as the computer camera turned on again and a live stream began.

He quickly, almost automatically, repositioned himself, flexing one of the powerful arms he’d just acquired. A notification on the app pinged: “New donation from DirtyFaggotMike.”

The app, once again on its own, opened a list of donations from various users with similar and usernames, ranging from small amounts to hundreds of dollars. Henry felt a rush of pride inside him as memories of all the degrading content about that kind of people and the outrageous amounts of cash received for it flooded his mind!

A new comment appeared in at the top of the page with a $100 donation. “Master, your giant hands turn me on; I’d love to be smothered by them.” Henry found himself talking automatically to the screen: “Keep dreaming, faggot. You’re lucky enough to be able to worship them from a distance!” he replied, grinning arrogantly as he admired his own flexed arm.

A part of Henry still intact, lost in the gigantic void that his memories had become, managed to feel mortified; he didn’t want any of those horrible messages to be received by him, let alone responded to that way. That little remaining fraction tried again to regain control, only to be shoved back as the being occupying his body massaged his powerful pecs and spoke laughing arrogantly while getting up: “Where’s my money, you fags? You won’t get shit from me if this account doesn’t start filling up!”

The next message he received was the reply he’d been waiting for—a private message from LickLuckyLarry. “Master Hunter, I’ve been one of your loyal followers for months and I want to pay a good amount to see you jerk off if it’s not too much audacity on my part.”

Henry… Hunter smiled at that message. With a smirk on his face, he replied, “Disgusting faggot. Of course, it’s a hell of a lot of audacity for a worm like you to ask me that! But it’s you pathetic beings that keep my wallet full. I’m willing to accept, but it’ll depend on how much you’re willing to pay for all this!” he replied, grinning wickedly as his hands roamed over his abs and thighs, tentatively close to his cock.

“Master, please,” the guy replied, “I’d do anything to see you work that giant cock until it explodes with your alpha jizz.”

“Great, let’s talk privately; don’t turn on the camera! I don’t wanna see that faggot face of yours, it’ll be hard enough to jerk off knowing a worm like you is watching! And as for the rest of you, take note, faggots, you should all aspire to be like him.”

He leaned forward and closed the live window, before before lying down in his bed and focusing on talking privately in his smartphone with the guy willing to pay to see him play with his own cock. “I said I didn’t wanna see that pathetic face of yours, faggot,” he said upon seeing the man’s face appear on the app chat screen.

“Sorry, Master Hunter, I couldn’t help it; I promise to pay you a much bigger sum, but I wanted to know if you remember me?”

“And why the hell would I remember a pathetic faggot like you?” Hunter asked with a wicked grin.

“Because I work with your dad and… you… you let me suck your cock at the last company holiday party!”

“And? You’re not the first little bitch I’ve let do that! There’s no shame in showing off a bit or even letting one of you kind pay for a blowjob in the absence of something better. And that whore secretary didn’t want to give me any… Anyway, don’t think you’ll get a discount just because you know my old man, and if you try to blackmail me, I’ll use these weapons to smother you in a way way different from what that other faggot wanted!”

“No, Master Hunter… it’s not that… it’s just that you look so much like your dad! You’re a twenty-years-younger copy of him… I… I’ll pay you a bigger sum… but can you refer to yourself as Master Rusty while you jerk off?”

“So you have a fetish for my old man, huh? You sick fuck! But I’m cool with that! Just keep that ugly mug off the screen and don’t you dare talk to me while I do what needs to be done!”

“Thanks, Master Rusty… just one more thing, that mustache you’re growing makes you look even more like your dad… if I may be so bold, I’d say you should keep it.”

“I’ve allowed too much boldness, you worm. Now let’s wrap this up. Camera off,” Hunter said as he laid back on the bed, the camera aimed at him.

“So you want a piece of old Rusty, huh? You little shit?” Hunter teased, while Henry’s little voice tried to fight against the wave of mockery and arrogance filling his mind.

“A new chance to suck that cock? Only in your dreams.” He continued, with vivid memories of orgies with various women and dozens of live streams and videos for desperate gay guys into humiliation flooding his mind.

“You can look and admire, you can worship me from a distance, but this here, this here you’ll never have again pathetic faggot,” he concluded before exploding with a huge load that covered his entire abdomen.

“Thanks for the grand, loser.”

He ended the call and saved a copy of the video showing only the upper part of his body, teasing the release the full presentation for his fans after they donated a good chunk of cash.

