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mangostarjam · 5 months ago

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declarations (alternate version) — kaiju no. 8, hoshina soshiro x f!reader, use of foods as nicknames, childhood best friends dynamic, reader wears a dress and heels, oral (f!receiving), 3k words — the first bit is the same as the original but it does deviate

"Why do I need to wear a dress?"

Hoshina Soshiro glances up from where he's lounging on your bed. You've already pulled on the dress, of course, and he watches with probably way too much interest as you tug and adjust the way it drapes along your body. It's pretty. It fits perfectly, though you have no idea when Soshiro learned your measurements enough to show up at your door with such a gorgeous dress hanging from his fingers. Maybe he got them from Okonogi-chan?

"You'll be walking 'round with me and the Captain, egg tart, so you've gotta look the part," he says idly, though you can feel the burn of his stare along the newly exposed skin of your back. "And don't forget the heels!"

You glance at the cute, strappy heels he left by your mirror and frown. "If I wear those, I'll be taller than you, Soshiro-kun."

"Aw, that doesn't matter," Soshiro says. He sits up and you look away from the flex of his incredibly defined abdominal muscles beneath his compression shirt, which he apparently wears all the time, even under his formal dress uniform with all its tassels and buttons.

God. Embarrassing. You really need to get your staring issue under control.

"I can fight whoever looks at ya."

"Wha— ?" Heat sears across your face as you splutter and spin around to face him. The skirt of your dress twirls with the movement and you catch his gaze snapping down to your thighs. "Why would you need to fight anyone?"

"Hm?" You take a step back as he gets up and stalks over to you, holding your breath subconsciously as he kneels at your feet and takes one of the heels in hand. Your room suddenly feels warmer, the air hushed, as if the two of you are the only ones who exist in the entire universe. Soshiro chuckles quietly and shoots you a grin that makes your knees feel wobbly.

"Soshiro-kun?"

"Well, 'course I'm gonna fight for ya, apricot," Soshiro says. You flinch as he reaches out to grip your calf, the rough callouses on his fingers scraping lightly as he lifts your leg and slides your foot into the shoe. "You're my best friend, yeah?"

And I'm just a simple man in love goes unspoken as he carefully ties the silk around your ankle to keep the shoe in place. You wobble a bit at the balance and he glances up from beneath his violet bangs. "Hold onto my shoulders," he says quietly, reaching for your other leg. "Don't worry, I've got you."

"S-Soshiro-kun, I can put these on myself," you mumble, heat flaring up your spine at the careful pressure of his fingers on your ankle. He lifts your leg and you grab abruptly at his shoulders, fingers digging into the thick muscle there as you regain your footing with his support.

Soshiro lets out a breath. "I know," he says simply. "But I wanna do it."

Is this what men do when they're in love? You wouldn't know — the only man in your life you've ever cared about is right in front of you, and he's refused to elaborate on his strange statement no matter how many times you've asked. You have a feeling he means it, though.

Like, really means it. You love Soshiro — of course you do. You've always loved him. But lately it's felt… different.

Still comfortable. He's still your biggest supporter and vice versa, and he still knows exactly how to cheer you up and make you laugh. You know all his ticks and tells, and you take great pride in taking care of him while he's looking out for everyone else.

But at the same time… it's uncomfortable.

These little touches — they're new. The way his gaze lingers on your body is also new. Or… maybe you've just never noticed before. It's not a bad thing. But it makes you feel strange and fluttery inside and you catch yourself daydreaming about what it'd be like to actually get a hickey from Soshiro. Your best friend.

You stare down at the top of his head and try to repress a shiver as he skims up your legs to where your skirt rests against your thighs. His touch leaves behind a trail of warmth that burrows deep. "Um— ?"

"Ya look real pretty like this," he says. You're still holding onto his shoulders as he rises from his crouch, your entire body hot and hyperaware of how close he's standing once he straightens. "I could really just eat ya up." The smirk on his face makes your heart thump painfully in your chest, but he doesn't give you a chance to question it before he's grabbing your hands and spinning you around in a little twirl.

"S-Soshiro!"

You let out a little yelp as the room suddenly turns sideways, your center of gravity abruptly gone as Soshiro scoops you off your feet with one strong arm behind your back and the other beneath your knees. You throw your arms around his neck in a desperate move to keep from falling, though you know he'd never drop you.

Soshiro looks down at you with a glint in his eye. "Maybe I will."

"You'll… what?" you ask, breathless. He looks… hungry. Something about that look makes your stomach clench. "Soshiro-kun?"

"As your best friend, I think I've gotta do a lil inspection," Soshiro says brightly. He carries you over to your bed effortlessly, laying you down with a care that makes you burn up in a mixture of embarrassment and want.

You want… something. Soshiro gently detangles your hands from behind his neck and brings them up above your shoulders, gripping both wrists in one of his hands. His other hand is planted by your shoulder to keep from squishing you, though he keeps his balance with a knee between your thighs. "What…?"

"Just checking," he murmurs, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. You can feel his breaths on your lips and you strain a little against his hold, wondering if he can feel your pulse beating rabbit-fast in your wrists. His hand is trembling, though you can't imagine it's from the strain of holding himself up. "Can I?"

What… what is he asking?

Does it matter? It's Soshiro —

"Yeah," you breathe. "Go ahead."

His lips brush yours in a whisper, an exhaled sigh, a pressure as light as a butterfly. You make a funny sound and he grins as he skips down to your neck, pressing a firmer kiss there at your pulse.

"You do taste good, chestnut," he mumbles, just before you feel the sharp nip of his canines pinching your skin. You yelp in surprise and he chuckles, brushing his lips across the spot in apology.

"What did I say about food nicknames," you manage to gasp out, blinking blearily as he rises back up to face you. The tops of his ears and the arch of his cheekbones are painted a charming pink, but his eyes are serious as he meets your gaze.

"Are you good?" Soshiro asks.

Are you? You do feel good — better than good. The way your heart is racing would probably raise some eyebrows in a medical ward and your brain feels like mush, but. You've had your share of meaningless crushes — puppy love, infatuation — but none of it ever really mattered because you've always had Soshiro.

None of it ever felt like this.

Oh.

"I'm good," you whisper.

"And this is okay?" he asks. "I'm not — I told ya I don't mess around when it comes to you."

"I'm not messing around either," you grin up at him, feeling suddenly buoyant as the pieces click into place. "I'm yours, Soshiro."

Your best friend looks at you for a moment, but whatever he sees in your expression makes him laugh — a rough burst of sound punched out of his chest — before he leans down to kiss you again.

You can feel him smiling into the kiss.

It's a little awkward — he bumps your nose and you can't keep from grinning, either, so the kiss turns into several kisses, the smooth press of his lips against yours sending heat curling through your veins as his kisses get deeper, hungrier. He tilts his head and finally lets go of your wrists to grasp your chin, moving you to get the angle just right, though his careful intentions go up in smoke when you reach up to tangle your fingers into his hair and tug.

He pulls back with a gasp, eyes wide and pupils blown, panting as if he's just finished fighting off a kaiju. His voice cracks as he murmurs your name.

"Yeah?" you lean up to brush your lips against his jaw, admiring the strain of his neck as he huffs. "You're so pretty, Soshiro-kun."

It takes a second, but Soshiro's next breath is a sharp inhale as he presses his body against yours, pinning you to the mattress.

Then he whines.

Oh, god.

The sound seems to startle both of you, but he recovers first, dipping down to kiss you senseless as the ache in your core intensifies. He's solid and warm and heavy on top of you, his hands burning along your arms and sides and skimming over the neckline of your dress before he seems to settle on gripping your hips as he bullies his way between your thighs. The gasp you let out is loud in the thick air of your room, but the groan he lets out when you squirm against the solid, unyielding length of him is even louder.

Soshiro moves back to pressing hard kisses to your neck and exposed shoulders, panting hard as you whimper with every stinging nip of his teeth. "You're gorgeous," he murmurs, "you're so fucking perfect, I can't —"

"S-Soshiro," you whine, wiggling your hips in an effort to chase the electric sparks of pleasure rising with every sharp, aborted thrust of his hips. "What's — why're you —"

"I'm tryin' not to cum in my pants," he grunts, fingers digging hard into your waist to still you. You sob at the loss of friction and Soshiro huffs. "Fuckin' hell — you're so — but I can't be walking 'round the party all dirty."

Your eyes snap open at the reminder and you shove at the shoulders you were clinging to for dear life a moment ago. "The party!"

"Yeah, the party," Soshiro laughs, grabbing one of your hands. He presses a kiss to the leaping pulse in your wrist. "Didja forget, pumpkin?"

The tender affection somehow makes you warm, even as his hips grind slowly against your core to make you burn. Your legs, which you hadn't even registered moving, drop to the sides, sending your dress to pool further up your thighs and exposing the thin fabric of your panties. Soshiro glances down at the movement, but you can only see the way his lashes flutter at the sight before he's grinding his clothed cock against you again.

A muscle in his sharp jaw ticks as he glances back up at you. "Ya look real good," he says, "and I'm tryin' to do this right, but —"

One thing about being best friends for your whole lives means you can tell when he's holding something back.

One thing about becoming lovers with your best friend is that now you can see he's been holding back from this.

"You can't go into the party like this," you point out. Soshiro laughs, a strangled sound.

"We're not havin' a quickie as our first time," he says firmly. His expression lights up. "But I did promise an inspection, didn't I?"

"What're you — Soshiro!"

He moves too quickly for you to react, pressing another hard kiss to your lips — his tongue dipping in to draw out a startled moan — before he's suddenly kneeling at the edge of the bed, yanking you closer by your legs spread on either side of him. "The heels look nice," he says conversationally, dragging his hands up your calves.

You suddenly feel over-sensitive, your nerve endings straining into his touch as he leans forward to drag his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Ah— Soshiro, that tickles!"

"They make your legs look good," he continues, as if you hadn't spoken. You raise up on your elbows to glare down at him as he brushes his lips featherlight against your thigh. Soshiro smirks and turns his head to nip the skin there, kissing and sucking along your thigh as he slings your leg over his shoulder for easier access.

