I Need To Write This Paper. I Need To… Flex My Biceps. The Paper Is Due Tomorrow. It’s Half My Grade

The Drifter

Every now and again, when things just weren’t going your way, a brisk hike through the woods always helped to clear your mind. The rustling leaves, chirping of birds, the gravel trail beneath your shoes... it just seemed to help all the troubles and struggles of the day melt away. Today, however, something was off. You parked your car in the North Lot, and being so eager to decompress you left the lights on. Two hours later, you return to a lemon. The battery was dead, and with no one else in the parking lot, your only option was to run to the South Lot where the ranger station was. Thus, you sighed in exhaustion as you turned around and stumbled the long three mile trek to the South Lot.

The park was massive, and only had one main road for cars to pass from the entrance to the two parking lots. The winding gravel road was not particularly well maintained, and you thought to yourself on more than one occasion that the designer of the park must have had some bad Acid when he had routed it. Hard right turns, steep hills and filled with potholes the size of bowling balls. This was hardly the way you’d have preferred to get to the South Lot, but it was the most direct route and had the potential of a passing motorist saving your afternoon. Yet, a mile and a quarter in, not only had no one passed by you, but the sun was beginning to set beyond the canopy above. Surely a park ranger would have seen your car and gone looking before closing the gates?

Regardless of how long you had been walking, in your mind, you’d gone fifty miles. Just as the tree stump tumbled over on the side of the road looked awfully nice to take a quick nap on, a faint red light in the distance caught your eye. Just around the bend, on the other side of the ridge was a black car, and it was running. Relief! What modicums of energy you could expend, you did as you booked it down the gravel road, nearly tripping over your own feet three times enroute. Finally, the sound of a running motor brought such reassurance as you came up on the car. It was an old muscle car, a 1969 Mustang, not that you knew it. All you knew and cared about was the assistance from whomever the driver was. Walking up to the drivers side window, you sigh and prepare to thank the driver...

Empty. The car was running, windows down, The Weeknd blaring on the radio. You looked around the surrounding area for the owner, met only with empty woods at dusk.

“Hello?!” You cried out, now worried that you had stumbled upon a crime scene or a trap. No response. You turned around to glance at the car again, only to see the drivers side door was now ajar. You knew that you hadn’t opened it. You knew that there was no one inside the car, and after a peek under the car you knew there was no one around. It was an old car, perhaps it just didn’t shut properly? Ignoring the implausibility of that thought, you took a seat on the drivers seat, and tried to think of a plan. The sun was setting, you’re sitting in an abandoned car in the middle of the woods, and you’re still miles away from the ranger.

“Get in...” an ethereal voice whispered out of the radio, superimposed over the uninterrupted music. You turned to the old radio, second guessing your senses, not even realizing you had brought your legs inside of the car. The door slowly shut behind you as you examined the radio. The stick shifted into drive, and the car began to lurch forward. Panic set in, it was a trap of some sort. Kidnapping? You were poor no one would pay... Human Trafficking? Maybe, but this was awfully elaborate for that. A prank? A TV prank show was not out of the realm of possibility...

“Relax...” the voice cooed over the radio again, it’s soothing and velvety tone was certainly comforting. The car drove slowly, winding down the road toward the rangers station and the South Lot. Bruno Mars was now serenading on the radio, music that you were rather indifferent to before and yet in that moment it felt as if you knew every word and every verse. You allowed the music to relax you, to let you breathe.

“Smoke...” You looked down at the ashtray, a still smoking blunt sat waiting next to a metal lighter. It felt second nature to you to bring the blunt to your mouth, the dampness of its previous owners lips could still be tasted as you inhaled your first toke. You blew rings of delicate smoke as if you’d been smoking since you were a teenager. The haze of weed washed over you and you sank back into the seat, enjoying the vibes of the music, the smoke, and the drive.

“Let me in... Take the wheel...” You did as instructed. It felt so right to just fall, to just be, to just be driven. Your hands touched the worn leather steering wheel, and a shock ran up through your fingertips all the way to your toes. Your hands grasped the wheel confidently, and shifted gears effortlessly. Surges of energy hit you in waves, each one slowly washing you into a clean slate. Those woes and worries that had brought you into the woods in the first place seemed so far away now. Just the thought of snipping that life away, beginning anew as someone else. No cares, no worries, just the wide world and open road to wander.