As he lay back down, distracted, thinking about the bizarre situation with a coworker of his dad’s and what Old Rusty would think if he found out where the money supporting his son extravagant lifestyle and his monthly allowances was coming from. In that moment of distraction what remained of Henry inside him made one last attempt to surface, somehow managing to miraculously regain a bit of control. Thinking about how to fix this, Henry looked at his body; however, he seemed… normal. His enormous size 15 feet were giving off a potent funk as always. His well-developed calves giving way to tree trunk thighs, while hanging between them was his pride, his massive 10-inch cock, with which he toyed a bit before continuing his investigation. His abs were chiseled like an 8-brick wall, and just above them were the two slabs of flesh that were his pecs. He grabbed his phone and opened the camera, seeing his face; indeed, a near-exact copy of his dad’s face, square and masculine. The overall impression was one of arrogance and disdain, which precisely defined his personality.

He dropped the phone and smiled, satisfied, as he rested his head on his powerful arms. “Damn, Hunter, you’re one hot piece of ass,” he said to himself. “These faggots will never get tired of you,” he concluded, knowing that with a body and a cock like his, money would never be a problem.

Hundreds of miles away from Hunter’s dorm, Larry was finishing up his third or fourth jerk-off session, this time looking at the gif that served as Hunter’s profile picture on the app. That, he thought, was the best decision he’d ever made, seeing the perfect copy of Rusty that Hunter had become, a copy willing to treat him in the degrading way he’d dreamed for months that his dad would do. As he reached orgasm, remembering all the insults and humiliations, he wondered to himself if there was a chance that the son of one of the other coworkers would fall into the same trap; well, it wouldn’t hurt to try, especially if the reward was as delicious as Hunter.

[yourgoodboybaby]

No because actually I do need to get defiled in the choir loft. It's late at rehearsal one night after everyone else has already left and I'm organizing the music library like I always do when I feel something watching me. Need something unholy to creep from underneath the pulpit to teach me a new way to sing. Need to be taken like an offering to be sacrificed, split open by a forked tongue and consumed. Need to be taught worship in a way that it's never been before, greedy and scalding and too close to sin. Need to lose myself slowly as my yelps and cries turn to moans and my fear turns to desire. Need to be used and pounded and broken by something that doesn't care if I can take it or not. Need claws and teeth raking over my flesh as I'm taken, whispers of how sweetly I sing for it in my ear. Need to cum with the taste of fire and brimstone on my tongue and need it to keep going after. Need to be forced to take it so hard that I forget having ever loved a god at all

[fafnir19]

I’m just about ready to graduate from college, but I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to be one of the muscular, fratty freshmen in our baseball team. I heard they all had their heads shaved into a buzzcut as part of their hazing process. Is there a chance you can help me join them?

The sun was warm on your face as you sat on a bench in the park, watching the baseball team practice. It was just a few days before your graduation ceremony, and you felt a mix of excitement and apprehension about the future. Beside you was your best friend, with whom you shared a laugh, enjoying one of your last moments of care-free student life. "I'm just about ready to graduate from college," you said, a hint of nostalgia and uncertainty in your voice. "But I've been thinking, what if I'd taken a different path? What if I were one of those muscular, fratty freshmen on the baseball team? I heard they all had to get their heads shaved into a buzzcut as part of their hazing process." Your friend laughed. "You? A jock? That's a funny thought." You smiled at the idea, knowing it was a bit far-fetched. "Yeah, I know. It's just a fantasy, I guess." Your friend checked the time and stood up. "Hey, I've got to run. See you later." You waved goodbye, your eyes drifting back to the baseball field. You sighed, a mix of emotions washing over you as you contemplated the future.

That's when you noticed Jason, the team captain of the baseball players, standing in front of you. He said nothing, simply staring into your eyes with an intense gaze.

Your nervous laughter faded, and you shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "Jason... I don't understand..." you stammered, your eyes flicking around, unable to hold his intense gaze. "Shh, just look into my eyes..." Jason's voice was low and hypnotic, his sharp blue eyes boring into yours. Your heart raced as you felt yourself becoming entranced, your body relaxing despite your mind's feeble protests. "I think you'd look better on the floor," he said, his voice reverberating in your mind. Before you could react, you felt his fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. "No, Jason... I... I should..." you moaned, your resistance fading. "No need to resist... just listen to my voice... follow my eyes..." Jason's deep chuckle filled the air, his fingers caressing your jaw. Your body betrayed you as you moaned in response, your cock throbbing within your pants. "Mmm... fuck... Jason..." You sank to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. Your mouth hung open as you panted, your lips slick with drool. Jason stepped closer, his tight baseball pants straining to contain his bulging cock.

"You ready for the real thing?" he asks, and before you can respond, his pants slip away, revealing his massive cock. Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel yourself being pulled closer, your face inches away from his length.

