#muscle in progress

[growingbeastbro]

Guess it's time to post the first pics of me on this blog... not sure what I weigh yet at the start of this. Let grind this out, grow baby grow!

[xxautumnivyxx]

Someone necromanced this thread from 2021, so here’s an update.

[occamstfs]

Talismen II: Gamer Grows Up

One episode of toxity too many leaves Nicky forcing Rick on a journey to maturity despite his best attempts to remain an asshole

Hope you enjoy! I’m always very happy with my bear TF’s haha! Hope you all feel similarly :) Same deal as last time, I’ll throw a poll up on Sunday the 8th and we’ll keep the ball rolling! Best! -Occam

Doing his best to put down subconscious alarm bells that something amiss has happened to his boyfriend, Nicky gets back to the main event of his morning: running it down in League. It’s not intentional of course, his duo and friend Louis was trying something new and he clearly should have spent some time in the practice tool before queuing up. In call, Louis is uncharacteristically sullen, trying to salvage both the mood and game, Nicky alternates between giving gameplay tips and trying to raise his friend’s spirits, “It’s just a completely different playstyle Lew. Besides, it’s just a norm, not like anyone’s gonna flame-” 

Little did the kindly magician know, before the words even finished falling from his mouth that elsewhere in town, Rick, their less than pleasant mid-laner had begun typing up quite vehement digs directed at the struggling bot duo:

[Team] Yasuoorbust: Are you fckrs 14 or what????? Fckn L2P 

Nicky’s lips tighten into a grimace as he hears a sigh loud and clear over discord, followed promptly by the familiar in-game announcement: An Ally was Slain accompanied by his support’s portrait. This, of course, immediately incited another outburst from their needlessly aggro teammate. The game proceeds like this for a good while. After racking up a handful more deaths and a good deal more insults from the midlaner, Louis is over it and implores Nicky to just mute and move on. Jaw-clenched and blood boiling irrationally, Nicholas instead opts to fire back, 

[All] Heartstolen: Guys can you report Yas- He’s been flaming my sup all game.

[Team] Yasuoorbust: LMAOOOO fckn litttle btch

[Team] Yasuoorbust: *****

Reaching the fifteen minute mark, the ticket out arrives and Louis immediately throws up a surrender vote. Clearly he wasn’t ready to Sett support and would promptly be getting back to his pool of enchanters and mages next game. Before freedom arrives however, Rick lobs a few more clearly bannable slurs at Louis that the support doesn’t see. Nicky, before submitting the final surrender vote, sees red in more ways than one. Eyes glimmering and fingertips burning crimson as he sets to type a message directly to the asshole.

(whisper) To Yassuoorbust: Chill out dude. It’s a game. Grow Up.

Laughing at the response, as trolls are wont to do, Rick smirks and begins to lambast the perceived loser before hesitating. He’s never seen red text like that in game. Hesitating, he’s caught off-guard and hasn’t a chance to reply before he sees their nexus blowing up and the announcer finally calls it: Defeat. Still distracted from seeing the bizarre message from the ADC, Rick doesn’t make it to the lobby before the duo have left and blocked him, preventing him from flaming them any further or contacting them at all.

“Whatever-” Rick whispers to himself alone in his bedroom, illuminated only by the blue light from his computer screen. Hearing the cold wind of an empty lobby in his headset, Rick scoffs and rubs at his monitor as he sees a red smudge on the screen. If he didn’t know any better he’d swear it’s exactly the spot on the screen where that pussy’s little message was. He licks his thumb and goes to wipe it off. When his spit covered thumb makes contact he’s filled with a bizarre sensation. A shiver, rather than a shock, courses through him. Hands go numb and an uncomfortable prickly burning fills his chest. He struggles to breath and his eyes go wide as he experiences anxiety for the first time, amplified to a degree beyond overwhelming. 

Gasping, he clutches at his ratty shirt and his whole screen flashes red before, just as quickly as it began, it’s over. Catching his breath the feeling in his hands returns and he grimaces as they sting with pain from being clenched far too hard. Looking back at the league client he briefly imagines closing it and going to do something that even has the semblance of productivity. Instead, he shakes out his hands and clicks through to queue up once more, winning will make him right as rain. He’s sure of it.

Once in game it becomes more than clear that this is not to be the case. At every opportunity the shoe is on quite the other foot for the troll. The champion he hovered was banned, he was immediately first blooded, both the enemy team and his own gang up to taunt and tilt him. Worse yet, anytime he opens chat to aggress, or even just to defend himself, he’s struck with a searing headache. His hands keep cramping up and he’s fat fingered more abilities than he’s hit. Despite years of dedication to the game, Rick is playing at a level that even a CPU would struggle to lose to.

His head burns with rage and his jaw remains clenched in so much fury that it’s a wonder it won’t lock up like that. About halfway through a game where he has spent more time waiting to respawn then playing Rick finds more discomfort begin to arise each time the irksome retort from Nicky returns, Grow up. His whole torso begins to itch, almost as if he were allergic to the stained t-shirt he had been wearing for two days straight. Forcing a greasy hand under his shirt to get at his skin, he is thoroughly shocked to find it suddenly dragging through a treasure trail rising well past his belly button. The shock almost knocks him out of his gamer chair, he tugs at a hair or two and sharply exhales as he yanks a strand from the new forest slowly inching its way up towards his chest. 

Before he can examine it to discover the prodigious length he respawns and gets his head back in the game. Or at least he tries to. He has to take his headset off as the volume makes his headache worse. When the enemy jungler goes in on him, he furrows his brow in confusion as she uses abilities he can’t even discern. Rick scratches at his chin as his foggy mind struggles to even name the champion that has just killed him. Grey screened once more he puts his head in his hands and groans as playing the game any longer becomes untenable. He throws up a surrender vote and is promptly mocked for doing so. 

Punching the table in irritation he scratches at his chest through his shirt and taps his foot impatiently as he waits for the game to end on its own. Pulling at his shirt to let air into his hot, itchy chest he fans his body odor upwards and grimaces as pits seem to be harboring a stink that his axe body spray wouldn’t be able to cover. When the enemy team finally wins the game he kicks back from his chair and races to the bathroom, struggling to get his shirt off en route as it gets trapped on his sweaty back. Never could he be prepared for the sight he finds upon his arrival.

Where his pale thin chest once was barren, where it should still be hairless, there is now a contiguous line of body hair from his pubes to his collarbones. His lanky fingers and sweaty palms drag across his stomach and his lips twitch to stop from grinning in excitement at finally having any real form of masculinity to point towards. The toxic gamer immediately grabs his phone to snap a picture of his new form, performing some clearly forced, jaw-forward expression to highlight how manly he is now. 

There are butterflies in his stomach as his fingers continue to play with the hair in the center of his chest. Trailing to the lengthier and thicker forest in his pits he purses his lips as he begins to consider how this possibly could have happened on such short notice, maybe it is an allergic reaction? He closes his eyes in concentration and the words flash in his mind once more, Grow Up. Before he can react to this there is a ping on his computer and he races to find, just as Nicky had predicted, his account has been banned for the week. 

“What the fuuUUCk!” He doesn’t even blush as his voice cracks, assuming it to be from his heightened emotional state rather than the Adam's apple for the first time bobbing on his neck. The gamer rubs his face in anguish, not noticing rougher cheeks due to his sorry state as the faintest hints of facial hair begin to descend into almost noticeable sideburns. Instead, a distraction comes in the form of a painfully rumbling stomach. Rick’s dull eyes stare blankly ahead as he briefly tries to recall the last time he ate.

With a sigh he turns and heads off to grab something from his surly barren kitchen to eat. His dominant hand continues to dance across his newly hairy torso, as if he were worried that if it left, so too would his recently sprouted forest. Strangely enough though, with each ambling step it feels less out of place on his stomach. His head tilts as even his dull mind is able to notice the change. He’s- He’s always had a pretty hair chest right? It can’t have just popped up overnight? That’s not, it’s not possible. He scratches into his chest and stomach, feeling his nails catch and drag against dark strands spreading out further across his chest. Still growing and thickening as he arrives at his fridge.

Rick doesn’t know why he’s shocked to find it empty? Not like he’s ever lived any differently. He’s always ordering food delivered, the most complicated dish he’s ever cooked for himself is canned tomato soup alongside a grilled cheese. When his stomach rumbles once more, he grits his teeth and tears open his cabinet to find all one might expect in a man of his ilk’s pantry; a few packages of instant ramen and a litany of half eaten bags of chips. For the first time all day the usual ire at the world turns inward as he chews himself out for living so irresponsibly as he starts water boiling. 