“Just drive...” the voice now echoed inside your head, entirely separate from the radio. Zayn now crooned his sultry tones over the speakers, your personal favorite. He reminded you a bit of who you wanted to be: laid back, unbothered, stoic, effortlessly cool... that attitude of ‘I don’t give a fuck’ just gets under your skin and takes control. In fact, you wanted it to. You wanted that attitude, that vibe, that life inside of you. And as it began to flow into you from your hands gripping the wheel, you welcomed the change.

It started with pinpricks, as if your arms had fallen asleep. Yet, as they moved independently of you, grabbing the blunt, taking a toke, shifting into 2nd... it became a different sensation entirely. It was as if water was flowing into you, the swishing and sloshing of liquid within you, flooding from your fingertips downward. Your palms grew sweaty and calloused, doubling in size as they continued driving the car. Little scars and knicks from bygone bar room scuffles adorned your knuckles, drifting free spirits aren’t always welcomed in roadside haunts- so you had learned to handle yourself early on.

Your forearms were growing as well, the viscous sensation flowed upward into your arms, large biceps began to expand your shirtsleeves until your grey shirt had ripped. Poke and stick tattoos sprawled up your tanning skin, an outlet for your creativity and frustrations when you are bored at your Midwest rest stops or refueling at the lonely desert gas stations. Thick tufts of hair sprouted from your pits as the liquid flowed into your broadening shoulders, the remains of your poor shirt falling in shreds around you. A subtle musk started to emanate from your pits, peppery and sharp... one of your favorite scents.

Your chest expanded, two pierced Nipples perked brightly on your glistening, sticky pecs; the droplets of sweat rolled down to your navel, lean abs popping up as they passed by. You feel your posture adjust as your ass rounded out, two firm globes had you spreading your growing legs wide and leaning back into the worn leather seats.

One hand on the wheel, you grab your swelling bulge. The constraints of your pants and underwear was mounting rapidly, and in just moments you’d unzipped your fly, and released your throbbing uncut 10 incher. You groped your balls, cupping them as the grew and dropped like two golf balls in a sac. Just the slightest touch of your coarse, calloused hand on the sensitive tip of your head gave you an involuntary gasp. Pre flowed out like a faucet slipping under your musky foreskin, making every movement and jolt of the car an incredible barrage of ecstasy.

Your thighs ballooned out, and your calves hardened after years of hard work doing short stints in mechanic shops across the country. A couple hours per week, just enough to fix up the car, and keep going to the next place. Your slick, ripe size 13 feet were never going to be tied down to any one place. The world was your playground. You love your freedom, you love your independence, you love yourself, and you’re ready to roam the roads carefree from now until infinity.

Your face was the last to adjust, your eyes turning into a bright minty green, with a healthy scruffy beard sprouting up from your eternally youthful skin. As the liquid flowed up your throat, your Adam’s apple protruded even further, as the pressure kept mounting. By the time it had rushed into your head, luscious blonde locks curled out of your scalp, and earrings popped out as a final cherry on top.

You turned around, grabbing your bag from the backseat, happy to put on your favorite jeans, cleanest tank top, and well worn and loved leather jacket. Your car pulled up to a halt at the ranger station just as you were pulling on your rank harness boots. Musk, weed, and leather smells poured from the open windows as the ranger walked up to the car.

“Hey there’s an abandoned car in the North Lot. Been there for a few hours.” Your velvety baritone voice instantly charmed the man, and combined with the wafting smells from your Mustang he replied,

“Uh... yeah, yeah. Thank you sir... I’ll take a... a... a look...” the ranger stared at the sexy drifter before him, his pants began to tent. You of course took notice, reaching out for a quick grope. He gasped and moaned at your confident grasp. With one single wink, a sticky spot quickly formed in his pants.

“Ay, hurry up and we can go take a drive, whaddya say?”

I enjoyed writing this. Commissioners, your pieces are coming.