As you opened your mouth to speak, to ask him to wait, you felt yourself being pulled forward. Toward him. Into him. It was as if you were being sucked into a vortex.The world darkens as you are pulled into the void. You feel your body shrinking and yourself being pulled into the tip of his cock. Your surroundings darkening as you're enveloped by his flesh. "Oh, fuck, yes..." Jason hisses, his eyes rolling back in his head as he feels you shrinking inside him. "That's it, boy, swim down to my balls. That's where you belong." The ground falls away, and you are falling, tumbling head over heels through the darkness. You cry out, your voice echoing back to you, but it is too late. You are enveloped in warmth, a sticky, wet heat that slows your movements and muffles your screams. You realize, with a start, that you are inside Jason's balls. The space is tight and confined, the soft yet resilient skin pressing against you from all sides. You are encased in a sticky, slimy substance that makes it hard to move. The thick, creamy fluid surrounds you, seeping into your pores and clouding your mind. You try to move, to orient yourself, but your body feels heavy and sluggish, your movements slow and dull. "Awww... it must be very musky down there, boy." Jason's deep laughter echoes through the sac, the sound vibrating against your skin. "I can feel you moving around in my cum tank. The scent must be driving you wild, huh? Making you all fuzzy and pliable. Hey, are you still with me, boy?" You try to respond, but your mouth feels full, your tongue heavy and unresponsive. You manage a feeble groan, a sound of surrender and submission. "Good... because Daddy is going to infiltrate you with my superior genes. Just relax and let it take effect. Soon, I'll rebuild you, and you'll be my obedient creation. My legal son, molded in my image as a fratty baseball player. Does that turn you on, boy? Knowing you'll be my little teen desperate to be just like Daddy." 

As Jason speaks, you feel the soft, resilient membrane of the sac pressing against you from all sides, constricting your movement. The surface is slippery and slick, offering no purchase for your flailing limbs. You are completely at the mercy of the powerful athlete. "Inside this sac, my body will produce a special gunk, a seminal straitjacket, that will cocoon you and ensure your transformation. It will merge with your very being, corrupting and assimilating you until you are reduced to the size of a mere sperm cell. You will be one of my boys, a part of me, and I will decide when and how to release you." You squirm and writhe, your movements growing weaker by the second. The gunk Jason mentioned begins to seep into the membrane, a warm, viscous fluid that coats your skin and penetrates your pores.

You let out a frustrated moan, your voice now little more than a whimper. "Mmm... ohhh... Jaaason..." "That's it, boy. Squirm for me. Groan for me. Your pleasure is mine to control, and your transformation is already well underway." You feel yourself being pulled deeper into the gunk, your body contracting and shrinking further. The membrane squeezes tighter, and your movements become more and more restricted. "Enjoy the ride, boy. Before long, you'll be a part of me, and I'll shoot you out when I'm ready to impregnate some lucky girl. Until then, just know that you're mine, and I own every inch of your being." You whimper, your mind clouding with pleasure and submission. Before long, you're nothing more than a sperm cell, ready to be wanked out and reborn under his control.

Days turned into an eternity of existence as a sperm cell, until finally, Jason fucks a hot girl and you're shot into a condom. The condom lay forgotten on the bedroom floor, a testament to Jason's post-coital carelessness.

You were aware of your existence as a mere sperm cell, shot into the condom during his release. The latex prison seemed like your final resting place as you hadn't fulfilled your purpose of impregnating an egg. "This is it," you thought, bracing for the end. "I'll fade away, and my consciousness will be lost forever."  But then, something unexpected happened. You began to absorb the cum that surrounded you, feeling it nourish and restore your body. 

"What the—?" Jason's voice cut through the room as he noticed the condom on the floor, twitching and pulsating. You continued to grow, your form taking shape within the condom. The rubber constricted around you, tight and confining, but you pushed against it, desperate to break free. "Oh fuck..." Jason's eyes went wide as he realized what was happening. "I never expected this." You grew, inch by inch, cell by cell, until you were human once more. With a final, powerful surge, you burst out of the condom, naked and transformed. Your body was younger, more supple, and resembled Jason's athletic build. You were now 18, a fresh-faced teen brimming with potential. As you ran your hands through your hair, you noticed it was shorter, styled in a buzzcut like Jason's.

You stood there, dazed, your mind foggy but filled with new thoughts and desires. "Baseball..." you muttered, your eyes landing on the bat leaning against the wall. "Frat..." You looked down at your body, flexing your muscles, and then at Jason, admiration and devotion shining in your eyes. "You... my role model." Jason's voice cut through the air as he picked up the shredded condom, a look of surprise on his face. "How is this possible?" You tried to speak, but your mouth felt strange, as if you were forming words for the first time. "I... I don't know," you managed, your voice sounding like a stranger's. "Amazing," Jason whispered, a smile spreading across his face. "My own minion." You looked at him, and your mind felt cloudy. Thoughts of admiration and loyalty filled your head. This man, Jason, was your role model. You wanted to be just like him—a confident, charismatic leader. Jason's eyes narrowed, and he placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. "Well, my little creation, it seems like we're bound together now. And I think it's time to put you to good use." You nodded eagerly, your mind now singularly focused on pleasing Jason and embracing the life he had bestowed upon you. "Yes, master. I'm ready to serve. Tell me what to do." "First, we need to get you geared up. You can't go around naked all the time." Jason laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that made you feel safe and excited. "Then, we'll initiate you into the frat. You're going to be the freshest pledge they've ever seen." As Jason began to dress you, you marveled at the feeling of the fabric against your skin and the sound of Jason's laughter filling the room.

