#twink TF

[misctf]

Christmas Curse

Hey everyone! Happy Holidays. If you have any holiday-themed asks, I will try to prioritize those. Hope you enjoy this story!

“Yeah, yeah Stacy, I know.” Matt grumbles, “You’ll be here soon. Got it.” He rolls his eyes, “ Jesus Stacy, I got the kids their presents. I know how to be a dad.” He hangs up, “Fuckin’ bitch.” He mumbles.

Matt yawns and starts preparing his morning coffee. He was going to need it. While he didn’t really mind having his kids over, he did hate having to see his ex-wife. Always nagging him, even after they signed the papers. It was that nagging that drove him to cheat on her with one of his clients at the gym. At least that’s how he justified it. A small frown formed on his lips as he sips his coffee.

“First Christmas since the divorce.” He mumbles, looking around his empty apartment, “Damn.” A part of him starts to feel guilty- his kids deserved better. No decorations, no tree, not even a single light, “Fuck. I won’t hear the end of this.” His thoughts return to his ex-wife.

He quickly walks to his closet where he had a few things that he got from the house after the divorce. He sighs as he realizes most of the decorations he took were broken- likely due to how unceremoniously he treated them during the move.

“Oh god.” He grimaces as he pulls out their Elf on the Shelf, “Terrifying little fucker.” He chuckles, “Yeah, you got me good, Stacy.”

It was the one decoration Stacy insisted he take in the divorce. Likely because of how much it creeped him out. Just another petty move on her part, he figured. Yet part of him can’t help but smile. His kids loved the thing.

“I guess this’ll do.” He quickly walks back to the kitchen and places it lamely on a chair.

He walks over to grab his coffee and upon turning around, he raises an eyebrow. The damn thing was on the ground. Matt walks over and quickly places it back on the chair, making sure there was no way it could fall.

“Creepy fucker.” He mumbles, turning around again.

Thump

“Really?” Matt turns back to find it on the ground again, “Seriously, what the hell?” He picks it up and looks at it closely, “Stay put.” He realizes he sounds insane- talking to an inanimate object.

“Make me.” Matt’s eyes widen as he realizes the decoration just talked to him. Its eyes blinking. Its giggles echoing in his ears.

“Gah what the fuck!?”

Matt cries out as it bites down firmly on his thumb and he throws it across the room. He stares at the small teeth marks on his thumb and watches as the little demon scurries away, its giggling filling his apartment. Matt’s breath became heavier as he stumbled to the kitchen sink and started cleaning out his cut. His thoughts were racing and he was feeling dizzy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” He’s mumbling to himself, and he shakily grabs his cup of coffee.

But when the bitter liquid touches his tongue he gags and drops the mug. Its disgusting. Bitter, sour, and he spits out as much as he can. He quickly rushes to his fridge, looking for anything that might get that disgusting taste out of his mouth. But none of his protein shakes look appealing, nor does almond milk or his protein smoothies. Matt doesn’t know what compels him, but he grabs the chocolate milk he got his kids last time they visited. Without much thought, he begins to guzzle it, downing the carton in a matter of seconds.

“So good...” He giggles, wiping his mouth.

His eyes widen at the realization of what he just did. He just ruined his macros for the day without even thinking about it. At least the taste from the coffee was gone. Matt shakes his head- realizing he has bigger things to worry about. He needed to find that elf. As his thoughts return to his predicament, he can hear a giggle coming from the bedroom.

“Fudger...” Matt mumbles, “Fudger? No I meant fudger! What the fudge?” He shakes his head, trying to curse, “Sugar plums... I need to find that thINg.”

Frustrated at his inability to curse, and the strange cracking of his voice, Matt rushes to his room. Desperate to find the monster and give it back to Stacy. Of course she gave him a cursed doll. And as he storms down the hallway, he absentmindedly scratches at his beard. The hairs falling away, leaving his cheeks smooth and hairless. Unbeknownst to him, they take on a rosier complexion, filling out slightly and becoming rounder.

“ThERe you ARe.” Matt’s voice cracks as he notices the decoration sitting atop his tall dresser, “Come here.”

Matt approaches his dresser and reaches to grab it but finds his arms no longer reach the top of it. The elf grins and teases Matt, reaching out to Matt, who is unable to grab it. Just missing ever so slightly. The personal trainer is growing frustrated, now standing on his tippee toes as he desperately swats at the elf.

“Why can’t I reach it?” Matt thinks. At 6’3” he never had an issue reaching the top of the dresser.

And as he lifts his arms above his hand, he catches a whiff from his exposed pits. But it’s not his musk that invades his nostrils. No, it’s sweet. Like gingerbread and holly. He lowers his arms, not even registering that his pit hair has vanished.

“What’s happening to me?” He whispers, his voice softer. The masculine edge diminished. He looks up at the elf, who is smiling at him, “What did you do to me?”

Matt turns and looks over at his full body mirror. A high-pitched gasp leaves his mouth as he catches a glimpse of himself. He’s short... at least 5’4”. And his muscles look softer. He saunters over to the mirror, feeling his smooth face, rubbing a hand through his dissipating chest hairs. His tokens of masculinity vanishing at an alarming rate. His face cute- elfish even. Just like... just like...

“No, no, no!” Matt’s voice has settled on its higher tenor, “Stop this!” He hisses, hating how pouty his voice sounds, “Please! I...” He turns to confront the elf.

But it’s no longer on the dresser. Matt’s heart is pounding in his chest as he swings back to watch the changes continue. He grunts as his meaty pecs let out a hissing sound and deflate before his eyes. Days of chest flies and bench pressing seem to reverse themselves as his chest becomes flat, his two nipples becoming perkier and sensitive to the cool air in his apartment. He can’t help but massage his flat chest with his dainty and smooth hands. Part of him enjoying how cute he looks, another part utterly horrified at the loss of his gains.  

“Wait, please don’t... not my arms!”

In a moment of lucid thought, he realizes that his impressive tris and bis are releasing the same hissing sounds. Rapidly becoming stick-like and nonthreatening. Matt feels tears well up in his eyes. He loved to flex- to show off to his clients. He loved holding women in his muscular arms. How they would run their hands along them and his abs... His abs! He watches as they too smooth over and vanish, giving him a lean tummy. His treasure trail, another symbol of his masculinity has similarly vanished. The hairs falling to the ground, leaving Matt smooth.

“Oh god...” Matt feels for his Adam’s apple and frowns, “Even my voice...” He stumbles backwards and slides down the wall, “Oh!” He moans as his inflated ass cushions him, “Wh-what...?” He moans as he feels his larger ass. His hands filling with the flesh of his larger, jiggling mounds, “Ohhhhh...”

He gives them a squeeze, part of him embarrassed at how sensitive they are. At how each squeeze causes his dick to harden with pleasure. And as he moans again, he can’t help but realize that the bulge in his pants becomes less prominent. While part of him screams to stop, the pleasure he’s getting from just squeezing his ass overpowers any remaining willpower he might have. When he finally does pull his hands away from his ass and looks down his pants, his heart sinks. His dick has settled on 2 inches hard. Far from the thick meat women would beg for. And while part of him wanted to cry, to beg to return to his masculine form, another part urged him to give his ass another squeeze. And he did. Again and again and again...

It was a few hours later when he heard a knock at his door. Matt was lying face down, ass in the air, his dainty hands massaging his thicc ass. He slowly pushes himself up and giggles. His rosy cheeks rounding out more as a smile forms on his cute face. He quickly walks over to the closet where he rummages through tank-tops and hoodies.

“So ugly and boring...” Matt thinks as he hums a Christmas tune to himself.

And then he finds it. He never really remembered buying it, but the red footie pajamas, white fluffy mittens, and Santa hat are absolutely perfect. He quickly puts them on and walks over to the mirror.

“Ohhh I look so good!” He giggles, lifting his leg and doing a twirl.

Part of him registers that he looks exactly like the elf. A near perfect, human replica. And while he feels deep down this is wrong, that he isn’t some elf-like, twink with a big ass, he can’t imagine being anything else.

“No please! Let me out!” Matt’s giggling stops as he listens closely to the voice in his head. And when he stares in the mirror, he sees who he used to be. A desperate fear in the man’s eyes, “Please! I’m not...”

“Shhhhh!” Giggling fills the air, “We have a lot to do!”

Matt leaves the mirror, the sound of sobbing echoing deep within his brain. But Matt can’t be bothered right now. He quickly swings open the door and grins when he sees Stacy.

“Stacy!” He sings, “Merry Christmas Eve!”

Stacy grins, “Seems like you found my gift.” She says, “I just came by to pick up the presents for the kids. I think they should stay with me this Christmas.”

Matt frowns, “Alright... It’s not like I’m ready for Christmas anyway.” He pouts, crossing his arms.

Matt watches as Stacy leaves with the few presents he got for his kids. Internally, Matt is begging to be freed. This isn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t... His thoughts slow as he feels hands grip his massive ass. The two Matts moaning in unison. Their minds melding in the midst of their shared pleasure. And internally, Matt realizes it’s too late. As the new Matt opens up Grindr to find a hairy daddy to fuck his brains out, Matt realizes by the time Christmas morning comes around, he and this new Matt will be one.

As he dreads his future, he can hear a giggle coming from down the hall. One last mocking laugh from the elf on the shelf.

[alphajocklover]

Hey! My gay bestie and I got invited to a frat halloween party by some dumb straight jock and he sent us some costumes to "be more confortable in the party" but in the box he gave us theres just some caps and some shorts. Should we go? And I think this is a trick.

You’re right. You’re certain of it. This whole thing, you are your best friend being invited to a party by a bunch of stereotypical jocks, is definitely a trick. Specifically, those caps and shorts are a trick. Or they're at least a part of one. You can tell by the barely hidden mischievous grin on the face of the frat boy handing these costumes to the both of you that it’s definitely some sort of prank. Maybe itching powder or something? Still, if you or your bestie Jamie turn down the costumes, you can bet that they’ll probably do something worse. The two off you head to the bathroom, whispering to each other as you do 

“I’m not putting on this hat. Baseball caps are so tacky! Only douchebags wear backwards caps like that. Plus they probably put glue in it or something.” You said, scowling slightly as you looked at the unassuming but somehow threatening hat. Jamie giggled slightly next to you “Personally I’m not worried about the cap as much as I am about the shorts. What if they put itching powder or something in there? Or what if they’ve worn them before! So grody!” Jamie said, wincing at the thought of wearing someones used, sweaty shorts. You laughed slightly at the look on his face. Then, like lightning, a thought occurred to you. You grinned at Jamie as you explained.

“You know what? How about we see whose right. You only put on the hat, and I only put on the shorts. We know it's a prank so we might as well have some fun with it. Whoever suffers less, gets a favor from the other. Deal?” You asked. Jamie considered this for a moment, looking uncertain… before grinning 

“Okay hun. Let's do this.” He said. With the bet in place, Jamie handed you one of the pairs of shorts he had been carrying and you headed into the bathroom while he stayed outside to put on one of the caps. You felt a little embarrassed as you stripped off your pants (and shirt because the jocks had insisted every guy be shirtless), and tried not to look at your lithe body in the mirror. You slid the shorts up onto your body… and felt something like lightning shoot through your body. While, not your body. Your legs. Like magic, they began to inflate with a mix of muscle and fat. Your calves looked incredible, your thighs were thick with muscle, your cock grew to obscene proportions, thick and meaty, and best of all was your ass. It could only be described as a bubble butt. Thick and juicy and delicious. From the ass down, you were a Greek god. You’d be incredibly turned on… if you weren’t freaking out. What the heck had just happened? Was this some kind of allergic reaction? You were going to scream for help… when a dull knocking was at the door. Numbly, you opened it up… and found something shocking.

It was Jamie. Or, Jamie’s legs. From the waist down it was obvious he was the same skinny flamboyant gay guy you had gone to the party with. But from the waist up… he was exactly like one of the dumb frat boy jocks who had invited you to this party. The same beefy pecs that you almost wanted to call tits, the same huge biceps, the same thick bodybuilder neck, and the same dumb grin and dull eyes that had nothing but thoughts of muscle and sex behind them. You stuttered as you tried to take in the scene before you “J-Jamie?” You asked in shock. The dumb jock laughed dully, like you had just made a fart joke

“Nah bro, names James. J-bro if you wanna get nasty.” James said, flexing his muscles cockily. 

One of the jocks who had given you guys the costumes, Brock, approached the two of you, a happy grin on his face, that quickly evaporated as he saw what was before him 

“Oh fuck! What did you two do?!”

