ykrui73

[ykrui73]

Yeah, bro, you look a lot better without those curtains. You should fit right in with the other guys on the b-ball team, but next time, make sure those curls are effing tight. No floppy hair, bro. Coach sees it flopping around, he'll get out his clippers and take care of it for you.

[ykrui73]

Come on, nerds. Yeah, both of you. You don't seriously think you're gonna get away from the three of us, do you? You're joining the team, just like your old buddy here in the middle. Coach just got finished with him. I know he looks a little different now. No, I don't know how it works, little bro. I just know they go in nerds and they come out bros, just like your friend here. Nah, he's not going to help you. He's a bro now. And he might not even recognize you yet. Sometimes your brains come out kind of scrambled at first. But don't worry; you'll get some of your brains back, you know, enough to pass your classes without too much help. And you'll get to be friends with your old bud here again and everyone else on the team. You'll thank Coach, believe me. He's doing you a huge favor making you into jocks, bros.

[ykrui73]

kaifeng开封, henan province in china by 逃离浪浪山

[ykrui73]

Updated Employee Handbook

Ding! Ding!

Clark groaned. “Did you just get this email from Corporate?” 

“I think so,” Weston frowned. “‘Updated Employee Handbook’?”

“That’s the one,” Clark confirmed, the pair opening their respective emails. “Ever since this new CEO was confirmed, I feel like he’s been restarting and refreshing everything we do here.”

Weston scoffed, “We can’t even enjoy our 30 minute break outside the office without somehow getting looped back in. 

Click. Click.

“Are we sure we want to read this now?” Clark flicked a blond curl out of his face. “We could just enjoy the remaining minutes of our ignorant freedom.”

Weston chuckled, “I don’t know if we can, man. It’s flagged for mandatory reading, immediately.”

“I just hope they’re not revoking the jeans policy,” Clark commented. “I didn’t bring an extra set of clothes.”

Weston scratched at his man bun with an exaggerated sigh. “I did, but that’s because I knew I’d already be sweating through this shirt by now.”

Fwoosh. Fwoosh.

“Step by step confirmations?” Clark remarked. “This’ll be fun.”

“You know it,” Weston added.

Confirm. Confirm.

“‘The foundations of a man’s future are found in his wardrobe',” Clark began. “‘Traditional, full cut briefs are the center. Their stiff, starchy materials, blindingly white to showcase utter perfection, solidify the role of an employee. Their cotton fabric may appear inconsequential, yet they affirm that the employee is at the very core follwing instruction’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

Weston shifted his bottom uncomfortably. “‘A pristine button-down should expertly cover the upper body.  Depending on the weather, and the corporate setting, the following should either be a suitable pair of trousers or shorts. Trousers shall remain woolen and perched millimeters below the briefs and only be supported by braces. Shorts can be designed of lighter material, but must be of adequate length’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

“At least he’s letting our legs breathe,” Clark commented, itching at his own exposed limbs absentmindedly. “‘While the stiff shirt and particular cut of the trousers will keep the employee upright and tall, the jacket is designed for decorative purposes. The shape will reform the man as thick, strong, and uniform. Depending on the season, colors will remain modest. Blacks, grays, and blues for winter, with simple patterns and refined hues allowed for summer’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

Weston pulled at his striped lapel, thankful that his choice of attire today was not too exciting. “‘Accessories shall follow a similar suit. Silky black socks, generic yet tasteful tie, a handkerchief and or watch reflective of wealth, not personality. A highly polished pair of oxfords should represent every employee’s wardrobe; the gel holding his hair should represent how the employee is held to standards’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

“This better be the last page,” Clark moaned. “This is giving me more of a headache than refluffing my quiff.”

“It’s almost as agonizing as visiting an inexperienced tailor,” Weston quipped, to which both men laughed.

“Alright alright, I got this,” Clark finally said. “‘The foundations of a man are found in his wardrobe. Therefore, what is built upon that foundation should match. After all, the clothes do make the man’. There, that’s it.”

“Thank god that’s the last one,” Weston agreed.

Confirm. Confirm.

“Quite the peculiar update to our terms of service, wouldn’t you agree?” Clarence remarked.

“Well how so?” Wesley questioned. “I maintain that the boss’s wishes perfectly align with the standard workplace etiquette."

“My point exactly,” Clarence confirmed. “What is unordinary is how these quotations were not enforced before. The sense here is that I have already adorned this Cascade green jacket numerous times throughout these last two quarters alone.”

“And I with my own blazer showcasing these off-golden buttons,” Wesley added. “Perhaps our boss is tastefully solidifying our strong, traditional, classic values, even if we were already abiding.”

Meeting Invite for CLARENCE JOHNSTONBOROUGH, WESLEY LAUDER II 

“Bizarre how we appear to consistently be transported back to our duties, even while on intermission, is it not?” Clarence inquired.

“Indeed, it is bizarre,” Wesley replied.

[ykrui73]

first snow of winter in china by 九尾鸭 and 薄荷兔

[ykrui73]

New Guy

Nick was a busy guy. Working his 9-to-5 desk job had made him a dull man. He used to make fun of the higher-end men in suits back in his college years, calling them stuck-up drones. Yet here we was, as one of them. Well, he thought about that exact thing this morning, and decided to do something about it. Wanting to change a little something up, he decided to walk to a street around town he'd never been to just yet. Scanning the facades of every building, he saw all kinds of signs. One's for some Chinese, the other's a swanky new café, and a few yards away was just another boring old jewelry store. Heading a few more steps, something twinkled in the corner of his eye. Looking to his left, he saw a dark and narrow alleyway.