Weeks pass, and you fall into a routine with Jason. You train with the baseball team, your body responding to the rigorous exercises with ease. Your skills improve daily, and the team accepts you as one of their own. You became a star player, all thanks to the power Jason had given you.

"He's doing great, Coach," Jason says, a hint of pride and astonishment lacing his voice. "The perfect fratty baseball player. But I can't help but notice his singular focus on baseball and, well... fucking." He chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his buzzed head.

The coach's eyes narrow, a spark of interest flashing in their depths. "Ah, I see. And what do you make of this behavior?" Jason shrugs, his broad shoulders rising and falling. "I'm not sure, Coach. I thought maybe it's just a phase, but it's been a few weeks now. He's always been a bit of a horn dog, but this feels different." A slow, satisfied smile spreads across the coach's face, creasing the corners of his eyes. "That's to be expected, Jason.  It's because he hasn't impregnated an egg when he was a sperm. He's grown from your cum, and that process has left him a horny breeding stud, pure and simple." Jason's eyes widened, a mix of shock and concern on his face. "So, that means..." Coach's hand caressed Jason's cheek, a sinister smile playing on his lips "Don't worry, Jason. After your baseball career, I'll make sure you become a dumb breeding stud too. You and your minion will be the start of something big: The breeding of the perfect baseball player... it's an art, a business, a passion. Much like the breeding of racehorses, this could become a very profitable business." Jason's eyes widened, the realization sinking in. "So, this was your plan all along? To create the perfect baseball players?" "Exactly," the coach said, stroking Jason's cheek.

Jason swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You mean... I'll be... livestock?" The coach's eyes glitter with an unspoken power dynamic. "In a manner of speaking, yes. But you already knew that, didn't you, Jason? You knew the score when you agreed to this." "Y-you can't be serious..." Jason stammers, his voice cracking slightly. "Shh, don't worry. You'll be a dumb breeding stud soon enough. Led by your instincts, you'll be the perfect livestock." Coach's eyes glint with a dangerous mix of excitement and power. "No... I don't want to be a... a breeding stud." Jason's voice is strong and determined. On Coach's lips is playing a smile and he steps closer to Jason, his presence dominating the room. "Oh, but you will, Jason. You will. It's already begun, can't you feel it?" Jason swallowed hard, "I-I guess I have been feeling... different lately. More focused on baseball and..." he trails off, his cheeks flushing. "Your body and mind are already changing, becoming more pliable to my will. Soon, you won't be able to resist." The Coach's voice is low and hypnotic, his eyes boring into Jason's. "And by then, you'll be begging to be my livestock, begging to be used for breeding, to be owned, and to pass on your genes to create more athletes.” Coach's eyes narrow as whispers into Jason's ear. "Or should I turn you into breeding stock now? Make you dumb and led by your instincts?" "No, Coach, please," Jason protested, his voice cracking. Coach's hand reaches out, caressing Jason's cheek, then trailing down to his lips. "Relax, Jason. You'll be dumb as a rock, led by your base desires. Perfect breeding material." Jason screams, "No...", his hands reaching up to clutch at his head as if in pain. "Please, no... I can't... I can't think..." The thought of becoming Coach's livestock stirs a strange, primal desire within him. "Shh, it's already done, Jason. Your fate is sealed." The Coach chuckles, his eyes glittering with amusement. "But don't worry, you'll enjoy it. The power, the pleasure, your steadily dumbing mind... it will be unlike anything you've ever experienced before." Jason whimpers, his body trembling, and you realize that he is getting aroused, his pants tenting with the evidence of his desire.

 "Now, now, no need to be embarrassed." The Coach's voice is soothing, his hand reaching out to stroke Jason's bulging crotch. "Embrace your new nature, Jason. Let it consume you." "Y-yes..." Jason moans, his eyes rolling back in his head as he surrenders to the pleasure. "Oh, Coach... it feels so good..." You watch, transfixed, as Jason succumbs to the Coach's will, his body becoming a slave to the pleasure coursing through him. You wanted the same. To be a mindless, obedient jock, devoted to baseball and being used for breeding. "Good boy," Coach purrs, stroking Jason's now-pliant body. "You'll be my perfect little breeder. Now, go and practice. We have a game coming up, and I expect nothing less than perfection from my team." Jason nods, his mind clouded with desire and obedience.