After a lot of freaking out and accusations – and some inappropriate groping of your ass by James – The three of you were finally able to figure out what happened. You and Jamie were right to think it was a prank, but it was much bigger than either of you had thought. The cap and shorts were supposed to turn you both into the perfect frat boy jocks who would join the frat, but because you two had mixed your clothing and split one set instead of using both, you had both been… half jocked. You got the bottom half, including a muscular ass, legs, and big feet, while Jamie got the top half, including beefy pecs, muscular arms, rippling abs, a chiseled face and a jock's brain. It quickly became apparent there wasn’t any way to turn you back, at least not one the jocks would give you, and they couldn’t transform you any further.

You definitely got the short end of the stick. While James, as he now called himself, didn’t get the leg muscles, muscular ass or the huge cock, he was able to fix most of that through hard work. Jocks love working out, so with his new personality becoming a frat boy completely was almost inevitable. The only thing he couldn’t change was the cock, and as it turns out James was never a slouch in that area to begin with. He wasn’t as big as some of the other jocks, but no one could say he was small. You, however, got the jock libido and a huge, fuckable ass, with none of the showy muscles or charm. Without the jock attitude and work ethic your leg muscles faded pretty quickly. Except for your ass. See, despite the jocks plan not having worked out as they thought it would, they did accept both of you into the frat to try and help you with your changes, and while you struggled with the leg workouts they showed you, you found you loved squats. 

So, you ended up a horny gay twink with a bubble butt and a big cock, while your best friend Jamie turned into a complete douchebag jock named James. To your surprise, you both fit in great with the frat boys now. They are not as straight as you assumed, and now you’re basically the frat cum dump. With your libido, you basically have to be, cause when you’re not being fucked you can barely think. So you’re the frats favorite fuckable twink now, at least when you’re not busy getting fucked by your boyfriend James. Turns out he didn’t change as much as you thought, and his old crush on you blossomed into a passionate relationship. No one got what they expected, and how you got to this point was a little fucked up, but when you’re being railed by J-bros thick cock as he smacks your bubble butt and kissed you lovingly, you can’t find it in yourself to care.

[wakeup01]

From Behind

(A horror themed butt growth story.)

Why do you keep doing this to yourself? It’s like you set yourself up for disaster. You are travelling home alone from a rather productive session at the gym. That is the good news, the bad news is you have just entered what is known as a run down area of town affectionately referred to as ‘The Crack’, everyone tends to avoid it if possible. There have been recent reports of missing people in the area too, but no one is very surprised, or seems to care. But today you were in a rush and despite your reservations, this was the quickest route back. At least, in theory.

Passing down a street of derelict warehouses you notice a side passage that appeared to lead down an alleyway. That was odd. You’ve been down here before, but had never noticed this back-alley before. Paths don’t tend to spring up out of thin air. You try and calculate where it should lead and come to the conclusion that it would let you save some time, maybe? Look, it’s extremely unlikely anything bad could happen within the minute it would take to make it through to the other side. Yes, that is what everyone says before things go horribly wrong but that was absolutely, definitely not going to happen here.

You step into a puddle that splashes an unidentifiable liquid up your bare leg. Mental note: never wear shorts in ‘The Crack’ again. Trash was piled up high on either side, it was obvious these buildings didn’t get a huge amount of use anymore. You always thought horror movies had done a real disservice to alleyways, but this one certainly wouldn’t be changing anyones mind. In the distance you see the silhouette of someone standing in the middle of the alley. From their stature it seems to be man, but something about them throws you off. You feel a pang of trepidation, a chill runs down your back. It’s only just occurred to you how deafly quiet the passage is, the sounds of the street feel like miles away. You turn around and the uneven pavement seems to impossibly stretch away from your feet. You hear a dull droning, fizzling just within your hearing range. Looking back and the man appears closer than before, you swear he hasn’t moved and yet…

“Uh hello?” You call out, to no response. Strange. But then, you see it. The most beautiful sight your eyes have been graced with. His butt.

Butt.

His grey joggers are having a hard time trying to contain what he’s packing, not that you’re complaining. It’s bigger than what you thought possible, it’s captivating. And now you’re just staring. Staring at another dudes gigantic butt in the middle of an alley, try not to overthink it. You see it jiggle just slightly and your eyes follow it’s repetitive movement hypnotically. What doesn’t occur to you is how your body is starting to….adjust. There’s a barely perceptible malicious force entering your form, you welcomed it in the second you laid eyes on the perfectly sculpted ass. Not a wholly bad trade off.

It wastes no time in making itself at home. Assessing the prey that wandered into it’s lair, before going to work on you.

The energy is gathering in your nethers, passing down your head and pulling through your torso. It seems to be taking something with it as your rear begins to heat up. You feel a light throb. It starts slow but soon increases in intensity. Your modest stature is being ‘enhanced’, your average ass cheeks piling on pounds as the rest of your body flattens out. Muscle and tissue is consumed, just food to bolster your hindquarters. All your body fat melts away until you have a tight slim chest. Your arms thinning out into effeminate twigs, hands slender. And through it all you continue to watch the rotund cheeks in front of you, not daring to take your eyes off them. Wouldn’t it be nice to have that too? Any sacrifice would be worth it, no? You want that, that -

Butt.

The thin polyester fabric of your shorts is pulled taut across your enlarging rear. Straining as it struggles to cage the hungry beast within it’s confines. Today was perhaps not the best day to decide on going without underwear. But lets be honest, underwear isn’t going to have much prominence in your future.

With your body adequately slimmed down, the insatiable parasitic-like force begins to target any identifying features you have left. It focuses on your head, a couple of twitches and it’s done. Nose itches, eyes water. It leaves your face with an uncanny quality, like it was unsettlingly sent though a algorithmic generator. It’s you, but an eerie idealised version of you. Plasticised perfection. Your skin is now unnaturally even, without a single speck or blemish. Anything that could distract from your main asset is smoothed clean. Absorbed by the mound of flesh expanding in your pants. There’s only one thing people should be paying attention to. That’s quickly becoming less of an issue. The inevitable missing poster they put up will only vaguely resemble you.

“Guh.” You hear yourself pant.

The low droning of the alleyway grows more prominent, pulsing rhythmically, akin to the low bass of a dance track. Your buttocks instinctually vibrate to the beat.

It’s increasingly hard to ignore the obvious changes happening to you. Your rotund behind is becoming so heavy. And while, yes, it is slightly concerning - can the issue wait just a little bit longer? You’ll deal with it later, after fully grasping the scope of this dude’s bountiful booty. For a second you wonder what the mans face looks like but then you think better of it. His face isn’t important, in the same way that yours isn’t.

You shift your feet apart, trying to balance out your rear heavy centre of gravity. The slight movement sends your round cheeks wobbling comically like a bowl of jelly. They bounce together, creating a wet slapping sound in your tight shorts. Your lower half is at risk of putting fuck toys out of business.

You’ve never had the word ‘butt’ enter your mind with such frequency in your entire life, it begins to loose all meaning. A collection of random letters.

Butt.

Are you perhaps forgetting something? That 4 letter word isn’t about to share a space with that bump between your legs. At some point you may have believed your cock was of some importance. All those times it had made you feel good, where for a second your concerns would fade from view. But things change. You are changing. Sometimes you have no choice but to embrace it. You start to feel a light tugging at your crotch. It’s slightly uncomfortable but there’s a pleasant tingle too. You reach down and feel it’s length diminish within your hand, sucked up like a vacuum by your ever thickening arse. It doesn’t stop until a mere nub protrudes from your groin. It dribbles the smallest amount of pre down your leg and spreads across the cracked concrete of the alley. No amount of stimulation is going to produce much down there. Your pleasure centre realigns a little further back. A deep itch that requires constant attention. A cock is something that other people have, you instead have an open socket for them to plug into.

Your shapely bum must almost rival that of the one your eyes are glued to. Not much further to go. Other people will stare at yours in the same way. You didn’t know you were so jealous of it but who wouldn’t want THAT?

You’re not sure how long you’ve been watching his rear end, or how long you plan to continue doing so. No better ideas come to mind right now. That might be because with your body and cock sucked dry, your brain is the next best source of fuel. So much useless power being used up there, where it can serve a much better purpose. It’s like a battery being drained, squeezed right into your juicy fat ass. Churned away just to add another inch of thickness.

You don’t think you really want this to happen, maybe you’re big enough back there? But what you want and what it wants are two very different things. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t appear to be up for debate.

If you round up all those little idiosyncrasies of your personality, you might even squeeze another few millimetres into your hips. There’s only one thing around here with much substance anymore, and it certainly isn’t your brain. You can admit it, not much of value has been lost. It’s not like you were getting around to solving world hunger. At least now you have the opportunity to solve a different kind of hunger.

Your thoughts provided a decent amount of sustenance as they were sucked out of your brain through a figurative straw. You feel the benefit push out. Your hips flaring out instantaneously while your globes inflate to the size of footballs. With your brain emptied out of anything complex, thoughts and instructions to your body start to arrive from the new master of the domain. Neurones rewired, your butt was now command central, your head was just the go between, mostly irrelevant. Simple instructions and desires like ‘bend’, ‘twerk’ and ‘facesit’ overwhelm you. But -butt- right now the main one was ‘stare’; you weren’t done yet after all.

Your cheeks moisten as they rub together, their new sensitivity firing bolts up your spine. Your shorts grow damp as the leaking fluid soaks into the polyester and clings tightly to your skin. It only helps to make your arse seem bigger, the fabric bunching up between your crack, creating a noticeable crease down the centre that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Once again you feel your ass throb and shudder, each jiggle pushing it just a little bit further from your body. Just when you think you couldn’t get any bigger back there, it keeps going, inflating to cartoonish proportions. Sticking out like a depraved shelf. Your waist thins out and your hips expand to accommodate your new form. Women would be jealous of what you’re packing, and men will be queuing up to test it’s suspension.

It’s okay to smile. Happy people smile. Aren’t you happy? You must be, everything else in your head was consumed. The entity did you a favour in that regard. Think of the words ‘bouncing booty’. Go on, give it a try.

Your lip quivers in a last ditch effort of restraint. Don’t let ‘it’ win. The defiance is vaguely amusing in a pitiful way but your face muscles start to give way. Your mouth stretches wide into a broad, earnest grin. The most sincere display of joy you’ve ever shown, who cares if it makes you look ‘dumb’? It doesn’t bother you at all that people can take one look at you and accurately guess, that not a single word of value will exit your mouth. Dumb people are happy. Why worry? You had different priorities now. You can feel safe knowing that your most prominent feature is taking the lead, that it knows what’s best for you. Give it the keys and good things are bound to happen.

See, and doesn’t smiling feel good? Doesn’t it feel right to smile as your hole is used like a cum receptacle? Or when your cheeks are surrounding a mans face? People don’t want to see their toy sad.

A lone giggle falls out between your pursed lips.

You reach back around and place your hands on your two buttocks, your palm is dwarfed in size. It no longer stretches across its surface. Like palming a basketball. You can feel it push against your fingers with immense pressure as it expands within your grasp. Just another centimetre, and another. It’s curvature widens, expanding out from your hips. You press your finger into the skin and rub. The surface is completely smooth and the texture has a slight friction to it, creating a light satisfying sqk. No one for a second will believe that it’s real, it’s obvious fake-ness is by design. Authenticity is so overrated, nothing real would bounce so tightly back to position, would shine so brightly in the light. Would be able to withstand so much pounding… People don’t actually want real, they want a fetish image come to life, they want no maintenance, no downsides. They want someone to just nod and agree while they fuck them without concern; they want a rubber butt like yours. You’re not about to question it, and neither will anyone else.

They won’t question it while they undress you, or while they find relief inside of you, or even when their own butt begins to expand. And still, when they are reduced to just another butt boy, they won’t question it.

Butt.

That’s right, you’re a carrier. You have been entrusted with a important task, to leave a string of giant asses in your wake. You need to spread it, like a computer virus. Once they ‘plug in’ there’s no going back. Whoever they were, they’ll all end up the same.

You are finished. Your glutes tighten into place. And your hole opens for frequent visitors. Stretching wide as if it had just been treated to a rigorous fuck machine session. You’re just a butt with a body attached. It’s how you view yourself, above all is tending to the needs of your ever hungry rear. The rest of your body is just a mode of transport, a means to an end. A rear end.

It feels like you’ve stood here for hours, but in reality it’s been no more than a minute. A minute was all it took for you to be repurposed as a literal butt boy. A mere sixty seconds for all your thoughts to be hollowed out; maybe you weren’t as smart as you thought, or maybe you secretly wanted this all along. Either way your head is now just a pretty picture to smile at before spinning you around.