Throwing a few packages of noodles into the pot as it begins to bubble, Rick starts impatiently fisting stale chips into his mouth. Struggling to satiate a hunger greater than he can understand, he grapples with the alien impulse that this is not how things should be. Something deep within him swears he is more responsible than this, that he is more mature than this. He groans and stumbles, feeling woozy from reconciling how things should be against how they clearly are, he drops the chip bag he was holding and it glides to the floor empty. 

He’s brought back to reality as he hears the water boil over onto the stovetop, which he quickly takes off the burner. Stranger still, something begins to bubble up within himself. While not quite sustenance, the few chip bags scattered at his feet seem to have been enough food to give him indigestion. Rick’s fist goes to his mouth as he struggles against an oppressive urge to burp. Trying to push it down or quiet it in any way only makes the pressure more intense as he feels more bloated with each slowly passing second. After wondering why he’s stopping himself from burping at all, he gives in and releases a burp loud enough to get noise complaints. After the first escapes more are soon to follow. And with each mind-numbing release he impossibly feels more bloated.

When at last he gets peace from his gas, Rick starts to check on his noodles before being distracted by new weight sticking out from his chest. His lips again quiver into a smile and his eyes widen in wonder as his hands move to clutch the unequivocal pecs now bulging off a chest that has never held even an ounce of weight before. Only then does he notice that his chest is not the only place where muscle has begun to pile on, underneath the same dark curls that decorate his chest biceps thicken and forearms surge with strength. Hands whose only use has been tapping on a keyboard suddenly widen as, away from his eyeline, thighs and glutes bulk with haste. 

The momentary self-flagellation at his lazy lifestyle immediately vacates as, at the miracle of transformation, he returns to his arrogant, needlessly cruel mindset. His eyes glimmer with pride as he flexes just to smirk at strength that has been bestowed unto his unworthy self. Tossing ramen sloppily into a bowl he aways back to his gamer station as he is filled with a prideful desire to show those fuckers who they messed with. 

Rick slurps noodles from his bowl as he leaves the kitchen in its sorry state, trash scattered on the floor. With each bite hair continues to spread and muscle continues to pile on. Eating like an animal, he wipes his mouth on his newly muscular shoulder and smirks wide enough to strain his face as he feels stubble outright growing into a beard. “Grow up that little fuck said- Oh I grew up alright!” His voice rumbles deep in his chest as he sits down, getting hard at how much of a man he suddenly sounds. How much of a man he suddenly is. 

Anticipation fills him as he wakes his computer back up to go be absolutely needlessly toxic to people who have not spent a second thinking about him after blocking and moving on. With his mind turning to the pathetic work of mocking his fellow man, his free hand instead turns to fondle a growing cock that has finally begun to rear its head. Heavy balls pulse beneath his dick growing at an explosive rate and his is racked with pleasure more intense and consuming than he could ever fathom before his new form. Bulging veins press into his hand as his cock struggles to harden and rise even further above a thicket of pubes.

For a moment Rick’s so lost in his reverie that he totally forgets why he has made his way over to his computer. Seeing his sneering reflection he remembers as he turns it back on to log onto the rift and show those beta-bastards a real dick- er man. Only? What was he logging into again? Perhaps it's from his lust-addled mind but he simply cannot find the game anywhere on his desktop. His eyes strain as he scans the screen and drool nearly drips from his mouth as he continues to paw at his actually dripping cock. When he sees an icon for his webcam his priorities shift as he decides to demonstrate his superiority in a far more direct manner.

Camera on, Rick begins posing in every way his hitherto camerashy mind can imagine. Through the years he’s at least consumed a fair deal of thirst traps after all- Mostly of uh, women though? Yeah. He shakes off his momentary questioning to get back to what matters. How fucking hot he is. Exhibiting a pride even greater than before, he is far too absorbed in seeing just how high his new bicep can peak, how large his new cock looks on camera, how his scratchy new hair feels in his hand, to notice a harsh crimson glow seep along the border of his monitor. His mouth falls open and hips barely stay from bucking as he continues to feel himself up, languish in his powerful warm muscle and appreciate the deep, slow moans that echo throughout his bedroom.

Only when he notices the red light accentuating his bulging veins in a new way does he see the deep red light issuing forth from the screen. Rick sucks up the drool that almost pooled out of his mouth and grunts in irritation as he sets to investigate whatever virus or program seems to be affecting his PC. Even in his distracted, embarrassingly horny, state he’s unable to quiet the fear as two words return with a vengeance to fill his screen. Grow Up. He blinks and it's written again, then again. In no time at all the words spread to blot out and cover every inch of the screen.

Rick is barely present enough to respond to the bizarre stimuli, when he aimlessly repeats it in his new plodding voice that belies not a single thought bouncing around, “g-grow, uh? Up?” his whole body jerks and he clutches at his stomach as once more it begins to bloat. The gamer groans as weight begins to pile onto his only just strengthened core. Abs are quickly hidden behind a healthy layer of fat, making up for years, decades, of unintentional malnourishment behind a computer screen. Grow up. Apparent years of hunching over a keyboard rear their head as back pain sears through him. His newly grown garden of body hair rapidly spreads to become a jungle of fur he couldn’t control or manscape if he wanted to. 

Lying there moaning and groaning, there’s suddenly a sharp inhale as his head sears with the pain of dozens of hangover’s at once. Rick’s vision blurs and goes spotty as he tries to stand and make his way to bed. Inside his mind, hidden by an echoing chorus of Grow Up, the line between what is and is not begins to blur. The gamer almost cries as things he views as vital importance are sucked from his mind. Long hours spent researching optimal build paths and thoughtlessly mimicking tricks he saw streamers do vacate as his balls grow heavy with desire. The twin bed creaks under his new weight as he continues to grow even still.

Face down, muffling his moans, Rick is unaware as the world similarly begins to shift around him. His gamer station, the epicenter of his changes, is the first to go. RGB lighting and his gamer chair fade and contort into a workstation befitting a not-so-young professional of good breeding. Wrappers and other assorted trash blow off his desk and into a trash can that sits precisely where his Ps5 once gathered dust. His pile of unwashed laundry folds itself and flies into a closet as cheap, not even comfortable, clothes expand to fit his larger body and alter into relatively expensive, and elastic, fabrics.

Still lying in bed, pain gives way to pleasure as he has no choice but to welcome the loss of identity. Thicker hands clutch his bedspread as his bed bursts into a queen size and he begins humping into it. Powerful thighs and a heavy core thrust up and down as his balls almost burn with a need for release, a compulsion to cum. His eyes cross as he becomes so set on this end that he doesn’t feel the sheets changing underneath him, see pictures appearing on the wall, hear the sound of the world changing from his abject situation into something better. He does not notice as he changes to someone more mature.

It is not long before he indeed loses control. His new silky sheets are stained and his hairy stomach splattered as his thick arms lose strength and he falls down into his mess. Having spent far more energy than he had stored on this session, Rich passes out and his snores echo deep. His expanded diaphragm pushes against the bed as he produces enough sound that it would be a wonder that anyone would sleep alongside him and yet, unbeknownst to him, reality has plans far greater than the pointedly cruel man would ever deserve had Nicky not willed him better, willed for him better. Despite himself, the hands of a greater man tuck him in as crows feet and smile lines begin to etch themselves around his sleepful eyes.

When he awakens from the most fitful slumber he has perhaps ever experienced, Rich struggles against a mind slow and foggy, as expected when one wakes to a new world. Bleary eyes look out into something impossibly unrecognizable, and yet truer than himself. Groaning and scratching at his hairy belly and itchy ass, Rich walks past a note left on his desk to instead brush his teeth and wash his face. Minty foam soon filling his mouth and falling into his beard he smiles and once more flexes in the mirror with a healthy amount of affection for himself.

Spitting into the sink and wiping his beard clean with a hand towel he sees a second toothbrush sitting in a toothbrush holder and freezes. That can’t- Who? His mind races to recall something that he knows, something, someone he should know. Does he live with someone? When did he even get a toothbrush holder, he’d never- His eyes clench as some deeply ingrained instinct of never even putting forth the smallest effort on propriety, order, or cleanliness. I mean, what is he? Gay?

He lurches forward, only just catching himself on the bathroom counter as his mind stings and his face burns. Looking back up at his reflection, one eye jammed shut from pain he forces a smirk and begins laughing, well, duh? His belly jiggles as he lets loose a deep throated laugh and pats it, winking. Flickering back to the toothbrush a misty figure in his mind begins to fill out, become more real. No time to dwell on the matter as his stomach rumbles and he is instantly aware of a hunger that he must fill like anyone else alive. 