He had no idea why he felt drawn to it, but he chalked it up to his old adventurous self emerging back from the dead. He smiled to himself, and took a deep breath, squeezing through the passage.

As he exited it, he found a big red door. Opening it cautiously, he found another sight which made him slightly shiver: a dark and claustrophobic stairwell.

"What am I even doing here..." he cussed himself, climbing down the rather musty steps. At the end, he found an intricately carved door. Seeing no other choice but to open it, he put his right hand on the door and twisted it open. To his surprise, he found an oddly clean and respectable business. Scanning the spacious and luxuriously decorated room, he found it was some sort of café. There were barely any staff that he could see, but the tables were full of people. He couldn't help but notice how all of them were men, with roughly the same build as strange looks shot themselves towards his eyes.

Spying an empty table, he sat on one of the leather seats. Just a few moments later, two guys walked up to him, and sat directly in front of him.

Ray averted his eyes, looking straight down as the two men chattered among themselves in another language. "What the hell did I just walk into?" He thought to himself.

Suddenly, the man to the right of him picked up some sort of paper and pointed to it, talking to his friend before switching to English. "You want wrestle?" He asked in a heavily accented tone.

Nick raised his eyebrow. "Uh....what?" He silently chuckled. "You want wrestle? You wrestle." The man repeated, in a sterner tone. Out of nowhere, a group of men from different tables pinned him down on the chair, wrestling him into submission as they forcibly took away his phone. He watched helplessly as they stripped him of his clothes, laughing and chuckling among themselves. "Get the fuck off of me!" Nick screamed, before being silenced as a damp sock was placed over his mouth. As he breathed in the musk, he found his body start to twitch and itch uncontrollably.

He watched in horror as thousands of hair strands started pushing themselves out of his rapidly bulking torso. Abs and pecs ballooned from his skin, as he whimpered in fear. "Wh-what are you doing to me?!" He tried to scream through the sock, as the men around him continued to press the item deeper into his mouth.

Over to the corner of his eye, he saw the other men touching and messing with his phone.

"Nick Johnson. Not bad career..." One of them said plainly. "But we need sport guy. New one." They grinned, as they passed the phone to some guy with sunglasses. He seemed to be some sort of manager or leader to the group.

"Nick, Nick, Nick. My name is Alihan. I am manager." He laughed, taking the phone in his hands, his thumb busy doing something to it. "We need new member for fighter in ring, and you are lucky one today. I put app in your phone to help me make you one. I can tell I will like you more than rest." He chuckled, as Nick eyed his hands. "First, I remove everything. I give you new name and identity. Timur fits. It mean iron." He hummed, as the guys around him finished dressing him up in some new clothes and pushed down a black cap on his head. Alihan then showed him his phone, which now had a red-green spiral with blaring lezginka music. Barely perceptible chanting in Chechen hid themselves underneath the strong and fast beats. Before he knew it, Nick slowly calmed down, as the man's sultry voice pulled him deeper into a trance. As the men around him let his arms go, he instinctively reached for his phone, almost cradling it in his hands as he watched in pure bliss.

As he stared deeper and deeper, Nick felt a noticeable beard burst out from his now-chiseled jaw. He felt his body and face contort and ripple with new muscle, but he felt at peace. It was almost like a full-body massage, as he felt his mind slip away and his crotch stir with a new energy he'd never felt before. Alihan chuckled as he propped a half-conscious Nick up on a chair, as he whistled for a guy to come. Slowly taking away his phone, Alihan ordered the guy to take of his cap and start trimming away.

Alihan continued humming some sort of melody, as the men around gathered in a circle. "Стеган куц а, сий а дийриг тlеюьйхина бедар ю." They began to chant in a rhythmic and hypnotic drone, as Nick stared at himself in the mirror. Their words soon penetrated themselves into his psyche, while physically, he felt his ear get thicker and thicker from years of rubbing against the mats of his gym.

Now that he thought about it, was "Nick" even his name? Did he even go to some fancy university and get a boring old job at some desk in the middle of an office? As far as he knew, he grew up in the mountainous valleys of his native Dagestan. Not the smartest guy around, he found the gym almost a second home. By the time he was in his late-20's, he was discovered by some "Alihan" dude, and started training to be a brilliant wrestler. Of course, he and the rest of the guys had to leave for the Americas for a better life, away from all the prying eyes. Timur's eyes watered as he remembered how much he loved Alihan. Starting out as mere friends, the two quickly became a couple, lovingly sharing each one's kisses and embraces. It was part of the reason why they had to leave, but at least he left with his dearest boyfriend in tow. "А-алихан...с-суна хьо веза..." Timur found himself saying with his new Chechen tongue, his cock barely able to keep his seed from erupting through his pants. Alihan simply smiled and kissed him on the forehead, his hands making their way down to his stirring bulge. "Суна хьо веза, Тимур." Timur slowly felt himself doze off. Everything turned black as he felt himself release, the warm liquid flowing down like a rushing stream along everything old and "Nick". ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes, Alihan's eyes would furrow in stark surprise, staring into his hands when training for another fight would approach. However, a quick brush over the head by a nearby trainer would help his brain shut off, and let him forget everything about his past once more.

But for the most part, Alihan's conversion was a success.