Locker 054

Michael was excited to be picking up a new hobby, he was going to start going to the gym, he was always a pretty skinny guy but he was looking to put on some muscle. Entering the gym for the first time Michael spoke to the guy running the front desk, he got a membership set up for himself and was pointed in the direction of the locker room. Entering the locker room for the first time, Michael was met with a musty smell lingering in the place. Of course Michael wasn't expecting it to smell like a perfume counter so he didn’t pay too much mind to the smell, but as he entered deeper into the locker room the smell got more and more intense. He had passed by a tall gym bro who had dumbly told him “Broooo, locker 054 is unlocked if you wanna use it.”

Michael had decided to find locker 054 and when he got to it he set his stuff down on the bench while he opened it up. Upon opening it he was met with an obviously worn tank top and a pair of gray sweatpants sitting at the bottom of his locker, and on top sat a pair of ripe gym socks. Gagging and turning away Michael was disgusted from the ripe scent pouring off of the clothes and out of the locker. It reeked so horribly that Michael grabbed his stuff and started to walk away when he suddenly thought to himself “Why am I leaving my locker wide open…? Im such a dummy” turning back around he made his way back to the toxic smelling locker. Setting his stuff back down Michael began to get changed, picking up the stinking socks he slipped one foot in and then the other. Feeling the wet feel of the sweat soaked socks would have typically disgusted Michael but now he felt as if this was natural for him. He could smell the newly acquired putrescent stink flowing out of his feet. Taking a deep whiff he felt his head get lighter, and for some reason being here in the gym, in the locker room, at this locker, it all felt so routine.

He proceeded to grab the sweat pants and pull them up above waist, his crotch immediately released the stench of his dried cum and ball sweat wafting towards his nose. It was odd to Michael that he could smell it given that he had showered right before he came to the gym, he shouldn't reek already. Checking if it really was coming from him Michael did something that he would never have done normally, he scratched his balls with his right hand and brought his fingers up to his nose, taking a big whiff he audibly went “Huhuhuhu…so stinky”.

Going back to putting the gym clothes on after his sniff check, Michael put his arm through one arm hole and then the other arm through the other of the white tank top. Now completely on Michael once again smelled a new nasty scent radiating off of him, sticking the same hand he had used to scratch his balls underneath his armpit he left it tucked there for a few seconds. Pulling it out he once again brought his hand to his nose and took a deep whiff. Letting the smell of his wet, tainted, armpit flood his nose sealed his fate. His body began to inflate as his arms grew more muscular, his legs grew sturdier, his feet grew bigger. He let out a deep dump giggle and picked up a can of AXE body spray from his bag. Spraying a spritz on each pit he gave them a sniff to check, to him they now smelled fresh as a daisy, but to anyone else they completely reeked of strong B.O. and cheap AXE. Looking in the mirror Michael saw a hot gymnast reeking of pheromones. Proud of his muscles and progress over the past few years coming to the gym he flexed in the mirror, lifting his arms to do so let out his festering pit stench directly from the source.

After practicing his gymnastics routine for an hour or so he returned to the locker room. Michael got changed back into his everyday clothes that were now too small and straining at the seams. He took the pile of damp gym clothes and set them back in the locker. Adorning his filthy pile with his even smellier socks on top, he leaned in and took a deep sniff of the stinky pile, eyes rolling back in his head from pleasure he knew had had a good workout based off of the stink he and his clothes let off. Closing the locker and leaving it unlocked he had begun to walk to the door when he passed by a lean guy walking into the locker room. “Broooo, locker 054 is unlocked if you wanna use it.” Michael disclosed with his usual idiotic tone.

I'm so sick of having to be responsible for other people. I just wanna be a stupid cum-gushing stoner himbo.

It's my fantasy to have a special strain of weed that everytime I smoke, it permanently bloats my balls, making them permanently overproduce so much cum and testosterone and making me so horny that I can't even think, doing my IQ and reducing me to a gooning pothead himbo.

Advent Calendar - December 6th

I never really thought of myself as the adventurous type. With my head buried in algorithms and codes, my life as a computer science student at the local university was anything but exciting. That is until today, when I stumbled upon something quite out of the ordinary in my holiday advent calendar. The traditional chocolates had been replaced by unique surprises each day, and today's treat stood out - a small pouch filled with weed that emitted a strong whiff of peppermint, it also looked a little bit like a Christmas tree which was a nice touch.