Oh, shit.

The whine you let out would be embarrassing except that Soshiro mutters a curse and shoots you a look that makes your core clench tight. You reach for his hands, desperate for some leverage or an anchor, and he lets you take one of his hands but uses the other to hike your other leg over his shoulder.

"This is cute," Soshiro remarks, looking intently at your panties and the damp spot clearly evident even in the dim light. "Were they expensive?"

What is he asking? Why would it matter when the only thing you can focus on is the incessant ache in your core, inches away from his touch, heartbreakingly empty and wet and hot —

Soshiro rips your panties with one hand and tosses the flimsy scraps of cloth aside, exposing your fluttering core to his hungry gaze. You shift desperately, torn between wanting and wanting to hide, but before you can voice a request Soshiro dips in and licks you.

"Oh, fuck —" you moan, collapsing back on the bed as your hips buck up into the friction. Soshiro licks at you sloppily, digging his tongue into every inch and fold of you as he groans.

"All this for me?" he murmurs, catching your eye as you clutch desperately at the blankets. "Only for me, right, melon drop?"

You nod shakily as he gently kisses the throbbing bundle of nerves at your core. "I'm yours, Soshiro," you gasp. The waves of pleasure building in your body are frightening, your heart pounding hard, but you can't help tilting your hips closer to him. "Please, Soshiro — I… I can't —"

"Hah — fuck you," Soshiro groans. "Hold on to me."

You barely get a moment to register his command before he dives back in, targeting your clit and sucking on it as you sob with pleasure. White hot electricity races through your veins as you scrabble desperately for something to hold on to, grabbing at the purple strands of his hair and rocking your hips as he devours you.

You feel the burning touch of his finger as he drags it along your lower lips, making you suddenly hyper aware of how empty you feel. Your insides clench futilely, your fingers twisting into his hair painfully as you moan and beg. "Soshiro, Soshiro please —"

You can hear the squelch of your wetness as he finally slides his finger inside you, poking and prodding your walls until he presses against something that makes you see stars. Your back bows off the bed as you pant and squirm.

"There ya go," he grunts, pulling back to fix you with a burning red stare. "Let go for me, honey. I've got you."

You clench around his finger as he adds another, the intrusion unfamiliar but welcome, pleasure spiraling and spiking through you as he flicks his thumb over your clit and presses against that spot just right. It's — it's too much — too overwhelming —

Soshiro sucks your clit between his lips again and you shoot over the edge with a shout.

"Good fucking girl," Soshiro murmurs. You can barely hear him beyond the fuzzy aftershocks, but the words bleed warmth into your face as you melt into the mattress. He carefully licks you clean, chuckling when you whine at the overstimulation.

"Soshiro?"

"Yeah?" He climbs back over you, the lower half of his face shiny with wetness. It should be gross, but you're so boneless you can't even bring yourself to care as he leans down to kiss you, tongue tangling with yours as you moan at the taste of yourself.

"Where'd you… where'd you learn how to do that?" you mumble tiredly.

"In my dreams," Soshiro says, laughing when you pout at him. "I've been dreaming 'bout you for ages, y'know. But most of the technical stuff was from locker talk with the guys."

You nod and glance down, but the angle is awkward and you can't quite see —

"Ah, don't worry 'bout me," Soshiro ducks his head and you stare at the pink flush rising up his neck. "I'm gonna hafta meet you at the ballroom, hazelnut. I need a change of pants."

"Oh," you nod, wide eyed and blushing as he snorts. "Sorry?"

"Don't apologize for bein' a dream come true," he says. "But we should really go soon, or the captain'll have both our heads."

Soshiro helps you stand on wobbly legs as you regain your balance on heels, kneeling to smooth your dress back down your thighs. "Wait — what about my panties?"

He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Right, I'll help ya with that."

Soshiro's touch is warm this time, not burning hot, and the kisses he presses along your thighs are more ticklish than anything. He grins up at you as you giggle. "Will we tell Captain Ashiro after the party tonight?"

He rises and his gaze goes to your neck and shoulders, exposed by the straps of your dress. Something sharp and pleased settles in his smile. "I don't think we'll need to worry 'bout it. Any fool who gets close to ya when you're marked up all pretty for me is askin' for trouble."

… What?

You look past him to the mirror and gasp. All those little bites from earlier are blooming pink and purple beneath your skin. Soshiro laughs, swoops forward to kiss your scolding right out of your mouth, and pulls away only after you've melted back into his arms, pliant and breathless.

"You passed inspection, by the way," Soshiro adds, smiling a little lopsided and fond. "Congratulations on becoming the Third Division Vice Captain's fiancée."

Your eyes widen. "Fiancée?"

"Oh, too soon? We can start off with 'girlfriend' first."

"Soshiro…"

"What? A guy's got dreams, alright?"

You laugh. "You didn't even propose!"

"Alright, fine," he kisses you again and you beam, delight and happiness swooping through you at how easy it all feels. "Keep that third finger on your left hand empty for me, apricot."

"It's a promise."

#hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kn8 x reader #kn8 fic #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kn8 smut #hoshina smut #hoshina soshiro #fuji writes fic #UNEDITED and written while elbow to elbow with people at anime expo lmao #sorry to those fans if they were reading over my shoulder or something #while we waited in line or for panels to start #i'm still on hiatus bye again #hope you enjoy this alternate version #and yeah. i did give hoshina a praise kink. it makes sense to me

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sweetandscarlet · 1 year ago

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sub rosa - pt 1

warnings: handmaiden!reader, queen!wanda, slight jealously, wanda being an overprotective mommy, mention of beheadings. smut coming soon !

words: 1.8k

an: hi all! i haven't written or posted any work in so long so i'm breaking this one shot up into 2 parts just to play the field a little and see how well it receives. - saph xo

as you walked through the castle halls your hands fidgeted slightly behind you as they rested against the small of your back, your eyes stayed trained on red locks that swayed gently in front of you and every so often they'd flicker to the tall man who walked alongside the woman you worked for.

you tried not to pay attention to their conversation, instead, you focused on the details that lay before you. the walls that were decorated in gold, the maximoff family crest that had been sewn onto red banners that hung gloriously, and the gentle breeze blowing through the golden tassels that were attached at the bottom.

you distracted yourself with anything you could see, letting your mind focus on the elements of your adopted home instead of letting jealous thoughts eat away at you as a rabid dog would to a rabbit.

"i suppose that's all for now, ser jarvis. will you be attending the celebration tonight? it wouldn't be a true carnival without the commanding officer there to toast with me"

your head turned towards the redhead, your feet coming to an instant halt as you awaited the goodbye you had been patiently anticipating for the last hour.

"of course, your majesty" the tall man nodded with a smile, his left hand never faltering from the handle of his sword. "i can imagine my men will drink the castle dry after the battle we endured"

the redhead smiled back in response before turning away, the heels of her shoes clicking with every confident step she took as she continued her walk through the halls. you scrambled behind her, your feet hurrying to catch up with her pace.

as you eventually returned to the redhead's side, you cleared your throat before speaking. "wanda, i'm not a knight by any means but.. are you sure this battle is won? starks men grow fewer every day but he still has thousands left remaining, he could-"

wanda's head whipped to where you stood, an eyebrow quirking slightly as green eyes bore into you. "what have i told you about calling me that outside of my chambers? if anyone hears you addressing me as anything other than 'your majesty' then they'll be bright enough to assume the queen is spineless by letting her handmaiden speak to her that way"

your eyes widened slightly, your hands once again fidgeting behind you as you realise your mistake. "i- i'm sorry, your majesty. it won't happen again, i promise"

a smile itched at wanda's lips as she scanned the delicate features of your face, warmth swirling deeply in her chest as she gazed upon you. "good girl, now follow me.. i have some more business to attend to and your presence is the only thing right now that's keeping me sane"

an airy chuckle escapes your lips and you nod your head in response. your fingers twitch as the urge to run your hand down the length of wanda's arm inches its way into your mind but as always, you know better than that. so instead you busy yourself with the material of your dress, allowing the fabric to course through delicate fingers and ease the desire to touch the woman before you.

ᗢ

"your majesty, if i may.." all heads that are gathered around the table at the small council meeting turn towards yelena, a savvy blonde woman with a thick russian accent who sits to the left of the queen. with her striking nobility and tranquillity, you have never doubted the famously significant role 'knight of house maximoff' being handed to the blonde. apart from you, yelena is the only other person in the walls of her kingdom that wanda trusts wholeheartedly.

as all eyes focus on yelena, you watch as wanda gently nods toward her, granting her permission to speak freely.

"i've conversed with my sister up north and she feels it important to continue your alliance with the house of harkness. with the numeral amount of men pledged by her side and her domain over wheat and rice, we'd solely benefit during this war and the harsh winter that threatens our people and this land"

wanda hums at the thought and you can see the gears turning in her mind. "alright, you make a great point yelena, thank you. could you send a raven and tell her-"

"your majesty.. wait, do you think it to be wise to have your handmaiden involved in our small council meetings? for all we know she could be travelling to stark and disclosing all of the delicate information that we share in this very room"

your eyes widen as they shoot toward a voice on your far right, one that belongs to a tall, well-built man named steve, wanda's master of the coin. his narrow gaze never falters on you, causing you to avert your eyes back to wanda. you swallow a lump of humiliation, mentally willing away the tears that threaten to spill at any given moment.

wanda clears her throat, placing her hands on the large oak table situated in front of her before rising from her seat. the chair scrapes against the floor and all heads quickly turn back to the queen, seemingly copying her action until all members of the council are stood, including steve.

"no no, everyone remain in your seats.." the sound of wood scraping the floor returns once again as they obey the command. "apart from you steve, stay on your feet"

the arrogant expression stutters on the tall man's face, his features altering to a more concerned state.