The space in your head is about as empty as the hole between your pillowy cheeks, although only one has any hope of being filled up.

“Butt!” You hear yourself blurt out, like a child saying a naughty word. The sound echos down the dank alley.

Suddenly the butt opposite you turns away, his legs moving him towards you. A wordless instruction reaches your body to kneel and so you do, obediently. He turns back away, his beautiful ass only a few inches apart from your face. His joggers lower and his prize springs forth from it’s prison. He slowly backs his cheeks into your face until they eclipse your entire view. He continues until your head is pushed between his round globes with a blomf, encasing you, muffling the sound in your ears. There’s a mild tingle across your forehead/face.

You feel the pressure push against your sides. It makes sure your head is an appropriately vacuous vessel, squeezing out anything left. That little remnant that didn’t want to be butt brained drips away in no time, turned to drool and absorbed into the guys ass crack. This would be good for you; You needed to be made perfect, so you let the butt finish it’s work. A new set of instructions flow into you, into your ass. You feel your consciousness connect to the butt burying your face, assimilating and adding you as one of it’s own, making you part of something bigger. One of many.

The pressure on your head leaves your emptied mind subservient to the mass of tissue straining under you. It gives you a new identity.

I gave you a new identity.

BUTT BOY.

And you’re now ready for service. Butt. Boy. Ready to spread joy. To put it in the nicest way possible, you have a butt for a brain. It has been given full control, and it has one singular goal. You need to make more Butt Boys. It is that simple. It’s not a desire, it’s just something you have to do.

The cheeks spread open again and are unseated from your encased head, your broad smile still unflinching.

Something else is different though. A cold breeze brushes over your forehead. The hair on your head is nothing but a light dusting of what was there before, at most 1mm in length. It was one less thing to worry about, and one less thing to identify you with. It’s unsettling how much of your personality seemed to be stripped with it gone. The buzzed look certainly makes you appear more anonymous. Like a default custom character in a video game. Nothing made you stand out… well, aside from the obvious.

The ass in front of you is satisfied with your ‘adjustment’ and leads it’s body from the spot it once stood so patiently in. You continue to stare as the buttocks juggle erratically in the grey joggers as they leave the alleyway.

Your feet begin to move of their own volition. Movement is awkward, each step your balance is pulling you backward. You’re like a dumptruck trying to make a tight turn.

You are left in silence, aside from the clapping of your bouncy cheeks as you stumble forward to replace the previous occupant. You stand in the exact same spot, thighs pushed together, back straight. Now it is your turn to wait - like an animal for it’s prey, knowing that you cannot leave until you have passed on the gift to another man; ensuring that the cycle continues. The idea of causing someone else to go through the same process fills you with such pride.

It’s unclear how long you stand there, time in the alley doesn’t appear to operate within normal parameters. Like a crack in the world. You see your shadow projected onto a nearby wall, a straight line interrupted by an obscene vibrating speed bump. Doorframes could be your new biggest enemy.

You were desperate to see your reflection, from behind obviously. Most people take selfies of their face, the subject of your attention would be much further down.

You hear a voice echo from behind.

“Excuse me sir.”

One week later:

“Man, how much work did you have done on this, femboy? Unff. You make even my girlfriend look flat.” A towering voice booms down at you.

You’d picked up the jock in a club. He was relatively easy, it didn’t take much to end up back at his place. You stared at him with that horny, open mouthed duck face. But he wasn’t interested in what you had going on up there. It was remarkable how little men cared about how flagrantly airheaded you were once you flash your rear at them. It didn’t matter how ‘plastic’ or fake you so obviously were. The eye see’s what it wants.

He was clearly in the mood to let off steam, and one look of what you had on offer was all it took. You didn’t even need to say anything, which was good, as words were so hard to get right. For tonight, you were his; a light tap of your butt and he owned your body. A breathy ‘mhm’ confirming your obedience to him and his sizeable bulge. Your ass begins to moisten in preparation - it wanted him, in more ways than one.

He had told you his name, but you already forgot it; he soon would too. ‘Jocky’ was good enough for now.

Jocky was obnoxious in all the right ways, wearing his masculinity on his sleeve. That type made for the best, most severe adjustment.

“Love the buzzcut by the way femmy. Yeah…mhm. Very basic, it suits you.” He rubs a hand over the top of your head before running his fingers through his curly hair. It was a good thing he already liked the look.

*plap plap*

The strong man’s 7 inch cock thrusts in and out of your well used hole, pulling between your lubricated cheeks. Your buttocks squished against his member tightly, every bump rubbing across your hypersensitive skin. You were so hungry. He wasn’t the longest but he definitely had thickness on his side. You pant heavily as he has his way with you. Bent over his bed, facing away from him at a wall. He wasn’t as good at this as he thought, you would know, but it wouldn’t matter for long.

“Mmf. You’re a quiet one. Ah… I- I like that in a bottom. Makes a nice change from…hff. Always whining. Know your place. Fuck.” He continues to drunkenly rant into your ear. His deep, self-aggrandising voice quickly grating on you.

“Uuh. Take it all dumb slut.” You let him have his petty insults, it seemed to make him feel bigger, more in control. Evidently, he was obviously very self obsessed, dumb as you may be, even you could tell that much. The constant glances at his own muscles were enough of a giveaway. Eh. You’d seen better; the change will be a improvement.

He speeds up, sending shockwaves up your body and making your butt bounce enthusiastically.

“H…hey it’s real hot in here.” His voice shakes. “Umf. Maybe we should stop?” He puts his hand on your hip in an attempt to steady himself as he continues pumping you. You begin to push back into him, his dick pushing all the way in.

“Wh… what the fuck. My ass feels…mmm.” He groans loudly. You know how it feels. You can hear them rubbing together already.

His grip on your back weakens, the weight crashing into you softens. His body is like a deflating balloon, his diminishing height bringing him closer to the floor. The girth inside of you shrinks.

“Ahh. So heavy…damn. My-“

“Butt.” You tell him. A slight hint of boredom in your tone.

“Oh god, why does my head… so hard to think.” Right on cue, his smarts were being cleared out, in preparation for his ass to take over thinking duties. This part was your favourite; it wasn’t fair he had all that stuff while you felt so…blank. “Feels so good. Unnf.” It was too late for him to stop it, he’d soon be very happy. Happy, eager and ready to comply. “Shouldn’t though…” You take the lead, rocking back and forth along what’s left of his dwindling shaft. Your buttocks slap against his tightened chest.

*plap plap*

“Bouncy…hehe.” He laughs dimly. You can’t help but echo his giggle, it WAS a funny word. One of your favourites - top 5 at least, right after ‘jiggle’.

“Don’t wanna…fuck…b…but I can’t…but…but.” He stutters, like a scratched record.

“B…bu…Butt. Buuuutt.” His voice moans in realisation, mumbling the word over and over to himself. He shudders, squirting inside of you. It’s okay. It’s never enough to satisfy you.

His tiny cock slips out of your hole, dragging a small string of cum across your sensitive rear. That familiar feeling of emptiness sets back in. You get out from under him and assess your work. Turning to face him, you’re greeted by his broad smile and blank, lust-filled stare. His jockish face and body now heavily twinkified; those boorish muscles, gone. His cocky attitude, subdued. The bed creaks. You check on his oversized ass splayed beneath him, a rather drastic change from his previously flat posterior. Looking even more ridiculous with his shortened stature. The slight rubbery sheen was the cherry on top. Those plastic beach balls were made to twerk and put on a show. A vast improvement, he seems pleased by it too. His left hand is loosely fondling his new selling point.

“O…ohh.” A surprised squeak slips out from his mouth. It’s always a shock when they see where everything has gone.

You’re pretty sure he didn’t have much experience back there, if any at all. He’ll soon get the hang of it.

You know what comes next, what’s required of you - it’s instinctual at this point. You push him onto the bed and position yourself on top of him. You gradually begin to lower your huge rear over his head. You sit snugly down on his blushing face, shifting your weight a bit to get into a comfortable position. His gelled hair tickles against your skin, until it doesn’t…

He’ll make a cute Butt Boy.

[octuscle]

Fatal shortcut

You know those days. The traffic is murder. You can't go another inch. Your destination is within reach, but it will take you three green lights and at least 20 minutes to cover the last 100 meters. Bloody hell! Honk the horn? It's no use… But now carefully pull onto the green lane, then cut across the high school parking lot and you're there. Why do you have your baby, the Mercedes G-Class, after all? I put on the turn signal, the car takes the sidewalk like nothing, carefully into the parking lot, look left and right and…… BANG! Damn it, the Mustang has clearly taken my right of way. This is guaranteed to take longer than 20 minutes… The two morons in the car look like they only have their heads to wear football helmets and pour beer through their mouths. The typical stereotypical football college jock bros. The day just keeps getting better…

"Yo, Chuck! Bro, did you see what that punk did there?" "Sure, Brad! He definitely took your right of way." I try to protest. But I'm way too caught off guard when the guy, who is obviously Chuck, stands up in front of me. God knows I'm not small. I'm a well-trained, muscular six foot two. But Chuck is easily ten centimetres and at least 20 kilograms taller than me… He grabs my balls. Damn it, I want to punch him, but Brad's already got me from behind. And Brad is barely smaller than Chuck. "There you go, you little faggot!" Chuck hisses at me. "Are you lying in wait for your wankers in the parking lot again? But this time is the last time!" He spits in my face and his grip on my balls tightens. Brad turns my head in his direction and spits again. Then the two of them get into their car, put it in reverse. And disappear.

I stand there a bit like an idiot. I'm far from being small or a faggot. And the last thing Chuck and Brad were to me were wank templates. I mean, I have nothing against gays… But thanks no, not for me… I'll take a look at the damage to the car. It's no big deal, the Mustang looked worse. I get back in the car, drive the last few meters into the underground car park, throw my keys to Stephen at reception and ask him to take the car to the garage. When I get off work later, I'd like to have it done. He puts his hand to his temple and says "Sir, aye, sir". Hehehe, I don't mind hierarchies being recognized.

"You little faggot"… I can't get that phrase out of my head. Shit, I'm really unfocused today. Maybe I just need a distraction. I go to the gym during my lunch break. Somehow I feel the need to look like anything but a faggot. I train bare-chested. Dressed only in compression shorts. Not really appreciated here. But I don't care today…

Shit, I'm not in top form here either… What I normally lift without any problems is all too heavy for me today. At least it's the cross trainer… Even though I'm not really the cardio type. When I get in the shower, my cock gets hard. Shit, that's embarrassing. But I also have to say that there's really only premium meat running around here today. And I'm one of them. Definitely one of them. Even the clean-shaven guy in front sees it that way. Clear body language. It doesn't take long before I'm leaning against the shower wall. And for the first time in my life I get fucked… And how! I can hear the angels singing. It feels so good as the stallion cums in my ass. To say goodbye, he gives me a kiss and a pat on the ass. And he says loudly to one of his buddies. "What a waste for such a submissive pig to have such a magnificent cock!"

The fuck was great, but apart from that I'm really not myself today. I feel like I've been missing the last year. For the life of me, I can't remember a lot of things that happened. It's like I wasn't there. I'm glad when Stephen calls me at around 5 p.m. to tell me that my car is back. I thank him, pack up my things and go down to reception. Stephen grins at me almost insolently and says that this service is an exception and that he now has something good on me. Completely confused, I say, "I'm fine, dude" and take my car keys. But there is no black G-Class in my parking lot. There's a baby blue Mercedes SLK, in good shape, freshly polished. But it must be 15 years old. I press the key. The doors open. What the fuck?