He knows his fate is sealed. He will become the coach's breeding stud, and somehow, horny thoughts of being Coach's livestock excited him.

[kelykorruption]

Factory Default

Val was your typical goth girl for most of her young life, being drawn to the style at a young age and embracing the lifestyle. In high school Val discovered her sexuality and realized she just wasn't attracted to men. Even though she wasn't your stereotypical popular girl, everyone at school was drawn to Val, boys thought they could change her, and girls wanted to be her, or be with her. Despite this Val kept most people at arms length, she knew nobody wanted her for who she was on the inside, they all just wanted the hot goth girl for her looks.

Going into university Val was sure not much would change but was hopeful she might find at least one other like-minded person at such a massive school. Luckily it didn't take long for Val to meet someone that actually understood her, someone who looked and thought like her, not to copy or impress her, but to express their own personality. Before long they introduced her to others who shared her lifestyle and for the first time in a long time Val was surrounded by people who understood and respected her, this was the happiest she had ever been.

One day after class Val was heading home to get ready for her first day at her new job, she was going to bartend at a new alternative bar that opened up just outside campus grounds. The new bar was kinda tacky, feeling more like Hot Topic without children than an actual bar, but the vibes were good and the pay was alright so Val was pretty excited to get started.

Before she could make it home though Val was stopped on the street by a stranger, she didn't recognize him from any of her classes and he didn't really seem like a student at all. The man asked Val if she wanted to see a magic trick, Val rolled her eyes and told the man she had no time for a silly card trick before he cut her off and closed the gap between the two of them. Before she has a chance to react the man leans in and whispers into her ear "Factory Default", her vision goes blank as Val falls unconscious on the ground.

Hours later Valarie woke up in her room at the sorority house, her head was spinning and everything felt off but she just couldn't figure out what it was. There was a knock at the door and one of her sorority sister pocked their heads in "Are you still not ready babe? We're leaving in 20 minutes to hit the clubs, hurry up or there won't be any studs left to buy you drinks". The thought horrified Valarie and she immediately got right to applying her makeup, she wouldn't be caught dead buying her own drinks, that's what boys were for, and she learned long ago how to get whatever she wanted from them.

END.

[wineanddineloseyourmind]

You ever think about feminizing cum?

Like imagine pounding a cute boy, and each load widens their hips a little, fills their chest, raises their moans. Every drop of cum she takes makes her just a little bit more…

Your good girl~

Honestly this is the DREAM. idk if I want to be the boy or the tgirl pounding him but either way. yes. Yes yes yes yes goddddddddd yes.

It starts off as a friends-with-benefits situation, just casual sex now and again. The changes are slight, barely noticeable, the only difference he ever notices is his nipples getting more sensitive and his voice hitting a higher pitch as he cums. That’s nothing too unusual, but he soon finds that it’s difficult to get off from masturbating or having sex with anyone else. He keeps going back to Her, each time bothered less and less with how She always drops “good girl” into Her affirmations, his slight discomfort with the term turning into an inexplicable blush. The pounding he gets every time She cums inside him gets rougher as well, until one day he can feel his tits bouncing as he gets railed against the bed…

[victoriaprincess]

....need to be a brainwashed maid in a maid cafe, all the maids wearing identical uniforms with different colour schemes to match each maids colorful dyed hair, a happy dazed smile on each of our faces as we serve our customers, trained to fully believe that every customer is our one and only master/mistress/mxtress/owner who we must serve however we can.

[pyra-colony-au]

smth smth art block anyway heres smth experimental

[warping-realities]

Where Would You Rather Be? (Redux)

A collaboration with the amazing @johnbrand

“You know I love you, right?” Malcolm reaffirmed to his boyfriend. “And I’m here for you, babe.”

It had been a hell of a week for Shane. He had been living in the city for almost ten years now, moving there for college and then sticking around after graduation. It was a scary transition, but thanks to the quick friends he made, the ride was a bit easier. One of them, Shane’s freshman roommate—who he had lived with and then kept close since they met—got an eviction notice the week before. Shane had been as supportive as he could through the whole mess, but watching his buddy pack up and leave was a real kick in the gut. His friend would now be living hours away, no longer right next door.

Shane nodded his head, followed by a quick “Thanks, babe.”

“I’m happy to be the shoulder you can cry on, I know this sucks” Malcolm sympathized. “Still wanna grab dinner tonight? We can bail on the plans if you need some time.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Shane said with a slight smile. “Plus, it’s our third anniversary—you’ve done more than your fair share, and I’m super grateful for that.”

Malcolm chuckled, quickly snatching Shane from behind. “Then maybe you’ll have to show some gratitude later tonight.”

Rolling his eyes, Shane still returned the passionate kiss from his boyfriend.