"everyone, please let steve be an example to all of you as to why you shouldn't voice your apprehensions towards me unless i grant it. y/n.." wanda motions a hand to you, her hard expression faltering for a split second when her eyes fall upon you before it quickly reverts back to a stern gaze. "has been my handmaiden for quite some time now and she is someone whom i trust greatly. anyone who has hardship with her, has hardship with me, your queen. so i suggest you all choose your words carefully in future, or i'm afraid heads will roll"

you turn your attention back to steve who now stands frigid and skittish, his eyes bulging out of his sockets at the mere threat. it's a sight that almost makes you laugh but you swallow the motion down and remain collected.

"do i make myself clear?" wanda spits, the flat of her palms moving from the wood to bunch into fists, her knuckles turning white at the pressure.

a collective of "yes, your majesty" quickly sings out into the room.

wanda smiles at that before returning to the comfort of her seat. "steve, you can sit now. if we've all finished voicing our useless opinions, let's get back to what's important shall we?"

ᗢ

heels clicked furiously in front of you as you struggle to keep up with such an intense pace. it was evident that wanda was still rattled by steve's comment regarding you, and you couldn't help but feel warmth and the familiar sensation of butterflies swirling around in your chest at the rage and protectiveness she was struggling to maintain.

"your majesty.." you gasped out, your feet practically dragging across the floor as you failed to match wanda's speed. "please, slow down. i don't care for what happened, steve he-"

"i care!" wanda bellowed, her voice practically roaring with fury as she whipped her head around to face you. your feet came to a quick halt, your body only stopping a few inches away from the redhead. "and so should you, he has no right to be speaking of you in that manner, you're just as important as him, if not more"

your eyes darted around, worry growing quickly as the realisation hit that you still were yet to reach the queen's chambers and that anybody could overhear this conversation. "my love, please.. someone could hear us" you uttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

wanda sighed, her chest heaving greatly as the weight of your words set in. she quickly scanned the halls and when she was sure it was void of people, she grasped your hand in hers and tugged you down the hallway to your left and toward her chambers.

when you and wanda eventually reach the entrance to her room she pushes open the heavy door with her free hand before promptly ushering you inside, she nudges it closed and then turns the large silver key until she hears a loud click, indicating it is locked and you were both safe to speak freely.

"i apologise for my outburst," wanda starts as she turns her body to face you, her features now softened and movements gentle as she steps toward you. "but i won't apologise for protecting you and your feelings. i care about you too much to let some narrow-minded prick think he can convey his opinions regarding who sits in on my small council meetings"

you emulate wanda's actions and step forward, seemingly closing the gap between you until you can feel the redhead's hot breath hit the cool skin of your nose. wanda's eyes stay trained on yours and it takes everything in you not to nervously avert your gaze. raising your hands slightly you cusp one of wanda's, your thumb stroking delicately on her soft skin.

"thank you, wanda, it means more than you know to hear that" your voice is gentle as you speak, something wanda admires greatly. the way words ostensibly sound as sweet as honey while they roll off of your tongue with complete unrestraint. "and i must admit, watching you defend my honour like that.. it evokes something in me that i can't explain"

wanda quirks an eyebrow at that, the corner of her lips upturning in a slight smirk. "oh? care to elaborate, darling?"

the knots in your stomach tighten slightly as wanda wiggles her hand out of your soft grasp and snakes her arms around the small of your back, pulling your bodies flush together.

the way her voice drops slightly and her tone swiftly switches to a teasing one never fails to elite a fire within you.

"well, i-"

a knock at the chamber door echoes throughout the room and wanda groans in frustration at the sudden interference. green eyes disappear as her eyelids flutter closed, and you watch the queen inhale deeply before you're once again faced with her captivatingly piercing embers.

a small chuckle escapes your lips and you lean forward, placing a chaste kiss on her now flushed-rosy pink cheeks. "go on, your majesty. duty calls.. i'll be here waiting patiently for your return"

wanda entraps her bottom lip between pearly white teeth with a soft hum, her eyelids growing hooded at your use of her title. "god, words can’t express how much i love it when you call me that”

#wanda maximoff x reader #queen wanda x reader #wanda maximoff smut #mcu fanfiction #medevial

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oxfords---notbrogues · 2 years ago

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Allen Edmonds

Photo and patina work by @dandyshoecare

#menswear #men's style #men's fashion #men’s footwear #loafers #tassel loafers #patina #allen edmonds #men’s shoes #men’s formalwear

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sniffanimal · 5 months ago

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I'll give a proper review when they actually get here but I ordered my 2nd pair of Billy shoes and I was so impressed with my first pair!!! I only even had to order a 2nd pair bc I wore out the soles wearing them every single day for 2 years (the new pair I bought has boot-like rubber soles that should be able to handle me)

but in case you've never heard of them, Billy is a company that makes adaptive and accessible shoes! they have everything from sandals to sneakers to running shoes to snow boots!

this is the pair I just ordered! notice the zipper goes all the way around the toe box: these shoes are incredibly easy to put on. they come with a little tassel on the zipper that is pretty easy to grab onto and pull, or easy to hook something like a carabiner to to pull on. These shoes also come in 2 different widths, Medium and Wide, and the wide ones particularly are designed to fit over AFOs and other foot braces! my previous pair fit over my foot braces just fine! the top of the shoe opens up completely so there's no stuffing your foot into the shoe, just unzip, place your foot, and zip back up

I just wanted to shout out this company because accessibility is for everyone! I normally don't need accomodations for putting on my shoes (I prefer slip-ons so I don't have to bend but it's not a big deal), and I usually wear my braces at night when I sleep, so I don't Need shoes that fit them. BUT accessibility is for everyone! I like having shoes that are easy to wear and can fit my braces if I need them! and the adaptions in these shoes don't take away from my ability to wear them at all! Plus since I'm a Men's 7/women's 9, I just barely fit into their kids shoes line hehehehe

Also, for anyone it might be relevant for, you can buy single shoes on their website, if you need one shoe or need two different sizes! they also offer guides on which shoes fit AFOs the best!

I know for sure Target sells them in their stores if you want to go try a pair on in person! they might only carry kids sizes though, not sure.

#badger rants #accessibility #billy footwear

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telekinetictrait · 7 months ago

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It wasn’t too big of a surprise when Miss Myra Beckett left her Papa’s tobacco farm following her twenty-fourth birthday. Mister Myron Beckett always said his daughter was an independent spirit, and her Mama — may God rest her soul — always said she was too much trouble to ever marry. Nowadays, Myra lives in New York with her closest companion, an up-and-coming artist called Rosetta Nelson. Postcards sent to the remaining Beckett children say that Myra acts now, and has found more solid employment in a library. They say that Rosetta is the best painter since those Italian men of the Renaissance, and that her unkind husband walked out on her, and that she and Myra have recently gotten a puppy together. Ain’t that something? Well, Mister Beckett says over tea, at least she’s not living with a man unmarried…

"maybe i'll use them for something else one day,"

i said, immediately falling in love with them. well. you know the drill, cc links and creator tags under the cut!

check my resources page and genetics tag for genetics

hair/eyebrows : simadelic’s georgie curls – serawis’ 1920’s brows // saturngalore’s harlem pinup locs – ceeproductions’ snatched baby hairs

everyday : zurkdesign's cloche hat conversion – pixelunivairse's wendy earrings 04 – christopher067's prism cloud necklace – adrienpastels solitaire dress (a billion thanks to @simfuldelights to reuploading it for me <3!) – blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings – waxesnostalgic’s cuban heel mary janes // sunflower-petals’ kasi earrings – happylifesims’ 1920s day dress 01 – simlasya’s pearl flower ring – blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings – waxesnostalgic’s cuban heel mary janes

formal : laeska’s zita earrings – happylifesims’ roxie court dress – blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings – simsfromthepast’s 1920’s shoes // thelpethondiel’s pearl choker – happylifesims’ queenie dress – dancemachinetrait’s pemberley gloves – simsfromthepast’s 1920’s shoes

athletic : waxesnostalgic's short sleeved armistice blouse – waxesnostalgic's trousers – lehgames bow oxfords // waxesnostalgic's short sleeved plain blouse – waxesnostalgic's trousers

sleep : happylifesims' accessory duster coat – caio-cc’s ballet flats // largetaytertots’ bonnet add-ons – happylifesims’ 1920s nightgown with robe – simlasya’s pearl flower ring – caio-cc’s ballet flats

party : delis-sims’ marlene headband – glitterberrysims’ jade dragonfly earrings – ladybolet’s old hollywood eyeshadow – evazetta's gwen lipstick – flowermilksims’ clover and pearl necklace – retropixels' starlet dress – kumikya’s sheer gloves – akrsims' bow pumps b // simstrouble’s notte headpiece – someone-elsa’s tassel earrings – ladybolet’s old hollywood eyeshadow – evazetta’s ingrid lipstick – ms-marysims’ isabel necklace – happylifesims’ 1920s evening dress 08 – kumikya’s sheer gloves – gohliad's mary janes

swim : plumbobteasociety’s vintage knit turban – hypergnomesimblr’s soft serve tennis dress // plumbobteasociety’s vintage knit turban – waxesnostalgic’s androgynous swimsuits – simlasya’s pearl flower ring

summer : happylifesims’ boater – pixelunivairse's wendy earrings 04 – christopher067's prism cloud necklace – happylifesims’ 1920s day dress 09 – blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings // pixelunivairse's wendy earrings 0 – christopher067's prism cloud necklace – retropixels stenographer dress – simlasya’s pearl flower ring

winter : moon-simmer's asuncion cloche recolor – pixelunivairse's wendy earrings 04 – standardheld's scarf 03 – moon-simmer's mercedes coat recolor – dancemachinetrait’s pemberley gloves – plumbjam’s wool leggings // happylifesims' miss fisher cloche – pixelunivairse's wendy earrings 04 – zurkdesign's fur coat – dancemachinetrait’s pemberley gloves – plumbjam’s wool leggings

sugar : sforzcc's fetching stuff – nolan-sims couronne de fleurs for pets

thank you to @simadelics @serawis @saturngalore @ceeproductions @zurkdesign @pixelunivairse @christopher067 @blueraptorsden @waxesnostalgic @sunflower-petals @happylifesimsreblogs @simlasya @laeska @simsfromthepast @dancemachinetrait @lehgames @caio-cc @largetaytertots @delis-sims @flowermilksims @kumikya @simstrouble @someone-elsa @ms-marysims @plumbobteasociety @hypergnomesimblr @moon-simmers @nolan-sims and anyone not on tumblr/not-taggable!!