Scouting a camera off in the distance, he stares longingly towards it as he felt something stir inside him. Doing his best in every single fight would mean keeping their promise all those years ago when they had to flee with nothing but hopes and dreams along with all the other guys. Alihan blew a kiss. From his comfortable seat at the back of the café, Timur chuckled to himself, blowing a kiss as well to the television screen. Suddenly, he felt he felt his phone buzz and vibrate. Opening it, he found a new message from one of his men. "Керла клиент схьавогӀу." A new guy. Timur just smirked. Alihan would soon have a friend to help convert himself.

"Цигахь латтаве иза. Со вогӀуш ву."

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

Life got busy, sorry for not posting much. Coupled with the fact I keep moving around new bodies is pretty tiring. But hey, this time 'round I woke up in this guy Aslan's body, and so far I've been here for almost two weeks now. We live in Canada as I've learned, and I live with this cute little guy. Ваша воцу ваша, тlам боцу леча. Ӏодика йойла!

[ykrui73]

So, like, this dude was all like, "I'm gonna do this crazy experiment and live in the Big Brother House, bro!" He thought it would be, like, totally rad for his master's thesis in sociology. But guess what, by the end of the season, he was dumb as a rock, man. All he cared about was hitting the gym and getting it on with babes. Wild, right?

[ykrui73]

My Barber 🪒

[ykrui73]

A dose of the right formula can turn even the most stubborn geek or nerd into full-fledged jock. He doesn't remember his baby face or nearly hairless legs, or the fact that his new bros used to pick on him. No, he's always been a football god, hasn't he?

[ykrui73]

[ykrui73]

Ghosthead

Shortly after moving into a new apartment, Brock began waking up with that after-sex feeling. Like, someone had sucked and fuck the load out of him while he slept. He figured his boyfriend was doing some kinky necro shit, but his boyfriend firmly denied it.

Assuming his boyfriend was lying, Brock set up a hidden camera, hoping to catch him in the perverted act. However, when Brock went over the footage the next day, he was beyond shocked at what he found.

Not only was his boyfriend telling the truth but there was no one else in the room with Brock—no one human that is!

What looked like his blanket moving on its own was actually the work of their apartment's other tenant: a translucent busty specter with an insatiable hunger for living man meat!

Never in his wildest dreams did Brock suspect a ghost to be the culprit—a shapely one a that! She moaned like a siren, taking every inch of his throbbing morning wood into her tight wet ghost pussy. He found it weirdly hot watching her slurp on his fat gay cock until he busted. She swallowed every last drop of his fag seed like a good ghoul! After which she blew a kiss at the hidden camera and then dematerialized.

[ykrui73]

The Titan Touch: Prologue

little horror story for halloween (not sure how effective it is) Might make it a short series, hope you enjoy. ---------------------------------------- Crestview High sat nestled in a picturesque valley, where the leaves blazed red and gold as Halloween approached. It seemed like any other sleepy small-town school, but as the days grew shorter, a strange darkness slinked through the halls, cloaked in football jerseys and perfect, too-white smiles.

No one knew exactly how it had started, but it all seemed to trace back to a new transfer student, Jason—a classic heartthrob, with a warm smile, tousled hair, and a wholesome charm that felt straight out of a teen romance movie. Jason had joined the Titans, Crestview's football team, in late September, and in the weeks that followed, the Titans began to change.

At first, they had been the usual jocks: loud, rough around the edges, and generally uninterested in anything outside their sport. But as the season wore on, their roughness softened, replaced by a strange, uncanny allure. Week by week, game by game, they began to resemble Jason more and more. Their faces grew unnaturally smooth, their complexions flawless, and their eyes took on a captivating glint. Each Titan sported perfect tousled hair, and their physiques were suddenly lean, toned, and almost too perfect, like they’d been chiseled from a mold.

Rumors swirled through Crestview High, whispered at lunch tables and murmured between classes. People noticed the changes in the Titans, but no one dared to mention it outright—no one wanted to be the first to call it unnatural. Some students joked about the "Jason Effect," saying he was just a good influence, that his charm and perfect looks were rubbing off on the team. But others weren’t so sure. There was something about the way the Titans carried themselves now, something off-kilter in their sparkling eyes and flawless grins, that left an unsettled chill in the air.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh fuck its maths tomorrow, I’ve barely studied for it” Ethan moaned as it put his books away in his locker. Ethan was a chubby, red-haired student with bright ginger hair that always stood out in a crowd. His round glasses perched on his nose, giving him a bookish look that matched his obsession with D&D and its endless lore. He often stayed up late, reading up on campaigns and character backstories.

“Not our problem, maybe don’t spend so long on league and you might get stuff done” came Martin. Martin had an average build, carrying a bit of extra weight, with a mop of untamed blonde hair. Freckles dotted his face, which was often marked by a few spots. Known for his sharp mind, he had a knack for coding and anything tech-related, spending hours behind his computer tinkering with new ideas.

“Could be worse. Could be in disciplinary with the coach after trying to flunk sports… and did I mention its after school on a friday,” Alfie chimed in. Alfie, was tall and gangly, with short, curly black hair that flopped over his forehead. Though less academically inclined than his friends, he was deeply absorbed in video games and comics, immersing himself in their worlds every chance he got.

“Do you think David will be in, I need him to explain some of this advanced stuff” asked Ethan

“Doubt it, probably snogging Jay at the LGBTQ+ club, which reminds me, you're all going later right?” 

As the four nerds sat squabbling about their day, Tom, the loner, walked by unnoticed. He was 5’7 with a thin build, his skin pale with spots, with unkempt messy brown hair. He walked past everyone and straight down a corridor to his locker. Tom had no engagement with anyone, and when he did, he ended up making a fool of himself. His grades were ok, but not enough to progress far. He opened his locker and sighed, just another day, at least most people avoided him.  