That night, he found himself back in his own home. After climbing a few flights of stairs, he was surprised to find his buddy’s old apartment door wide open. Curious, Shane peeked in, and without thinking twice, he stepped into the familiar space, now filled with unknown furniture, boxes, and other random junk scattered around.

Before he could snoop around, a voice from behind barked at him to move aside. “Get outta the way, bro!”

The rich baritone caught Shane so off guard that he jumped a bit, scurrying as a big dude stomped through the doorway before dropping a few boxes. At least six feet tall, the buff, masculine intruder immediately intimidated Shane. Shirtless, barefoot, and rocking some tiny shorts that could easily be mistaken for underwear. Probably due to the effort of hauling all those boxes, the muscular man gave off a strong, manly odor that quickly overwhelmed Shane’s senses. In fact, all of his senses, although he didn’t really realize it. The stranger smiled cockily, sizing Shane up with eyes glinting with mischief before speaking.

“Mind being useful and helping me organize the rest of my stuff?” the man asked. Shane, a bit freaked out by the pure masculinity in front of him, didn’t say a word. The guy didn’t need his response, though, knowing Shane would help him out no matter what. Shane couldn’t explain what came over him; his mouth was just hanging open while cardboard boxes were dumped into his waiting arms.

In minutes, he was soaked in sweat, having to peel off layer after layer of clothing as he helped the stranger organize the apartment. His mind screamed at the absurdity of the situation, yet he kept doing what the man asked him to do like a robot. After an hour of relentless work, the guy, noticing Shane’s drenched clothes, pulled out a change of clothes from one of the boxes still piled in a corner.

“Put these on, thank goodness I wear extra-large, bro, so they should fit your chubby ass!” he said, flexing his muscles and releasing another wave of that masculine musk from his armpits.

Drowsy Shane picked up the clearly unwashed tank top and gym shorts, reeking of that same animal musk but concentrated from days of use. That scent almost made him hurl.

“What are you waiting for, man? Put these on already. We still got work to do.”

Once again, not understanding why, Shane felt compelled to obey, stripping down in front of his new neighbor until he was left only in his underwear. He was already putting on his shorts when the man interrupted him.

“No, man, you gotta let the jewels breathe. Not that they take up much space, from what I can see, but there’s no reason to squeeze the poor things,” he quipped, bursting into laughter, and Shane, even without getting the joke, found himself laughing along. When he was finally dressed in the provided clothes, completely engulfed by the animalistic smell, the man approached him with a grin.

“Back to work, man, a little more exercise and maybe you’ll fill out those clothes just right,” he said with a smirk. Shane just nodded and kept working.

Before he knew it, another two hours had flown by, and the apartment now had a minimally organized look, unlike the previous chaos. The night fully enveloped the dimly lit room.

“Martin,” the mysterious man finally offered his name, alongside a giant meaty hand that crushed Shane’s. “Are you my new neighbor?”

“Uh... yeah,” Shane finally spoke, pointing to the wall their apartments would share.

“Cool, bro,” Martin replied. “Wanna chill on the balcony with me for a bit?”

Shane checked his watch, noting that there was still some time before he had to get ready for his dinner date. “Sure.” Following the muscular alpha outside, Shane took a seat on the wicker couch while waiting for Martin. He did his best to plan out the remaining time he had. Not realizing that the tight outfit now seemed to hang off his body, which in the last few hours had shed a good amount of fat while gaining a little muscle, revealing a face that was somewhere between cute and handsome.

“Sit over there,” Martin directed as he stepped onto the balcony. Shane didn’t think twice about getting up and moving aside so Martin could sit on the couch. It wasn’t until he moved to the other side of the coffee table that Shane realized Martin wanted him to sit on the deck.

“That’s right, faggot. Sit in front of my feet,” Martin said, the friendly smile fading from his face as he propped his giant, smelly feet up on the table.

Shane was shocked, offended by his neighbor’s sudden bigotry. The lame joke about the size of his dick was one thing, but this vocabulary was degrading and... the smell of a full day’s work was coming off those giant boards Martin called feet. And Shane train of thought completely derailed. So he did as he was told, taking his seat in front of the two massive soles placed before him. Somewhat exasperated by the incomprehensible actions he had taken up until that point and anxious not to miss his meeting with his boyfriend, Shane shifted uncomfortably in the awkward spot, to the point that Martin himself noticed.

“You got any plans tonight, fag?” Martin questioned.

In a flustered, embarrassed, and strangely lustful state, Shane answered, “Yeah, I have an anniversary dinner with my boyfriend.”

Martin snickered. “And when is that?”

“I should start getting ready in 10 minutes,” Shane’s response was robotic. “I’ve gotta shower, get dressed, wrap my present, and then travel.”

