#scally tf

[newchangestf]

The last drop of his saliva slowly fell from his mouth and into mine, sealing my fate as his latest chavvy fuck toy.

We'd met in the pub and bounded over the football. I wasn't super interested but had taken an interest in the euros after being forced to take part in a sweepstakes in the office.

He encouraged me to get more into and said if I really wanted to support my sweepstakes team I had to look that part.

We went to a sports shop where he picked out new clothes for me. Football tops, joggers, trainers, socks, and even a hat. I won't lie, the feeling of the material against my body did begin to turn me on.

His comments about how fit I looked didn't help matters.

We went back to his place for a couple of cans, which quickly became several. In my drunken state I didn't resist when he put the chain and padlock around my neck. Before I could even say anything back he held my neck and pulled my face to his.

I let his tongue invade my mouth, savouring the taste of his saliva and cheap beer. Slowly I felt my mind becoming cloudy, less clear, less certain about things.

He was in complete control of me. Thoughts of work and complex tasks were rapidly reformed into new memories and desires. My life now was orientated only around lads, football and cock. Its all I ever wanted and needed.

I look up to him as he smiles at his latest creation. My eyes wander down to his crotch and I feel myself begin to drool.

[fratttymatty]

The "Interview"

(All characters are 18+)

It was a cold Friday night in London, and four friends—Elliot, Jake, Micah, and Julian—stood in line outside one of the most famous music venues in the city. It was a milestone of sorts: they’d saved up for months, gotten their tickets with just enough time before they turned 18, and now they were about to witness their favorite artist, Central Cee, live in concert.

They were all from the U.S., fresh out of high school, and their friendship had grown strong over the years. It wasn’t just their shared love of music that kept them close, but also their shared experiences navigating life as gay teens in America. Each one had their own story, their own struggles and victories, but they found comfort in each other—through late-night talks, inside jokes, and nights spent dancing to the latest rap tracks.

Elliot, the group's de facto leader, was a tall, lanky guy with curly dark brown hair, a hint of stubble on his chin, and a sarcastic sense of humor that had everyone in stitches. Jake, the creative one, had a boyish charm about him with a mop of messy hair and a slightly mischievous grin. Micah was the quiet, introspective one, with a soft smile that always made him seem like he was in on a secret. Julian, the most confident and adventurous, had an athletic build, a razor-sharp jawline, and always seemed to be the one pushing the others to take risks.

Tonight, though, something felt different. Maybe it was the excitement of being in London, or the energy of the crowd around them, but all four felt a growing anticipation buzzing through their veins. As they entered the venue, a man in a black hoodie approached them. He had the swagger of someone who knew exactly who they were.

“You lot," he said, "you’re coming with me.”

Before they could ask questions, the man led them backstage, where they were ushered into a dimly lit room with plush furniture. There, standing with his back turned, was none other than Central Cee himself. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Elliot felt a strange energy in the room, something that made his pulse race.

“Right,” Central Cee said, turning around with a grin that was both welcoming and knowing. “You lot came here to see me. But before you go back out there, how about a quick chat?”

The boys exchanged puzzled glances. They had no idea what was going on, but curiosity got the better of them. Each one was called up one by one for what seemed like a simple interview, but no one expected the transformation that would follow.

Elliot was the first to be pulled forward. As soon as he stepped up to Central Cee, a strange warmth washed over him. Central’s eyes glinted with something that made Elliot feel exposed, like he could read everything about him in an instant.

“Tell me something about yourself, fam,” Central Cee said casually, his voice smooth but commanding. “What’s your vibe?”

Elliot was taken aback. He wasn’t used to being asked such personal questions, especially not in front of his friends, but something about the moment made him open up.

“I guess… I’m the group’s leader, y’know? Always planning, always keeping us together,” Elliot said, trying to sound confident.

Central Cee smirked. “Sounds like you’ve got control, yeah? You wanna take control of your life in a new way?”

Before Elliot could respond, a rush of heat spread through his body, and suddenly his skin felt tight, as if something was shifting beneath it. His hair—once wild and curly—grew smoother, darker, and slicked back into a tousled fringe that framed his face perfectly. His broad frame shrank slightly, his arms growing more defined, and his posture shifted into something… cooler. He felt a tug at his accent—his American drawl fading into a crisp London twang. His clothes adjusted too, becoming baggier, more streetwear-oriented. A hoodie and a pair of well-worn tracksuit bottoms replaced his previous outfit.