#my sims #1920s #sims 4 1920s #ts4 1920s #sims 4 1920s lookbook #ts4 1920s lookbook

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paulparkman · 4 months ago

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Paul Parkman Men's Tassel Loafer Brown Antique Suede Shoes

Website: www.paulparkman.com

#paulparkman #mensloafers #loafers #mensshoes #handmadeshoes #bespokeshoes #luxuryshoes #designershoes

#paulparkman #handmadeshoes #luxuryshoes #mensshoes #bespokeshoes #handmade #luxury #bespoke #patinashoes #menstyle

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penguinwithafancytophat · 7 months ago

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VEEVA DASH IS SAMURI?!?! NOT CLICKBAIT

sorry for minecraft posting on main but this is important

Veeva dash’s design has baffled hundreds upon hundreds of fans because pixels are hard to decipher.

So i challenged myself to accurately figure out what the heck the skin is

I looked up her skin and She's apparently a samurai

im white and i know nothing about ancient japanese culture

SO I CHANGED THAT!!

deep dive under the cut

if i got anything wrong please tell me!

Let's start with what's traditionally worn under the armor.

fundoshi

It looks like underpants because it is. It's mens underwear. It's a loincloth that wraps around the hips.

hitatare

This was a samurai’s everyday clothing, chosen for comfort. The sleeves have draw strings to tie them up as needed.

The hakama

Most hakama are like those super flowy pants that people think are dresses but then you separate your legs and SHOCK!! THEY'RE PANTS!!

Most sources I've seen, however, show samurai hakama being about knee length or being tied off near the knees. (i haven't read anything confirming this though)

the hitatare is tucked inside the hakama

Tabi

These are socks with a separation between the big toe and rest of toes

Let's move on to the armor and how to “un-westernize” it

Suneate (Shin guards)

Samurai did not wear boots or iron plated armor. They wore shoes and shin guards.

These are made of metal and then lined with leather on the inside for comfort!

Kyahan

can be worn under suneate for super maximum comfort.

Haidate

is thigh protection. It's not one solid sheet of metal and leather but it is made of many strips that are tied together for mobility. It is tied around the waist like an apron.

do aka the chest armor.

Do is made with many strips of leather and metal tied together like the haidate.

Do always has shoulder straps, unlike western armor, for more mobility

I have made a diagram

It can also be hinged like this

But you gotta keep the shoulder straps, you can't get rid of those.

In these diagrams I have omitted the kusazuri, which is attached to the bottom of the do.

Kusazuri

This is a danger skirt. They protect the hips, butt, and crotch. It's made similarly to the haidate and do. I have seen veeva’s kusazuri be confused as crotch armor.

The guruwa and nadowa

protect the neck

This is not required.

Sode (shoulder armor)

It's made in the same fashion as do.

Kote

It covers only some of the hand because, if you haven't noticed, the samurai froth at the mouth for that sweet sweet mobility.

Kabuto (helmet)

These are made with strips of metal or leather all meeting in the center. This dome is called the hachi.

^^isolated hachi

There is very often a Mabizashi (a visor/brim) to protect the eyes

Shikoro is the name of the suspended neck guard, produced similarly to do for that delicious mobility.

The datemono or tatemono is a crest placed on the front of the kabuto

Veeva Dash's datemono appears to be a star or sun.

These are the closest images i could find to what it appears she has

Extra details!!

This can either be a tassel/flag hung from the Kasa jirushi no kan (a small ring on the back of the helmet for the aforementioned flag) or a ponytail fed through the Tehen (a hole for ventilation or to possibly put one's top knot through? Sources were conflicted)

Armor is traditionally put on in a certain order

playlist with more info (for funsies)

#stampylongnose #stampylonghead #stampy's lovely world #stampy cat #slw #veeva dash #veeva dash fanart #stampys lovely world #stampy fanart #stampy's lovely world fanart #i did this during school hours

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mangostarjam · 5 months ago

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declarations — kaiju no. 8, hoshina soshiro x reader, use of foods as nicknames, childhood best friends dynamic, reader wears a dress and heels, 2.6k words

here's part one and part two though this piece was inspired by this

"Why do I need to wear a dress?"

You glance at the cute, strappy heels he left by your mirror and frown. "If I wear those, I'll be taller than you, Soshiro-kun."

God. Embarrassing. You really need to get your staring issue under control.

"I can fight whoever looks at ya."

"Soshiro-kun?"

Soshiro lets out a breath. "I know," he says simply. "But I wanna do it."

Like, really means it. You love Soshiro — of course you do. You've always loved him. But lately it's felt… different.

But at the same time… it's uncomfortable.

"S-Soshiro!"

Your best friend laughs as you wobble precariously before regaining your balance, your hands gripping his in a vice as you stumble to a stop. The familiar sound makes everything feel lighter, the heat simmering into something loose and… painful. Your chest aches. "Whoa, lollipop, watch your step!"

"You did that on purpose," you accuse, but you giggle anyway at his lopsided grin. It's bright and undeniably fond, a smile that features in all of your memories together. "You still haven't explained why you'd need to fight people, y'know."

"Let's just say I've got my work cut out for me with such a gorgeous partner," Soshiro says, looping your arm through his and angling for the door. Is he… trying to sweet talk you? Does he think that'll make you forget about his intention to brawl during the meal? "Ya ready for dinner, beansprout?"

"Hold on, don't forget your jacket," you say. He lets you step away to snatch up his formal dress jacket, though his hand hovers, stretching out towards you as you turn back to help him into it. You slip his buttons into place carefully, smoothing out the dense fabric and ignoring your warm face as he rests his hands on your hips to keep you steady. "There! Now we can go to dinner, Vice Captain, sir."

Soshiro's hands tighten at your waist. "Whoa, peanut, we ain't in public, yet."

You roll your eyes. He's been oddly insistent lately about when you use his rightful title. "C'mon, Soshiro-kun, before they start and we miss all the food!"

Your best friend loops your arm through his again and leads you out into the hallway, laughing when you try to pull your arm free only to fail as he tugs you more securely towards him. "Hey now, sugar cube, no runnin' away. We've gotta show up together or else people'll think they've got a chance."

You wrinkle your nose. "A chance at what?"

"They're already lucky bein' able to see you all dressed up," Soshiro continues as if he didn't hear you. "Maybe we should ditch the party."

"You're literally the Vice Captain of this base," you point out. "I think your absence would be noticed."

"What if we sneak out after dessert?"

"Why would we sneak out?"

Soshiro glances at you and pauses in front of the door leading into the ballroom. "Just 'cause I'm Vice Captain doesn't mean I'll forget to rescue you from all the socializin'."

"My hero," you joke, but several hours later finds you scanning the crowd uneasily for a head of violet hair.

The party is full of officers (easily distinguishable in their dress uniforms) and esteemed guests from various kaiju tech companies eager to promote their new products. You stuck to Soshiro's side for the most part, his hand firm and bracing at your lower back, but duty called and you ended up in a conversation with a tech mogul's son while Soshiro attended to his captain.

"Sorry, I know I'm not as good looking as the Vice Captain, but am I really boring you that badly?" the tech mogul — Takashi? Tadashi? — asks. You blink in surprise and return your attention to him, shifting on your heels.

"I apologize," you say, "it's just been a while…"

"It's been ten minutes," Takashi/Tadashi snorts. "If you don't mind me asking, how long have the two of you been together?"

Again? Why does everyone ask that? "We've known each other since childhood," you say. The man raises an eyebrow.

"Are you not… together, then?"

Something about his tone makes you bristle. "We've always been together," you say. You feel Soshiro before you see him, his hand resting warm on your lower back, just at the dip of your spine where it curves at your butt. This is a new spot for him to touch, a little lower than usual, but you lean into him anyway, seeking the comfort of your best friend. "Right, Vice Captain?"

"Who's askin'?" You startle a little at the subtle chill in his tone. Soshiro tucks you against his side with a hum as Tadashi introduces himself. "Nice to meet you, too," Soshiro grins. "Thanks for keepin' my cinnamon roll company."

Maybe it's your imagination, but did you hear a slight emphasis on "my"? And what's with dropping a nickname in public? Usually he's careful about referring to you by your surname when around strangers. The Third Division knows the two of you are close, but the ballroom is packed with people who have no idea about your relationship with the Vice Captain.

Tadashi doesn't seem concerned, but he does take a small step back. "Why of course, Vice Captain Hoshina," he says, "It was my privilege to be in the presence of such beauty."

You can feel Soshiro's arm tense as he slides it around your waist, but his tone is light. "Whoops, sorry, Takashi-san, duty calls. We'll be taking our leave now."

The crowd of pleasantly chattering officers and bigwigs parts easily as Soshiro guides you through towards the large banquet table full of small bites and snacks. You raise an eyebrow. "Wasn't his name Tadashi?"

"My bad," Soshiro says. You narrow your eyes at him and he laughs. "It's fine, my lil' blueberry. His father's the one in charge of their company and Captain Ashiro already made a good impression on him."

It doesn't surprise you that he already knows all of this — for all his joking, Soshiro's always been good at his job. What is surprising is that he was a little mean to the guy for no reason.

"Well, thanks for rescuing me," you say. "I was trying really hard not to yawn in his face."

Soshiro laughs and flicks your forehead fondly. "You ready to sneak outta this party, cupcake?"

"You won't get in trouble?" you ask, looking around doubtfully at the crowd. A few officers meet your eye and turn away quickly, which is weird. You reach up to rub at your forehead. "What about Captain Ashiro?"

"If we stay any longer, I'm gonna end up fightin' those guys from the Second Division," Soshiro says lightly, tilting his head towards the officers who just turned away from you. "They've been starin' at ya all night."

"No fighting," you say immediately. Soshiro snorts and crosses his arms over his chest. Your eyes skip over the way his shoulders bunch at the movement and you meet the eye of a female officer standing at the other end of the banquet table. Her face lights up and she moves towards the two of you, snagging two flutes of champagne along the way.