Intrigued by this unusual find, I cautiously inspected the contents. Now, I'm not completely unfamiliar with weed; I had tried it once in the past out of sheer curiosity. I vividly remember the mellow high and occasional giggles that followed. However, this peppermint-scented variant was an entirely different league.

The scent was intoxicating, to say the least, creating a wave of both bewilderment and curiosity. I had never encountered anything like this before. As I held the pouch, the peppermint aroma seemed to cast a spell, drawing me in further. With a mixture of doubt and intrigue, I found myself pondering over the unusual effects this strain might induce. Could it be stronger, more potent than anything I had tried before?

With a mix of trepidation and curiosity, I decided to smoke it. As the peppermint-laced smoke filled my lungs, a wave of unexpected sensations began. The scent was indeed hypnotic, drawing me in further with each breath. At first, there was just a faint tingling sensation around my groin, subtle but undeniably present. Then, as if out of nowhere, a surge of raw, intense horniness exploded within me.

I wasn't prepared for the intensity of it, the way it seemed to consume my thoughts and make everything else fade into the background. It was as if my mind was being clouded, the once sharp edges of my intelligence dulled by the overpowering wave of desire. At first, I fought against it, trying to hold on to my rational thoughts even as they slipped further and further away. But the horniness was relentless, its grip on me tightening with each passing second.

The urge to give in became overwhelming, the promise of mindless pleasure too enticing to resist. Gradually, I began to succumb to it, allowing the primal instincts to take over. The initial struggle was replaced by a growing sense of surrender, my once sharp mind now shrouded in a blissful fog of arousal.

As the intoxicating effects of the peppermint weed took hold, my body began to change in ways I couldn't have imagined. Firstly, my arousal seemed to intensify with each passing second. It was as if a never-ending surge of lust pulsed through my veins, making the simplest of thoughts clouded by explicit images and urges. My pupils dilated, the once sharp edges of my vision becoming hazy as if I was perpetually lost in a state of pleasure-filled daze.

But it was the physical changes that truly took me by surprise. I could feel a heavy weight starting to form in my groin, the unmistakable sensation of my balls beginning to swell. They grew larger and heavier, sagging prominently with the sheer abundance of cum and testosterone they were now producing.

Every step I took, every movement I made, the swinging of my heavy balls served as a hypnotic rhythm that fueled my growing arousal. And the precum, it seemed to flow endlessly from my overproductive cock, a relentless stream of sticky pleasure that coated my skin. The feeling of it was velvety smooth and enticing, a constant tease that left me wanting more.

Physically, the changes were becoming more pronounced. My once lean frame was now taking on a different form, the slight musculature of a stoner replacing the skinny build of a computer science nerd. The well-defined lines of my arms and chest hinted at a subtle strength, a result of the relentless munchies and munching I found myself indulging in. My body, once devoid of any real muscles, was now adorned with a lanky, lean physique that exuded a distinct aura of musky arousal.

As the weed's effects continued to exert their hold, I could feel my once sharp mind becoming clouded, the complex thoughts and academic knowledge gradually slipping away. In their place, a singular focus emerged - the relentless pursuit of pleasure. Every thought, every action revolved around this basic instinct, the once intricate workings of my intellect replaced by a primal simplicity.

 "Mmm, I like...feel good," these were the words that now dominated my thoughts, a simple and crude expression of the all-encompassing desires that filled my blank mind. I could feel my once extensive vocabulary dwindling, the complex sentences making way for a more straightforward, almost childlike manner of speech. The once intellectual discourse was replaced by a single-minded repetition of basic needs and desires.

I reached down, my large hand gripping my thickened cock, slick with the constant flow of precum. Each stroke felt like a jolt of raw pleasure, the kind that bypasses rational thought and goes straight to the primal core. I could feel the weight of my heavy balls, their persistent sag now serving as a hypnotic rhythm that fueled my growing arousal. My other hand wandered over my lean torso, the subtle strength of a stoner evident in every curve and line. I leaned in, inhaling deeply, my nostrils filled with the unmistakable scent of pit musk - a heady mix of sweat, weed and testosterone that served as an intoxicating aphrodisiac.