The transformation was shocking, but what was even more surprising was how right it felt. He no longer cared about his past life as an American teenager; everything about him now screamed British roadman, and he loved it.

“Oi, you proper now, bruv,” Central Cee said with a nod of approval.

Elliot didn’t even recognize the name he'd had before—Elliot felt so far away. He was Rhys now.

Jake was up next. He had been watching Elliot closely, but before he could ask him what had happened, Central Cee locked eyes with him.

“Your turn, fam. What makes you tick?”

Jake wasn’t used to feeling vulnerable, but somehow, with Central Cee’s sharp gaze on him, all of his walls crumbled.

“I… I guess I just like to push boundaries. Take risks,” Jake said, almost unsure of his own words. “I’m always looking for something new.”

Central Cee raised an eyebrow. “New, huh? How about we make you new, yeah?”

Jake didn’t even have time to process the words before another wave of heat swept through his body. His hair grew out, settling into a perfect, messy fringe. His slim, artistic frame bulged with muscle, and his clothes morphed into the streetwear of a London roadman. A gold chain appeared around his neck, and his voice shifted from his American accent to a street-smart British one.

He felt a sense of ease settle into his chest. His friends were still standing there, but it was as if a part of him had clicked into place. He was no longer that shy, creative guy from America. He was something else now—someone who walked the streets with confidence, ready to take on whatever came his way.

Central Cee nodded approvingly. “That’s it. You look proper now, bruv. Name’s Connor now, yeah?”

Jake felt a grin tug at his lips. He was Connor now. No going back.

Micah was nervous, but he didn’t show it. He had always been the quietest, the most introspective, and he wasn’t sure what to make of all of this. When Central Cee called his name, Micah stepped forward slowly.

“Alright, what about you, bruv?” Central Cee asked, his voice softer but still commanding. “What’s your story?”

“I’m… I’m always thinking,” Micah said, his voice unsure. “I overanalyze everything. I never really feel like I belong.”

Central Cee grinned knowingly. “Well, maybe you need to belong to something, yeah?”

Micah blinked, and then, just like the others, the heat surged through his body. His hair fell into a perfect, tousled fringe, his body became leaner and more athletic, and his eyes darkened with a new intensity. His accent shifted smoothly from American to a sharp London tone. His clothes became the uniform of someone who belonged in the streets: a puffer jacket, ripped black jeans, and trainers that had seen some miles.

As the transformation completed, Micah felt an unfamiliar confidence rise in him. He no longer felt out of place—he was home. He looked down at his clothes, his new identity settling around him like a second skin.

“You fit in, bruv. You were always meant to be one of us,” Central Cee said, grinning.

He was no longer Micah. He was Liam now, and it felt right.

Finally, it was Julian’s turn. He walked forward, a little slower than the rest, already knowing what was about to happen.

“You look ready,” Central Cee said with a raised eyebrow. “What’s your vibe?”

Julian shrugged, exuding that confidence that had always been his trademark. “I’m the one who always takes things head-on. I don’t overthink. I just do it.”

Central Cee’s grin widened. “Good. You’ll fit right in.”

As the words left Central Cee’s mouth, the final transformation hit Julian. His hair fell into the same tousled fringe, and his athletic build became even more solid. His voice shifted to a crisp, confident British accent. His old American swagger was gone, replaced by the loose, easy movements of someone who lived and breathed the streets of London. The clothes shifted too: a grey tracksuit replaced his previous outfit, and he felt the weight of it like armor.

Julian looked at himself in the mirror, barely recognizing the person staring back. The name Julian felt like an echo from a past life. Now, he was Brayden.

Central Cee slapped him on the back. “That’s the energy we need, fam.”

By the time they all stood together, they were unrecognizable—not just in appearance, but in their very essence. Their American pasts felt distant and irrelevant. They were no longer Elliot, Jake, Micah, and Julian. They were a new crew now, a gang of roadmen. They were Rhys, Connor, Liam, and Brayden. And they had found their place in the world, alongside Central Cee and his crew.

As the night went on, the boys realized that the transformation was complete—not just on the outside, but deep down inside. They had found a new identity, a new family, and a new life.