Martin mulled this over for a bit, relishing the fact that Shane would wait for his next prompt. He was completely overtaken by the scent that wafted from the other man. Martin’s natural musk and body odor held an authority over him like nothing else ever had.

“Let me make you a deal, faggot,” Martin finally said. “You can bounce now, get ready, and have a great night with your loving boyfriend. Or you can stay seated right where you are, at the feet of a straight man, waiting for my next command and finally discover what it’s like to be a real man!”

Shane didn’t reply, shocked by what Martin was insinuating. With casual indifference, Martin wiggled his toes in front of Shane, knowing the silence was already his answer. But in true alpha fashion, Martin made sure to hammer his superiority home.

“Where would you rather be, faggot?” he asked, with his feet releasing another wave of potent funk towards an already completely subdued prey.

They stayed there without saying a word: Martin laid-back, comfortable, and minding his own business, and Shane at his feet. Neither got up as time ticked by. In his head, Shane’s plans slowly morphed. He didn’t need to wrap Malcolm’s present, he didn’t need to shower, he didn’t even need to change. Eventually, the anniversary dinner came and went, and Shane was still at the feet of the straight man.

“Well, now that you’ve made your choice I gotta keep my promise, right, sissy boy? But to be my bro, you gotta become a real man, don’t you, Shotgun?”

“My name is…”

“Shut up, sissy boy. You’ll be able to talk when you’re a man and have a place to sit by my side, not at my feet!”

Imbued by Martin’s potent scent and words of dominance, Shane fell silent.

“I don’t give a damn what you were known for, Shotgun,” Martin retorted, making the smaller man shiver at the sound of that nickname. “I don’t care about your art degree or the lame job you do or the degenerate things you do with your fag boyfriend. And that doesn’t matter to you either, Shotgun, because it’s not real, but what I’m gonna tell you now is that it is real, and your jelly brain is gonna do its best to make it happen.” The man concluded, lifting both arms and releasing the most powerful wave of musk yet, taking Shane... or Shotgun?... what kind of name is that? That didn’t matter, only the wave of nauseating smell that invaded him.

“Take it like a man, Shotgun,” Martin ordered, and he obeyed. “What you’re gonna do is very simple, I want you to think about all the jocks who humiliated you in school, the fraternity brothers who often give each other nicknames just like yours, Shotgun, which you certainly mocked but deep down envied. I want you to think about all the real men you and your faggot friends called toxic behind their backs without having the guts to face them. I want you to picture yourself as one of them, with all the stereotypes of white cis straight men, yada yada yada bullshit that your liberal faggot mind has stored. I want you to take all their traits and slap them on yourself. Habits, behavior, conduct, appearance, desires, thoughts, everything! Yeah, everything you think about guys like me applied to you. When you’re done, Shotgun, then we’ll talk man to man, and only then I’ll wanna know more about my new bro. A bro who scored this awesome apartment for a fellow frat brother moving across the country as soon as he heard someone just like him was moving here, just for the spirit of brotherhood that exists between real men that your old self would never have been able to grasp! Do it now!

The wave of nausea hit its peak; Shane felt the vomit rising in his throat but held it back, swallowing it down again, while another sensation took over his head, a feeling of being invaded and violated, his mind dominated by a relentless buzz, his vision flooded with a myriad of colors, while his whole body itched as if a million ants were crawling over him. The whole situation was overwhelming. And it got worse when his memories and recollections started to twist and reform, everything he was being tangled up in a whirlwind of misinformation. He found himself facing several traumatic situations from his life, but in reverse roles; the bullying he suffered turning into the bullying he practiced, the sports activities observed from afar being felt and lived, the toxic behavior going from being judged to being experienced and appreciated. And with that, new memories surfacing, time in the gym sculpting his body to perfection, nights of sex with various women whose names he didn’t even remember, his work at the art gallery replaced by a finance job earned not through talent but through connections made via his fraternity brothers. At last the image of Malcolm, the great love of his life, being erased. In an internal scream of despair, he tried to cling to that safe harbor, but that ship had already sailed to new waters, taking with it his humility, knowledge, empathy, and kindness. Leaving only inflated self-confidence, privilege, and respect only for those he considers equal or superior.