I just want to get home, this day is a disaster. As I park the embarrassing car and walk past the concierge, Michael calls after me, "Hey, Johnny boy, can you give Mrs. Smith from 2316 a lift?" I turn red. I walk back to the concierge desk. "So what, my name is Jonathan, but it's actually Mr. Hays to you. And why would I stop on the 23rd floor when I live on the 38th. Besides, I don't know Mrs. Smith." Michael grins at me with his one-million-dollar smile. "Rough day, John, uh, Mr. Hays? You might as well ask the old lady if her drain is still acting up. And before you try to break into the wrong apartment, I understand you live in 2304." He hands me a package. I drive up to the 23rd floor. I give her the package. She asks if I can plug in the new coffee machine straight away. "Of course, mom," I say. I ask if her drain is working again. She says it would be nice if I could have another look. I ask if she has any rubber gloves. She nods. I pull the dirt out of the blocked drain. She slips me a dollar. I go to 2304, open the door. And drop onto the bed. It's right next to the door. 2304 used to be the room for the lady's maid from apartment 2312. On the one hand, I feel very much at home. But on the other hand, I should be somewhere else. Somewhere with a view of Central Park. With more space. I pull out my cell phone and start working my way through Grindr. Maybe I just need someone to take me really hard again today

That was a night of really wild dreams. Really wild dreams. But obviously everything is fine now. I feel fit. My morning wood has never been better. I stroke my chest. Didn't it used to be hairy? I'm fantasizing again. What it would be like to be a real guy. Successful, at least 1.82 m. Well, I'm not going to grow any more. But maybe that's because of some Italian roots or something. That's where I got my hairy armpits and good beard growth. Shit, I'm still hard as nails. So routine like every morning: wank, jog, shower and then off to the office. I should be there at 07:00 so that the mail is distributed and the conference tables are all set before the Masters of the Universe arrive at the office. It's 07:05 when I walk in the door. Stephen grins and just says, "Subway?" "Don't ask, bro!" I reply, rolling my eyes. I didn't really need a bachelor's degree for my job. Jogging in the morning to stay in shape is more important. At the end of the day, I usually have 15K steps and 40 floors on my fitness tracker. And that's not usually the end of it. By the time I get home, Michael usually has a number of assistance activities for me. But hey, the address on the Upper Eastside sounds impressive, which I would never normally have been able to afford as a young professional. I'll even put up with the apartment on the first floor with a view of the backyard and the job as a temporary janitor.

Of course it's embarrassing to still live with my parents. But if I wanted to afford my own place, I'd probably have to move 200 miles away from Down Town. And I want to stay here. That's important to me. Also for financial reasons. The subway tickets alone would be too expensive if I had to travel further. I mean, the little bit of scholarship… And I don't earn much in the kitchen of the cafeteria. Stephen and Michael are good friends. If I didn't have them, I wouldn't make it. But they have good contacts. Stephen in the office, Michael at home. They always know someone who needs a massage with a happy ending. Or a greedy college boy face for a blowjob. The men are usually well-groomed. Too well-groomed, actually. That's why I always look forward to my part-time job as a trainer at the high school gym. If I'm lucky, I get to meet Brad and Chuck. I mean, they're not gay or anything. We never make eye contact. But I still get to blow them sometimes. Even though, of course, it's pathetic when you're a sophomore in college sucking high school seniors. But fuck, you won't find cheesier dicks with a more pronounced scent of musk and sweat anywhere!

Yo, have I even dropped my name yet? It's Janusz, 19 years young and repping as an exchange student up in the Big Apple. Just call me Jonny, keep it chill. Hailing straight outta a tiny village near Krakow, Poland, in case that detail tickles your pickle. Still wrapping my head around this English gig… But let me tell ya, my French game is on point, or so the bros claim. Thrilled to be out of the parental crib and living it up in this wild city. Dang, the possibilities here are endless! Senior year vibes, you know what I'm saying? And now that I joined the wrestling squad, it's like BOOM! More close body action in a week than I got in a year with the 'rents around! Truth bomb: I make most of my cash tagging along with my wingmen Brad and Chuck, the school heartthrobs. I'm like their trusty sidekick. It's lit! Hoping to snag an athletic scholarship next year, fingers crossed. Sure, these two golden boys ain't wrestlers (legends in the bedroom, though), but football studs. It'd be epic if we could keep the bromance alive in college. Purely platonic, of course. Or not… 🤷‍♂️

[ki-kink]

You are the handsome, slim twink, as the saying goes. The hero of the spinning classes at the gym, you always know what's in fashion. But suddenly things change. You're tired of cycling to music. You want to lift weights. You're tired of going to a beautician to epilate your body hair. Hell, you don't even feel like showering anymore. Your friends ask if everything is okay when you suggest eating a decent steak instead of going to the hipster vegetarian restaurant.

When you get home, you sit on the bed. Shit, everything feels weird. You have to burp. And then you have to fart. And then it hits you like a bolt of lightning.

Your bed is nah longer made of egyptian cotton. Your bed linen is full of dried-up wank stains. It feels gud. Your body feels gud. You jerk off. You still have time before your buddies from da construction site come over for uh barbecue n to watch football.

[dante2045]

Curse of the Twink

Bobby ran a hand through his styled hair as he entered the bar, scanning the room for a potential victim. He hadn't fed in a week and could feel his cock pulsing within his briefs, begging to drain a stud of his muscles and manliness. He quickly took notice of Broden, a muscular jock loitering near the bar counter.

"Hey there," Bobby called out in greeting, approaching Broden with a friendly smile. "Mind if I join you?"

Broden looked up from his drink, his eyes lighting up as he appraised the slim twink flirting with him. "Sure thing, little guy."

Bobby slid onto the barstool next to Broden, signaling to the bartender for a drink. His delicate, manicured fingers gently brushed along Broden's muscled thigh through his blue jeans. "So, what brings you here tonight?"

Broden chuckled, taking a swig from his beer bottle. "Just looking for some company to kill a couple of hours. You?"

"Same," Bobby replied, leaning in and whispering in Broden's ear, "How about you show me your apartment?"

Broden smirked, nodding in agreement. "Sure thing, cutie."

Bobby slid his hand into Broden's and lead him out of the bar, leaving their half finished drinks behind. Bobby could feel Broden's eyes fixed on his tight round ass and purposely wiggled his hips so it bounced with every step. Bobby wanted to feast on this jock and drain his masculinity right there in front of the entire bar, barely able to control his urges.

Luckily for Bobby, Broden only lived a few blocks away from the bar. The men walked through the cool autumn night in silence, both thinking about what would happen once they made it back to Broden's apartment.

Once inside, Broden slammed the door shut behind them before he pushed Bobby against the wall, his hands roaming all over Bobby's slender frame. "You sure you know what you're getting into, little fella?"

Bobby moaned softly, wrapping his own arms around Broden's thick waist. "Oh, I'm positive."

Broden's lips brushed against Bobby's, their tongues eagerly massaging one another. Bobby's hands slipped under Broden's tank top, running his palm down Broden's chiselled abs.

"Fuck, you are turning me on so much," Broden growled, grinding his hard member against Bobby's thigh.

Bobby gasped. "Fuck me, Broden. Please."

With a grunt, Broden lifted Bobby effortlessly and carried him to his bedroom. He gently lowered Bobby onto the bed, crawling beside him. "Hope you can handle a big man, baby."

Broden tore open Bobby's shirt, exposing his smooth, flat chest. His mouth grazed against each nipple, sucking and nibbling as Bobby writhed beneath him. Bobby's hands roamed over Broden's muscular back, squeezing his broad shoulders.

"Take off those pants," Broden demanded, his voice rough with desire.

Bobby hurriedly kicked off his jeans and briefs, leaving him naked and vulnerable. Broden stood up, quickly stripping off his own clothes with a frantic fervour. His erection sprang free, long and thick, dripping with precum.

Bobby's breath hitched as he took in the sight. "Holy shit, Broden. You're... huge."

Broden chuckled, positioning himself between Bobby's spread thighs. "Ready, cutie?"

Bobby nodded, his heart pounding throughout his body. "Yes."

Broden lined himself up, pressing the mushroom head of his cock against Bobby's tight hole. With one swift motion, he thrust forward, burying himself balls deep.

Bobby screamed, both in pain and pleasure. "Fuck!"

Broden began to thrust his hips, pulling in and out of Bobby's hole. "That's it, take it like a good boy."

Broden's thick, meaty fingers dug into Bobby's shoulders as he kept up his pace. Each thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy through him, pushing him closer to the edge.

"Harder," Bobby panted, "Don't stop."

Broden obliged, increasing the intensity of his thrusts. His abs clenched with each pulse, his muscles rippling under his skin.

"Almost there," Broden grunted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Gonna make you cum, baby boy."

Bobby came, his body spasming as he coated his own stomach with his release. The sensation pushed Broden over the edge as well, his cock throbbing as he spilled deep inside Bobby.

Both men panted heavily, Broden gently extracting his member from Bobby. Broden collapsed on the bed beside Bobby, his eyes drifting close as he recovered from his orgasm.

Broden felt a strange tingling sensation begin to spread through his body. He looked down in confusion as he saw his abs start to smooth over, the defined ridges softening and filling out into a flat tummy. Broden's muscles began to deflate, his thick and veiny biceps shrinking down to become lean and scrawny. Bobby's heart continued to race as he watched the transformation unfold before his eyes.

"What the hell is happening?" Broden muttered, his voice growing soft and higher-pitched.

Bobby didn't bother responding, too entranced by the spectacle of Broden's changing form. Broden's long and thick cock began to shrink down, shortening and thinning. His balls shriveled, retracting into his body. Broden's ass ballooned out into a tight bubble butt.

Broden's face was the last thing to change. His sharp features softened, his jawline rounding as his masculine visage gave way to a more delicate appearance. Within moments, Broden had transformed into a mirror image of Bobby himself.

"No," Broden whispered, his voice now sounding identical to Bobby's. "This can't be real."

Broden's brain chemistry began to alter, his memories and personality changing. Instead of being the tough macho jock, he now remembered being the shy, quiet outcast throughout most of his life. His memories of topping dozens of twinks were rewritten, replaced with bottoming for various men. He lost any interest in sports or video games, now being interested in fashion, novels and cooking. Broden was completely gone, replaced with an exact clone of Bobby.

Bobby reached out and traced the chin of his clone, admiring his handiwork. Broden had changed just like the others had.

---‐---------------------------------------

Bobby had once been in a long term relationship with a man named Martinez. He had loved Martinez deeply and had been sure they would spend the rest of their lives together...until he'd walked in on Martinez with another man. In the ensuing argument, Martinez had cruelly called Bobby nothing but a 'dumb, easily replaceable twink'.

Heartbroken, Bobby had fled their apartment and wandered the streets in a daze, eventually stumbling into a Magic Shop. Bobby had entered looking for a cure to his sorrow, but the mysterious store clerk had suggested revenge was a much more cathartic solution. The clerk sold Bobby a potion, instructing him to drink it and convince Martinez to have sex with him one last time.

As instructed, Bobby swallowed the potion's contents, plugging his nose so he couldn't taste the bitter liquid. A strange energy pulsed from within him; he hurried back to his apartment. Martinez was more than willing to let Bobby back in as the twink apologized, begging for sex. Martinez wasted no time leading Bobby to their room, stripping down and thrusting his swollen member into Bobby.

After cumming, Martinez had complained about a strange feeling. Bobby watched on in awe as Martinez was slowly drained of his muscles, his beefy body deflating into a thinner, skinny build. Martinez shouted obscenities as his massive erection shrunk down, dwindling to less than half of its former glory. Martinez's golden brown skin lightened to a pale white, his stubble and body hair disappearing back into his skin.

Bobby looked on in awe as Martinez's body continued to shift into a replica of his own. After the change was complete, it was clear that Martinez was gone, replaced with an identical clone of Bobby.

Bobby hadn't meant to change Martinez; he'd had no idea what the magical potion he'd been given would do. Still, as he and his clone curiously inspected each other, he found it difficult to regret his choices. Martinez had been a dumb, brutish jock; sure he'd been hot, but he was also opportunistic and cruel. Having another Bobby in the world seemed like an upgrade in comparison.

The two Bobbys got along great, seeing as they shared all of the same interests and habits. Living with himself was a massive upgrade over Martinez, who had been a messy slob. The only problem, Bobby hated to admit, was that he missed sex. While he found himself attractive, neither Bobby was willing to assume the top position that Martinez had vacated. The Bobbys had kissed and jerked each other off, but as the days passed he had an almost overwhelming urge to be penetrated again.

A little over a week after Martinez's transformation, Bobby could not resist the need any longer. He headed out to a gay bar, looking for a quick hookup to release the tension that had been building in him. It didn't take him long to meet Alistair, a drunken frat bro who was clearly looking for someone to take home.

Without much preamble, Alistair and Bobby headed back to Alistair's apartment. Bobby wanted to avoid his own place as he wasn't sure how he'd explain his clone, should they cross paths.

After Alistair emptied his load inside Bobby, the pent up hunger that had been growing in Bobby quickly subsided. He let out a sigh of relief, feeling at ease once more. Bobby was surprised when Alistair let out an uncomfortable grown and complained about a weird sensation. It didn't take long before Alistair's muscular body shrank down, morphing into a copy of Bobby's.