And they would never go back.

After the transformation, Rhys, Connor, Liam, and Brayden became something entirely different—no longer just American teens trying to find their place in the world, they had now fully embraced their new roadman personas. Their lives, their outlook, and even their identities had shifted, and London had become their new home.

Their American pasts were like faded memories, barely a whisper beneath the streets they now walked. It was all about swagger, respect, and the code of the roads.

But the change wasn’t just about looking the part—it was about living the life. And soon enough, their new relationships started to follow suit.

Rhys was the first to find someone who matched his energy. With his newfound cocky, confident persona, it didn’t take long for him to catch the attention of Jada, a fiery girl with a sharp tongue and a gaze that could pierce through anyone. She wasn’t fazed by Rhys’ swagger or his roadman façade. In fact, she called him out on it immediately.

“Oi, what’s all this ‘I’m the boss’ talk, bruv?” Jada said, smirking as she leaned against the brick wall outside the club. Her dark curls framed her face, and the gold hoops in her ears caught the dim streetlights. “You ain't fooling me. You’re just another lad trying to play the game.”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh, impressed by her directness. “Nah, I’m solid, Jada. You don’t know me like that.”

Jada raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Alright then. Prove it, fam. Take a walk with me.”

And so, they did. They spent the next few weeks growing closer, with Jada often pulling Rhys out of his comfort zone—making him think about things outside the tough-guy persona he had built. But that was what Rhys needed. He’d never had someone challenge him like that before.

They became inseparable. Jada was just as street-smart as Rhys, and together, they ruled the London streets. They’d walk hand-in-hand through the parks, both in their tracksuits, looking like they owned the place.

“You’re solid, Rhys,” she’d say, the praise always followed by a cheeky grin. “Just don’t get too cocky.”

Rhys grinned back. “Ain’t no such thing as too cocky when you’re with me, babe.”

Connor, the fiery and unpredictable member of the crew, found his match in Sienna, a girl with an even sharper attitude and a style that could’ve been pulled straight from a London streetwear magazine. She had platinum blonde hair, bold eyeliner, and a strut that made heads turn. But beneath that tough exterior, Sienna was sweet, loyal, and down for whatever her crew needed.

When they first met, Connor was quick to try to impress her. He’d never been the type to settle down, but there was something magnetic about Sienna. Maybe it was her ability to look him in the eye and call his bluff or the way she could hang with the boys without breaking a sweat.

“You think you’re all that, don’t you?” Sienna said one night, her eyes narrowing playfully as she crossed her arms. She stood in the doorway of a local warehouse, the music from inside barely audible over the sound of the street.

Connor shrugged, his grin never fading. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve got the look, the vibe. The streets respect me.”

Sienna took a step closer, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Respect’s earned, fam. You ain’t earned it just by walking around like you own the place.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, impressed by her boldness. “You think you can teach me how it’s done?”

“I’m the only one who knows how it’s done around here,” she shot back.

They spent their days cruising around the streets together, from the markets in Camden to the nightclubs of Shoreditch. For Connor, Sienna was more than just a pretty face—she was a roadman in her own right, teaching him the ropes when he needed it.

Eventually, Connor realized he wasn’t just playing the game—he was in it for real. And Sienna was the partner he never knew he needed.

“You’re mad, Sienna,” he said one night as they chilled on the rooftop of a warehouse, gazing out at the city. “Proper roadman energy.”

“Always, fam,” she replied, looking at him with a grin. “You just gotta keep up.”

Liam was always the quiet one in the group. The introspective type. He’d never really fit in back in the U.S. as the thoughtful guy who was constantly overanalyzing everything. But now? Liam had fully embraced his new persona, and it felt natural. He’d found his own rhythm, and Tasha, a girl with soft curls and an easy smile, seemed to ground him in ways he never expected.

They met at a local pub one night when Liam was deep in conversation with Central Cee. Tasha had overheard Liam talking about the roads, about loyalty, and about the importance of family. It wasn’t long before she joined them.

“Oi, I heard what you said about loyalty,” Tasha said as she slid into the booth next to Liam. “I like that. Loyalty’s everything in this life.”

Liam was taken aback. Most people didn’t get it—not like Tasha did. But she understood. She had the same respect for the streets that he did, the same need to feel connected to something bigger than just himself.