As the night wore on and Shane’s inner turmoil reached its peak, his exterior was undergoing its own transformation. His muscles were going into overdrive. They just kept contracting and expanding. Over and over. Lost in jumbled thoughts, he couldn’t feel his bones stretching longer. But each one was stretching out to its new length, growing denser to support his new weight. His average build quickly disappeared as muscle packed onto his recent lean frame. Little by little, he felt constricted by Martin’s clothing. The shirt pulled at his chest and shoulders while the shorts barely contained his thick, muscular ass, with his thighs growing like tree trunks, stretching the fabric to its limit. His shoulders broadened, turning into large round orbs jutting from his sides. Two mighty pecs pushed a bit in front of him while a firm set of abs grew more defined right underneath. His biceps bulged out of his arms while his forearms widened to support the new strength building within him. Amid the chaos of conflicting memories, his average-sized dick, the butt of Martin’s jokes, quickly grew to new heights. What had been his maximum hard was now his flaccid member. His calves grew to the size of most men thighs. Meanwhile, his feet grew well beyond the previous size 8, increasing to the point of competing with Martin’s stinky paws, which had to be at least size 13. The changes also hit his face, which took on a more squared-off, rugged look, with his button nose growing and turning into an aquiline nose that could’ve easily been broken in a fight, which only reinforced the raw masculinity taking over from his previous cuteness.

Finally, a smile formed on his chiseled face, oozing confidence and displaying his internal arrogance for all to see.

Seeing that smile appear, Martin knew his work was nearly done. And when that new Shane let out a fart and a burp, he knew it was all over. Feeling that new putrid smell mix with his own musk, he turned to the other man.

“Damn, Shotgun, you’re rank!”

“I didn’t get the name Shotgun Shane for nothing, man; it was for the shots I could take back in college, but I almost got called Stinkbomb for what I let out. Now, if you’re gonna complain about the smell, you better get those damn feet outta my face!” Shane shot back, his arrogant smile widening. This made Martin lift his feet off Shane’s face while cracking up.

“I knew we’d be best bros the moment we met, Shotgun,” he said, admiring the result of his handiwork.

“Me too, bro; way better having you as a neighbor than that faggot who lived here before.”

“If you compare me to some queer again, I’m gonna mess you up.”

“You can try!” Shane replied, flexing one of his powerful arms before continuing. “But you’re right, there’s no comparison, dude. To make it up to you, how about I take you to check out the hottest club in town? Celebrate the move by picking up some chicks?”

“Now you’re speaking my language, bro!”

….

Martin hated waiting on others, even though he himself had no problem showing up late. Apparently, Shane inherited that same trait during his transformation. The other man had gone home, took forever in the shower, and then posted some pretty provocative videos on his social media. The first one showed off his well-developed muscles while he seductively invited all the girls interested in him to meet him and his best bro at a city club.

In the second video, he just slid the camera down, revealing the huge package he had stuck in his underwear. All of this under the suggestive caption, “You really gonna miss this?”

Martin was super stoked with the results of his actions. Moving to a new city was tricky, but having a bro made it a whole lot easier, no matter that bro had been crafted by him. Still, he wondered if he hadn’t put too much of himself into the other man while he waited for him with a frown and his arms crossed. After a reasonable amount of waiting, he saw the gigantic figure strutting toward him down the first-floor corridor and was sure he had indeed put too much of himself into the other man, which could lead to some friction in the future when they had to sort out their power dynamics, but at that moment, that didn’t matter; he just wanted to have a good time, and there wouldn’t be better company than someone who was practically him in another body.

That became even clearer when Shane stopped in front of his irritated face and flexed his muscles playfully.

“What’s with the ugly mug, dude? You wanna throw down?”

“The ugly mug is because you took your sweet time, Shotgun! And you can joke all you want, but you can’t compete with this,” he replied, flexing one of his powerful arms. “Now let’s go after some hot chicks, or what?”

….

Malcolm didn’t quite know why he was in that dump of bigotry and toxicity. He just felt like something was missing and couldn’t quite put his finger on what. His trip to the place was the result of an Instagram video where one of the typical patrons invited all the interested bitches to come on down. Malcolm didn’t consider himself a bitch and usually would’ve laughed if someone said he might be into a dude like that, yet here he was. Knowing he had no chance of getting close to that man radiating toxicity. But only when he saw that self-proclaimed Shotgun Shane chatting up a hot young woman did something stir within him, a memory of a passionate kiss shared just that morning.

“S-Shane…?” he murmured, though he didn’t know exactly who this man was, he felt something deeply wrong was going on. While he stood there, dumbfounded, the man made his move and kissed the woman, which made him decide to leave the place as he was hit by another wave of strangeness and sadness mixed together.

However, he wasn’t the only one watching the scene; on the other side of the club, Martin saw his supposed wingman score before he did.

“Damn, I really put too much of myself in that dude,” he muttered as he weaved through the crowd. That’s when he saw Malcolm hurrying along with a look of confusion.

Well, if his wingman bailed on him, he could just make another one, right? It’s not like there was a shortage of material to work with, as that other faggot’s presence left abundantly clear. He just needed to be a bit more careful not to overdo it again, although he didn’t really have that refined of a control over the final result, and the most likely outcome would be ending up with another bro exactly like him. But he didn’t care that much; to him, there wouldn’t be better company than his own, and if someone asked him where and with whom he rather be, the answer would always be the same, he thought, smiling as he approached his future bro.