As the haze of the weed clouded my already dulled mind, my actions became solely focused on pleasure. The relentless edging sessions, the hours spent in a state of mindless bliss were a testament to this singular pursuit. Each touch, each stroke was a worship of the changes that had taken over my body, a celebration of the unrelenting desires that now defined me.

I gooned hard, the hours blending into a continuous loop of raw pleasure. My once sharp mind was now a blank slate, every rational thought replaced by a simple, crude need for mindless pleasure.

Finally, I could feel it building, a relentless wave of pleasure that seemed to emanate from the very depths of my being. Each stroke, each touch was a step closer to the edge, the promise of release hanging heavy in the thick, hazy air. And then it hit me, I finally succumbed to the ecstasy of release, a jolt of pleasure so intense that it seemed to shatter the very fabric of my senses.

The first rope of cum erupted from my overproductive cock, the force of it hitting me like a physical blow. It was thick, creamy, and unrelenting - a relentless stream of pure bliss that coated my skin in its velvety warmth. I could taste the saltiness of it on my lips, the earthy aroma of musk serving as a constant reminder of the raw eroticism of the moment.

And it didn't stop, the waves of pleasure were continuous, each climax more intense than the last. The cum, it seemed endless - a testament to the overproductive nature of my heavy, sagging balls. It dripped down my body, a tantalizing tease that left me wanting more. Each wave of release was a crescendo of pleasure, the world around me fading into nothingness as the singular focus on my pure, unadulterated ecstasy took over.

With a primal need, I scooped up the thick, creamy cum that adorned my skin. Each finger that dipped into the smooth texture was a deliberate motion, a way to prolong the raw pleasure that the simple act evoked. I could feel the weight of the cum in my mouth, the taste a heady mix of salt and - thanks to the weed - an unmistakable pepperminty sweetness. It was something I savored, each deliberate movement of my tongue a celebration of the raw eroticism that now defined me.

As I lay down in the puddle of my own cum, the surrealism of the moment hit me. And as I succumbed to the comforting embrace of sleep, the relentless high of the weed and the lingering taste of my own cum served as a lullaby, each sensation a promise of the raw pleasures that awaited.

—————

As a side note I really fucking hate tumblrs porn ban, I’ve had to delete 3 pics already from this story just to get it live

One of the Boys

A bead of sweat appeared on Brian Watson’s forehead as he stood outside his high school’s athletic center. His oversized black sweatshirt and skinny jeans insulated his slender figure beneath the hot afternoon sun while groups of other students in various high school sports teams walked past. Brian detested the athletic center and wished it wasn’t the closest building to the adjacent street. He checked his phone and huffed. His mom was supposed to pick him up a half-hour ago. What was taking so long?

Leaning against a wooden ledge, Brian stared off into the expansive and empty high school parking lot. None of his other friends were still at school. Like him, they also dyed their hair black and shared the same gothic fashion that he did, which amounted to them dressing only in all black clothing. Brian even had a black leather satchel in place of a backpack. It was their way of retaliating against their preppy high school. All the other students at Woodside High ignored them anyway. They were too busy talking about things Brian could care less about, like sports games and parties and grade point averages. They were all so fake.

Brian noticed a muscular young man carrying a gym bag walking across the empty parking lot towards him. It was Michael Palmer, a high school senior and one of the school’s linebackers whose tall height and broad stature was nothing less than intimidating. His khaki shorts and lavender polo shirt left little to the imagination. The two had the same science class, although they sat on opposite ends of the room, and Michael was surrounded by his own gaggle of bros that Brian resented. Michael looked up and the two accidentally made eye contact and Brian quickly went on his phone.

“Brian!” Michael said as he was now a few feet away, his low voice sent a chill down Brian’s spine. Maybe he was talking about another Brian. As the group of jocks walked past, he continued staring at his phone. That was until Michael suddenly placed his huge arm around Brian’s shoulder, effortlessly pulling him in closer. “What’s up dude?” he said.