But as he kept his head low, the sound of football cleats crashing into the floor grew louder until a sudden stop.

“Hey, Tom!”

He flinched, glancing over his shoulder. Logan and Topher stood behind him, both wearing those flawless, white smiles. Logan leaned casually against the lockers, his tousled hair falling perfectly into place, while Topher, taller and somehow even more pristine, grinned beside him. Tom tried to ignore the strange flutter in his chest as he met Logan’s gaze. They never spoke to him—well, unless they were up to something.

“Uh… hey?” Tom mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. He glanced around, expecting to see a camera or a laughing crowd hiding nearby, but it was just the three of them.

Logan chuckled, his eyes crinkling just so. “Just wanted to say what’s up,” he said, his voice warm and friendly. “Haven’t seen you around much.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Yeah, I like to keep it that way.”

Logan and Topher laughed, not in a mocking way but in a way that somehow softened Tom’s irritation. Logan leaned in a bit closer, flashing a grin that was just too charming, his eyes fixed on Tom’s. Tom felt his pulse quicken. What is wrong with me? he thought. He tried to look away, but something about Logan’s face—those soft, puppy eyes, the faint dimple on his left cheek—kept him rooted to the spot.

Logan extended his fist, smiling with a friendly warmth that made Tom’s annoyance melt. “Fist bump?”

Caught off guard, Tom hesitated, but Logan’s gaze held him, as if daring him to refuse. His own hand moved automatically, his knuckles meeting Logan’s with a soft bump. The second their fists touched, a faint tingle shot up Tom’s arm, as if Logan’s warmth had seeped into his skin. He blinked, momentarily dazed, his mind foggy. Logan’s face seemed even brighter, even more perfect.

“Glad you’re with us, man,” Logan said, his voice soft but sure.

“Yeah, buddy,” Topher added, clapping Tom on the back. The pat was firm, almost grounding, but as Topher’s hand left his shoulder, Tom felt an odd, heady rush, like warmth settling in his bones. His annoyance was gone, replaced by a strange, almost peaceful calm, as if all his usual worries had been smoothed over.

Logan gave him a slow nod, his grin widening just a bit. “Catch you later, Tom,” he said, locking eyes with him in a way that felt… oddly reassuring.

“Yeah… later,” Tom mumbled, the words coming out slow, his own voice sounding distant.

As they walked off, Tom stood there, staring after them. He felt like he’d just woken from a dream, his thoughts oddly muddled. His mind tried to summon up his annoyance again, that instinctive distaste he usually felt around the Titans, but instead, all he felt was a faint warmth spreading through him.

Tom stumbled into his next class, still feeling that strange warmth pulsing through him. His skin tingled with a persistent buzz that wouldn’t go away, and he rubbed at his arm, where the feeling was strongest. No one else seemed to notice; his classmates filed in, chatting, flipping open notebooks, none of them sparing him a second glance. But for Tom, everything felt off. As the teacher droned on about chemical bonds, Tom felt his mind drifting, something that never happened—he loved this class.

A faint ache bloomed in his muscles, like the warm soreness after a workout, except Tom hadn’t lifted anything heavier than his backpack. He shifted in his seat, tugging at the collar of his shirt, which suddenly felt too tight around his shoulders. Glancing down, he noticed his arms looked… a little more toned than usual, his forearms more defined beneath the fluorescent lights. He shook his head, feeling lightheaded, his thoughts drifting in and out of focus. That feeling from earlier, the warm, strange contentment that had come over him in the hallway, seemed to deepen.

As the bell finally rang, Tom grabbed his things, heading for the door. His head spun, but he tried to ignore it, pushing down the weird sensations building in his body. But the moment he stepped into the hallway, he nearly collided with Logan and Topher, who grinned as if they’d been waiting for him.

“Tom! There you are,” Logan said, his smile bright as ever, those puppy-dog eyes locking onto Tom’s. He felt a flicker of resistance, but something in Logan’s gaze soothed him, like everything was somehow okay as long as Logan was looking at him.

Topher clapped him on the shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “How’s it going, man? Looking good, you know.” His tone was casual, but something about his words made Tom’s skin crawl, even as warmth pulsed stronger through his veins.

Tom managed a weak smile, trying to ignore the way his chest felt oddly tight. “Uh, yeah… feeling a bit weird, actually,” he admitted.

Logan chuckled. “You’re probably just hyped up. We were actually thinking…” He exchanged a look with Topher, and Tom felt the weight of their shared gaze. “You should come by practice tonight. You’ve got, I dunno, potential.”

The words washed over Tom, and before he could think it through, he found himself nodding. “Uh, yeah, sure, I’ll… I’ll come by.”

“Awesome,” Topher said, patting him on the back again. That warmth surged through Tom, stronger now, and as they walked off, he felt strangely compelled to watch them go, even as a creeping discomfort gnawed at him.

As the day wore on, Tom’s discomfort grew, but that warm, tingling sensation only intensified. His shirt seemed even tighter around his chest, his legs brushing against each other in a way they never had before. He rushed out of class, and went to the restroom. When he caught his reflection in the restroom mirror, his heart skipped. His face looked… different. His cheekbones appeared sharper, his jaw more defined, his skin a little clearer, his hair somehow fluffier, softer. He lifted up his clothes to reveal his stomach now had a six-pack etched onto it, while his pecs pushed at his shirt.