Despite something in him trying to compel him into the kitchen to prepare food he recalls the all too real memory of making all the ramen he had left last night and instead dials up the chinese food restaurant next door- “Hey Hi- This is Alex with Wok-n-Talk! What can we do for ya!” Rich clears his throat, “Ahm- Afternoon Alex I-” before he even finishes his sentence he freezes up once more, that’s not- He must have a cold. His veins chill as he tries to reconcile the crackle of age that sounds like an alarm in his husky voice.

Fortunately for the man, Alex speaks up to save him, “Ah! Afternoon indeed Mr. Adams! Hope things are well! Y’all just getting the usual today?” Rich grunts in the affirmative to prevent speaking up and Alex simply laughs in response, the bear somehow hears a wink through the line, “I’ll toss a couple extra egg rolls in there for ya big guy! We’ll have a family meal up for y’all soon! See ya in a jiffy sir!” For the moment Rich ignores being referred to as sir to instead focus on something even stranger. His beard and brows grow thicker as reflexively makes the gay bear face in thought- Adams isn’t his last name?

The massive man stands frozen in thought for some time as he tries to unpack that, unaware that he has begun to fidget with a new silicon ring hugging his left hand ring finger. When Alex arrives with the food he unconsciously returns to his apparent usual self as if he had met the young man hundreds of times. Receiving an impressive bounty of food, Rich sees the young man off with a pat on the shoulder and a cash tip that the once-gamer can’t quite recall having in his wallet before now. In fact, when did he even get a leather wallet- no matter. 

His mouth waters as he may as well float over to the pile of take-out containers that cover his kitchen counter. Family meal huh, is this really what he orders for himself? I mean it’s not like he has other mouths to feed. His head twitches as behind him photos on the wall show three faces and a door appears in his den to a bedroom that has never and always been there. Pushing down the buzzing headache, his still rumbling stomach takes precedence as he begins tearing into food meant for three.

The meal is evaporated with a haste that is inhuman, compelled to fuel the final aspects of a transformation he is unaware of, Rich simply eats until something within him says he is finished. The elastic waistline of his pants strains as his new gut will evermore push out from his hips, just like he likes it. Just like his- partner likes it. His hairline begins to recede and grey hairs speckle his beard as his new lived reality begins to take hold. Just like his husband likes it. He smiles kindly as warmth fills him and dense curls begin their crusade over his shoulders and up his wide back.

His husband, Ben Adams. Rich feels a hole that has existed longer than Rick had been alive fill itself. Whatever palty dregs of a man who delighted in being needlessly mean, frivolously cruel, pointlessly hateful in and out of game totally evaporate. From his mind, from his sense of self, from reality. Burping as he finishes a chinese meal meant for three the new bear sits on a cozy couch and pats his stomach, groaning as far too much food struggles to digest. In the meantime the cracks left from Rick begin to fill in as he becomes kindly Rich Adams. Not a gamer, not a horny chauvinistic asshole, but a husband, a father, who has matured to the utmost.

Retroactively, Nicky’s unintentional spell is so effective that it was never even cast. Rich met Ben so long ago and fell in love that he never even had the desire to play league, nor the toxicity to troll in any game. Instead the pair hit it off at university and married soon after. Once settling they adopted and have lived lives happier than either man could have expected for themselves. Every so often some beyond repressed alien instinct of his old self cries out and tries to take hold of the man. To compel him to spew vitriol with less strength or coherence than an intrusive thought. Rich treats them with the respect they deserve, laughing them off and redoubling his efforts to a brighter world.

After resting for digestion for some time, sleep once more finds the bear and he conks out on the couch, snoring loud enough to be heard in the hall of their apartment complex. When Ben returns from work he promptly chastises his partner for gorging himself and sleeping away his day off. He then forces the bloated man to get up and the pair head off together into the cool autumn day to pick their not-so-little one up from high school. There’s a chill in the air so Ben sidles up far closer to the bear to get some mileage out of the man’s usually oppressive body heat. All in all Rich Adams can think of no better life than the one he shall now enjoy evermore.

Thanks to all who had suggestions for the next chapter, here are a few of them alongside a couple new ideas of my own! If you've got anything for the next poll feel free to comment or DM :)

Poll Results:

Sorry For The Backwash 34.1%

Back at the gym Simon finds himself quite the personal trainer due to his jockification being contagious (Combined both jock Tfs from previous poll)

BC PD 14.6%

Harassed while out and about Nicky turns a authority obsessed officer into just the primal masculine ideal he’s so obsessed with (Devolution)

Burn Out 15%

Self-important business man forced into a sabbatical to chill out after stepping all over Nicky  (Stoner/general dirtbag TF)

Acculturation 23.6%

Nerdy academic yearns to be closer to anthropological subjects (cultural/racial TF) - might not make the cut for this poll TBD

Sloppy Thirds 12.7%

Nicky and Simon pitched on bringing a third into the relationship whom Nicky accidentally molds to be the perfect brutish third (Dom TF?)

[bigification]

Pretty Eyes

"You've got pretty eyes, you know that." Your boyfriend, Lenny, tells you.

"You think so?" You reply, no one's ever complimented your eyes before.

"Yeah, they're perfect windows into your soul." He smiles as he looks into your deep brown eyes.

You blush in response, trying to hide how much the compliment affected you.

"I think the rest could do with some work, though." Lenny adds.

Your smile drops instantly. Why would he say that? Is he messing with you? What does he mean by that?

"What.." you ask, hoping he starts laughing and says it was a joke. But his face remains serious.

"First let's work on that belly." Lenny says while pulling up your shirt, revealing a soft pad of fat on your stomach.

By now you're freaking out. He's gone way too far for it to be a joke, why is he being so mean? And what does he mean working on your belly? You want to push him away and hide your stomach but you feel frozen, completely incapable of moving or talking back.

Lenny plants his hand on your stomach, it feels warm. He pushes firmly into your body, knocking you back a bit.

"That's better." He says with a charming smile.

You look down in a mix of happiness and horror, seeing your belly entirely disappear. In its place is a perfectly chiselled six pack with a sharp V line leading down to your crotch. But before you can even react, Lenny has moved on.

"Hmmm." He ponders to himself. "That chest needs fixing too."

He cups your soft chest with both his hands and starts to rub. You hate to admit it, but it feels great. So good in fact, you almost forget that you're mad at him. He keeps rubbing, sculpting your pecs into the perfect shape. You notice them grow and grow, but with muscle rather than fat. They begin to push out from your body, creating a shelf over your six pack. You even feel your nipples growing as they slowly drift to the underside of your juicy pecs. By the time Lenny pulls away, you're left with two massive pecs that are threatening to burst out of your tiny shirt at any moment.

"I think I'm gonna need to broaden your shoulders to match your expansive chest." He states as if you have a say in it.

His hands grip tightly onto your shoulders and begin to pull them outward. Each pull broadens your shoulders like they're made of putty, eventually ripping right through your shirt. The torn fabric falls to the ground, unveiling your muscly physique and revealing a tattoo sprawled across one of your pecs.

Lenny continues to pull your shoulders until they're wider than your chest, giving you a masculine V shaped torso. And while he's at it, he massages your traps and causes them to triple in size, forming two solid humps of muscle on either side of your neck.

"It's looking good, but not down until we finish your back." He says as he circles behind you.

You feel his warm hands dig into your back, almost like a professional massage. Unbeknownst to you, though, he is creating waves of muscle up and down your back.

"We're almost done with your upper body, but those arms look pathetic compared to that body." Lenny swings back around in front of you. "I have an idea to fix it." He says with a devilish smile.

He grabs your right hand and sticks your thumb into his mouth. He starts to blow, and like a balloon your arm starts to inflate. Your bicep inflates to the size of an American football as veins start to surface, adding to the muscly look. Your forearm follows suit while a black tattoo forms over it. And finally your delicate hand grows into a thick calloused manly mitt. He then repeats the process on your left arm, creating a star tattoo on your shoulder and another black tattoo on your forearm.

"That completes the upper body, but those scrawny legs just won't do anymore." Lenny states as he looks at your severely top heavy body. And you couldn't agree more as your puny legs are struggling to hold up your hulking upper body.

"First let's get you some manly attire." Lenny snaps, and suddenly your short shorts are replaced by a rugged pair of jeans with a brown belt. The belt doesn't seem to be doing much though, as the pants are still much too big for you. That won't be a problem for long.