"Vice Captain Hoshina!" she says brightly, offering him the delicate glass. "I've been looking for you all night! It's been a while, hasn't it?"

You shift away, feeling suddenly like you're intruding on something private. Thankfully, the banquet table is a good distraction, and you move closer to it, wondering if you can find the dessert section while Soshiro catches up with this lady who's apparently an old friend. She must be from the Second Division. Maybe Soshiro met her when he visited their base to demonstrate and instruct on sword techniques?

You glance at her again. She's pretty, wearing the formal dress uniform of a female officer, though it looks like her long stockings aren't quite long enough, because the visible skin between her stockings and the bottom of her skirt is definitely against uniform regulations. She looks comfortable standing next to Soshiro, though, and the sight makes your insides twist strangely.

He's never mentioned her to you before. You remember greeting him after his visit to their base, accepting the snacks he brought back and tossing him your finished book filled with scribbled notes so he could take his turn reading it. Is he close with her? He must be, for her to look for him all night… right? It's not like you expect to know everything about Soshiro — of course he has his secrets and his own life.

And what if… what if he… and she… what if they were… together? You've never broached the topic of your love lives with each other, though it's never seemed to matter. You had your fair share of meaningless crushes during your time as an officer, but it was hard to care about pursuing anything romantic when you always had Soshiro.

Oh. Oh.

You are… an idiot. You feel so, so stupid. But Soshiro said he's a simple man in love — with you.

You're staring blindly at a platter of tiny cheesecakes when you feel someone approach, interrupting your train of thought. You glance up with a polite smile as one of the officers from the Second Division steps closer. "Those look delicious, don't they?"

"They do," you say. The officer looks nice enough — boyishly charming, in a way — but you find yourself glancing past him to scan the crowd for a head of violet hair.

Are you in love with Soshiro? Yes — of course you are — and maybe the semantics and nitty gritty details don't actually matter when you just feel right with him.

"Heya, pudding cup." Soshiro's touch burns along your lower back. "Time to head out?"

You twist towards him with a smile that makes his eyes widen. "I missed you."

Pink creeps up his neck as he grins back at you. "Yeah? Excuse me, officer, but I'll be takin' it from here."

The Second Division officer nods and mumbles some formalities as you leave with Soshiro, who doesn't take his hand off your back. The steady pressure of his fingers makes something curl in your gut. "What about the other Second Division officer? The one who brought you champagne?"

"Hm? Who?"

"Soshiro-kun…"

"She's just a friend," Soshiro says, snickering when you scrunch your nose at him. "Don't worry, bonbon, I've only got eyes for you."

The chatter and shuffling of the crowd fades as the two of you exit the ballroom and slip down a side hallway in the direction of your rooms. Soshiro drops his hand from your back, but you grab it before he can get too far, lacing your fingers together and peeking at the redness of his ears with a small smile. You turn together down another hallway, this one illuminated by squares of moonlight that do nothing to hide the clench of his jaw as he glances at you and squeezes your hand.

"Aren'tcha proud of me? No fighting."

You snort. "Thanks for not starting a brawl during a Defense Force party," you tease. "You're the best Vice Captain we could ever ask for."

"I'm not messin' around," he says. "I can't help it if I just wanna keep ya to myself."

"You don't have to worry about that," you say. You wonder if he can feel your pulse pounding in your wrist. "I'm all yours."

#hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina x reader #x reader #kn8 x reader #kn8 writing #kaiju no. 8 writing #kn8 fic #kaiju no. 8 x reader #hoshina soshiro #fuji writes fic #hi idk why this was so damn hard to write #i hope you like it!! i had fun writing it but it was just HARD #anyway thankfully oblivious reader is finally figuring it out #and yes i do have more planned #i want to write more for them #poor soshiro he deserves at least a kiss after all this torture

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henrypreppy · 2 years ago

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Secondhand

It had been a while since I needed to dress up last, so I was in need of some clothes. I had outgrown my suit from college and I hadn’t worn it since I interviewed for my job now. Being in inside sales, I could stay relatively casual—a polo and jeans most days. Still, the executives were coming to town and I was in need of something to wear to a business dinner.

The execs were always stodgy and traditional where I was more laid back and comfortable. I wasn’t willing to drop actual money on nice, tailored dress clothes to look on par with them; so, I was off to the secondhand store.

I just needed a suit that fit well enough and some shoes. It was wall-to-wall of poorly sorted clothes. I clearly had my work cut out for me. I decided to start with shoes since it was a smaller section. While there were two full aisles of women’s shoes, the men’s was only half of one, and sparse at that. It was mostly an array of beat up running and basketball shoes, but a few pairs of dress shoes—most of which equally torn up—were grouped toward the end.

Only one pair looked like it was in good condition and wasn’t meant for a giant: a pair of black tassel loafers. On further inspection, they looked quite expensive and roughly my size. They weren’t something I would typically wear—far from it. It was definitely something the executives would approve of, though.

So, I reached out to check the size on the inside of the tongue. When my hand finally grasped the shoes, I felt an unexpected and intense surge of sexual energy. Immediately, my manhood swelled and twitched. I was confused and my mind raced before landing on one thought that I would never admit was mine: Smell the loafer.

I had never wanted to sniff a shoe before, nonetheless a man’s. It was entirely out of the ordinary, and I fought the desire. I was straight. This was nothing like me. What if someone saw? I took a quick glance around—no other shoppers or cameras. No one would know. It was a shoe, too, not a man. It’s not like I was licking some dude’s feet or anything, so really there was no harm in it. I needed to check the inside for the size, so if I caught a whiff, it wouldn’t mean anything anyway.

I took one of the shoes and lifted it slowly to peak inside. The bottom of the shoe read Friedman and had filigree around the name. I’d never heard of that brand before, but I never wore dress shoes anyway. I started to rotate it and take it in on all sides. I just ended up staring, almost in a trance. It was well made, I guessed. I shrugged off the feeling and began to lift the tongue to look inside when my hand boosted the shoe much closer to my face and my nose dipped inside. I inhaled sharply and smelled musk, shoe polish, and expensive leather. My head was reeling from the rush and I was ecstatic. I failed, even, to suppress a light moan as my cock lurched inside my jeans. It felt like something had come over me, and it sent ripples of pleasure through my whole body. I wanted more. It was such a rush. So, I took another hit, this time slower—relaxing and enjoying it. Suddenly, I caught myself and had a quick look around. I blushed. Thankfully, no one was around to see. I lifted the tongue stiffly to look again. I took notice of the heavy imprints of the previous wearer, and I finally took note of the size: 9.5 D. They would fit just fine it seemed.

“Put them on,” I heard a baritone voice say. I jumped and immediately scanned the area. There was still no one around. I was starting to get creeped out when my other hand took the other shoe off the shelf and brought it to my nose. I couldn’t resist taking another sniff, noting the distinct masculine smell that enraptured me. I felt comforted and reassured; so, I took both shoes to a nearby bench, watching the tassels jostle ever-so-slightly as I walked. I was at full mast and leaking slightly by the time I sat down. Thankfully, no one was there to spot my confused lust.

Looking down and beginning to untie my favorite sneakers, I felt a sense of shame and arousal as another thought creeped into my head: “This is hardly appropriate footwear for a man.” It sounded like the voice I just heard, but clearer—more refined. It couldn’t have been my thoughts, but I felt strangely compelled to agree; a man’s footwear ought to reflect his sense of self-worth, and I wasn’t just an average Joe in some lazy-looking sneakers. I finally tugged the sneakers off, revealing my black athletic socks. “These will have to go, too,” I heard once again, the phantom baritone sounding more agreeable; “Proper shoes should have proper socks, but this is all I have for now.”

I reached for the right loafer, but caught myself. What was I thinking? There’s nothing wrong with sneakers and Nike socks. Everybody wears them. They’re comfortable. I needed some new dress clothes, but these feelings were something new to me. Was it worth it? I peered down at the old-fashioned loafers, my eyes first fixed on the tassels and slowly drifting to the inside of the shoes. I felt them calling me. I was lost in them once again as I felt my body move. Foot met leather and my member convulsed in pleasure. Feeling the worn loafer on the ball of my foot sent my head reeling as ecstasy flooded it. I came to understand my arousal did not attempt to resist the urge to slide my foot in deeper. My plain athletic socks slid in smoothly, filling the space in the shoe tightly. My foot felt good; it felt secure as I wiggled my toes, taking in every supple caress through my sock.

“Good. Now, the other,” the voice bellows in my head. It drowned out all other thoughts. The only thing I could think of doing was complying—not that I wouldn’t have anyway. Every point of contact with the loafer was orgasmic. I slid into the other loafer with a light moan. It was the most amazing feeling my feet had ever felt, and my cock began to leak in agreement. I stood up, uncaring of the damp spot on my jeans, and felt my full body weight on the shoes. I was stable and secure, the loafers hugging my feet intimately.

Then, I took a step forward. A rush came straight from my feet to my head. I began to walk just to feel that pure pleasure, step after step. Pulse after pulse of this amazing sensation aided in darkening the wet spot. I did not know where I was walking to, but I had to keep walking in these shoes.

The haze of pleasure ended as I stood before a rack of suits. It was next on my list to get, but I felt like I was there for something in particular. All of the suits were disorganized. Every color was mixed; sizing was in no order. An image popped into my head though—a grey three-piece suit with pinstripes. The image in my head seemed simultaneously foreign, but vivid and detailed. My cock responded gleefully. That was it. That was the suit I was after. My hands plunged into the racks haphazardly, groping and sorting through ever suit in front of me. Some were similar, but not what I needed. After each teasing disappointment, my desire for the suit I

pictured grew. As I continued searching, my hand plunged to the back of one of the racks and I felt it—the same familiar wave of pleasure from the loafers, this time on my fingertips as I grabbed at the smooth, expensive material.

“It is still here! Take it!” The voice erupted.