His stomach dropped. He looked… he looked like one of them.

By lunchtime, the feeling had nearly overwhelmed him. He spotted Logan and Topher at their usual table, surrounded by other Titans who wore the same practiced, warm smiles and the same flawless, slightly vacant looks. He marched over, hands clenched, ignoring the way his fingers felt firmer, somehow more muscular.

“What did you guys do to me?” he demanded, keeping his voice low.

Logan looked up, his smile blank and unbothered, as if Tom’s tone didn’t faze him at all. “What do you mean, man?”

“You know exactly what I mean. This… feeling, this… changing,” Tom stammered, pulling at his collar. “It’s you. You’re doing something.”

Topher rose, grinning that same too-friendly grin. Without warning, he wrapped Tom in a warm, firm hug, holding him close. “Relax, bro. It’s nothing to worry about. Just… go with it.”

Before Tom could pull away, Logan was on the other side, clapping him on the back and pulling him into a bro hug as well. The embrace felt oddly comforting, like sinking into a warm blanket, and for a moment, Tom felt his resistance slip. The warmth spread through him again, softer, deeper, as if it were soothing all his worries. The whole cafeteria blurred slightly around him, the sounds of chatter and clinking trays fading into a quiet hum.

“Trust us,” Logan whispered, his tone light but unyielding. “This is gonna be good for you, Tom. We’re just helping you reach your full potential.”

They pulled away, leaving Tom standing in a daze, that familiar, creeping warmth pulsing through every fiber of his body. He could feel it now, the change sinking deeper, reshaping him bit by bit. The Titans went back to their table, laughing and chatting as if nothing had happened, as if they hadn’t just begun to unravel everything he was. Tom knew something was up, he wanted to resent them for whatever prank or thing they were doing to him, but as the warmth spread, a smile forced its way onto his face. 

The afternoon felt worse for Tom, the warmth was there, but he felt butterflies in his stomach, he didn’t know what was going to happen to him. He barely looked up at the board or even opened his book, he sat and waited until 3. But even if 3 came, what would he do? He wanted to escape whatever plot was being constructed for him, but then he saw Logan’s face in his head, his cute puppy dog eyes and bright white smile imprinted into his psyche, calling him to practice, no, to him. The bell rang and he jumped out of his seat, hurriedly making his way to the locker room. 

Tom pushed open the locker room door, his heart pounding. The air inside was thick with the smell of sweat and freshly-washed uniforms, a sharp scent that felt almost… inviting. The Titans were already there, laughing and joking as they changed, their voices booming and carefree. Logan and Topher were at the center, effortlessly drawing everyone’s attention as they exchanged laughs, their white smiles flashing like polished armor.

Tom amassed as much anger as he could and clenched his fists, steeling himself. Just say it, just tell them to stop whatever they’re doing to you. But as he approached, Logan looked up, catching Tom’s gaze with those deep, gleaming eyes.

“Tom!” Logan said, his voice rich with warmth. He slung an arm over Tom’s shoulders, pulling him close. The feeling was instant—comforting and strangely familiar, as if he belonged there, as if he had always belonged there.

“Let go of me!” Tom demanded, though the strength in his voice was waning. “Whatever you guys are doing to me… I need you to stop.”

Logan laughed, his voice calm and reassuring. “We’re not doing anything to you, Tom. We’re helping you. This is just… who you are now.”

Topher grinned and moved beside him, clapping a hand on Tom’s other shoulder. Tom was locked between them now, held close by the two flawless Titans. He could feel it, that warmth seeping deeper, spreading from his shoulders through his chest, tightening his muscles and firming his stance.

“No… I’m… I’m not…” he whispered, the words coming out softer as Logan and Topher both squeezed his shoulders, grounding him between their solid, unrelenting bodies.

“You’re one of us, Tom,” Topher said, his voice so close, so calm. “No more worries, no more doubts. Just perfect, like us”

Tom’s head spun, and he looked up at Logan, whose eyes sparkled with that mesmerizing glint. Suddenly, he felt his resistance dissolve, his doubts slipping away as the warmth flooded his mind, washing away every question, every nagging thought. He wanted to look away but couldn’t; Logan’s gaze held him in place, filling his mind with easy, familiar images—football games, locker room jokes, the thrill of the field under the stadium lights.

His breathing slowed as his worries faded, replaced by a deep, overpowering confidence that left no room for anything else. “I… guess…” he began, his voice sounding distant, strange.

“There you go,” Logan said, nodding approvingly. “Just relax. This is you.”

The warmth pulsed through his mind, clearing out everything else. His love of literature and late-night gaming sessions drifted away, replaced by a drive to practice, to push his body to its limits, to feel the adrenaline of the game. His gaze drifted down to his chest as his clothes began to shift, the fabric thickening and morphing until a football jersey stretched tight over his broadening shoulders. He was becoming stronger, taller, his arms filling out with defined muscles, his entire body reshaping to fit the Titans’ uniform as though he’d always worn it.

"Football,” he thought suddenly, the word bursting to life with a strange excitement. The field, the crowd, the roar of his teammates—it all filled him with a bright, almost overwhelming thrill. He wasn’t a loner anymore; he was part of the team, a Titan. And the Titans were everything he wanted to be—confident, friendly, strong. His doubts, his insecurities—they were fading, replaced by a clear purpose, a fierce desire to join his brothers and carry the team to victory.