They started spending more time together, and Liam found himself opening up to her in ways he hadn’t with anyone else. She pulled him out of his head, reminding him that sometimes the best way to live was to be present.

“I get you, Liam,” Tasha said one night as they walked through the back streets of East London, hand-in-hand. “You’re all about keeping things real. But you’ve gotta let go sometimes, bruv.”

Liam nodded, smiling softly. “I’m learning. You’re a good one, Tasha.”

Tasha smirked, giving him a playful nudge. “Ain’t no ‘good one’ about me. But you’re alright, Liam.”

Brayden was the most adventurous of the crew, always pushing the boundaries and diving headfirst into any situation. But it was Mia, a girl with bright green eyes and a sharp edge, who caught his attention. She was a force of nature, confident and quick-witted, with an easy laugh and a demeanor that made you believe she could handle anything thrown her way.

Brayden had always been the type to enjoy the thrill of the chase, but Mia? She was the chase. She didn’t take his cocky attitude or his charm seriously.

“What makes you think you can just walk up to me like that?” Mia asked, raising an eyebrow as Brayden tried to work his usual magic on her.

“I’ve got that roadman swag,” Brayden said, leaning in close with a confident grin. “And you? You’ve got that energy I can’t ignore.”

Mia smirked. “Alright, I’ll bite. But don’t think you can impress me that easily, bruv.”

It didn’t take long before Brayden was hooked. Mia challenged him in a way no one else did—pushing him to take risks, to not always play it safe. Together, they were unstoppable.

“Oi, Brayden, you’re all about showing off, but can you handle me?” Mia teased one night as they walked through a local alley, her voice light but full of challenge.

Brayden shrugged, a grin on his face. “You won’t even know what hit you.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “We’ll see, bruv.”

The Crew, Together

As time went on, Rhys, Connor, Liam, and Brayden—along with Jada, Sienna, Tasha, and Mia—became a family. A crew that ran the streets of East London, with their messy fringes and cocky grins, and they moved as one.

The bond between the boys had deepened, and with their girlfriends now a part of their world, their crew was unstoppable. Together, they hit the streets, ran the clubs, and lived the life they’d always dreamed of. They’d found their place, not just as roadmen, but as a unit.

There was no going back. They were part of something bigger now—something that couldn’t be broken. Their names were no longer American. They were Rhys, Connor, Liam, Brayden, and their girls were with them, each one just as fierce and loyal as their men.

Together, they owned London.

[octuscle]

A Night at the Opera

Ernest and Jasper were both no friends of the big appearance. Their parents had taught them from an early age to always appear far less than they were. The two had come to the opera by subway. That Ernest's velvet loafers cost more than a month's salary of most people around them, probably no one suspected here. The red carpet was laid out for the premiere in front of the Royal Opera. As Ernst and Jasper approached, a rapidly fading flurry of flashbulbs began. The two looked like stars. Flawless. Beautiful. Cultivated. But no one had a clue who they were. So the photographers pounced on the C-list couple, who were getting out of a presumably leased Bentley right behind them. Ernest raised an eyebrow, barely noticeable. Jasper smiled knowingly. The two politely accepted the program and went to Jasper's family box. They had made a generous donation over 200 years ago that enabled the laying of the building's foundation stone. And together with Ernest's grandmother, Jasper's father now ruled over the opera's patrons' association. It was not a problem if they were not recognized here.

During the first intermission, the two quickly agreed that it would be a wasted evening if they were to watch the opera to the end. The singers were mediocre, and the production tried to paper over logical gaps with crude, obscene provocation. Yes, Siegfried was certainly no easy opera. But they actually loved Wagner. But they wouldn't survive another three hours like that. Ending the evening with a glass of wine in front of the fireplace seemed considerably more appealing. They exchanged a few pleasantries with acquaintances of their parents, who were also waiting at the coat rack, and walked through the dusk towards the subway. And they were happy with their decision.