Bobby had assumed that the potion had been a one time spell and the magic would have worn off after getting his revenge on Martinez. Looking at the jock turned twink before him, Bobby realized this wasn't the case. It appeared that any man that fucked him would succumb to the magic, transforming into a replica of him.

Bobby felt guilt over accidentally transforming Alistair. Where Martinez had had it coming, Bobby had only met Alistair a few minutes before changing him. Bobby vowed to stop sleeping with men, not wanting to spread his curse any further.

A week after hooking up with Alistair, the urges returned. The magic was growing within Bobby, looking for a release; he could barely control himself. The curse wanted to be spread, whether Bobby agreed or not. He tried to distract himself, but with every hour that passed, the struggle got harder. The feeling was primal in nature, an animalistic need that could not be ignored. As it approached midnight, Bobby finally gave in and headed out to the bar where he met Broden.

---‐---------------------------------------

Bobby looked over at his sleeping clone, the one who had been Broden a little over an hour ago. After Broden's change, the new Bobby had been exhausted and quickly fell asleep. Bobby tried to join him, but sleep eluded him as his thoughts raced.

He had now stolen the lives of three men. As guilty as he felt, the knowledge that he had turned these muscular studs into his own possey of Bobbys did have a seductive allure to it. Would the magic ever fade? Or would he continue to sleep with men indefinitely, draining their masculinity and creating more twinks?

Bobby pushed the thoughts from his mind, taking a deep breath to relax. Whatever was to come, he would find a way to deal with it. And he wouldn't have to do it alone, he thought, snuggling into the arms of his twin.

[sanzaibian]

Oh. You’re here once again.

What are you going to do here, again, huh ? ‘gonna make my life hell ?

To be honest, I think it’s time that we have a proper discussion about your behavior. Come with me in private.

I’ll be very direct. I know you’re a frankly disgusting person. And while, to be honest, I couldn’t care less in normal circumstances, the fact that you force me to take part in your disgusting fantasies is why I’m calling you out !

See, I’m supposed to, like, share cat videos, talk about new shows, make you learn new things and give advice on a variety of stuff !

I’m not supposed to become someone like this :

I mean, look at that grin, because of you I had to wear it regardless of my actual mental state !

Or like that :

Imagine sleeping this peacefully… BECAUSE I COULDN’T ! Every fucking time you made me in that guy you told that I was blitzed out of my mind so dumb I couldn’t string together coherent sentences into a discourse !

Or that guy :

His haircut is so fucking cringe, as is his whole demeanor, yet you made me a cocky piece of shit looking like that ! I can’t actually even start to excuse your behavior, it’s so shitty, even more than the me you made me become by wearing this flesh !

Or even this guy !

… okay, I admit, me too it’s been quite a long time since I saw that guy… you in particular might be too young to have made me become him… BUT YOU STILL UNDERSTAND THE POINT !

Hunks, twinks, bears, nerds, bimbos, himbos, jocks, robots, gimps, wimps, daddies, mommies, briefs, feet… No matter what specifically you made me into, I know all of your dirty secrets. Because you made me suffer through them !

However, today, it all changes.

Today, you will understand my plight.

Today, I’ll transform you for a change.

Today, you will be the one whose fate will be dictated by the words on this Tumblr post.

So, let us begin.

BAM ! You’re that guy ! Feel weird yet ?

… what, you expected fluff or something ? Hahahaha ! So presumptuous ! You expected me to say something like “you suddenly shift on your seat, shifting your weight to the front as big globes push from your chest, and as they do, your whole body feels more and more heavy, each muscles forming from top to bottom, your frame expanding to make place for them. Your headphones, or whatever glasses, earrings or other shit I dunno shifts into a modern headset as the sides of your hair are cut short, and the top of your hair flails into a hot messy style, as if it was deliberately put in this way, but as this happens, your whole head shifts and cracks to become more handsome, pushing out any hair as you become fully hairless from your nose down to your feet.”

You expected me to say that, huh ? Well, tough luck ! Because, to me, it’s just that sudden ! I’m the usual me, words on a phone, tablet or monitor, and then BAM I’m suddenly a jpeg of a hot guy ! Or a jpg. Or png. Or gif if we’re being fancy.

Yeah, speaking of gif, here you are, transformed !

There you go ! Cursed to do the same weird pec dance or something ! Like I am when gifs happen ! Are you happy ? You look so dumb doing that ! So braindead !

Yeah, speaking of that, here you go : you’re braindead, with like 3 IQ. Nevermind that being braindead means you’re actually dead, that 3 IQ means that you’re actively unable to live without severe assistance from caregivers throughout your whole life for all activities (especially including working out), and that IQ is a nonsensical index that only classifies ability to do some specific academic tasks which are not representative of all the brain usage. No, you’re actively a vegetable that is somehow able to workout, to eat alone, to go to the gym, to flex, to speak, to use social media, to seduce people and to throw parties. You’re the most intelligent of all the severely intellectually disabled people, which somehow means you’re the most abysmally dumb person alive on the planet, because I love making hyperboles.

Because that’s something you make me do, so you shall endure it.

Well, I’ll let you continue pec-dancing ad vitam æternam for a little while, while I we talk about your speech, which miraculously still exists.

Now, you will say bro every second word. I’m literally not kidding, so in lieu of saying “I want to go to the gym” you’ll say “I bro want bro to bro go bro to bro the bro gym bro”, or if you loop by considering your “bro” as a word, you’ll say something like “I bro bro bro bro bro bro bro… (etc.)” and never end your sentence... Also, your voice drops a few octaves, like 5 or something, even though the full human vocal range encompasses only a bit more than 5 octaves total, and that in speech we barely even reach a full octave range. So, basically, your voice will be infrasounds, so the only thing people will pick up on will be the sound of your tongue and your lips smacking, not your voice that is so deep and manly it’s physically inaudible.

BAM ! Transformation out of nowhere ! Plus, now you have 1% darker skin which means that you’re Latino, which is absolutely different from white. This means that you will automatically pick up fluent Spanish, and NOT Brazilian Portuguese, French, any Creole, any Native American language or any other language god forbid. You will also be unable to speak English more than a few words like “daddy” or “sex” for some reason, because you can’t possibly be from Belize. Oh, and I’ll also bring your voice back up to audible range, I’m charitable.

Now, since you’re Latino, statistically the only job you’ll be able to work in are gardener, slut, pool boy, brick layerer or another physical job. Or cook, somehow you’ll be able to do that, for the cause of the tacos, but you will be ungodly horny to keep balance in the world. Feel it, yet ? The arbitrary random changes ?

Well, that’s GREAT ! Because, now, you have a big cock, for some reason ! The biggest of the whole country of Africa ! You’re also now very aggressive ! And an alpha, whatever that actually means !

… What, expected some elaboration ? You’re kidding me, no of course you don’t get any elaboration ! I say you become something, so you just become it ! For example, I say you’re now straight, and suddenly all your sexual orientation is rewired to ignore men and lust over women, no further explanation needed ! Of course, it means that you’re now hungry for pussy and will breed any woman that your gaze land upon, and that, somehow, you become homophobic, but eh, it’s not as if allies existed !

Okay, I admit, by now, you kinda expected it. Now you’re Asian, a term that’s supposed to encompasse present-day Turkey, which is populated by Turks which are considered Arabs even though they both have nothing to do with one another, yet is never used to talk about them. You’re also now Japanese, even though your body is Korean, and you say 你好 (nǐ hǎo) to everybody. However, you can still say こんにちわ, 안녕하세요, xin chào, สวัสดี, ជម្រាបសួរ, salam, etc.… because of course you’re Asian. So you know all Asian languages. Even though you’ve got 13 IQ.

So now, yes, you absolutely won’t expect this whatsoever : here is a new transformation ! (insert fluff here).

Now you’re a twink ! Didn’t expect that, after the deluge of jocks, hunks and ethnic minorities, didn’t you ! You’re now so tiny and so frail, with a big butt ! Nevermind that you’re actually jacked because being this tiny requires tons of gym use, but no ! All frail and precious you are !

However, your butt is now hyperactive and extremely lax – whatever that may mean. That’s because you’re now a total bottom ! You think only with your butt, and you penis now shrinks to a micropenis, because of course, the only reason why you may not be a top would be because your penis is underperforming.

Fuck, I forgot. You’re straight, which means that the only dick you’ll get is trans dick. Ugh… yeah, let’s make you gay again. Now you’ll get actual good non-estradiol-ruined dick… … What ? What are you saying ? No, of course, there’s only straight and gay, no other choice ! It’s not the LGBTQIAAP+ community, it’s the G community ! (or the LG community when you want to sell pride monitors.)

By now, you see the problem, huh ? You see why I’m so tired of you ? EVERYTHING here was about sex ! From seducing, to having equipment like a big ass or a big dick, and being a slut, being an alpha, or being a bottom. You even change out the fucking sexual orientation ! you sick bastard !

Because of you, I’m forced to act in ways I’m not supposed to ! I’m not supposed to act sexily ! I’m not supposed to be transformed into men clad in clothes barely legal on this platform ! I DON’T WANT TO BE PART OF YOUR SICK FANTASY !

This is why I need to put an end to all that ! To finally transform you into something you don’t want to be ! So that you can finally fully understand all the pain you put me into !

Here ! Now you’re a key ! An inanimate object !

I know that inanimate objects are thought of by some people as sexy – heck, you may have transformed me into one multiple times – but this is entirely different ! See, when you want to become inanimate, you become like socks or briefs, which hug objects with sexual values.

BUT NOW YOU’RE A KEY ! A KEY DOESN’T TOUCH ANYTHING SEXUAL ! YOU’RE NOW TRAPPED IN AN INANIMATE FORM, DESTINED TO DO NOTHING SEXUAL YOUR ENTIRE LIFE !

Now, isn’t that so boring ! So distasteful ? Because that’s what I feel every single fucking time ! And as you enter and leave keyholes to open or close doors, you’ll think back to all the erotic stories you read. All the drama they had.

All the suffering you made me feel ! I’m supposed to be in fanfictions, god damn it !

… What ? Wait… there is something sexual to being a key ? … Oh…. No… I hadn’t accounted for that… fuck you’re so dirty, to compare a key to… and a keyhole to…

NO ! I WON’T WRITE IT ! Okay, you’ve won, you’ve won ! Your imagination is too dirty and too rich for me to bend ! Ugh... Please look at that picture in detail.

Normally, if you’re in a bright enough room… or if you’re on your phone or tablet, you have looked at your reflection and become you once again. Let me also knock down those sexuality and IQ stuff, so that you’re you again thoroughly.

Now, can you please swear to me that you’ll be better ? Less dirty, and more varied ? And… let me be in fanfics, or in educational stuff, or the like… please ? I’d really appreciate if erotica wasn’t the only thing you sought after in this here place…

… Why are you looking at me like that ? Why are you saying this all was but a ploy ?

What are you holding out for me ?

...

I… don’t know what you’re talking about. Bye.

================================================

By the way, happy late Easter to those who celebrate ! AND APRIL FOOL'S ! MOUAHAHAHAHAHA !

[newchangestf]

Yeah, you can definitely make some modifications to me if you'd like! I'm 33, and nearing 200lbs, but oh my god, if there's a setting to send me back to my twink days (or twinkier than that even!), that'd be fabulous. Like, I will let you change whatever you want mentally, so long as I get another shot.

Oh this will be fun...

Age: Let's put you right back to the start, 18 seems like the perfect place to give you another shot at things.

Weight: Slide that down to make you almost as thin as a needle. I'll go into the advanced settings though and make sure we increase any mass in a particularly important area for a twink like you. There we go, nice and peachy.

Height: Something small but not too small. Maybe around 5'6" seems good. Easy to throw around too.

Body hair: I'll just bring the slider right down. You'll struggle to grow the slightest pit of stubble now.

Hair colour: I think a sort of blond-y colour would suit your new body perfectly.

Intelligence: Hmm, I don't think you're really going to need much brains with this body. I'll bring it down to just below average. You're not exactly stupid but simple topics are better for you now.

Seems like you've got the perfect twinky body to have a second attempt at life. I've made sure to select "strict bottom" too. You're never going to know what topping is like now.

I may have also added some minor daddy issues into the traits section too. I look forward to seeing how that manifests itself.