"Now let's get you an ass to be proud of." He chuckles to himself before wrapping his arms around you and cupping each of his hands on one of your cheeks. He squeezes your flat ass, pumping it up with each squeeze. You feel the shelf form behind you as your pants get tighter and tighter until they feel like they're about to explode. Lenny finally lets go, making your cheeks bounce as they fall into place.

"Now that I see it, that bulge is basically non existent. Let's fix that." Lenny grabs your crotch and pulls up, aggressively handling your cock and balls. A visceral erotic sensation shoots up your muscular body as he handles your meat. Though you can't help but notice a pressure rising in your pants. Your now tennis ball sized testies are being squished between your legs and your thickening cock is struggling to tuck inside your pant leg. You let out a moan, the first noise you've been able to make and it shocks you how deep your voice comes out. You almost don't recognize it. Though that's the least of your concerns as Lenny finishes his final touches to your crotch. An unmistakable outline of your cock is permanently etched into a bulge in your pants, 10 inches long and as thick as a pop can. No pants you could ever wear will hide that monster from the world.

"You're coming along perfectly, but you're not done yet." Lenny says as he kneels down. "Time to fix these chicken legs."

He grabs your legs, slowly sliding his hands down your pant leg. Your thighs inflate as his hands glide by, making them double in size with muscle and fat. They're so thick that they permanently rub together, even when you try to spread your legs. If your balls weren't squished before, they sure are now. His hands then glide down your calves, leaving them thicker than your thighs used to be.

"Hmmm, these runners won't do. It just doesn't suit you. Some cowboy boots would suit your style much better." He snaps again and your brand new running shoes are gone, replaced by some massive size 20 cowboy boots with the spurs and all.

Lenny steps back and takes a moment to admire his work. "You're lookin good, but there are some details I need to get right before I work on your face."

He starts brushing his hands across different parts of your body. First across your chest, growing thick brown hairs all over your pecs. Then a light dusting over your stomach, arms, and back. Finally you feel an itchy sensation take over your legs as a forest of brown hair engulfs the lower half of your body.

He yet again takes a step back to get a good look at you. "Oh right! I almost forgot to fix your height, 5"8 just isn't gonna cut it."

He first grabs your legs and stretches them by 3 inches, temporarily making you look out of proportion. But he quickly fixes it by lifting up your shoulders, causing your torso to stretch 5 inches. This leaves you at an intimidating 6"4, making you tower over your boyfriend. The longer body really makes you look more manly, and gives more room to show off that six pack.

"And now there's nothing but your face. Don't get me wrong, your face is pretty, but it just doesn't match the rest of your body. So we're gonna have to change it."

Lenny starts by squaring off your jaw and making it sharper, accentuating your chiselled features. He then shaves your head, leaving a short buzz cut in place of your lucious locks.

"Let's give you some more manly features while we're at it."

He pulls out your browline, giving you a simpler and manlier look. Then he thickens your nose, complimenting your square jaw. And he pushed in your cheeks, making you look more mature. Speaking of mature, Lenny has much older plans for you. He starts by receding your hairline slightly, not enough to make you look like your balding but just enough to make you look mature. He massages your skin, forming wrinkles around your forehead, mouth, and eyes, though he makes sure not to touch those beautiful eyes if your. And finally he rubs his hands across your jaw and upper lip, leaving behind a somewhat patchy beard and moustache on your face.

"Now to deal with that pesky brain of yours." Lenny says as he rubs his thumbs over your temples. Suddenly it's getting hard for you to think. What was your name again? What do you do for work? What are your hobbies? You can't seem to remember anything, not even the grueling transformation that your body just went through.

"That should do it." Lenny smiles as he pulls his hands away from your head.

Ahh that's better, so much easier to think. You remember that your name is Bruce and you're a 43 year old farmer.

"What are you looking at son?" You ask Lenny in a deep southern accent.

"You're eyes, they're very pretty you know." He responds.

"You goin make me blush boy." You flash a rare smile as you pull Lenny in for a kiss.

[dante2045]

Accidentally transforming my boyfriend into my football coach

John and Aaron had been dating for a little over a year. The men had met in their freshman year of college during football tryouts and had become fast friends. Over the following years, their friendship had gradually deepened and become something more, much to their surprise. Neither of them had ever been with a guy before but were unable to deny the chemistry between them, eventually giving into their desires after a late night gym session. Though neither of them were ashamed of their relationship, they had kept it a secret as they'd been afraid of how the rest of the team and their Coach would react.

The two would often linger in the locker room after football practice, waiting for the rest of the team to head out. When they were finally alone, they would press their muscled bodies against one another for a makeout session. They had mutually agreed to take things slow, both men inexperienced at gay sex and unsure of what position they would be. Lately, their hookup sessions had escalated to sucking and jerking eachother off.

One night, as their last teammate left the change room after practice, John approached Aaron with an unusual request.

"Would you mind wearing this?" John asked Aaron, unzipping his backpack and retrieving a pair of black boxers.

"Uh...yeah, I guess I could," Aaron replied, reaching out and taking the jockstrap from John's grasp, "Why?"

"Truth be told, I swiped it off of Coach Ryerson, and I kind of have a huge crush on the man," John admitted, blushing as he looked down at the floor in embarrassment. "I thought it would kind of be hot if you wore it and we roleplayed as if you were Coach or something. It sounds kind of stupid now that I've said it out loud."

"It doesn't sound stupid; I'm just surprised. I didn't know you were into roleplay," Aaron winked playfully. He slid down his football trousers and jock, revealing his hardening 6-inch cock. Aaron kicked off his cleats and slid the boxers up his legs and over his genitals. The boxers were a little baggy on him, loosely hanging around his waist.

"Damn, babe," John growled in arousal, tossing off Aaron's football jersey so he was wearing nothing but the ill-fitting boxers.

"I guess Coach and I aren't the same size," Aaron observed with a laugh, looking down at his toned, muscular body and the oversized boxers he was wearing.

"Just relax, you look good," John whispered, gently pushing Aaron up against the lockers and giving him a passionate kiss. John's jersey and trousers quickly came off, leaving him in a pair of tight white compression shorts.

The men continued to kiss and thrust up against each other, lost in the throes of lust. Aaron felt a sudden surge of power flow through him, originating from the boxers. His crotch started to tingle, the electric feeling quickly spreading out through his torso and limbs. He let out a small involuntary moan in pleasure from the sensation.

"You okay, baby?" John asked in concern, pulling back from their embrace; he could feel Aaron's body tensing up.

"Yeah, I'm feeling fucking fantastic," Aaron grinned, spinning John around and slamming him against the lockers. John was a little surprised at Aaron's sudden aggression; usually he was gentle and slow during their romantic encounters. John was almost sure that Aaron's shoulders were a bit broader than usual, though he assumed his eyes were playing tricks on him.

As Aaron continued to thrust up against John, he started to grow taller. Aaron had been a few inches shorter than John, but was now taller than his boyfriend by nearly half a foot. His already impressive quads legs began to bulk up and thicken with muscle, while his feet expanded from a size 9 to 11, thick dark hairs sprouting from his toes.

John had noticed the changes and was filled with panic, pushing Aaron away from him. He watched as his boyfriend continued to transform, feeling a mixture of fascination and horror.

"What's happening to you, babe?" John asked, his voice quivering.

"I don't know... but it feels so fucking good," Aaron moaned, his voice deepening as his adam's apple grew more prominent in his throat.

Aaron's pecs ballooned up with muscle while also gaining some fat, his previously tight pectorals now drooping slightly over his abs. Speaking of which, Aaron's washboard abs smoothed over as he packed on some additional weight around his midsection, bulging into a small round belly. Aaron’s shoulders broadened, his arms inflating with thick muscle, his tendons and ligaments developing. His toned biceps and triceps grew even larger. Thick dark brown hairs grew across Aaron's entire body; he went from smooth to hairy in a matter of seconds.

Aaron reached a hand down and stroked his cock through the boxers as it grew longer and nearly doubled in thickness. His balls dropped lower as they also expanded, filling with semen. His tight firm ass rounded out, plumping with fat and muscle.

Aaron's stylish light blonde hair shortened into a crew cut, darkening to salt and pepper. His jawline grew more pronounced, a well trimmed beard forming along his chin and lips. His facial features began to age rapidly, wrinkles appearing as Aaron went from his early 20s to mid 40s. John couldn't believe his eyes; his boyfriend had changed into a completely different person right in front of him. Standing in front of John in nothing other than tight boxers and sporting a rock hard cock was his football coach, Coach Ryerson.