The subway wasn't particularly crowded: Jasper had bought a copy of the Times from a newspaper seller. Even though the premiere was still going on, there was already a scathing review of it in the arts section. Of course the critic was unfair and biased. But his style was delicious. Ernest hummed a bit of the overture's melody when a young man, who was the complete opposite of the two, stumbled over Ernest's legs on his way out the door. The boy was muscular, tattooed, and dressed to show off as much of the muscles and tattoos as possible. Definitely not their class. He swore and showed Ernest the middle finger. Ernest just smiled superiorly. And got the slime from the yob directly in the face. “Do you think you're better than me? Maybe. But not for much longer.” The yob laughed and jumped through the already closing doors onto the platform. Ernest wiped the slime from his cheek. Not all of it… A little bit had run into his mouth.

They got off at the next stop. Ernest's stomach growled. He asked if they could quickly get something from the supermarket on the way home. Jasper said that the fridge at home was well stocked, but he was happy to do it for me. Cumberland Food & Wine was really on the way and he could possibly get a bottle of red wine. While Jasper was scouring the shelves without finding anything he liked, Ernest filled his shopping basket with protein bars, chicken breasts, rice and eggs. When the two met at the checkout, Jasper looked at his husband questioningly. “I just felt like it,” answered Ernest. “Honey, anything you want!” answered Jasper.

Once they arrived home, Ernest immediately disappeared into the kitchen of their impressive apartment on Bryanston Square. By then, he had already eaten three protein bars. Jasper rolled his eyes and retreated to the library. He took a small glass of port and continued reading about the history of the Persian language. At least this way he would be able to end the evening with a little wit. He lost track of time and only woke up when he heard noises coming from the living room. Ernest had taken off his jacket and shirt and was eating a mountain of chicken breasts with egg rice at the coffee table, still wearing his trousers and undershirt. The TV was on. “What are you watching?” Jasper asked. With his mouth full, Ernest replied that it was the new season of “Made in Chelsea”. “You know, the stuff with Reza in it.” Jasper didn't know Reza. ‘The Reza from the gym. Reza Amiri-Garroussi!’ Ernest wiped his hands on his undershirt, pulled out his cell phone, opened Instagram and showed Jasper pictures of a young man. Jasper didn't even know Ernest had an Instagram account. ”Hot guy, honey! Do you know each other?” “Best bros!” Ernest smiled. Tonight had obviously not had a good influence on him. Whatever. Jasper was tired. He kissed his husband on the forehead and wished him good night.

The night had been wild. Ernest had come to bed at some point and had rammed his boner into Jasper's ass without much warning. This wasn't loving sex, it was fucking without any foreplay. Hot, animalistic. Uncharacteristic. But damn, once Ernest had filled his ass until the cum was dripping out of it, Jasper didn't care about any of that. He had never been fucked like that before. No wonder the rest of the night was full of wild dreams. When he woke up, Ernest was no longer in bed. The satin sheets needed urgent washing, with dried cum stains everywhere. Jasper went to the kitchen. Ernest had obviously already had breakfast; the pan for the omelette was in the sink, along with the dishes from dinner, and on the work surface was a thin layer of protein powder dust. Jasper felt somehow strange in the apartment. Something was weird. Did they always have such a monstrously large TV? And was that their furniture? It all looked so much like something from a furniture store. And not like design classics and antiques… “Bros, that's it for this morning! Good pump! Have a sick day!” The sound of the dumbbells hitting the floor showed that Ernie had finished his morning pump. According to the floor plan, their home gym was actually a children's room. What the hell would they need that for? Now it was the place where Ernie shot the videos for his YouTube channel.

Jasper was standing in the doorway. Ernie turned off the cameras and lights. Sweat glistened on his naked torso. Jasper's cock went up. Ernie turned around, saw the semi-erect cock and just grinned, “You dirty piece of shit! You know damn well we're out of time. Auditions are in an hour. And you should shower.” “Look who's talking!” Jasper replied. Ernie smelled his armpit. “That's the way it is, it's my trademark!” He put on a basketball jersey lying on the floor, grabbed Jasper's cock in passing and gave his friend a fleeting French kiss. Jasper knew that Ernie had rights. They had to leave in 20 minutes at the latest. Just enough time to jump in the shower and do a few pull-ups to pump up his muscles. He looked at himself in the mirror. Yes, he looked awesome!