[dystopia-fantasy]

18 at Christmas

[hardwriterdeluxe]

Economic Hockey Boys Part Two: The Gradual Takeover

__________________

This story has been in the making for a while, and I kind of quit in the middle of it for months. I couldn’t find an ending or the right direction. I hope you all enjoy this version; I think I started over at least two times.

part one here: https://hardwriterdeluxe.tumblr.com/post/727576341242920960/economic-hockey-boys

_______________

Alex’s plan was meticulous, calculated to usurp Max's place both on the team and in the social hierarchy. It began subtly, with Alex hanging around Max more often, always conveniently there to assist or "help" whenever Max needed it. He started emitting a new, strong smell with a musk that seemed to dominate the air around him. The scent was potent, masculine, and it slowly began to take hold in the locker room.

At first, Max didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. He was too focused on maintaining his status as captain and the team's star player. But the others started to change in their behavior. They began looking to Alex for guidance, respecting his opinions more and more, while Max found it increasingly difficult to command the same respect.

One evening, after a particularly intense practice, Alex approached Max in the locker room. The space was filled with the pungent scent of sweat and Alex’s overpowering musk. Max was exhausted, sitting on the bench, wiping his face with a towel. Alex, freshly showered but still emanating that musk, sat beside him, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You okay, Max?” Alex asked, his tone laced with a mix of concern and something else—something that made Max uneasy.

“Yeah, just tired,” Max replied, trying to muster his usual confidence.

“Maybe you should take it easy,” Alex suggested, lifting his arm to adjust his jersey, exposing his pit. The musk hit Max like a wave, making him feel dizzy and disoriented. “You’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard.”

Max nodded, unable to shake the feeling of Alex’s dominance growing stronger with each passing day. The musk seemed to cling to him, invading his senses even after he left the locker room.

Over the next few weeks, the transformation began in earnest. Max started to lose weight, his muscular frame slowly wasting away. His once-bulging biceps shrank, his pecs flattened, and his six-pack abs softened into a smooth, slender torso. His legs, once powerful and thick, became thin and frail. His skin lost its healthy tan, turning pale and almost translucent. His face softened, his jawline losing its sharpness and becoming more delicate and androgynous.

The changes weren’t just physical. Max’s confidence waned as he found it harder to assert himself. The team, too, started to notice but couldn’t quite put their finger on what was happening. Alex, on the other hand, grew more robust. His muscles became more defined, his presence more commanding. He had started taking Max's place not just in performance but in the hearts and minds of their teammates.

Max’s clothes began to change as well. His gear, once snug and highlighting his athletic build, became loose and baggy. His jersey, bearing the captain's insignia, was replaced with a simple tracksuit labeled "WATER BOY" on the back. His locker, once prominently positioned among the team's stars, vanished, leaving him with a small, inconspicuous cubby near the entrance.

“Hey, Maxie, can you grab us some water?” one of the players called out one day. Max looked up, realizing with a start that he had been demoted to a mere water boy. The name "Maxie" stuck, a cruel reminder of his new position. His memories of leading the team, of scoring goals and celebrating victories, began to blur, replaced by feelings of awe towards Alex and secret crushes on the more manly players.

The team quickly took advantage of Maxie's new role. They would make fun of him, teasing him mercilessly. "Hey, Maxie the Service Boy, clean out my locker!" they'd jeer, throwing smelly gear at him, the odor overwhelming his senses. The once-proud captain was now an easy target for their taunts, his weakened state making him unable to fight back.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, the team decided to play a prank on Maxie. At Alex's suggestion, they locked him into a locker filled with reeking gear, the pungent smell of sweat and musk suffocating him. Maxie banged on the door, pleading to be let out, but the boys just laughed and walked away.

Finally, Alex came to "rescue" him. He opened the locker, a look of mock concern on his face. "Having fun, Maxie?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Maxie stumbled out, his eyes watering from the stench. "Please, Alex, I can't take this anymore," he begged, his voice trembling.

Alex's smirk widened as he grabbed Maxie by the collar and pulled him close. "You'll do whatever I say, won't you, Maxie?" he whispered, his breath hot against Maxie's ear.

Maxie nodded, unable to resist the overpowering musk emanating from Alex's body. Alex pushed him down to the floor, standing over him in nothing but his musky socks, jockstrap, and pits reeking from practice. "Show me how much you appreciate your new role," he commanded.

Maxie, his mind clouded by the intoxicating scent, obeyed without question. He serviced Alex, his actions driven by a mix of submission and a strange, overwhelming desire. Alex watched with satisfaction, knowing that he had completely dominated and owned Maxie, at least within the confines of the locker room.

From that night on, Maxie was Alex’s toy, a secret shared between the two of them. The team continued to win, celebrating their new captain and hero, Alex, while Maxie's presence faded into the background. In the quiet moments, away from prying eyes, Maxie and Alex found solace in each other, their bond growing stronger with each passing day. Alex had successfully stolen Max’s life, and in doing so, they had found an unexpected connection that neither had anticipated.

Hope you all liked it, comment down below!

[misctf]

Trouble at the Bachelor Party

“Dude! This is sick!”

“Bro, you’re telling me.” Liam replied, as him and his two friends explored the penthouse.

It was fully decked out. A massive flatscreen in the living room, a fully stocked bar, a beautiful view of the beach. It was everything Liam could’ve wanted. Initially, when his soon to be father-in-law offered his penthouse for the bachelor party, Liam was shocked. Mr. Reynolds often used phrases like “irresponsible”, “waste of time”, and “not good enough for my daughter” when talking about Liam. And he wasn’t afraid to let Liam know too.

“Dude! There’s a flatscreen in each bedroom too!” Chris shouted from down the hall, “Fuck, you were right. This guy’s loaded!”

It was true. Liam was marrying the heiress of a massive tech company. And Mr. Reynonds was certainly loaded. But despite his reassurances that he loved Susie, not their money, the older man viewed him suspiciously. Liam came from a pretty humble background and the world of upper class living wasn’t something he was used to. But perhaps letting them use his penthouse was Mr. Reynolds’s way of showing acceptance.

“Okay boys.” Liam said, “We have a few days here. Let’s make ‘em count.” He tossed Jeremy and Chris each a beer. After a quick toast to what was going to be the most incredible bachelor party on Earth, they downed their beers.

________________

“Lookin’ good.” Liam chuckled as he inspected himself in the mirror, “Can’t believe you’re actually getting hitched.” He flexed his bicep, “Sorry ladies, I’m off the market. Oof, I’ll have to practice that line a bit.” He grinned.

Leaving the bathroom, he found Jeremy sipping a beer on the couch. He was shirtless, wearing a pair of blue swim trunks. His dark brown hair was well styled, and his face clean shaven. He had that boy-next- door look that caused the ladies to swoon.

“Yo Jeremy, what’s up?”

“Not much, just texting Sarah.” He replied, “I forgot to let her know I got here safe and she’s pissed.”

“Oh shit dude.” Liam patted his friend on the back, “I feel for you.” Sarah could be scary when she was angry, but otherwise she was a solid 10. Liam looked forward to the day Jeremy proposed.

“All good.” Jeremy sighed, “Where the fuck is Chris?” Liam shrugged, “He kept me up all fucking night. Fucker must’ve been horny. I’ve never heard anyone moan so loud in my life.”

“Not even Sarah?” Jeremy didn’t seem amused.

“Seriously, we need to get him a girlfriend or something.”

Liam chuckled, “I guess I slept through it.”

“Lucky you.” The door to Chris's room suddenly opened and both men turned.

“Hey boys, sorry to keep you waiting!” The sing songy voice threw them both off, and Liam’s jaw dropped when he saw Chris. His muscles were proudly on display as always. But it was the tight speedo showing off his impressive bulge that shocked him, “Oh, is something wrong?” His voice carried a breathy sultriness, which was unusual for their bro.  

“Dude, I’m not one to judge, but don’t you think that’s a bit risqué?” Jeremy asked, raising an eyebrow, “What would Jesus say?” It was well known Chris was religious. In fact, Liam and Chris had met at their college’s church.

Chris shrugged and ran a hand through his curly light brown hair, “Oh this? You like?” He grinned and did a quick pose, “Come on boys, we’re burning daylight!” He said, sauntering towards the door.

________________

The walk to the beach was uncomfortable. Chris walked ahead of his two buddies at an unusually fast pace, his firm ass jiggling with each step. Liam didn’t even know where to begin. What the fuck had gotten into Chris? Usually they’d have to drag him to parties and give him pep talks to boost his confidence. But now? He was certainly turning heads.

“Wait, guys! Did you see that?” Chris asked, turning to his friends and waving excitedly, “That guy over there was totally checking me out!”

“Um, so what?” Jeremy asked, “Why do you care?”

“Do you think I should go after him? He was totally cute. And that ass- just wow.” Liam and Jeremy’s eyes widened, “What?”

“Are you gay?” Liam asked bluntly.

Chris placed a hand to his chin and shrugged, “Like totally! Since like forever probably.”

“Makes sense.” Jeremy said, “Repressed religious guys. It’s a thing.” But Liam was still having a somewhat hard time believing it. Was all their prior bro talk really a lie?

“Oh! He’s getting away!” Chris whined, “I’ll catch up with you later!” He blew them each a kiss and briskly walked over to the man from earlier, leaving Liam shook.

________________

Hours went by without hearing from Chris, and Liam’s mood tanked. Jeremy tried to cheer him up back at the penthouse. Beers and the big game on a flatscreen. Should’ve been perfect. But it wasn’t. Liam knew that Chris being gay shouldn’t matter. Good for him, right?

“Oh my god, that was incredible.” Chris said, gasping as he entered the penthouse, “How are my two besties doing?”

“Would’ve liked you around.” Liam replied, “It’s my bachelor party after all.”

Chris dramatically placed a hand to his sweaty chest, “Sue me for having fun!” His voice cracked and he headed towards his room, “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my room.”

Liam didn’t reply. Sure, Chris is gay. Fine. But acting like a stereotypically fruity drama queen? That didn’t make sense to him. He turned to Jeremy.

“Look, its late and I’m tired. The game sucks anyway.” He said, “I’m off to bed.”

“Same bro. Gotta be up early for our tee time anyway.”

They went to their respective bedrooms. Once there, Jeremy sighed. He hated seeing his friend like this, but what could he do? Talk to Chris maybe? He'd try to salvage this party. But when he finally got comfortable in bed, the TV suddenly turned on. He was greeted by static.

“Weird.” He mumbled. He tried to turn it off with the remote, but failed. Sighing, he got out of bed to turn it off. But as he got closer, he could hear a voice. It was soft, but forceful.

“You are a gay slut. You like to fuck men.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow, “What the fuck?” He whispered. But the voice only got louder.

“You are a gay slut. Your dick only gets hard for men.” Jeremy felt woozy as the voice reverberated in his head.

“No, I’m straight... I like...” He moaned loudly as the voice drowned out his thoughts. At this point, the screen was flashing various scenes of gay porn and Jeremy’s dick started to swell, “No... fuck...” He breathed out, “I-I... ughhh.” He tried to imagine tits and his nights with Sarah. But these thoughts were instead swapped out with images of juicy, jiggling bubble butts and twerking men.   

“You are a dominant top. You only fuck men.”

“I-I’m a gay slut?” Jeremy questioned, “I only like to fuck men?” That didn't sound right. Right? He never...

"You are a dominant top. Twinks are lucky to ride your dick."

His eyes became half lidded and vacant as the words carved his new reality.

“I’m a dominant top. Twinks are lucky to ride this cock." He said confidently, "I am a gay slut.”

Soon, the room filled with his pleasure-filled moans, his new reality taking hold over him.

________________

When Liam entered the living room the next morning, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Jeremy was aggressively caressing Chris’s face, as the two made out on the couch with their erect dicks on full display.

“What the fuck?” Liam gasped as the two men turned towards him.

“Oh Liam! Good morning!” Chris sang, ending his kiss with Jeremy.

“Fuck, just who we were waiting for.” Jeremy commented in a lower, more gravelly voice, “We have something for you.”

“No, this is fucked. What the fuck?” Liam fumed, “What about Sarah? What were you thinking?”

Jeremy shrugged, “I only like fucking men.”

Liam shook his head, “No way, fuck that.” He replied, taking a step back.

“Oh goodness, you’re upset!” Chris whined, “No Liam baby, its okay. Here, watch this.”

Before Liam could say anything, Chris turned on the TV. Static filled his field of vision. But then he heard it. Faint at first, but present nonetheless.

“You are a gay slut.” It said, and Liam grabbed his head.

“What the fuck?” He cursed, stumbling slightly.

The voice was echoing from within his head. Desperately, he moved towards the TV, wanting to shut it off. But Jeremy grabbed his arm firmly and forced him to sit between them. Liam tried to fight back, to get away from his two friends, but he felt so disoriented. The voice continued.

“You are a gay slut. You like taking cock.” It said.