I obeyed, savoring the sensation of freeing the smooth woolen suit from the back of the rack. It felt better than the touch of anyone I had ever been with. As I freed it from the rack, I could see it was exactly as I pictured: jacket, vest, and trousers, all in a dull light grey with off-white pinstripes running down the length.

I opened the jacket to check the size, though it already seemed short for me. It was what I pictured, and I wanted it; but it seemed stuffy and formal—not my usual style by a long shot. As my hand brushed the silky lining, though, I knew this suit had to be mine, regardless of size. My hand slid from the inside label down the sleeve smoothly as pulled the jacket off the hanger, the rest of the ensemble still hanging in the other hand. As the other sleeve of the jacket hung off my frame, I felt incomplete; I placed the hanger in my sleeved hand and slid the other sleeve on with a suppressed moan. Even through a shirt, my nipples were responding to the fabric, hardening to stone. My fingers reached the end of the sleeves as excess material bunched behind my shoulder blades. The jacket hung a few inches higher than a proper fit as well. Clearly, this was made for a shorter, stouter man. My cock surged as the thought crossed my mind and I shuddered in pleasure.

I took a deep breath to clam my frantic arousal, noticing a familiar musky undertone. It reminded me of the shoes with less leather and mixed with an expensive cologne.

“Royal Muske. It’s been a while,” echoed in my head as if I knew the name of the scent. Fascinated by the knowledge that came from seemingly nowhere, I began to feel around the interior pockets. As my hand plunged into the silk-lined pockets, it was hard to figure out what I was feeling until I pulled it out, a silk polka-dotted bow tie, the maroon color matching the lining of the suit, and the off-white spots reminding me of the pinstripes running down my chest. I quickly pressed it to my nose, taking a strong hit from what remained of the cologne. I shuddered and put it back in the pocket, my hand touching another piece of silky fabric as I stuffed it in.

Looking up, I quickly realized that a few people were sneaking glances as I enjoyed the suit. I did not care, strangely. This was my suit. These were my shoes. So, what did it matter? I had become audacious in my search, consumed with pleasure and lust. Lastly, I checked the size of the pants. The tag read “42 x 27.” They looked far too wide for me, but the size sounded vaguely correct in my head. The pleats made them billow a bit more, but I thought I could use some extra room.

I reluctantly removed the jacket and placed it tenderly back on the hanger, savoring the liner’s touch. I had everything I came for, so I started toward the checkout line. It took me a few strides before I remembered my sneakers back in the shoe section. I hesitated briefly and focused on the warm embrace of the tassel loafers on my feet.

The voice once again urged me once again: “Do not go back to those ratty gym shoes.” It felt like a command, though I was inclined to agree despite them being my favorite sneakers. I’d had them for years; I felt inclined to fight the voice and turned back to the shoe aisle for my sneakers. Then, I felt something brush my ankle as I walked. The bow tie had fallen out of the suit jacket and brushed the exposed area. I instinctively reached down to pick it up, the thoughts of my old shoes leaving my mind as I picked it up and shoved it back into the coat pocket. Smiling lightly, I proceeded to check out with my new suit.

The woman at the register avoided eye contact after spotting the moist bulge beneath my belt. I exited without drawing attention to it and slung the ill-fitting jacket on as I reached the car. It was still mid-morning, and much of my day was free. The way home was a blur, but every shoe store, menswear store, and barbershop stood out to me as my crotch stirred in passing.

I walked into my apartment, still in a horny haze, wasting no time shutting the door and pawing at my crotch as I made my way to the bedroom. I couldn’t stop thinking about how good everything would feel on my skin. Placing the jacket, vest, and trousers on the bed, I began to strip.

“No more sloppy clothes,” I heard as I removed my t-shirt. I even repeated it to myself as I tenderly removed the loafers and yanked off my athletic socks. I unfastened my belt and lid my damp jeans down, revealing blue plaid boxers soaked with pre-cum. I hesitated again with my thumb in the waistband and sat down on the edge of the bed for a moment. The horny racing of my mind slowed and I could think a little more clearly.

“What on earth is coming over me?” I questioned, unsure of even my own senses. My boner began to retreat and clarity of thought came once again. Following clarity of thought came clarity of stomach, as it began to grumble. “Something to eat should help me focus,” I thought.

I hopped off the edge of the bed, careful to avoid even looking at the shoes that enraptured me and went to the kitchen to fix myself a sandwich for lunch. Once it was fixed, I cracked open a soda and sat, sipped, and munched. The whole morning made no sense to me. Only the shoes fit, yet I picked up an entire suit. Would I be able to find something better before the dinner on Tuesday? I had to. Though, it would probably involve fighting through weekend crowds if I didn’t do so today. I wasted an entire morning in a sexual haze, and my underwear showed it. I shuddered. I needed to change.

I went back into my bedroom, steering clear of the clothes on my bed. Something seemed off about them. I peeled off the wet boxers and flung them in the hamper by the door. When I turned around to walk toward my dresser, I kept my chin high, avoiding the enthralling outfit on my bed. As soon as I took my first step, I glanced my belt with my heel and stumbled forward. I regained my balance as my hands hit my bed, brushing against the soft fabric of the suit pants. I felt the same jolt of sexual energy as before: my cock jumped and I looked at the suit before me. It was irresistible and my eyes beamed with pure lust.

I picked up the pants, and unfastened them and slowly began sliding my legs into the oversized holes. The tip of my cock brushed the fabric, sending me wild once again. I buttoned and zipped the pants and went to look for a belt to hold them up, only to notice they had no belt loops.

“Good, Son. They’ll fit like a glove soon enough,” the voice echoed in my head. “Now, put it all on.”

I was helpless to resist and I began to slide my bare feet into the loafers. The leather caressed my feet, which had more room without the cushy socks. I could feel my feet shift slightly inside the rich material. My eyes caught the tassels again, and I smirked. They did make the shoes look proper. I wished to look proper myself. I moaned as I wiggled my toes and reached for the jacket containing the bow tie. I did not know how to tie one, but I wanted desperately to wear it. I removed it from the jacket and draped the silk over my neck, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. Instinctively, my hands made quick work tying it into a perfectly even knot.

Next, I slid the vest over my shoulders. As the smooth fabric glided down my chest, my nipples began to harden more than ever before. Immediately, my cock began to dribble with pre-cum once more. I couldn’t help but moan as fabric and leather stimulated me.

“Just one more thing, and you’ll be mine,” I heard myself say. I was quivering in horniness and trepidation as I buttoned the vest and reached for the jacket. My smile widened to a dopey grin as I slid my right arm into the garment. The lining sent goosebumps down my arm as I saw my hand emerge from the end. My left arm had the same reaction as the jacket finally rested over my shoulders.

Lastly, I began to button the jacket, deftly pushing the button through the holes. As the second button was fastened, I moaned loudly and my mind went blank. For a brief moment, I couldn’t see or hear anything.

Then, the sound of hard-soled shoes on tile began to fade in along with my sight. I stood naked in a space that could only be described as blank. The floor was white and smooth; there were no walls in sight. In the distance, I could see a rotund figure in grey walking toward me.

“Hello!” I called out with a wave. “Hello, my boy!” He called back in a dignified baritone.

My cock stiffened and I remembered the voice as the on I’d been hearing in my head. I walked swiftly over to meet him. He would have answers. He had to have answers. He was deceptively far away, but I reached him without tiring in the slightest.

“Slow down, my boy,” he cautioned. “We have all the time we could possibly need here.”

As I approached, I was finally able to take the man in. He was quite portly with a round ball gut that was sure to enter a room before he did. He was around a good six inches shorter than me as well—perhaps 5’ 6”. He wore the very same three-piece suit and loafers that I found at the thrift store. It fit him perfectly. His hair was black and circled his bald crown like a wreath. He wore a thick mustache of the same color, and looked to be in his fifties or sixties.

I guess I was taking it all in for too long when his voice roused me and my manhood: “Something you like, Son?”

“No—I mean yes—I mean, what is this place?” I stammered.

“Just a place where you and I can interact face to face and perhaps sort out a few things. You took quite a liking to my shoes, Son.”

I stepped closer, but remained defensive. “No. No. No. You put some sort of spell on me. I would never do any of that stuff with shoes, especially not a man’s!”

“Relax,” he attempted to placate. “I may have awakened something dormant in you, but I certainly could not create something new. Why, look at yourself.” He gestured to my manhood. “You’re positively rock hard right now.”

With that, a full-body mirror rose from the ground in front of me, showing my tight, toned chest flecked with sparse hair and cock at full-mast.

“No! You’re doing this to me. I’m straight. Whatever this is, stop it now!” I demanded.

“I told you,” he said coolly, “This is just where we can chat, and I can’t make these feelings come out of nowhere, but I can certainly help them along.”

He took long strides for his short stature toward me, and locked eye contact as a wardrobe and chest of drawers materialized behind me. I began to back away, but was halted by the new furniture.

“Would you like for me to help it along?” He continued with a smile. “Stay away from me!” I shouted, but his advance never slowed.

As he came closer, he stretched out his hand for a handshake. “I’m Arthur, by the way,” he said politely, stopping a few feet from me.

I was confused, frozen like a deer in the headlights at full mast. He simply stood there, polite, but imposing. “Michael,” I said, shaking his hand hesitantly. I expected some sort of shock or wave of euphoria, but it was quite simply just a handshake.

“It’s a pleasure, Michael!” He happily boomed before lowering his voice to a business-like tone: “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here. I’ll assuage some anxiety and say you’re not dead.” He chuckled lightly. “This is merely my domain that I’ve brought your mind to. You shared enough of an affinity for my old clothes for me to welcome you here.”

“Okay. Well...” I trailed off, trying vaguely not to sound rude. “How do I get out? I didn’t exactly ask to come here.” I crossed my arms in passive defiance.

“Oh, but you did, my boy!” He stated excitedly. “I can’t force you to do anything you haven’t any inclination to do, whether it’s putting on my suit and shoes or bringing you here. On some level, you wanted to dress like me, meet me, and—if I interpret those horny thought earlier correctly—look like me.” He gave me a wink and a nod.