“Love Island” could be Jaz's big breakthrough. At the audition, he was simply eye-catching as the incarnate bad boy. His snotty way of speaking and his arrogant, misogynistic macho appearance had convinced the producers that he could make it big in the trash reality soap. Sure, it sucked that his best buddy Ernie hadn't been taken on either. But Ernie was just already too popular. His fitness channel had tens of thousands of followers. And his appearance in the next season of “I'm a celebrity, get me out of here” was a done deal. If things went well for Jaz, he would follow in Ernie's footsteps next year.

Many bores from the educated middle class would probably look down on Ernie and Jaz with disgust and contempt. But hey, the two of them made good money, went to all the hot parties, and last weekend Bentley had even provided them with a shiny gold car for an Insta-story. The car had been pure porn. Surely everyone who stared at them with open eyes thought they were pop stars or something. It was only a matter of time before they became famous. They were young, sexy and camera-hungry. The future was wide open for guys like them.

[ki-kink]

Do y'all know the saying "dumb fucks good"? They wanted to test that out and traded their brains for muscles and dicks. Now they're dumb as a rock and hornier than a rabbit in heat.

[anglowrongn]

transformative night out

[aaronazizsasilver5]

Just a little photoshoot of the cocky GOLDEN GOD Alpha Hercules, showing off his godly huge muscles, his worshippers waiting while the photoshoot is going on and they drool seeing him.

[dystopia-fantasy]

A Lifetime in Service

[tuftyskin]

couple more nice looking suit lads reduced to skinhead workies

[chavkai]

Oi Oi looking for scally/chav lads or lads that wanna be scally/chav, starting a group. DM me if ya wanna join.

[fratttymatty]

You're Smoked

(All characters are 18+)

It was just another quiet Tuesday evening when everything changed for Quinn, Eric, and Alex. The three 29-year-old nerdy best friends had always been inseparable. They spent their nights playing video games, debating superheroes, and diving into comic book lore. Life was predictable, comfortable, and easy.

That was, of course, until Quinn discovered a peculiar game at the local thrift store. "The Alteration," the box proclaimed, adorned with strange glowing symbols that beckoned them like some irresistible mystery. The trio wasn't into supernatural gimmicks or odd fads, but it was a game, and that was all the convincing they needed.

They gathered at Quinn's apartment, excitement buzzing in the air as they set up the game on his coffee table. It was more complex than they expected—dice with too many sides to count, cards, and tokens scattered across the table. But there was something captivating about it. The kind of feeling that made you ignore any misgivings and dive in.

Each took a turn, rolling the dice, drawing cards, and following instructions. The game progressed—strange, but harmless enough. That is, until they each drew the same card: "Transformation."

In an instant, the room seemed to warp, and a tingling sensation spread through their bodies. It wasn’t painful, just dizzying, like waking from a dream where everything felt off. And then—poof—it was done.

The trio looked at each other in confusion, but the first thing they noticed was how completely different they looked.

Zane—formerly Quinn—was the first to speak, his voice a low, cool drawl that didn’t even sound like him anymore. His once-thin frame had morphed into a broad, muscular build, and his hair was now a wild, tousled mess of brown waves that looked like they hadn’t been touched by a comb in years. His sharp jawline was prominent, and his once-framed glasses had disappeared, replaced by a pair of dark sunglasses that now sat comfortably on his nose.

He was wearing a white t-shirt, but it was simple—just a plain, snug fit that clung to his chest and shoulders. His jeans, baggy and worn-in, hung loosely from his hips as if they were the most natural thing in the world. Everything about his new body felt strong, confident, and unmistakably cocky.

Zane didn’t even think twice before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a vape. Without hesitation, he took a deep drag, the cool mint flavor swirling in his lungs before he blew out a thick cloud. He smirked at the feeling of the nicotine buzz. It felt right. Too right.

Brad—formerly Eric—looked down at his body, which had transformed in ways he could barely comprehend. His hair, once neatly styled and short, was now a tousled brown mess, still kind of messy but somehow perfectly styled in that carefree, too-cool-for-school way. His chest was now broad, and the sleeveless hoodie he wore was so tight on his biceps, it looked like it might rip at any moment. The rest of his body was covered by black sweatpants that hung low on his waist, his legs thick and athletic. His confident grin was now permanent, like he was daring someone to challenge him.