His old thoughts, ones that had flickered with hesitation, with curiosity, with a need to be different—they were erased, replaced by a blunt, eager certainty. He was a Titan, and Titans didn’t waste time on thinking too much. They didn’t question; they did. They didn’t hold back, didn’t think about things like “fitting in” or “standing out.” And as for his thoughts on… guys? Those memories felt fuzzy, distant, fading to dust as his mind filled with something new, something simple and straightforward.

Thoughts of girls, of cheerleaders, of crushes and dates took their place, filling him with a surge of typical, familiar confidence. He caught himself thinking about asking a girl to the Halloween dance, imagining her cheering him on from the stands, just like all his teammates had. His old self fought back, the tiniest voice left screaming that this wasn’t who he was. But the new thoughts, the team’s thoughts, were too strong, and he felt them washing over him like a tide.

Logan squeezed his shoulder, grinning wide. “Hey, Tanner, you ready for practice?”

For a moment, Tom hesitated, that quiet, begging voice in his mind trying to hold him back. But then he felt it—the final, snapping wave of confidence that drowned out everything else. His name… Tanner. Yes, that was right, he was Tanner. Proud, confident, and one of the Titans. A grin spread across his face, matching Logan’s. He could feel the final threads of his old self snapping, falling silent, and his mind cleared, filled only with loyalty to his team, his brothers, his Titans.

“Hell yeah, Logan,” he said, his voice loud, proud, and full of that new energy. “I’m ready to win.”

Logan and Topher gave him a proud, approving nod, their too-perfect smiles gleaming. Topher patted his chest, grinning as Tanner felt his heart swell with pride.

“Glad to have you, man,” Topher said, voice warm with that eerie kindness. “Now let’s go—there’s still more of the team to bring together. We’re just getting started.”

[ykrui73]

The Haunted House II

Back with another Halloween themed story to celebrate the month! This is an indirect sequel to The Haunted House. Enjoy!

“You’ll wanna use these for pie and those for eatin’” Cal says with a warm smile. And just like several customers before, she thanks him for his kindness, “Aw shucks, jus’ glad to be here.” Each word rich with his country accent.

Today was the local college’s annual Autumn Festival. Cal’s father would have him man their stand. It was something the young farmer enjoyed each year and the locals always looked forward to seeing him. But once a year was good enough for him. He never went to college, but didn’t feel he was missing out. He loved the countryside and his life on the farm.

“Besides,” He thinks eying a group of college guys, “They’re all a bit backwards ‘round here.”

The group of bros were talking about a Halloween party that night. Their obnoxious laughter filling the air as they discussed ‘future conquests’. Their vocabulary rich with words like “rizz”, “bro”, and “lit.” Cal couldn’t wrap his head around it. Outside of being from the countryside, he figured being 30 years old contributed. To him, they all seemed immature and rude. A stark contrast to the values instilled in him by his god-fearing parents.

“Well, that was the last of it. Guess I should pack up.” After finishing, he looks down at his watch, “Well I’ll be, there’s still time before supper. Might as well explore.” He figures he might find a gift for his parents and girlfriend, Anna.

Cal walks pass various stands and attractions- enjoying the sense of community and the cool autumn breeze. And as he reached the end of the festival, he saw it- a large, wooden, and derelict house.

“That wasn’t here last year.” He mumbles, walking over to the plaque near the entrance, “Scariest experience you’ll ever have.” He reads. He scratches the hairs on his chin and grins, “A haunted house, huh?”

His neighbors would turn their farmhouse into a haunted house. And it was scary. Cal remembered the first time he took Anna. He damn well near pissed himself. If he wasn’t trying to impress her, he actually might’ve.

“Scariest, huh? I’ll be the judge of that.” He chuckles.

Without another thought, he enters. The inside was dark, illuminated by a few candles. The musty smell of mothballs and mildew invaded his nose, but he reassured himself it was nothing compared to the cows on a hot summer day. Eventually, he found himself standing in front of a large mirror.

“I see.” He smiles, “It’s one of them fun mirror houses.”

He feels somewhat relieved. This was nothing compared to his neighbor’s haunted house. He follows a creaky flight of stairs, until arriving at a somewhat familiar looking door.

“Well I’ll be.” He raises an eyebrow.

From what he could tell, it was a replica of the door to his room back home. He opens it slowly, his eyes widening as he enters what appeared to be a total copy of his bedroom.

“There’s no way.” He whispers, only to jump as the door slammed shut behind him.

He looks around finding his neatly made bed, his desk littered with equipment manuals, a pair of his work boots, and pictures of animals and the outdoors. Even his fishing gear sits nicely in the corner of the room. The only difference being the large mirror propped against the wall. Cal took an apprehensive step forward.

“Call me crazy...” He mutters, approaching his desk.

And as he picks up one of the manuals, he feels a shock. He watches closely as the manual starts to shift and change. The cover now showing off a nude man, flexing his muscles. Cal gasps and drops it as the remaining manuals reform into all kinds of lewd magazines. And he watches as a laptop materializes on his desk, immediately opening to gay porn- the sounds echoing loudly.

“What on Earth?” Cal gasps, feeling his cock tenting in his jeans, “Naw, this ain’t...”

He backs away, falling onto his bed. And when he does, images flash through his mind. He can hear his neighbor Billy. He’s moaning, begging for more. And Cal grunts from a sudden warmth around his cock.

“This don’t make sense.” Cal huffs, holding back a moan as he bucks his hips.

Billy was never near his room. Cal’s parents warned him about Billy’s sexual preferences. Yet he could hear Billy’s voice now, clear as day. His moans a symphony in Cal’s head as he absentmindedly massages his tented cock.