I resented what he was saying. I would never want to look like a bald, fat, old man; but my cock still seemed to betray me. Was he right somehow? Regardless, I would never say it. “You never answered my question, though. How do I leave?”

“But I did! You can leave when you no longer have any desire to stay. Or...”

“Or what?” I demanded.

“Or we can both leave together.” He grinned.

“Well, how do we do that? I get the feeling you’re not going to let me leave any other way, and I don’t particularly care if another old dude pops into existence anyway.”

“We’d be walking together, Michael. You and I would be one and the same. Just imagine getting to wear such nice clothes.” He smirked.

My cock jumped again. It sounded strangely exciting, but I was ashamed to admit it. I started to cover myself with my hands to hide the excitement.

“Oh posh, Michael! It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He stepped closer reaching beside my waist to open a drawer. “But you may as well cover yourself up with actual clothing.” He pulled out a large pair of white briefs—clearly his size—and offered them to me.

I reluctantly took them and attempted to step into them, but they were too big. I held them up by the waistband, which nearly hit my bellybutton.

“Would you like for them to fit better, Michael?” Arthur asked plainly.

I nodded and my waist began to grow to fit the briefs wrapped around them. “What are you doing to me?” I asked as my inflated figure formed a ball gut not unlike his.

“This way, they’ll fit better and you’ll become closer to your desires,” he chortled.

My gut continued to grow to match Arthur’s girth; my thighs followed suit, filling in the formerly- cavernous briefs. Stretch marks formed and lightened as my waist hit forty-two inches. My member became dwarfed by my large frame and I struggled to keep my balance.

Arthur eyed me up and down. “Looking splendid, my boy! Let’s have a good look at you.” He placed his hands on my shoulders to stabilize me and guided me to the mirror. I complied in total shock from my body changing so much in mere moments. He gave my shoulders a pat as we looked at our similar widths in the mirror.

“That, however, is not your waist” he said firmly, taking the briefs in his hands and hiking them up to my bellybutton. I moaned in surprised agreement as he gave my newly-formed belly a rub. He then cupped my balls through the briefs, sending me more and more waves of pleasure as they began to grow. My sack descended, farther, and I was left with two golf-ball- sized lumps straining against the white fabric as an obvious moose knuckle. My cock seemed even smaller by comparison.

I had to admit that I liked it, but I could not understand why. It felt correct—like I was meant to be this way. I stood still, staring at Arthur’s work, waiting for him to continue.

His hands gave my balls a final tug. They would be hanging much lower outside of he briefs. “You’re looking quite good with some meat on your bones. Wouldn’t you agree?” He directed.

I nodded in agreement, mouthing a “yes” without the words escaping my lips.

He rubbed my shoulders, locking eyes with mine in the mirror. His touch was electric, and I saw my heigh lowering to match his. Inch by inch, I shrank, my shoulders broadening and making me look rounder—just like Arthur. He then whispered into my ear: “Those are the right proportions for a man, Michael. Enjoy it.” His mustache bristled my ear and he gave me a wink.

A shivering “Yes, sir” and a squirt escaped my body, forming a small wet spot on my briefs.

His arms wrapped under mine, and he began rubbing my chest. The hair faded and fell from it as he covered every square inch. After he ousted the dusting of hair on my chest, the stretch

marks were more visible once again. His hands landed on my pecs, which began to expand into small flats of fat; my nipples hardened at the attention, becoming my main focus as he twisted and rubbed them. From each rub, they grew wider, expanding to the size of pencil erasers, then dimes. With each twist, they protruded more, lengthening to half an inch by the time Arthur relented.

Finally, he turned to the wardrobe again and brandished a ribbed athletic shirt. “Arms up, protege,” Arthur said with a smile.

I accepted the title without question and raised my arms up, curious about the prospect and afraid to disobey. He hoisted the shirt over me and draped it atop my portly frame. The fabric was silky and expensive-feeling. I relished it gliding down my face and chest. I let out another low moan as it brushed my nipples and settled into place. My nipples were clearly visible through the white fabric. My eyes were fixed on their bulges; my mind was fixed on their sensitivity.

My trance was broken: “Now tuck it in, Son. One should always be tucked and tidy.”

It was almost instinctual to obey now. Bit by bit, my hands tucked in the excess smooth fabric into the briefs. My enlarged frame made it harder than usual, but I felt oddly proud of the figure that would have disgusted me moments ago. As I tucked the last portion in, I turned briefly to the side, examining the girth exacerbated by my raised waistline. “Tucked and tidy, sir,” I reiterated.

“As you should be. You have quite the mature physique now. Shouldn’t it be clothed in more than undergarments?”

I met his eyes in the mirror again as he spoke this. I wanted to be just like this man. Maybe he did awaken something in me. I only knew what felt good and correct in that moment—him. “Yes, sir. Just like you,” I sighed wistfully.

“Very good! I think you’ll do quite well with me, then.”

Arthur opened the wardrobe’s doors, revealing a light grey three-piece suit with off-white pinstripes. Beneath it was a pair of the very same black tassel loafers he wore. To the right were all of the other accessories: maroon and navy striped socks, a maroon bow tie, silk braces in the same color, and finally the leather sock garters with two shiny metal clips on each. To the left, hung a fine white dress shirt with French cuffs. My cock leapt for joy at the sight, but I was speechless.

Arthur produced a chair and placed it behind me. “Now, sit, my son,” he whispered softly into my ear, his mustache brushing my ear once again as he spoke. A warm tingle coursed from my ear lobe to my spine as I complied. He took the socks and garters from the wardrobe and knelt down in front of me, eyeing my feet. I admired the scene repeatedly, swapping my stares from his shiny, smooth scalp ringed with thick, black hair, and the socks that my feet yearned to be encased in.

His hazel gaze met mine as he looked up and asked, “Are you ready, boy?” “Yes,” I replied, transfixed.

“You’ll enjoy my shoes much more with these. You’ll have more weight on them, too.” He placed the socks and garters to the side briefly, lowered his head, and grasped my right leg— one hand under the knee, the other just below the ankle. I felt a familiar warmth, though much stronger—almost burning—as he began to rub up and down my calf. As I looked down from his head again, I could see my calf thickening with a combination of muscle and fat as the hair faded away at his touch.

I moaned as he continued, “Yes, sir,” being the only words I could think to say.

His caress moved down to my foot, which felt amazing with its newfound sensitivity. My toes began to swell up like small sausages as his fingers worked through them. As his fondling continued, my hips began to buck and gyrate in the briefs.

“Not yet, boy,” Arthur said sharply. “You can cum when I say. That will be our grand finale.”

My hips lowered and my breathing deepened as I contained myself more. I only received a brief respite from the pleasurable onslaught as he switched legs and resumed. Wherever we were, I’m glad no one could hear my moans at the hands of a man—especially such and old and proper one. My self-consciousness aside, I was in ecstasy.

At long last, he picked up a sock and lightly brushed it over my sensitive soles. When he began to slide the silky fabric over my toes, I struggled to control myself. The sock gilded over my foot and graced my leg further up my now-denuded calf. I watched as it stretched and became ever-so-slightly sheer as the top was set just above the curve of my calf. The first sock was a warm and comforting pressure enveloping my leg; the second nearly made my feet have their own orgasms.

Arthur leaned back to let me see my socked feet. It looked proper for me. It was as if everything I’d worn before was horrible and uncomfortable. This seemed right. This is what I wanted. I bent over and caressed the silken beauties. I felt them on my calves and fingertips; I relished it. The socks wrinkled and creased slightly as I stroked them. Arthur moved my hands away and looked me in the eye.

“We can’t have them looking ruffled and untidy,” Arthur stated in a didactic tone while wrapping the cool leather of a sock garter just under my knee. He fastened the strap and pulled my sock up taut into the clip. My cock jumped as the first clip locked down, securing the sock. The second clicked down, and the spasming continued.

“Now you do the other, Junior,” He commanded through a grin, and held up the other garter, the length of it swinging back and forth seductively.

“Yes. Please!” I pleaded before taking it. I handled the leather and metal gingerly as I wrapped the cool materials under my girthy knee. I felt the embrace of the sock tighten as I pulled it up into the clips. After I secured it, I could not stop looking at my feet—my precious, socked feet. I wiggled my toes just to feel them rub my feet more.

“It gets better,” Arthur interrupted from the wardrobe. My eyes rose to meet him. He was buttoning the braces onto the trousers. They were the same colors as the socks—navy with a thick maroon stripe down the center of each side. He continued, placing the pants to the side and taking the dress shirt off its hanger, “It takes effort to look like a man should, but the payoff is entirely worth it, my boy.” As he concluded, he held up the shirt, unbuttoned.

I froze, remembering myself. What was I doing? I was sitting in a blank space being dressed by a man who made me as short and fat as he was—and I liked it? It was absurd. It wasn’t me; even if I thought the clothes looked nice, I wasn’t gay, I wasn’t his boy, and I certainly wasn’t fat. Still, it was undeniable that, despite it all, I felt good. I winced while mulling it over.

“I see you’re still in denial.”

He started toward me from only a short distance, a smile on his face. I panicked and began to try to stand up from the chair. I had barely lifted the legs of my larger frame when he lifted the rest and pulled me into a kiss and warm embrace. I tried to shake off the pleasure, but only for a moment. He pulled my head in for another kiss, this time plunging his tongue between lips that could not help but part. I even tried to fend off his tongue with my own, but he twisted around it with his as they danced in my mouth. After a moment, I relaxed as I felt his tongue beckon to mine and I obliged. I extended it out through his lips, settling it in his warmth. His mustache brushed my upper lip gently throughout. I closed my eyes and savored the moment. This is what I wanted.

He withdrew from the kiss, and my eyes opened, meeting his. “There you are, Son!” He chortled, rubbing his thumb above my lips to wipe off some saliva. I could feel bristling under his finger that was not there before. “You’re already looking much more handsome,” he said, ushering me toward the mirror, shirt in-hand. Immediately, I spotted it, a thick chevron mustache like his now adorned my face. It was brown like the rest of my hair, which was one of the few things distinguishing us at this point. “Very handsome and mature, wouldn’t you agree, Michael?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, exaggerating my lip movements to watch my mustache as I spoke.