Brad's hands automatically went to his pocket and pulled out a vape of his own, the smooth, sleek device fitting perfectly in his grip. He took a puff, exhaling the smoke slowly, and felt a rush of satisfaction flood through his body. He looked at Zane, nodding in approval. "This is living, man."

Jared—formerly Alex—felt the change as well, looking at his reflection with a stunned grin. His hair had transformed into a messy, tousled dirty blonde wave, perfect for someone who spent their days outside and had no care for combing it. His physique was now long, lean, and athletic, with strong shoulders and toned legs. He wore a white t-shirt, but this one had a yellow and purple design on the front—loud and attention-grabbing, exactly the opposite of his old style.

His jeans were baggy, the kind that hung low on his hips, and they felt more comfortable than anything he’d ever worn. He wasn’t used to the carefree, devil-may-care attitude, but right now, he didn’t care. It was like he had been reborn, and he liked it. A lot.

He pulled out his vape, taking a smooth drag as the buzz filled him. "Dude, this is awesome," he said, watching as the vapor swirled in the air before dissipating. "We’re unstoppable."

The three of them looked at each other for a long moment. The lives they had known—playing board games, chatting about nerdy topics, debating superheroes—felt so distant now, like they were from someone else. Instead, their new reality—their new selves—felt exciting and irresistible. They felt alive, like the world was theirs for the taking.

"Let’s hit the gym, grab some food, and maybe hit up the beach later," Zane said, already starting to walk toward the door, his voice confident and smooth.

Brad nodded. "Hell yeah. I feel like I could bench press a car right now."

Jared laughed, taking another long drag of his vape. "Yeah, let’s go mess around. I’m down for anything."

And just like that, the three of them—Zane, Brad, and Jared—walked out into the night, completely unconcerned with who they used to be. Their new lives were everything they had dreamed of, and they were ready to embrace it all.

But as they made their way toward the local gym, they didn’t expect what happened next: the moment they stepped onto the sidewalk, a group of girls appeared out of nowhere.

They were tall, blonde, and bubbly, their smiles wide and bright. They giggled as they approached, their eyes locking onto the trio with obvious interest.

The first girl, a bubbly blonde with a ponytail, nudged her friend and giggled. "Hey, guys! You’re looking cute tonight," she said to Zane, her voice sweet and airy.

Zane grinned, the cocky smirk never leaving his face. "Thanks, babe," he said, flipping his sunglasses down and taking another puff from his vape.

Brad raised an eyebrow at the girls and winked, adjusting his sweatpants. "What’s up, ladies? You want to hang out?" His voice oozed confidence as he looked them over.

Jared chuckled, his hand moving to the back of his head as he rocked on his heels. "Yeah, you girls look fun. Wanna come grab some smoothies or something?" he offered with a mischievous grin, his tone laid-back.

The girls giggled in response, looking like they’d hit the jackpot. "Totally," the blonde with the ponytail agreed. "You guys are so cute. We should hang out!"

It was a perfect moment—everything was exactly how they’d imagined their new lives would be. And as they all walked off together, Zane, Brad, and Jared realized that the changes weren’t just physical. They were free—free to be the people they had always wanted to be, no regrets, no looking back.

There was no turning back now. The past was nothing but a distant memory. And with their new, ditzy valley girlfriends in tow, life had never felt so thrilling.

(from left to right: Brad, Jared, Zane)

[octuscle]

Proll-Stalking

Alter, wenn du 'n richtiger Assi bist, dann denkt halt keiner, dass du was auf’m Kasten hast. Scheiße, als ob einer checken würde, dass du längst am Drücker bist und dass es genug Leute gibt, die dir ihre Kohle hinterherwerfen und auch noch freiwillig deine Sneaker putzen. Kenn ich nur zu gut. Und wenn du dann mit den Jungs nach Lloret de Mar ballerst, glaubt natürlich keiner, dass du in der Business Class sitzt. Jedes Mal dasselbe an der Kontrolle, die fummeln mich da gründlich ab. Aber wenn der Security-Typ heiß ist, schieb ich meine Goldkette schön in die Tasche, bevor’s durch die Schleuse geht.