Brian nervously returned eye contact to see the jock with a huge grin across his face. Michael had to be at least a foot taller than him and he was so close that Brian could smell his cheap cologne which smelled like a diluted ocean spray. His gelled black hair and faint stubble framed his face perfectly, giving him quite the masculine visage offset by the prettiness of his white teeth. Brian remained paralyzed with fear and confusion. Mostly confusion.

“Oh…um…hi,” Brian replied, unsure of what to say. His mind was racing. He had never even talked to Michael or the other sporty guys like him. “I’m...uh just waiting for my ride,” he said as more sweatdrops formed all around his body. He didn’t even know why he was getting so nervous around this guy. He loathed the football players with their macho personas and their vacuous and obnoxious laughter during class, but he had never actually talked to one of them before. And Michael Palmer did have such a genuine and friendly look in his eyes that was challenging Brian’s defenses.

“How do you think you did on the chemistry test today, big guy?” Michael asked.

“Oh...umm...I think I did well,” Brian replied as he studied the jock's broad smile and angular jawline.

“Don’t BS me,” Michael said, unconvinced. Even with more conviction, his calm, sultry voice was pleasant on the ears. “I know chem is not your favorite.”

That was true. Brian hated chemistry. It was his least favorite class by far. But why would Michael know that, let alone care? “I mean, I don’t think it was my worst test,” Brian said. “I...uh... I think I probably got like a C or something.”

“Hey, C’s get degrees man,” Michael replied while patting Brian on the back with tremendous force. As Brian readjusted his balance, he could see why Palmer was Michael’s last name. “You heading to practice?” he asked.

“Practice?”

“Yeah practice, dummy,” Michael replied playfully.

Brian stood in place, confusion rising even higher. “I don’t...I mean I’m not-”

“Come on inside dude,” Michael interrupted as he headed towards the front door. “I can tell you’re frying like an egg out here.”

That was also true. Brian was getting increasingly sweaty and parched. His black hair and clothing only absorbed more of the sun’s rays. He hesitantly picked up his leather satchel from the ground and followed Michael inside. He began rationalizing why Michael was being nice to him. It felt so unnerving. Brian decided he would just get a drink and then head back outside. That thought certainly wasn’t enticing. But he’d rather be outside frying than to spend it inside to avoid other football jocks.

As the two stepped inside, Brian intentionally walked slowly to distance himself from Michael, hoping that he would just enter the locker room and forget about him. To his luck, Michael continued walking ahead and Brian headed up to the drinking fountain. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was. The water was so quenching and he couldn’t help but take multiple large gulps. Brian rolled his eyes as he could hear footsteps heading towards him before stopping behind him.

“Ready for the game tomorrow?” Michael asked as he lightly slapped Brian’s butt, nearly causing him to choke on his water.

Brian’s face was now as red as a tomato as he turned to face Michael. His confusion turned to frustration when he saw Michael staring at him with that smug expression he always had. He would’ve socked Michael right then and there if he wasn’t a foot shorter than him or a hundred pounds lighter. But as he begrudgingly turned to face the jock, he realized that wasn’t the case. Before, his height had been at Michael’s shoulders, but now it was at Michael’s mouth. Brian was rendered speechless as he wondered if Michael had always been this short.

Then it happened again.

Brian nearly fell over as his body suddenly grew even taller. He stuck out his arms to keep his balance as his body shot upward. In a few seconds, he was a few inches taller than Michael, who he remembered was 6’2. An audible ripping sound indicated that his clothes had not grown with him.

“You think we got a good shot against the Generals on Friday?” Michael asked as if nothing had happened.

Brian glanced down at his extremely tight clothes in disbelief. More of his spindly arms and legs were now revealed. It looked like his clothes had shrunk in the wash. To Brian’s horror, he watched as his strained jeans started to rip more and more, revealing more of his skin. Was this really happening?

To answer his question, the belt holding up his skinny jeans exploded, sending a piece of metal careening through the air. Brian instinctively grabbed his pants to prevent them from falling. His embarrassment intensified and without thinking, he bolted into the nearest bathroom. Michael said something as he left, but Brian didn’t care. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered despairingly as he scrambled around the corner. But as he looked up, his blood went cold. “Oh, fuck.”