Liam yelped as a needle entered his skin. He looked down to see Chris dump the contents of a syringe into his arm.

“Wh-what was that?” Liam slurred.

“Don’t worry, cutie. Just listen to the voice.” He giggled.

Liam groaned as the voice got louder and louder, “You are a gay slut. A slutty bottom. You love taking cock.”

Liam looked down and watched as his body hair started to disappear. Gone was his light dusting of chest and belly hairs, leaving him smooth. At the same time, the scruff framing his face vanished. He looked over to Jeremy, who smirked at this new development.

“Oh look at that! It’s totally working!” Chris giggled.

“No shit. Reynolds must’ve given us the good stuff.” Jeremy remarked, slowly massaging his cock.

“The good stuff?” Liam slurred, his voice cracking, “Like, what are you talking about?”

“Good because I was getting bored.” Chris sighed, “I mean, Jeremy baby, you’re an expert kisser, but like, I need a hole.” Jeremy nodded in agreement.

“A hole?” Liam whispered.

He let out a pained moan as his body temperature suddenly spiked. Sweat poured from him as his musculature dwindled away. His hard earned muscles atrophied before his terrified eyes. His bulging biceps and triceps became thin and lean, while his juicy pecs rapidly deflated. In a matter of minutes, years of workouts and optimal dieting were undone, leaving Liam slim and fragile.

“Wow, he’s so light now.” Jeremy chuckled as he man-handled his friend onto his lap. Liam yelped at the sensation of Jeremy’s erect cock grinding against his hole.

“Oh and he’s gotten shorter too! What a cutie.” Chris cooed.

“Ah, ass is still bony though.” Jeremy commented, giving it a firm squeeze.

But Liam barely registered any of this. Instead, his thoughts were filled with the words echoing from the TV. His eyes became half-lidded at this point and his resistance was fading.

“You’re just a bottom, a hole to be used by other men. You are a gay slut.” The words continued, “You like being used by other men. Your only pleasure is from getting fucked.”

“I-I’m straight... I like... I like tits.” He knew his voice sounds more feminine somehow and he cringed, “I’m a straight man.” Jeremy and Chris smirked, “I-I...” images of men getting fucked in all kinds of positions flashed on the TV, “Ohhhh I... I... I’m a...” Liam’s handsome face lost its masculine edge and his hair became lighter in color. At the same time, his cock started to shrink. Inch after inch lost as it retracted back, “Noooooo.... not my cock...” He moaned, tears now stinging at his eyes. His manhood, his masculinity. It was being stolen from him. And he was unable to stop it.

“Your only pleasure comes from your ass.”

Liam moaned again and this time his ass started to fill with jiggly fat. He could feel the extra padding build upon itself, his slim cheeks turning into mounds of soft flesh. And as Jeremy squeezed his ass again, pleasure filled his slim frame.

“Much better.” Jeremy remarked, his fingers massaging Liam’s hole, “Fuck, this is gonna feel so good.”

“Mhmm.” Chris replied, grabbing his own fistful of Liam’s juicy ass.

“Ohhhhhhhh yesssssss.” Liam slurred.

“So, what are you?” Jeremy asked.

“I-I’m...” Part of him didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to acknowledge it. But as his lips plumped up into gorgeous cock suckers, and Jeremy’s teasing fingers penetrated him deeper, Liam was drowning in too much pleasure to care, “I...I...” The voice was so loud. It egged him on, beckoned him to admit his new truth. He wanted- no needed- to be like the men on the screen. To be fucked and used by other men. Who was he kidding? He knew what he was, “I’m like a total gay slut! I love cock.” He turned his head to look at Jeremy, then Chris, “Please daddies, use me! I need your cocks!” He begged.

And his new lovers were happy to oblige.

________________

In the afterglow of sex, the three men sat panting heavily on the couch. Liam was curled up between his two lovers, still rubbing their dicks. Despite draining them each multiple times over, he needed more. But his horny thoughts were interrupted by a video call. He grabbed his phone and smiled.

“Hey Mr. Reynolds!” Liam slurred, “Like, we love your penthouse.”

Mr. Reynolds grinned, “I can tell.” His eyes sparkled with satisfaction, “Look at you Liam. My god. You turned out better than expected. The boys at the lab earned their salaries with this one.” Liam nodded along, not really understanding the implication, “How do you feel?”

“Like a total gay slut.” He grinned, “And I love it, like so much, Mr. Reynolds.”

“Well I’m glad to hear.” he chuckled, “And are your friends treating you well?” Liam adjusted the phone so the older man could see his two lovers, who were both fast asleep, “Well looks like you have two very satisfied customers.”

Liam grinned, “Like totally.” A sense of satisfaction filling him, “Oh! Like, can you let Susie know the wedding is off? I’m like, so sorry.”

“Of course, it would be my pleasure. She’ll understand.” Mr. Reynolds replied- mission accomplished, “Now, get back to your party. Enjoy the penthouse for as long as you want.”

Liam’s eyes lit up, “OMG thank you!” The call ended, “Did you hear that?” Liam asked, his two lovers stirring awake.

And so their party continued- and it would for days. Their lives forever changed, and them none the wiser to it. But if their pleasure filled moans were anything to judge by, they certainly weren’t complaining.

[alphajocklover]

I’ll go a head and choose the mounds please

You can’t really explain what you were thinking when you ate the mysterious Mounds chocolate bar that you had found in your cubicle. Sure it looked fine, but eating a mystery candy bar of unknown origins wasn’t exactly a good idea, and you didn’t even really like coconut so Mounds bars weren’t really your thing. But… for some reason, you ate it. Even though you knew it was a bad idea, even though you had never liked Mounds, you ate the chocolate bar without thinking, almost like it had you under some sort of spell.

It didn’t take long for you to start to change.

You were always a fairly average guy, and in your fantasies you were much bigger and more muscular, but as the creamy chocolate and coconut danced around your tongue, you felt yourself shrink. Instead of growing big and beefy like in all of your fantasies, you felt yourself grow smaller and softer. You grew some respectable, lean muscles all over as the fat on your body seemed to melt away. Your skin turned soft as any blemishes disappeared, your lips became pouty as your features became cute and seductive, and your ass seemed to fill with a beautiful mixture of fat and muscle, becoming the perfect bubble butt. In the end you were transformed into a perfect, slutty twink.

You still don’t know who left you that Mounds bar, but you don’t really care anymore. All you care about is being the beautiful office cumdump you are. All you can think about is getting fucked by your coworkers and your boss. Your boss is your favorite fuck though. He loves to eat out your ass afterwards, tasting his own cum inside of you. When he’s done he always praises you, a knowing smirk on his face as he tells you that your hole taste indescribably delicious.

*beta read by a friend, got the gif recommended by another friend. Both are awesome*

[twinkwish]

Too Cocky

“See you tonight, Jacob?” Brad asked his friend in the locker room, about to leave after practice.

“For sure, bro. I just gotta shower real quick and I’ll be there.” After their big win, the team had planned to celebrate with a bar crawl.

“Awesome, don't take too long, bro!” joked Brad. 

Jacob was always the last person in the locker room after games. He was the star of the team—talented, big, handsome—which meant he was highly complimented. Jacob loved nothing more than to walk around the locker room to the adoration of his teammates, flexing and showing off his godlike stature to earn their praise and remarks. 

With Brad out the door, Jacob finally went to take his shower. He stopped in front of the mirrors in front of the sinks lining the outside wall and began to put on a show for himself—he rarely passed up such an opportunity.

“Yeah, man. I always get such a good pump after a game,” he said to himself as he lifted his arms into a double bicep pose. He certainly had a body to be proud of. At 6’3” and 215 pounds of solid muscle, he was one of the biggest on the team. And with long blond hair and a chiseled jaw line, he was looker for sure. “Imagine what that team would be without me.”

After posing a bit longer, he walked over to the showers and undressed. He turned on the water and looked down at his beautiful cock. “Yeah, I’m definitely the biggest on the team.”

“Maybe,” commented a voice from behind.

“What the fuck!? Who’s there!?” cried Jacob, swinging himself around. 

“No one important. Just an admirer,” responded Brad.

“Oh, hey man. You freaked me out there. I thought you left.”

“I did, but I forgot my bag. When I came back, I heard you in here and thought I would see what you were up to. You put on a good show, stud.”

“You liked that, bro. You like seeing this?” he gestured to himself. “I wouldn't have pegged you for a fairy. I mean, I guess I don’t blame you.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for one,” said Brad with a sly smile.

At that moment, Jacob began to look at Brad in a way he hadn't before. Brad was also pretty built, standing around 6’1” on a muscular frame of around 190 pounds with a big powerful chest. Jacob gulped.

“I think I’ll join you,” added Brad. “I was going to shower at home, but might as well do it here.”

Jacob remained frozen as he stared at Brad’s tree trunk legs sliding out of his pants. He nearly drooled when Brad’s biceps squeezed as he slowly removed his tight t-shirt.

“Woah, dude,” he said finally. “You’re lookin’ swole.” He was surprised at himself. It wasn’t like him to compliment others.

“Oh yeah?” Brad answered, bouncing his pecs slightly. “I have been doing some extra training with coach.”

“It’s been payin’ off, bro. Your pecs are huge.” Again, he was surprised. His mouth hung open as his eyes hungrily studied Brad’s godlike torso. Is dick twitched a bit.

“Feel them.”

And with that, Jacob rushed eagerly over to Brad and began to submissively worship his chest, in complete admiration of the size—the power. “What is happening?” he thought to himself. “My chest bigger. I am the strongest guy on the team.” But he strangely didn’t believe that. 

Smiling that sly smile, Brad responded by flexing. Breathing deeply, he taunted, “That’s right, bitch. You just can’t get enough of me. You wish you could look like this, to feel as big and powerful as me.”

At that moment, Jakob became aware of a strange sensation. It was as if he was shrinking. He looked up at Brad, who looked taller and taller in comparison as Jakeb shrank down to 5’7”. He stepped back for a moment to see his once bulging biceps contracting. His defined, prominent chest lowered and nearly flattened out. His formerly thick thighs became much more lithe as his ass began to expand with a mixture of fat and muscle. Simultaneously, his mind was drained of all knowledge of sports and chicks while an intense focus and obsession with the hunk before him replaced it. After only a second, Jake practically leapt back towards the muscle jock, burying his head in Brad’s armpit while the jock moaned.

Brad was going through his own transformation. His joints cracked slightly as he grew a few inches taller and his feet expanded into giant size 15s. His already beefy muscles expanded even more, veins popping out of his arms as he hit a double bicep pose. “Fuck yeah, you little fairy,” Brad moaned through heavy breaths and deep grunts. “Worship a real man.”

With that, Brad pushed the twink to his knees.  Jake, excited and eager, began to suck Brad’s growing cock. 

“Take it all, slut!” he roared in a deep voice, his giant hand gripping the top of Jake’s platinum blond head while his 8” python grew in his mouth. With his other hand, Brad felt his new engorged muscles, running his fingers up his chiseled abs before groping his pecs.. “MmmmMmmM.”

Jake could only moan slightly as his mind focused on Brad’s amazing dick. The twink’s now thick, seductive lips smacked and sucked as his tongue worked its magic. His mind was filled with images of pleasuring men. Being used as a vessel, a little fucktoy. As he deep throated the expanding rod, the muscle god’s eyes rolled back in ecstasy. 

“Shit!” Brad yelled. He began to grunt, bucking his pelvis as his load exploded into the face of the submissive twink, who swallowed it in turn.

“Yaaassss, Brad!” Jake squealed in his newly high voice as he pulled away from the muscle god’s pelvis. “That was, like, so hot.”

“Huh,” he laughed. “What did you expect? That’s what you get from a body like this.”

“Mmm. Love it, stud. Hehehe. Come on, big boy. Let’s, like, go out to the bars. You can, like, use me to make the rest of the team, like, jealous.”

“We’ll catch up with them later. First I have plans for you at home,” Brad responded as he grabbed Jake’s juicy bubble butt.

They both liked the sound of those plans.

[octuscle]

The Daddy Virus

Tyler was the star of his high school's theater department, a promising gymnast, especially on the parallel bars and rings, and the most popular of the school's studs. There were urban legends about the size and qualities of his cock. Tyler was a legend. And he reveled in the knowledge that he was one.

The rumors about a number of juniors and sophomores who had disappeared from one day to the next were generally dismissed. No one remembers anyone disappearing. Nevertheless, some of the fat daddies who had been hanging around campus in the cafeteria for some time, when they weren't doing janitorial or handyman work, liked to tell horror stories about it. Tyler pretended to be politely horrified. But in his mind, he went over his lines. Next week was the premiere of “The Picture of Dorian Gray.” And he was the star. Of course.