Dieser Spasti, der mir seit der Kontrolle auf den Fersen hängt, denkt echt, er könnte mich verarschen. Alter, der muss aber früher aufstehen! Sein Plan? Gar nicht mal so schlecht, aber mega leicht zu durchschauen. Dass der Steward mir meinen Jacky Cola über die Hose kippt und dann meint, ich soll den Platz wechseln? Lächerlich! Aber ey, kein Problem, ich hab’s eh gern, wenn mir einer im Schritt rumreibt. Außerdem gibt’s schlimmere Sitznachbarn als so Typen mit Bomberjacke und kantigem Gesicht.

Der Penner gibt sich Mühe, locker zu bleiben, während ich auf meinem Handy 'n paar goile Proll-Bilder als Wichsvorlage durchscrolle. Klar, er glotzt rüber, kann nicht anders. Und natürlich kriegt er 'n Harten. Natürlich folgt er mir auf’s Klo. Und natürlich ist er, wenn er meinen Dödel sieht, plötzlich keine harte Sau mehr, sondern nur noch 'n kleiner devoter Wichser mit ’nem Steifen.

Der Steward drückt mir zum Abschied noch 'nen Jacky Cola in die Hand, und der Wichser darf schön meine Tasche tragen. Klar, Alter, ich kann viel, aber trinken, cool aussehen und gleichzeitig meinen Louis-Vuitton-Weekender schleppen? Nicht drin. Sieht auch besser aus, wenn ich jemanden hab, der den Hampelmann für mich macht.

Der Bullen-Spitzel? Natürlich ohne Gepäck, musste ja spontan hinter mir her. Was für ’ne erbärmliche Tarnung, was für 'n Loser. Aber 'n knackigen Arsch und 'ne Zunge hat der, das muss man ihm lassen. Er packt mir die Tasche in den Kofferraum der G-Klasse, die mich abholt. Fragt noch, ob wir uns die Tage mal sehen. Alter, ist der dumm! Aber hey, ich spiel gern mit Idioten, die mich unterschätzen. Frag ihn, ob er Bock hat, ins Hotel zu kommen. Klar sagt er „Ja“. Jackpot, denkt er. Jackpot, denk ich.

Natürlich kann der Bulle sich im Auto nicht zurückhalten. Er hat gerade erst in 10.000 Metern Höhe meinen Schwanz gelutscht, jetzt kann er nicht bis ins Hotel warten. Eigentlich würde ich ihm meinen Sabber lieber in den Arsch als in die Fresse schießen. Aber ein guter Proll ist zur Stelle, wenn ein Loch gefüllt werden muss. Auch, wenn es eine Bullenfresse ist. Der Fahrer des Wagens ist eine coole Sau. Und eine clevere. Aus den geilen Boxen vom AMG dröhnt „Fick die Polizei“ von Automatikk. Passend!

Im Hotel fragt der Bulle, ob er mal duschen darf. Klar, sag‘ ich, aber bitte auch den Arsch gut ausspülen, bevor ich ihn ficke. Aus der Dusche kommt lautes Stöhnen. Klar, ich habe ihn noch nicht abspritzen lassen, das muss er jetzt nachholen, der Wichser. Ich durchsuche mal seine Jacke. Stinkt geil nach Zigaretten und Bullenschweiß. Muss man ihm lassen, ne geile Sau ist er. Handschellen hat er auch dabei. Das Bett hat Gitterstäbe am Kopfteil. Dann weiß ich schon, was ich mit den Handschellen anfangen werde. Und wenn die Sau so richtig durchgevögelt ist, gehen wir mit den Jungs einen Saufen. Er mag noch ein Bulle sein. Aber Lloret verlässt er als Proll-Sau!

Goile Pics von @proll4you

If you liked to read this in English, please let me know!

[ki-kink]

And if no dudebro showed up, they could still chill with their squad and have a lit time, you feel me?

[anglowrongn]

i'll clear a spot for you

[aaronazizsasilver5]

Here are some of our Golden Team Boxers, modelling for the team photos, and it is another sport we do as part of The Golden Army, all of these boxers are Alphas and always win their matches as their opponents underestimate them.

@toxicafaesthetic

@brodygold

@romangolden68

Come and join us bros or we have other openings like mascot, waterboy etc..so if you want join hmu brahs

[tuftyskin]

suit boi to boot boi

Love seeing suited white collar men transfomed into filthy skinhead workies

[proll4you]

Die Prolls bereiten sich auf den Abend vor. Was gehört neben saufen noch dazu?