John stared at Coach Ryerson in disbelief. The boxers that had been loose on Aaron were now skintight on Ryerson, showing the outline of his 11 inch cock. Coach Ryerson grinned at John as he continued to stroke his shaft through the boxers; John found it difficult to tear his gaze away from Coach, feeling almost mesmerized by him.

"What...what the hell is going on?" John asked, slowly backing away from his Coach. Ryerson was standing between him and the exit, making an escape difficult.

"I'm assuming you swiped this from my gym bag?" Ryerson asked, gesturing towards the boxers he was wearing. Reluctantly, John nodded in affirmation. "I've had three pairs of underwear go missing in the past month from my office," Coach explained. "I knew that someone must have been stealing them, but they were impossible to catch. Luckily my husband is a bit of a wizard, and he offered to put a spell on my boxers. He promised that the next time it was stolen, I would be able to identify the culprit. I didn't realize that this was what he had in mind, but it's more creative of a punishment than I could've thought up," Ryerson laughed, glancing downwards and checking out his own body.

"It's not fair for you to punish Aaron; he was only doing what I asked!" John protested. "I was the one who actually stole it."

"Maybe you're right. I suppose you deserve to be punished, as well," Ryerson agrees with a wicked grin.

Ryerson grabbed the rim of the boxers and slowly slid it downwards, exposing his hard dick and balls. He stepped out of the underwear so he was now completely nude, holding the boxers in his hand while he maliciously approached John. John's fantasy of having an intimate encounter with his Coach was coming true, John realized; it was just not exactly what he'd had in mind.

(Author's note: This is a revamped version of a story I wrote a long time on CYOC. If you're interested in reading the original version and ensuing branch, it can be found at https://www.cyoc.net/interactives/chapter_175724.html)

[wickedwonderlandd]

Haven't done one of these in a while so here ya go 😌

[dblohginger]

Back is backing tbh … full pic on twitter 🤭

[youngpsichichugemuscle]

[casual-bulking]

[ultram0th]

This cocky college wrestler got cursed to become the new coach.

[xxautumnivyxx]

It’s always the post lift no make up glow that makes you feel good when you get glimpses of all that hard work. I’ll take it when I can and try to be proud of it when I do see it. You’ve got this too! 💪🏼🥰

[occamstfs]

Slice of Italy

After an accident outside a local Italian restaurant, Jonathan finds himself itching to hop in the kitchen himself.

Bear TF with all that implies! In other news I think I'm going to go down to one story a week, been spending a little too much energy here. May open commissions if there is an interest there? Who knows! At any rate, enjoy this story! -Occam

It wasn’t even Jonathan’s fault the statue was broken. His clearly too drunk friends were jacking around and not listening to his voice of reason. The poor DD was just standing closest when it was inevitably knocked over and shattered. If he had followed their lead and fled, it’s likely they’d all be off scot-free, but his need to atone for his friend’s actions in whatever paltry way he could led him to start gathering the scattered pieces.

Hearing the shattering plaster, the hostess runs outside with a gasp as she takes in the scene. She stares in shock at Jonathan before retreating inside to surely grab someone more important. Jonathan is again left with the all too desirable option of flight, staring at pieces of the stereotypical Italian chef he sighs and keeps to his principles, slowly picking up pieces.

Really he did them a favor, he’s always hated the thing. Creepy little thing. He’s been coming here all his life and it’s always seemed like the eyes have followed him. Seeing them lifeless and cracked on the ground doesn’t make them any less eerie though. Nor does the disembodied plaster smirk lying askew to their side. Before he can shudder Jonathan jumps as the door to the restaurant slams open and out comes a burly manager, “Ah c’mon kid, now why’d ya go and do that?” 

Jonathan drops the shards of the statue he still held in shock as he stammers to explain that really he’s not at fault. Never especially good at doing anything but ceding ground to authority figures he immediately folds, “I well, um it wasn’t really my fault um. It was, uh- I’ll do whatever I can to make this right. I-” Looking in the young man’s eyes the manager sighs and waves him off, “No no kid don’t you- Accident’s happen. Hmph Cavallo loved that statue though hah!” There’s a sadness in his eyes as he looks at the shattered man once more before returning his gaze to Johnathan with a squint.

“You’re the youngest Clark boy eh?” Correct, though now well an adult, there remains a tinge of irritation any time it’s brought up that he will always be the youngest, the smallest, no matter how long time treks onward. Still, not the time, “Yes sir.” The manager scratches the back of his head and motions the younger man inside, “Why don’t you come in, I’ll have one of my hosts sweep up the mess later.” Jonathan furrows his brow as he’s ushered inside, any attempts he makes at offering his hand to do the dirty work are met with hems and haws from the manager as he is instead led into an office in the back of house.

“You just sit here Jonny and I’ll uh- Hm?” He pauses and looks at Jonathan, no, past Jonathan. As if he’s staring through the young man and seeing something beyond. Something different. Seconds pass and a pit grows in Jonathan’s stomach as the manager twitches soundlessly, wanting the moment to pass he calls out to the man, “Romeo? You alright?” 

Focus returns to the manager’s eyes and he laughs, “Hah! Of course, sorry about that sir! You just let me know if you need anything Mr. Clark.” With that he does a nod and closes the door behind himself, there’s the click of a lock but Jonathan doesn’t notice as he instead hones in on the fact that he just called the manager by his name.

He racks his mind to remember if he introduced himself, the manager did recognize him after all? Perhaps they’ve met before. He chews on the idea and tries to ignore the feeling of pulling the man’s name from some place in his mind he doesn’t have access to. Maybe he was wearing a name tag. Of course, with a sigh of relief tension fades from his chest before he even realizes how tight it had become from anxiety. He has all employees wear name tags after all, helps the customers feel at home.

After a second of rest he is struck with the implications of that flitting thought. He what!? Tightness in his chest returns with a furor as memories or meetings with teams of people he doesn’t recognize flash through his mind. Planning a culture, running shifts, designing a restaurant. Clutching at his chest with one hand and his head with the other Jonathan worries he’s losing it and goes to sit down. Reflexively opting for the cushy desk chair behind the desk rather than either of the two by the door. “God it was just a tacky statue, why am I having an episode about this!?” 

Sitting in the boss’ chair Jonathan finds himself growing unreasonably warm. Sweat drips from his brow as he tries to bring to mind strategies one would use to soothe a panic attack. Looking for something solid in the room to focus on Jonathan sees a photo of the owner standing next to the gaudy statue. Grimacing, through grinding teeth he grunts out a “not helpful.” Even less helpful is the ensuing migraine, as it pangs he blinks concertedly and upon reopening his eyes he finds the image has shifted to one of himself standing next to the statue, a too large smile plastered on his face just like that of the god-awful statue. Somewhere repressed within him the phrase ‘happiest day of my life’ pings, though his conscious mind resounds with an image of his college graduation.

Clearly unable to find peace in this room he fights against his perpetually pliant instincts and stands to leave despite Romeo’s request. Now standing, he realizes something bizarre has seemingly begun to happen to his body. It’s like he’s bloated? Looking down he sees buttons on his shirt suddenly straining. His indisputably slim waist has begun to expand. The sensation of being starved and sated paradoxically rise at once within Gionathan as he feels the sudden urge, an otherworldly need to burp. He chokes it down at first but as his waist continues to strain, now revealing skin in between buttons as his chest too begins to bulge he is unable to stop the rising gas.

Polite young man he is, even as it erupts he tries to at least quiet his burp, which only causes it to burst with more force. Louder than those performative burps that blare from his less than couth cohort, his face burns with embarrassment despite being alone in the room. His body doesn’t stop at one either, he belches uncontrollably as body inches larger with each release. Quickly bursting buttons off the front of his shirt and freeing a torso that, alongside growing a healthy layer of weight, has begun to itch.

His blonde treasure trail has slowly begun to thicken as his fingers furiously scratch into his new weightier gut. Not noticing the definitive muscle hiding beneath he instead balks as he feels his light body hair spread out and upwards. Sticky sweat still covering his form as the heat has not abated in the slightest he looks down to observe the unfamiliar curves sticking out from his chest as his few nearly invisible chest hairs begin to thicken in the center of his chest, meeting the still rising furry patch on his stomach. 

The movement of his arms bring a new change to his mind as they too have not been spared from these must be imagined changes. New biceps breach the open air as they bulge large enough to tear the sleeves into tatters, not obscene but simply too large to be restrained by his usually loose fitting button-up. Gionathan has never been especially proud of his figure, but looking down and seeing something more akin to the countless forms of men he’s masturbated to throughout the years brings a new, less terryfying emotion to whatever this nightmare is.