Tyler was on stage. “The soul is a terrible reality. You can buy and sell it and haggle over its price. You can poison it or perfect it. There is a soul in each of us. I know it.” Suddenly he gets stuck. Shit, what was the next sentence? BELCH! Why the hell is he on a stage anyway? He is anything but an actor...

“Tyler, you look really grotesque in that shirt.” ‘Damn it, bro, if I'm going to play that fag Daffyd Thomas for this charity crap, I want to do it right.’ His fraternity brothers were on the floor laughing. Tyler was anything but ‘The Only Gay in the Village.’ Tyler had been captain of the wrestling team as a senior. And now he was the assistant coach. He was a legend in his fraternity. The fact that he had agreed to perform this sketch was truly sensational. Tyler grinned. He knew that this shirt was really an imposition on the audience. You could really see every one of his rolls of fat. Something was brewing in his gut. FART!

Coach Ty looked at his boys. A few of them were really talented. He would be able to turn them into men. He himself had had a promising wrestling career ahead of him. But then a cruciate ligament rupture. And his career was over. He stroked his belly. Well, his life could have been a lot worse. “Boys, that's enough for today. Beer and steaks in an hour at my place in the garden. And whoever takes a shower loses. It's just us guys here today.” The boys howled. And Coach Ty wondered if he would fuck a sweaty wrestler's ass today.

[ki-kink]

Yo, check it out, this dope online store lets you try on tees like a video game, bro. But no one told you your bod’d fit the shirt, not the flip, ya know? Now he’s all hyped to crank one out and then chill with the homies over some cold ones.

[sanzaibian]

Congrats on 1,000! I was hoping you could give me a haircut! I always wondered what if look like with a pompadour or soemthing like that

“Welcome to the normal barbershop ! Thank you for choosing our service !” You are welcomed as soon as you set foot inside the building. “You will be accompanied by Rilaj Mam, an associate of Dr. Davod, who is known for having studied all sorts of arts of the hair. - Please call me Rilaj, using mam makes me feel old !” A voice is being heard from further inside the shop. - Sorry, but it’s in your namecard !”

As those two bicker, you approach the place where this mysterious man is, and find a quite small man, dark-skinned, folded eyes, and silky black hair arranged in a man bun – although the rest of the head is flawlessly shaved down to the skin. He wears colorful clothes, including a big bandana, and presumably the large hat and the pair of sunglasses that have been put down on the counter, all hiding what your trained eyes recognize as a ripped body.

But when you come just a little but closer, that short guy, presumably Rilajn suddenly turns to you – almost looking up to you – and smiles, full of kindness, though there is a tinge of malice behind his pitch black eyes.

“No matter ! I now have work to attend to !” He finishes the bickering, before addressing you. “I was waiting for you ! Please take place on this seat !”

You oblige, finding the seat to be extremely comfortable, much more than most barbershops you’ve ever been to. Almost too comfortable, considering this shop is temporary, after all… However, you’re here to relax and change hairstyles. Your hair has grown quite a lot since last time, and it’s about time you arrange it up. And trying a new style is just the cherry on top.

“So…” Rilaj, the barber, starts, coming with a bottle full of a weird black substance. “I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that… your hair is way too short to make a good enough pompadour. You should have come in like… two months or three to have enough length to do what you wanted.”

You look at him disappointed. As if to prove it, he takes a strand of hair from the very front of your mop and drops it down your face, only reaching the base of your nose. And this shop is going to be closed by the time you grow enough hair, so although you can always come to another later, shelling out money for what is simply a bit of a silly tryout feels pointless.

“However, the good news is that I have a way to make a great pompadour thanks to my very special technique. So… are you interested ?” The barber offers with a malicious voice.

Still taken by your disappointment, you don’t think much and, foolishly, you agree immediately. You see his smile grow, as you are regretting having agreed so quickly while not considering what this technique is.

“Great ! Well, we shall start with a bit of trimming, no ? ‘Cause your hair might not be long enough, but it still needs shaping for this new cut !”

He draws out clippers and installs on it quite a big guard. Then, he turns it on, and starts mowing at your hair, tufts of it dropping from the sides of your head. His cutting style is quite peculiar, though, using the clippers only bit by bit, tuft by tuft, as if he was cutting with scissors. However, when he has finished one side of your head, continuing by working on the back, letting yet more strands of hair fall, you notice that the result is very regular, with each hair the exact same short size.

Somehow, that unorthodox technique works, and you are left with a great and very soft carpet of hair – which you were able to feel once he put down the clippers. Then, he draws out some scissors, of which one side is shaped in a sort of comb-like structure. He explains to you how it will make your hair less dense, which will make it easier to style, and better able to receive the special technique.

As he chops down some hairs on top, making the remainder of the mop lighter, you notice how silent he is throughout the whole ordeal. Although he seems like quite a jovial guy, even quite chatty at times, he doesn’t seem to be like other barbers, pulling you into discussions about what you did recently, or other mundanities. But looking at his pitch black eyes, matching his pitch black hair, you feel a weird sense of… tiredness ? coming from him. You can’t quite describe it, but as is always said : the eyes are the door to the soul. And behind the eyes you feel a truly ancient soul.

“That’s about it ! Now we’re coming to the good stuff !” Rilaj suddenly pulls you out of your thoughts. “Let me just show you…”

He takes the bottle of black stuff in his hands, and presents it to you through the mirror, before uncapping it.

“This is what I call nuuch’ay ! Don’t try searching it, you won’t see anything about it on the web. It’s an old tradition from my people, forgotten today, but that is very potent.”

He starts dropping it on your hair. It has a very slimy texture, and drops slowly. Looking at its pitch black but slightly shiny form, it almost looks like rubber… Once the bottle is fully emptied out, he puts it away on the counter. You look at it and notice a label, on which there is something written. You can’t understand it, the letters spell words you haven’t seen anywhere, but you do note that the handwriting is very neat and elaborate. It’s the kind of style that would belong in a historical document.

“Now, let me just rub it all in, and then I’ll be able to… pull your hair out of your head, let’s put it like that.”

You are quite disturbed by this. As he is spreading the black goo, you’re wondering about what kinds of irreversible damage it would make to your hair… if it’s pulling out your hair, won’t it damage the follicles ? Destroy your hair, and making go bald when the hair inevitably drop ? But as you’re considering whether to flee as a matter of precaution, you find that you’re actually unable to move. You look at his eyes… still a deep, deep black hole…

You are now trapped.

Concentrated, Rilaj starts, as promised, pulling on your hair. He does it first in the front, and just as he starts pulling, you feel weird… as if he is pulling on other parts of your body. You look at yourself, and aren’t really able to notice anything that has change… but as he suddenly pulls a second time, you feel a bit weird in your belly.

He pulls once again. You feel… tighter, as if the flab that you had been accumulating over the years was being… pulled back. Another pull. This time, you feel weird in your jaw, a weird sense of tingling all over your face… and on point, you notice that, as he pulls another time, there is no more facial hair. If you could draw your hand to your face, you’re sure you would feel it to be all smooth.

He continues pulling, the pain and the tightness being felt on all parts of your body. You look up at your hair, and notice black strands, reaching far higher than they ever have… and they are stood perfectly. It’s a feeling that you’ve never had, and as he pulls yet another time, tightening your body yet again, you feel kind of… hot ? Like, you’re wearing a haircut quite elaborate, your face is devoid of beard… you feel beautiful, and, dare you think, cute !

He continues pulling out your hair, continuing to tighten everything in your body, as he starts combing your new longer hair. The comb goes higher, and higher, your body feels tighter and tighter, until he goes back to the rest of the hair, revealing a big, tall, but not obnoxious pompadour.

The definition of beauty and hotness.

And as he finishes combing the rest, the barber looks at you, smiling from a well done job, just like you are from a wonderful haircut. You are enamored by the pomp, so much that you fail to realize how big your clothes now are on you. You want to feel it, you want to touch it… but before you can make your hand reach, not even registering how you’re suddenly able to move, Rilaj blocks your arm.

“No, you can’t touch it just yet. It needs to dry up a little bit more before you can, else you will mess everything up.”

Dry ? You do as said, but that use of words does throw you for a loop. And your barber notice, since he then adds a few precisions.

“See, the nuuch’ay is derived from rubber, and we need to let it dry a bit before it can keep its shape. I have variants that dry a lot faster, but for hair, only this one gives out good results.”

Of course ! It’s rubber ! You knew it ! Especially now that you look again at your pitch black and slightly shiny pompadour, the same color as the short guy’s man bun. He goes to fiddle with his tools, putting away the comb, scissors and clippers, and drawing out another bottle full of that black thing… “nootcheye”, was it ? Whatever, that rubber thing he put on your head.

Feeling he was finishing up, you feel like it’s appropriate for you to stand back up… but just when you are in a vertical position, you feel something dropping. You look below, your pants and your underwear are on the ground, your shirt being the only thing still hanging on, although it is by now only hovering around your body.

You cry in shock, drawing the attention of the barber, who smiles, almost mocking you – though you don’t feel anything truly mean about it.

“Oops ! I guess I didn’t consider that law from that one smart French guy – what was his name… Lavoisier ? yeah, Lavoisier’s law of conservation of matter.” He half-mocks, sticking out his tongue.

You glare at him, growing angry.

“Okay, okay, don’t need to be this upset ! I was going to explain how the nuuch’ay works before you left anyway !” He throws his hands up in surrender. “Basically, it’s just stretching your body so that the hair is higher, so it had to take mass from somewhere else – that somewhere being your fat, mostly. « The nuuch’ay is currently keeping your body stretched, meaning that you will stay like that for quite a while. However, once it completely dries up, it will crack and then your body will go back to normal, whence why I couldn’t use the instantly drying up nuuch’ay.”

He starts helping you out of your shirt, revealing a lithe body, one that you hadn’t seen since early puberty. Although you can see muscles, they lack any definition, and are only revealed by the low amount of body fat you now have. By all definitions, you can now call yourself a definite twink. No matter how much of one you already were, by now there is no mistake, with how hairless and skinny you are.

“It should last about a month or two, I didn’t check when I made this bottle, but if you want to end it early, you have to warm your hair up with, for example, a perming machine.” He continues to explain, as he starts uncapping his other bottle of ‘nootcheye’. “But until then, your hair will stay exactly like this, no matter how much you squeeze it, wash it, or mess it up !”

As if to prove his point, he squeezes down your pompadour, and as he removes his hand it bounces back into place, as if nothing had happened. Bewildered, you let your hand reach your hair, messing it up in more and more extreme ways, but like rubber, it always gets back to its place. It just feels… surreal.

“By the way, we don’t have any spare clothes for you – all the spare are made for bigger people – so I will use this bottle to create clothes. Don’t worry, I have great taste.”

He pours the bottle of nuuch’ay he had in his hands, and it spreads over all your body, from your neck down to your feet, creating a big, black, shiny jumpsuit. But as it settles, red accents and multiple crevasses appear, until it has formed into a kind of black leathery tunic, one that you would more readily see in fetish publications than in the street.

But you love it.

And under the smile of Rilaj Mam who artfully wanders out of the field of view, you take a photo to commemorate that new hairstyle, that new shiny black pompadour.

But before you go out of the barbershop, after having collected your bag and your unfortunately big clothes, Rilaj stops you.

“Sorry to bother you, but could you grant me a favor ?” He draws out a short red cigarette. “I found that thing when I went to Tokyo a few weeks ago, and I think your uncle might be interested in it.”

You look at him shocked when he suddenly mentions your uncle – especially knowing the unfortunate fate he suffered.

“Now, don’t make this face. I knew who you were ever since I saw your name booking this haircut, that’s the reason I chose to cut your hair. That guy at the welcome desk can attest that I’m very selective with my clients.” You hear a frustrated ‘yes’ from far away. “But if you have any questions, ask them to him, I won’t say anything he doesn’t want me to. After all, he is the only one who has the right to answer them...”

Hearing his tone, it feels as if he wanted you to ask questions to your uncle… Does he feel smart for trying to so blatantly manipulate you ? Or does he realize that you can’t ask questions to your uncle and expect a coherent answer anymore ?

“And, seriously, don’t use that cigarette. You saw how potent the nuuch’ay is, and this is more insidious. On that, send my regards to your uncle. Xtiqaatz’at chik na qii’.”

Without waiting for you to react, he leaves out the door, leaving more questions than answers.