“Good then! Let’s get back to it,” he said, opening the shirt for me to step into. I shifted back and placed my arms through the sleeves. I enjoyed the starched fabric sliding down my arms, with the small excess draping ever-so-slightly underneath. Arthur shifted around me and began buttoning the shirt, leaving the top button undone. My body filled the it completely with just enough material left over to tuck in over my ball gut. He then reached into my front pocket and

teased my nipple while he retrieved a pair of silver cufflinks. I lurched forward as his finger graced such a sensitive spot through the shirt. When I stared at the cufflinks, I knew what to do; I began folding the French cuffs to my shirt. Arthur fastened them with a nurturing smile.

I examined the cufflinks while he stepped back to retrieve the trousers and braces. Within the silver, a small “ARF” was engraved. “Sir,” I began. “What does ‘ARF’ stand for? Are they your initials?”

“Yes, my boy. Arthur Richard Friedman, named partly after the man that mentored me. You’ll be a Friedman soon enough,” he declared proudly, extending the trousers for me to step into.

I smiled, enjoying the thought as I looked into the trousers, the braces parted to either side, inviting me to enter into them. I took an oversized step into them as he began to lift them up— first over my knees, then my thighs, my manhood, my waist, and stopping below my bellybutton. He hiked them up to adjust them, my thighs looking like sausages in new casing. The fabric was thin but durable and high quality. The pinstripes ran from the cuff of the pants, parallel with the well-defined crease up to my midriff, the pleats barely breaking the vertical pattern. It did little to make me appear thinner.

Arthur stepped behind me again and began helping the braces over my shoulders, lifting the trousers even higher as the straps found their resting place on my shoulders. As the waist was pulled securely up to my bellybutton, a noticeable outline of my balls formed in the trousers. The braces framed my stomach as if to announce its presence to anyone that could see. I struggled briefly to zip, button, and clasp my pants closed before taking myself in again. The moose knuckle was incredibly prominent below my barely-contained gut. I touched the bulge through the fabric in curiosity and watched my balls leap in pleasure as I shuddered.

“Just as a man ought to be,” Arthur said warmly. “Although I wouldn’t leave the house without a tie at the very least. A man should always wear a tie, shouldn’t he?”

With growing confidence, I proclaimed “Yes, sir!” And began to flip my starched collar up. Arthur buttoned my top button and handed me the bow tie. It was very tight around my neck, forcing my neck straight. I draped the neckwear around my thick neck and tied an even knot just as before, despite it only being my second time.

“Just as I taught you,” Arthur cooed before flipping the collar back down. With a light wince, a small roll of fat formed above the top of the collar. Arthur ran his finger along the excess flesh, sighing in satisfaction; his touch brought relaxation and further horniness. The bow tie emphasized the gut much further—my girth now being framed on all sides. Arthur gave my gut a gentle pat, causing another visible spasm of my testicles through the pants. “Handsome indeed, but let’s finish this. Shall we, my boy?”

“With pleasure, sir!” I sounded off.

“Why don’t you address me properly if you’re going to be a Friedman, Son,” he commanded, the last word echoing in my head and taking hold.

Arthur was my father now. He made me into the man I had become and I was proud of it. I was proud to be unlike the rabble I was when I entered the thrift store; so, I grinned and announced, “Yes, Father.”

“Good boy, my son!” He replied.

His words were ecstasy to me, and I shivered in pleasure. Once he handed me the vest, I donned it proudly. I buttoned it up, my thick digits increasing in speed as it all became more natural to me. It sheltered my gut, its pinstripes blending in with the pants and presenting me as slightly slimmer.

Then, he held out the jacket. It called to me—welcomed me—and I pulled my arms through as Arthur embraced me from behind, resting his chin next to my neck. I breathed his cologne in deeply as I buttoned the suit, the minor illusion of thinness disappearing in the mirror as the top button was fastened. The cologne seemed to fit Arthur; it would fit me now as well. “Royal Muske,” I groaned, my eyes meeting his in the mirror.

��Yes, my son; just like we always wear. You’ll have it in just a moment. Now, take a seat for me.”

“Of course, Father,” I said with pride before sitting.

He went to the wardrobe again and returned with the loafers and cologne. He spritzed me twice on the neck and the smell overtook me. It was familiar, like something I had smelled my whole life. I relaxed even more as my father, presenting a loafer, instructed, “Look deeply into the loafer, Son.”

I looked inside and was lost in it once again. The inside of the shoe seemed to go on forever. I began to see it clearer as it was lifted toward my face. Inside, on the insole, the filigreed name “Friedman” came into focus. The smell of the rich leather began to reach my nose as Arthur pushed it closer to my face. My full view was nearly enveloped as it made contact with my face.

“Breathe, my son,” he commanded.

I took a deep breath, letting the scent of leather permeate my whole body. I was in a blissful stupor as he removed the loafer.

“It will all be yours very soon,” he assured. “There’s just one more thing we need to change.”

I looked back at the mirror and saw his scalp gleaming in the light and my thick disheveled mop. Noting the difference, I resolved: “My hair.”

“Precisely! All Friedmans lose their hair early,” he resounded. “You’re going to love it!” He continued before leaning over and planting a kiss on my lips.

“I will love it,” was the only thought in my head as he began running his hands through my hair. It felt warm, and tingled as he made stroke after stroke through my locks. He lifted my chin so my eyes met his as he gave three final brushes with both hands descending my crown to the nape. The top of my head began to feel much cooler. My father smiled wide and moved so I could see myself in the mirror. Standing next to him was his brown-haired twin. The top of my head shone brilliantly and was encircled by a thick brown wreath of hair that glistened itself, gelled to obedience down my head. This was who I wanted to be. I knew it now, but would never have admitted it just hours ago.

I finally had to say it: “I love it. Thank you so much, Father.” Arthur leaned in and I was ready to receive him. I opened my mouth wide and let his tongue explore every bit of me. Our mustaches brushed together and the fabric of our suits strained against our writhing, generating ecstasy in friction. We let that tension build as we embraced, touching every inch of each others bodies—the bald head; thick, supple neck; soft flabby pecs under the silky suiting; bulging balls thinly veiled under wool; even the loafers he wore with their intricate tassels.

Every touch was erotic and I was ready to explode as he began to unzip my trousers. He pulled away to look at me, eye to comforting eye, as he giddily whispered “It’s time to become a Friedman.” His focus shifted back to my crotch. He wrestled my engorged member from beneath my gut and through the fly of my white briefs. Once it was free, he toyed with it, stroking it gently with his hand before running the tip through his mustache. He gave it a brief lick before dropping it. I was the hardest I’d ever been when he picked up the loafer and brought it to my face again. I began to breathe deeply, taking the sweet leather scent through my whole body. I looked into the shoe and saw the name once again: “Friedman.”

Through his excitement, he asked me “What name do you see?” “Friedman,” I moaned. “Whose name is that?” He continued. “Yours.”

“And who am I?” “My father,” I declared.

“Good, Son. You will show me momentarily,” Arthur stated. I heard him pick up the other loafer and felt him brush my member with the tassels. “When I count to three, you will seal yourself as a part of the family permanently. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” I exhaled.

“Good boy. Now breathe in.”

I inhaled the leather, once again causing my cock to throb.

He began, “ONE... Who am I?”

“My father,” I moaned, feeling the upper of the loafer on my tip.

“TWO... What is my name?”

“Friedman,” I said with more intensity, my dick sliding over the tongue.

“Then what is your name?” He slid my cock down into the loafer, the soft insole comforting my manhood.

“Friedman!” I declared, ready to explode.

“Good boy... THREE! Cum, my son!” He boomed, shoving one loafer fully up to my nose and sheathing my cock to the base with the other.

I moaned a primal moan, spilling shot upon shot of my seed into the expensive shoe. In the mirror, I could see my balls pulsing from the volume of cum expelled. Pump after pump, deep breathe after deep leather-filled breath, I orgasmed with rapturous tingling within every cell of my body.

My father moved the loafer back and forth along my shaft, affirming me along the way: “Yes, my son. You’re a Friedman now. Let all of your old life drain from you.” Slowly, the torrents of cum subsided and I began to catch my breath.

Arthur lowered the shoes to the ground, looked at me with a tear in his eye and said gladly, “Welcome to the family, Son!” With that, he offered me the dry shoe and I slid my first foot into it, the silky socks providing a smooth glide. He then held out the second shoe, the interior of

which was coated with cum. Without reservation, I slid my foot in—a lubricated and sensual entry. As my heel popped in, I knew it to my core. I was a Friedman.

“Thank you, Father,” I said excitedly.

“No, Son. Thank you for continuing the family line. Would you like to return home now?” He asked calmly.

I stood up proudly, my foot soaking in my shoe. I tucked my manhood back in and adjusted my clothes. Eyeing myself up and down—bald head, mustache, neck rolls, girth, and fine shoes—I was a Friedman, the spitting image of my father. “Yes, Father,” I replied. “Let’s go together.”

When I spoke those words, Arthur’s proud grin faded to darkness and the ceiling fan of my room came into view. I struggled to lift myself up and became excited by the prospect that it had all been real. I rose to my feet, feeling the additional weight on my frame and walking to the mirror. I took a deep satisfying look into it and saw the spitting image of my father. Everything in the dream had happened. I was shorter, fatter, bald, mustached, and fully suited.

I began to hyperventilate; I was ecstatic; I was horny; I was worried. If all of it happened, what would others say? It was at that thought that I heard my father’s voice say to me “It’s okay, Son. Fear isn’t becoming of a Friedman, and I am here for you.” I was immediately calmed. I took a deep breath, catching a hint of Royal Muske, and smiled. I wanted this.

“Now look at your cufflinks, Son,” I heard. I turned the wrist outside of the grey jacket and saw engraved on the cuff “MAF” “Michael Arthur Friedman,” I announced. “My boy!” I heard Arthur say, causing my cock to twitch once again. “And proud of it!” I smiled, seeing Arthur’s eyes in my reflection.

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