Gionathan feels butterflies in his chest as he clutches at definitive pecs that now lie on top of it. He bites his lip as the idea that there’s now something you can grab there shoots a wave of static into his mind. Knees almost giving way as he takes time to explore his changes, Gionathan returns to sit in his chair and feel himself up. As he continues to chew on his lip to avoid moaning, his eyes remain shut to allow his imagination to flourish. 

This leaves him unaware of the tan that has begun to tint his changing body. Having not been exposed to sunlight in well over a decade, pasty is almost too generous a word to describe his pale torso. And yet, as his thickening hands trail across his meatier waist and play with a chest still growing weightier, his skin darkens to one naturally sun-kissed. 

Wider palms smearing sweat across an expanding torso, his mind begins to drift. Playing with chest hair as it grows thicker his fingertips almost accidentally come across nipples that have grown extensively as his pecs begins to bulge larger. Beginning to play with them his changes begin to accelerate. His mouth scrunches up as itches begin to burn across his face. Stubble that has been kept off his face from a once-a-week shave rapidly rears its head before it thickens en masse. Sideburns shove themselves wider to cover the whole of his cheeks before expanding under his chin as each follicle surges larger and darkens.

Green eyes flicker brown as Gionovan’s suddenly dark stubble quickly leaks upward, staining his pert blonde coif dirty, then brown, before finally turning as black as the curls that have begun to overtake his chest. Each strand changes as his hands continue to dance and delight in his bulkier body. His mouth scrunches as a mustache he’s never dreamed of growing begins to bulge out of his upper lip. Thicker than the hair on his head as memories of his hairline retreating over the years begin to assert themselves into his memory. Coffee dark eyes twitch while remaining closed, his hands trail up to his neck and come across scratchy stubble as he realizes that something is happening beyond skin deep changes. 

Pausing his reverie, the young man no longer’s eyes open to see a name plate on his desk, Gionovan Clarvallo. “No, tha’s not-” He clutches at his throat as his voice rumbles deeper. Gionovan stands with a start and the sound of the seat of his pants tearing open resounds in the room. He groans and leans on the table as thighs grow wide and his ass expands into quite a powerful cushion. Clenching his stubble hidden jaw he can barely even realize that he lost something when he languished in his changing form. The label young man doesn’t quite apply anymore as smile crinkles crack around his eyes. His mind races once more to find things to hold onto.

He’s Gionovan Clarvallo. He’s lived in this town for most of his life, or no he lived in the city for a while didn’t he? The man groans as two lifetimes crash into each other like a fusion reaction. His studies evaporate to be replaced by prodigious years at culinary school. His gap year fades as recollections of traveling New York City to find hidden gems and expand his palette grow increasingly vivid, and unknowingly vital to who he is. Once more Gionovan feels a rising need to burp. Hand curling into a fist he covers his mouth and he sees dark curls bathe down his fore arm.

The forest of hair that had only just begun to decorate his chest and stomach rapidly begins to thicken to cover every inch of his form as he struggles once more against pressure rising up his throat. Gionovan launches into a fit of belching once more. With each release his body changes further, jungle of chest hair spreading further, expanding and thickening, growing dark enough to completely hide tanned skin beneath it. His whole body grows wider, taller, heavier. Sweat trails down the side of his torso as his wildly increasing haven of pit hair drips with his new heady musk. Pants burst to shreds as his thighs grow to a size that can scarcely be covered while newly hairy shoulders grow bulkier to match his thickening neck and the weighty arms they are charged to maneuver. 

Clutching at his stomach as it expands and grows fluffier with both darkening hair and comfortable weight, Gionovan realizes something. He tastes food more delicious than he’s ever experienced before dancing across his tongue. Flavors unfathomable and unfamiliar make their home in his mouth as his body continues to morph with every heaving release. Pesto sears his sinuses as the waistband of his underwear begins to struggle against his expanding ass and the suddenly monolithic testament to his masculinity bulging in his crotch. Airy gelato cleanses his palate as his stomach begins to hang over said waistband as his legs grow thick enough to send tears in the elastic and curls grow thick enough across them to be a pelt. The aftertaste of rich creamy fresh tomato pasta overwrites more and more of who he once was as memories of his time in the kitchen and traveling the world for new tastes chips away at whatever edges of Jonathan that remain.

As he sits in the office, his office, rubbing at a torso that is rapidly becoming a hairy musclegut, he scratches at his thickening beard as a strange instinct rises as the aftertastes, or memories rather, continue to ephemerally rise. He could cook better than that. It’s why he opened his restaurant after all. To offer nothing but the best to this little town. To help ensure that every inch of the world has to experience the heavenly flavors he’s been so fortunate to enjoy. It’s why he opened his Slice of Italy. Standing with a grunt, there’s a knock on the office door and he realizes that he is almost completely nude. With a gasp, Giovanni clears his throat and calls out, “One minute Romeo!” 

He goes to a cabinet in the corner and pulls out a change of clothes, well-suited to his massive form. He’s learned that a man of his size, and passion, should always keep an outfit on standby, after all it’s impossible to predict what any odd day will hold. Quickly struggling into the clothes he figures it’s about time to go up a size as gets the snug clothes on. Smiling at a picture of himself with the statue out front, Giovanni Cavallo goes to unlock his office door and greet his manager. Romeo smirks knowingly at the restaurant’s owner and executive chef before directing the massive man’s attention to a couple of younger men standing uncomfortably near the entrance.

“Evening Hon. Those two over there are the ones that uh, broke the display.” Giovanni puts his meaty hand on Romeo’s shoulder and with a wink rumbles out, “Thanks Rome. Know I can always count on you.” Matching silver bands appear on the fingers of both men and Romeo rolls his eyes before heading off to manage the front of house before the dinner rush is to begin. Giovanni then turns his attention to the hellions awaiting his reprimanding. Sizing them up he imagines what retribution they are to undergo. They could just pay for damages but where’s the fun in that. After all he was always quite fond of that little guy, almost a spitting image of himself he thinks with a smirk, not nearly as hot though. Flexing involuntarily he meets the pair and they immediately squeal.

The pair toss each other under the bus before Giovanni even has a chance to open his mouth and the massive chef scowls. No, these two need to be taught a lesson. At the clearing of his throat the bickering rats are struck mute and stare up at the owner. The kitchen could use a couple new junior chefs. Imagining the two men before him shaping up to fine young professionals under his tutelage, he has no recourse but to offer they work off the damages, “You boys any good in the kitchen?” Shiftily looking at each other the idea seems easy enough and in no time at all Romeo’s tossed them aprons and they’re in the back of house working up a sweat.

They find themselves more at home prepping vegetables and decorating dishes than they do in their actual homes. Quickly do they become acclimated enough to the kitchen that doing anything else is anathema to them. Their light hair rapidly shades darker and their outfits adapt to become suitable to the jobs they enjoy so much. The pair of once ruffians shift and stretch as their physiques become impressive as Giovanni’s was way back when he was their age. Wandering about his restaurant, the executive greets guests and compliments his staff, driving them to strive even harder to make him proud. 

When he gets to his two newest hires, Alessio and Angelo, Giovanni watches them sprout taller as beards race to thicken and hide their shy smirks from his praise. Patting them on the back both men struggle to focus on their tasks at hand as his attention brings them more satisfaction than they could imagine. Commenting on their impressive figures he offers to show them the ropes at the gym in their free time and the junior chefs make eye contact as their biceps bulge larger. Giovanni laughs heartily, bringing a smile to everyone within earshot as they continue to craft the perfect slice of Italy in this small town. “You boys remind me of when I was younger heh, Keep up the good work!”

With that Giovanni goes to stand sentinel at the entrance and welcome guests in. In lieu of his little standee someone’s gotta be the first smiling face that guests see, and given how smooth nights at Giovanni’s Slice of Italy always are, his presence is superfluous. He’s just happy to be here and every day the titan strives to make sure that every guest and employee is as well.

[bigification]

Prom King

"We want to welcome you back to Fairway High for your ten year reunion. Come catch up with some old friends and share all the amazing adventures you've had since you graduated! And stick around for a special speech from our Prom King and Queen."

Dan shuddered as he read the email. He had completely forgotten about the stupid reunion. It's funny, he thought, he used to imagine how he would show up to the reunion in a sports car with a perfect bod and high end clothes hugging his muscles. But that was back when he was the most popular football player in his town. Parents adored him, popular teens idoled him, and nerds feared him. Things have changed a lot for Dan since then.