“Wasn’t that a good fuck?” A voice said.

“Fuckin’ was.” Cal slurred, recalling Billy’s firm ass.

He shakes his head and leaps from the bed, sweat trickling down his face. He never... not with a guy. Not even with Anna. He was waiting until marriage.

“Huhuh remember Anna’s face when she caught you?”

A new unwanted memory appears. The day Anna walked in on him and Billy. Her look of disgust. How his parents didn’t even know what to say, just going on about how disappointed they were.

“Whatever...” The voice continued, “At least we got bragging rights.” Cal groans as he remembered telling his friends about banging an older woman. But wasn’t he the same age as Anna?

“Nah fam, you’re 21.”

Before Cal could respond, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He couldn’t explain it, but he looked younger. He runs a hand along his smoother skin and watches with amazement as his facial hair falls to the floor. He moans as rush of hormones and energy fill his body.

“No, this isn’t right...” Cal’s eyes widened, “My voice... what...?” His country accent gone- now more akin to the bros from outside earlier.

He retreats from the mirror, awkwardly tripping over his work boots and falling into his closet. He looks up at his flannels and denim hanging neatly. And before his eyes, they morph. His clothes shifting into oversized hoodies, joggers, and tank-tops. He even catches a glimpse of his work boots as they become slides.

“Bruh, that drip ain’t hittin’ right.” The voice said, “Gotta ditch that fit.”

“What are you even...” Cal stops, hating how similar their voices sound.

But he quickly finds out what the voice meant. He yelps as the cool air caresses his now naked form. His rock-hard cock exposed and throbbing from the cool draft.

“But how...?” His eyes inspect his naked form.

He no longer sports a farmer’s tan. Instead, every inch of his skin was sun kissed- a rich bronze. And even his chest and belly hairs fall out. He frowns at the loss of the tokens of his traditional masculinity.

“Fuck this.” He curses, stumbling out of the closet, “Wait, no way.”  

The pictures of animals and nature have been replaced by pictures of half-naked men and women. He groans as memories of jerking off to these pics fill his mind, and he shudders as the moans from his laptop seemingly got louder.

“I gotta bust.” He mumbled, thinking back to Billy’s ass, “But... no, fuck...”

His voice drips with smugness- deep and dull now. And nothing he did could prevent him from sounding like a typical douchebro. Taking a step back, he trips over a dumbbell.

“Bruh, where’s my fishing gear!?”

Instead, there’s a full set of dumbbells and a bench press. And his jaw drops when he caught his reflection again. Gone were his lean muscles. He now sports broad bis and tris. His pecs now a pair of meaty muscle tits. He slowly runs his hand along his six-pack abs, an unwanted pride filling him.

“Being jacked's a vibe, bro, no cap.” The voice said as Cal bounces his pecs.

“Facts bruh, a little extra muscle never hurt nobody.” Cal bites his lip, “No, oh fuck... my head...” Memories of guys and girls drooling over his muscles make his dick twitch. He loves the way those sluts would salivate over him, “Please... no...”

He winces as an intricate forearm tattoo engraves into his skin. And he gasps as a few bracelets materialize on his arm. There was no way... he would never buy shit like this. He was saving his money for more important things, right?

“Bruh, when you’re on OnlyFans, the bag’s there, no cap.”

Cal watches as a ring light and video camera materialize on his desk. Memories of his content flooding his weakened mind. The modest part of him blushing as he recalled the lewd content he created. Cumming on camera, teasing his cock, fucking Billy...  

“They love watchin’ this dick in action.” He smirks, giving his monster a few tugs.

Yet, part of him was terrified- his values and kind-hearted nature resisting the persona that was taking over. And he quickly released his cock and grabbed his head.

“You gotta let that go, fr.” The voice said.

“Deadass, I’m not lettin’ this slide.” Cal shot back.

And as he turns back to the mirror, he saw himself. His real self. Still naked. But a reflection he was more used to- his farmer’s tan, lean muscle, and body hair. Not sporting a tattoo or fake jewelry. The kindness still in his eyes, albeit fearful.

“It’s me...” He whispers.

But when he looks down, all he sees is his newly bronzed skin, two slabs of chest meat, cobblestone abs, and his 12 inch, throbbing cock.

“No... I don’t want this...”

Desperately, he reachs out to the mirror- to his old self. Wanting nothing more than to go back to being himself. But as his hand touches the mirror, it shatters. Cal cries out and tumbles through the opening, falling to the ground just outside the haunted house.

“Oh fuck...” He curses, pushing himself up.

He looks down at his tanned, meaty hand. His tattoo and arms on full display in his tank-top. His pair of joggers doing little to hide his raging boner. In a dazed panic, he grabs his phone and opens snapchat.

“It’s me, bruh. For real.” He keeps staring at the photo, his eyes dulling, “Damn.. I got that rizz today.” He swipes through a few filters and grins, “Lit.” His selfie now framed by the entrance to the haunted house, “Scariest experience you’ll ever have.” He chuckles, “No cap.” He uploads the selfie for his thirsty followers.  

“Bruh, you good?” Cal looks up at the group of guys from earlier.

“Ghost play with your cock, CJ?” One quips, nodding towards the outline of the boner in his pants.

“CJ?” Cal mumbled. Yeah... He likes that... CJ, “Bruh, that house was straight-up bussin’, no cap.” CJ chuckles and readjusts his dick, “Ayo, quit staring unless you're gonna do something about it.” He stands up, “Like, don’t we have a party to hit up?”