He stared at his half naked body, ravaged by the bad habits of an ex jock. His appetite stayed after he graduated high school, but the exercise didn't last long. He went off to study business in college, as any high school jock did. His time spent at football practice turned to frat parties and junk food, which quickly showed on his waistline. It really put a dent in his once untouched ego, especially once people nicknamed him as 'freshman' fifty. It wasn't quite fifty pounds, at least not in his first year. It sure was well over that by the time he graduated though. And in that time, his clean shaven body had been buried in thick dark hair from head to toe. Although he didn't entirely mind the more mature look, especially once his beard grew in, it complemented his growing gut. Though Dan took another sizable cut to his ego when he started to go bald at the ripe age of 20. Comb overs only lasted him so long, so he started shaving it when he was in his senior year.

He always said it built character, which to be fair, he was far less awful after graduating college than he was in high school. The email only made him remember how awful he was back then. He was the typical jock with his possy of suck up football players who had no personality and the most popular girls. He would torment anyone who was even slightly chubby, or even just smart, they were all beneath him in his mind. How were people gonna react when he shows up to the reunion looking 9 months pregnant and about to burst. It horrified him at the thought of them treating him how he treated them.

Then the horrifying thought hit him, "I'm the Prom King!" He shouted out loud at him in the mirror. Not only would he have to show his face, and gut, he would have to stand on stage in front of his entire graduating year and say a speech about being Prom King. He would be a laughing stock.

"I have to do something about this." He thought.

The reunion was still two weeks away, he could workout, or diet, or maybe buy some clothes that hide his fat. He did a frantic search online but everything just seemed like a scam. He scrolled through page after page of scam supplement and intense workout regimen until he found something interesting. A witch who lived nearby. A witch who specializes in body modifications. It was drastic, but could be crazy enough to work.

Dan contacted the witch with a request to make him into an absolute jock, the kind of man his high school friends would expect him to be 10 years later.

After a bit of back and forth, an appointment was set, and Dan went to bed happy.

The day of the appointment came in a flash. Dan threw on his classic base ball cap to cover his balding head, and dressed in some gym clothes that he thought would look sick on his new hunky body. He excitedly hopped in his car and drove down to the witches house. To his surprise, it was just a regular apartment in a regular apartment building. He was expecting some evil looking house, but seemed less intimidating anyway. He knocked on the door, and he was met with yet another surprise. A petite and nice looking woman wearing all black opened the door.

"Come in darling." Her voice was enchanting. "Sit." She continued in a soft but commanding tone.

Dan sat in a small chair in front of an antique looking table. The raggedy wooden chair creaked under his weight as the witch sat across from him.

"So... You say you want a strong, manly, and attractive appearance?" She asked.

"Yeah."

"Well for what it's worth, you're much more attractive than you used to be." A cold breeze blew past Dan as she spoke.

"Oh... Thank you." His cheeks reddened at the comment.

"I do have to warn you, there are some... dangers to this spell." Her tone darkens.

Dan just raised his eyebrows.

"There are people who feed off of a witch's magic. Now I know how to avoid them, but I will be imbuing this magic into you. So you may have a target on your back from people trying to steal your magic."

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Just don't draw too much attention to yourself." The witch warned. "Anyway. I'll get on with it."

She dipped her hands in a small bowl that was laid on the table. "Stand up." She commanded, and Dan followed. She walked around to Dan's side of the table, fingers wet from whatever was in the bowl. She pressed her fingers into his forehead, and it felt like all the tension in his body vanished in a split second. In fact, all feeling seemed to vanish in Dan's body, leaving him stood exactly still. Something about being frozen should have scared him, but he felt a strange sense of calm in the moment.

The witches fingers traced down Dan's face, through his beard and over his soft man tits. She lifted the finger and firmly pressed it back down into his chest. It was like the air was pushed out of his chest as the fat on his moobs collapsed in on itself, leaving his chest completely flat. She then pulled her finger outward, and his pecs grew as she pulled. The muscle swelled until two juicy pecs pressed hard against his tang top. Dan was shocked, he couldn't believe it actually worked, although he still couldn't move.

The witch then traced her finger down to his gut. She laid the palm of her hand against it and pushed, causing his belly to vanish in a second. And once again, she pulled her hand back to form a defined six pack over his flat stomach. She moved her finger around his side, melting away his love handles and giving him a thin waist.

She then suddenly sped up, as if she hit her stride. Her hands gripped Dan's soft arms, and suddenly definition appeared on his rapidly growing biceps. They grew to the size of melons as his shoulders broadened to match. Good thing he wore a tang top or else his sleeves would be in shreds on the floor. Her hands slid down his forearms, doubling their size in the process, and she held his hands, making them so massive they could completely cover his face.

She then bent down and grabbed his thighs, causing them to thicken to the point that Dan couldn't separate them anymore. She thickened his calves as she moved to his feet, making them burst out of his shoes as they grew to a monstrous size 20. As she stood back up, Dan realized the witch stood at eye level to his pecs when they used to be the same height.

The witch then wrapped her arms around Dan's hulking body and cupped his ass cheeks, making them expand into two thick globes of fat that threatened to rip through his shorts. One hand then came back and gripped Dan's dick, making it grow and thicken until it was a massive 10 inches and hanging down his pant leg.

Finally, her hand lifted up to Dan's face, making a few adjustments to match his body. A thicker beard, a sharper jawline, a slightly bigger head to match his much bigger body, and thick brown hair on his head.

Dan gasped as he regained control of his body. He teetered back and forth as he tried to get used to his new body. His legs felt strong, holding up his immense muscle mass with ease. He even struggled to move his arms around at first because it was difficult to move that amount of mass. His meaty hands took a moment to explore his expansive body; bouncing his pecs and his ass, gripping his cock, and even rubbing through the short brown hair that now covered his head.

"How are ya feeling handsome?" The witch broke the silence.

"Are you kidding me, I feel amazing!" Dan flexed, as if to show off his body like a new toy.

"Well I'm glad you like it, now we should talk abou-" the witch was interrupted as Dan basically ran out the door.

"I'll be fine, thank you!" The sound of his voice got quieter as he shut the door behind him.

On his way home, Dan excitedly stopped by a retail store to grab some clothes that actually fit. He confidently strolled in with his tang top riding up his hairy six pack, and shorts that were clearly too small for him. He picked up a few clothes that were big enough to fit him, but small enough to leave little to the imagination about his physique. The clothes weren't exactly pretty, but nobody would care about the clothes when his hunky body was the one wearing them. He even flirted with the cashier on the way out, making his cheeks flush red.

He swiftly made it home and passed out like he had just had the workout of his life.

He woke up the next morning, feeling like he was still in a dream. He shot out of bed as if he'd had three cups of coffee already. This was how he spent every morning leading up to the reunion. Dan was more productive this week than he had been in years. His looks quickly got him a modest following on Instagram, and even on onlyfans after his followers pestered him enough. He reconnected with a bunch of his old friends from high school, just to build a rapport with them before the reunion. And he spent most nights partying and staying the night at some strangers house. By the time the reunion rolled around, it was as if he was the same person he was in high school. Hot, athletic, cocky as hell, and maybe just a bit nicer than he was back in high school. So much for 'building character'.

Before he knew it, it was time to leave for the reunion. He had been prepping for this all week, there was no way he could mess it up now. Dan was meant to be the Prom King. He wore a snug pair of jeans that hugged his ass perfectly, and a grey shirt that showed off his juicy pecs, and finally threw on the letter jacket he wore when he was Prom King ten years prior.

He pulled up to the reunion in his shitty, half broken down car and parked as far out of the way as possible just so no one could see the piece of shit he drove. He pushed open the door to the venue and walked past the crowd of people as if all eyes were on him, because they were. Everyone who was anyone knew who the Prom King was.

He strolled to the back of the stage, so he could get ready for his speech. He stood alone, in silence for a moment, trying to hype himself up. Even after the amazing week he has had, it was the same insecure fat ex jock under there who was scared that everyone would laugh at him onstage. But his moment of silence was interrupted when loud footsteps approached him from behind.

An older man strolls into the backstage, walking right past Dan as if he wasn't there. Dan grimaced as the man got close, seeing the man's large ball belly hanging out of his shirt, which seemed to have multiple buttons popped off. "What is this pig doing here?" Dan couldn't help but think of the old man. The old man promptly sat down in a chair near Dan, leaning back and pulling the shirt up his gut, as if to show it off.

"Who the fuck are you!?" Dan yelled as he got fed up with the old man's antics.

"Oh, you don't know who I am?" The man said as he continued to adjust himself in the seat.

"Why would I know some loser like you, are you the Prom Queens dad or something." Dan scoffed.

"I thought the witch would have warned you about me." The old man's demeanor became more serious.

Dan felt a jolt of fear run down his spine. How does he know about the witch?

"Oh I bet she did." The man started to laugh. "But all the attention online and the sex and the porn, oh the porn was so good." The man grunted as he rubbed his crotch. "You just couldn't resist being popular!"

Dan only grew more afraid as the man monologued.

"I am going to enjoy this." The old smiled as he got up from the chair.

"Enjoy what?" Dan questioned as he tried to back away, but couldn't. Why couldn't he back away. The old man grew closer and closer, but no matter how much Dan wanted to run, he remained frozen in place. The man placed his finger on Dan's forehead, causing a blue light to escape from his body and enter the man's body.

Dan watched helplessly as the man's arms grew to the size of melons, his biceps bursting through his sleeves. Meanwhile, all Dan could feel was his sleeves becoming looser as his arms deflated. The man's moobs shrunk into a solid pair of pecs as Dan looked down to see his chest swell until he was left with two soft man tits. The man's ball gut got smaller and smaller as fat piled into Dan's stomach, leaving him with a heavy gut that spilled under his shirt. The man's pants grew tighter and tighter as thick muscles filled his thighs and juicy fat perked up his ass. Dan felt weak as his legs became more fat than muscle, he even felt the bulge in his pants shrink as he watched a thick bulge appear in the man's pants.

As if that wasn't enough, Dan watched on in horror as the man's face ages down from 60 down to 30. His wrinkles melted away as Dans became dry and wrinkly, his face thinned out as Dan's became rounder and chubbier, and his hair gained a light brown colour as Dan's thinned out and became white. The man pulled off his shirt to reveal a forest of dark hairs sprouting all over his body as a bushy bread covered his face. Meanwhile Dan can feel his face go cold from the much thinner facial hair.

As the transformation came to an end, the man flexed as he felt the energy course through him.

Dan once again let out a gasp as he regained control of his body, though this time his voice was much deeper and gruffer. Dan panicked as he ran his hands through all of the new rolls of fat on his body. He even stumbled back as he adjusted to the weight of his gut.

"What did you do to me!?" Dan yelled.

"Oh you did this to yourself buddy, y'know how easy it was to find you." The man responded, sounding almost exactly like you used to.

"You made me fat." Dan's voice breaks.

"Oh I did so much more than that, check the camera in your phone old man." The man smiled, as if he was containing his excitement.

Dan dreadfully pulled out his phone and opened the camera app.

Dan shed a tear as he saw the fat old man staring back at him through his phone's camera. His gut was bursting out of his jacket and his hair was nearly as thin as it was before his initial transformation.

"And if you don't mind I'll be taking that." The man grabbed the letter jacket off of Dan and put it on himself.

The man confidently strutted towards the stage, ready to give his speech as Prom King, but Dan wasn't ready to give up that easily. His footsteps were heavy as he followed the man onstage and grabbed his arm.

"You're not gonna take this away from me!" Dan yelled.

This was followed by a moment of silence as the crowd went awkwardly quiet. Everyone's eyes were once again on Dan, but it didn't feel like before.

"Ooohhh, that was embarrassing old man." The old man whispered to Dan before approaching the mic. "I'm sorry everybody, my dad is just a bit jealous that I'm in my glory days and he's not." The man says to the entire venue, then turns to you once again. "Isn't that right, dad? " He said as he pressed his finger into Dan's chest.

Dan froze once again. This time, memories flooded into his brain. Memories of him growing old, never reaching the happiness and popularity he had in high school. He even had a son, and named him Dan jr. after himself of course. Though his son would grow to top him in all of his achievements, including becoming prom King back when he was in high school. Dan Sr. finally decided to swallow his pride and let his son have the spotlight. He slowly waddled off to the side and watched as his son gave his speech as Prom King.

[wolfsclothing6]

Weight of Desire

2k special

Gabriel Sanchez had spent years living a life that felt perfectly adequate but deeply unremarkable. Middle management at a tech firm, a reliable boyfriend in Lucas, and a comfortable apartment in Manhattan. By all accounts, he should have been happy. But the truth was, Gabriel hadn’t felt alive in years. Even his relationship with Lucas, once fiery and passionate, had dulled into predictable rhythms—dinners, Netflix, the occasional half-hearted kiss before bed.

When the email arrived—Opportunity Awaits: A New Experience—he clicked on it out of nothing more than boredom. The promise of something new was enough to intrigue him.

Moments after filling out the form, Gabriel felt his body seize. A warmth spread through his limbs, but it wasn’t the kind of comfort he’d expected. It was heat, heavy and consuming. His vision blurred, and then everything went black.

Gabriel woke up gasping.

The first thing he noticed was the weight—his body was impossibly heavy, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His skin felt foreign, rough against the fabric of the sweat-soaked sheets beneath him. When he reached up to run a hand through his hair, he stopped short, staring at the thick, dark fingers that weren’t his own.

His heart raced as he stumbled out of bed, the entire room unfamiliar. The walls were cracked, the air thick with the scent of frying oil and stale sweat. A cheap, warped mirror hung crookedly on the wall. Gabriel approached it, his legs unsteady beneath him, and froze when he saw his reflection.

The man staring back at him was large, with dark, ruddy skin and a heavy, rounded face. His body was immense, rolls of flesh spilling over his waistband. His arms, thick with muscle buried under fat, flexed as he clutched the edge of the mirror.

He wasn’t himself.

The ID card on the nightstand told him his name: Javier Castillo.

---

The city felt different in Javier’s body. The streets were harsher, the air colder. Gabriel’s movements were slower, deliberate, as if the weight of Javier’s life clung to him like a second skin.

That afternoon, Gabriel found himself standing in the back room of a greasy diner, staring at an enormous stack of dirty dishes. His arms ached, his back throbbed from the weight of the day.

Paul, his wiry manager with a perpetually sour expression, barked at him from the doorway. "Javier! I told you those tables need to be cleared now, not when you feel like it!"

Gabriel straightened, instinctively opening his mouth to respond. "I—I’m—" But the words stuck. Instead, what came out was, "Lo siento, jefe. Es que estoy—uh—trabajando, pero—"

Paul’s face twisted in irritation. "What the hell did you just say? Speak English, man!"

Gabriel’s cheeks burned. He tried again, forcing himself to speak slowly. "I... I work... too much," he said, but the words felt clumsy, wrong.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Just clear the damn tables, Castillo."

As the manager stormed off, Gabriel clenched his fists. He wanted to shout, to explain that he wasn’t Javier, that this wasn’t his life. But the weight of his reality—the weight of Javier’s life—pressed down on him.

Days turned into weeks, and Gabriel became more attuned to Javier’s life. The grind of menial jobs, the whispers of coworkers in Spanish he could barely follow, the way strangers looked through him on the subway.

But there were moments of connection. At a construction site, Miguel—a fellow worker—brushed against him while handing him a tool. The contact was fleeting, but Gabriel felt it like a spark. Later, Miguel invited him for drinks.

At the bar, the air was thick with the smell of beer and sweat. Miguel leaned in close, his hand resting on Gabriel’s thigh. "¿Cómo estás, güey?" Miguel asked, his voice low and teasing.

Gabriel tried to respond in English but stumbled. "I... uh... I’m tired... no sé cómo decirlo..."

Miguel chuckled softly. "No importa, hermano. You don’t gotta explain."

When Miguel’s lips brushed against his ear, Gabriel let out a low, shuddering breath. They didn’t make it back to the apartment. Instead, they found themselves pressed against a brick wall in an alley, Miguel’s hands gripping Gabriel’s waist, his mouth hot and demanding against his neck.

For the first time in years, Gabriel felt wanted—not for his polished appearance or polite charm, but for his body. For the raw, unpolished truth of it.

---

As Gabriel lay tangled in sweat-stained sheets the next morning, Miguel’s arm draped across his chest, he stared at the ceiling. This life, as exhausting and unforgiving as it was, had awakened something in him.

He didn’t know how or why this had happened—how he had ended up in Javier’s body, or what it all meant. But for the first time, he didn’t feel like a spectator in his own life.

Tell me if you want them to be Reaccurring characters I love to write more about Gabriel(Javier) and Miguel

[blizzb3ar]

I forgot to post that the beef is back!

[ki-kink]

Yo, hair on your dome is chill, but that chin fluff? That's straight-up man vibes, bro. Plus, it’ll make those arms look way more jacked and bro-like!