Later, CJ stands in his dorm room, flexing after his shower. His dick needed some attention- not like he ever had a problem with that. That’s why he went to fuckin’ college in the first place. His basic ass parents could waste their lives on that farm. Nah fam, CJ had bigger and better things ahead of him- as did whoever guy’s ass he was baggin’ that night. CJ chuckles, already feeling his cock hardening.

[ykrui73]

Credit to @musclecorps for this image.

If you like this story, please like and reblog. And if you want more content like this, please consider joining my patreon, where you will find all kinds of transformations involving muscle, hypnosis, and other forms. The more patrons I get, the more time I’ll be able to dedicate to writing full time. Thank you all for your support!

This story was written as a gift to a close friend of mine who loves a good greaser thug tf. I hope you all enjoy it, too. Due to length, I included a read more cutoff link for this one. Please read it all the way through. You won’t be disappointed.

————————————

My Necklace, My Chain

It’s sort of like a half-remembered dream, this old place, old life. Or maybe I’m living a dream now. Huh. Living the dream. Hell yeah, I am.

Anyway, it started off sort of weird, I guess. I was a pathetic pile of fat and gristle. No job. No future. No motivation. The world beat me up so bad, and I was just … so fucking tired, bruh. Lost my girl, lost my money, lost my home. It sucked. And I just … I wanted to end it, you know?

…

I almost did.

That’s when this guy showed up out of the blue. This guy who just … sat there and smiled and listened. He didn’t see some homeless tramp. He didn’t see a pathetic pound of flesh waiting to be roasted on the pavement under blistering sun. He saw me. And he didn’t care how I looked. It didn’t matter that my clothes weren’t washed. It didn’t matter that I was scrabbled with a thick patchy beard. It didn’t even matter how much my breath stank or how I reeked of BO because I couldn’t find a place to shower and barely got the essentials using public sinks in a restroom.

He. Saw. Me.

He introduced himself. We talked. And like a parishioner to a priest, I confessed everything. My insecurities, my doubts, my anxiety, my history, my misfortunes, my losses. Everything flooded out in a torrent. And, eventually, after all the crap was purged, we got to the good stuff, the piece of me that still dreamed. That tiny, oh so fragile speck.

I don’t know how he got it out of me. I don’t know what tools he used, or what magic he had. And … I guess it must’ve been magic, cause, cause uh.

Uhh..

Uhhhhhh……

Wut were we talkin’ bout again?

…

…

…

Right. Right. My bad, bruh. It’s … a lot easier for me to zone out lately. I do it again, just give it a minute, okay?

So, this guy. He talks to me, and I talk to him. And it’s like, … I don’t know. He just … feels right to be around. You know, like that one guy who’s always nice to everyone, and you just want to protect him because he’s so good to people and you don’t want him to get hurt? That’s what it was like for me.

And that’s basically what he did. I told him my dream. And honestly, at that point, my only dream was to get some clothes on my back, a place to stay, a meal in my gut, a chance to clean up, and to be happy.

And you know what he said to me?

He said, “All right.” He grabbed my hand, and he pulled me. When I asked him what he was doing, he just smiled and laughed. “I’m granting your wish, silly.”

“Granting my…?”

“Let’s go.” He called me by my name, added some sort of weird word at the end of it. Think it was Japanese or something. I don’t really remember. I just remember the sheen of a black duckbill flashing under the intermittent sun as the clouds scudded overhead. Still not sure how he … knew my … name……

…

…

…

The hell am I thinking? Course he knows my fuckin’ name! He’s M—m’boss. Yuh. Boss.

…

I do wut he says.

…

I do wut he says.

Afficher davantage

[ykrui73]

[ykrui73]

I want to start by saying that I’m not speaking as my character right now, but as myself. For once I’m not going to be telling a story as a fictional version of myself, or as some sort of omniscient being. I’m just going to tell this story as me. Because it’s not really a tf story, it’s just a story about me.

It was around eight months ago when I made my first post on this blog. I had been reading jock transformations and muscle growth stories for a long time — longer than I probably should have to be honest — and had been inspired to finally join the community as a creator after @newchangestf answered an ask for my main account @hornyjockalt . I had always loved writing, but had never really had the confidence to show any of my work outside of school, and erotic writing seemed like a good way to start coming out of my shell, explore my sexuality and express my creative side, all while staying (mostly) anonymous and protected form the anxiety that usually stopped me from sharing my ideas.

Over the last eight months I’ve found this to be an amazing community, full of kind and accepting people. I’ve made connections and even friends. Which is why I wanna give a special shout-out to some people.

@musclejedi-tameem is one of my biggest fans and I’m one of theirs. They’re a great friend and they’re absolutely awesome. They’ve helped me a lot and I can’t thank them enough.

@warping-realities is one of my biggest inspirations. I won’t claim to know them very well, or at all, but I love their work and from the little we’ve interacted they’re awesome

@sanzaibian is one of my earliest fans and one of the first people to tell me one of my stories really struck a cord with them. Also an amazing tf writer in their own right, I highly recommend their work.

And finally @romangolden68 is the first person I ever did a commission for, a great friend and an all around amazing person. They’ve always been super supportive and I’m super happy to have them in my corner.

To any of my friends I didn’t list, know it’s either because I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable being named or because there’s a lot of you and if I listed you all I’d break tumblr. You’re all the best and I’m so glad I get to be a part of this group. I hope I get to make another hundred stories, and a hundred after that.

Sorry this got kind of mushy. Thanks for reading

Sincerely, AlphaJockLover