Right in front of him was a group of Woodside High’s football players. They were not only enormous-looking but were all in the process of getting dressed. Interestingly enough, Brian realized he was taller than all of the guys who were standing. He didn’t think about that for long though as he saw one of them glance up and look at him.

“Hey, what’s up Watson?” one of the jocks called out.

Shit, Brian thought. Not only had one of them seen him, but he also knew his last name somehow. He was about to leave when he heard Michael’s familiar voice behind him.

“What’s up bros?” Michael called out to the other guys as he entered the locker room. When Brian glanced back, he noticed Michael was so broad that he nearly filled the entire doorway, rendering escape both impossible and extremely awkward.

Brian’s forehead was coated with sweat and his heart was thumping faster than ever. He felt like a mouse in a cage of snakes, trapped in a vortex of impending doom. He could feel some of the players looking in his direction. Desperate to flee, he scanned the premises for a few agonizing seconds before he found success. There was a red exit sign hanging in the distance above the other side of the locker room. It was far away, but he just had to make it there.

In an instant, Brian bolted past the guys and further into the locker room while holding up his ripping pants with one hand. As he sped past lockers through the open clearing, he ran past windows of players getting ready and prayed none of them would notice him. The exit sign grew closer and closer and it looked like he was going to make it. That was until a huge football player adorned in his uniform stepped out from one of the lockers right in Brian’s way. The collision was inevitable. He closed his eyes as the two collided with an abrasive smack.

Brian fell to the ground and had lost the grip on his pants, causing them to loosen around his waist and fall to the floor. His black satchel flew towards an adjacent row of lockers. “Unghhhh,” he groaned as he reopened his eyes and stared at the jock who had hardly even budged. Brian’s heart was pumping faster than ever as he realized his entire lower body was now exposed. He wanted to scream. One of the largest guys in school was looking at him clad in only his underwear and a sweatshirt on the locker room floor. The jock’s hulking figure was clothed in a football uniform, the delicate combination of pads and spandex only made his figure look more imperious. Fear bubbled up inside of Brian so he promptly mustered out a “Shit, I’m sorry bro” to him as he tried to catch his breath.

​​

To Brian’s relief, the jock didn’t burst out laughing. “Whoa, watch it, Woodsen,” he said with a smug expression as he looked down at Brian on the floor. “We’re not even on the field yet,” he said sympathetically before extending his arm to pull him back up.

For a moment, Brian could only stare in bewilderment, too afraid to correct the jock for getting his last name wrong. The jock’s immense size was not only intimidating but somewhat breathtaking. As Brian grabbed his meaty hand, he pulled him upward like he was as light as a feather. When the two met eyes, Brian realized that he was exactly eye-level with this dude who had to be slightly taller than Michael. Somehow, Brian had gotten even taller without even knowing it.

“See you out there,” he said as he playfully swatted Brian on the butt before heading towards the door. As he left, Brian marveled at the width of his back, which was perfectly accentuated beneath his white jersey. The dark blue letters on the back read “WALLACE.” Then the name came to him. Trent Wallace was an amazing center who had the calmest head on his shoulders out of all of the team. He was an amazing team player whose patience was unparalleled. Brian found himself enjoying that trait a lot. It certainly was important to be a good leader.

Before Brian could wonder why he knew the jock’s name, he heard the low rumble of more guys heading towards him. He quickly snatched his satchel off the floor and ducked into the cavern of lockers where Trent had just been. Like a herd of buffalo, the group of guys passed by Brian without noticing him. The young man breathed a sigh of relief, finally happy to not have one of these meatheads in his face for a second.

A tickling feeling around his legs caught Brian’s attention. As he looked down, he wondered how on earth his black boxers had bleached themselves white. He squirmed as he could feel his underwear vibrating on its own. A strap formed underneath each of his buttcheeks while the fabric above disappeared. In the front, a swell of growth came from Brian’s thighs as they burst through the cotton, leaving behind only a pouch beneath his much stronger waistband. Feeling much more exposed, Brian’s face reddened as he looked at this new and very revealing article of clothing. As much as he detested what he was seeing, it felt oddly snug. Still, he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Shit, please don’t let anybody see me like this,” Brian prayed to himself as he studied how revealing the jockstrap was.

Desperately, he tried to rip it off with no luck. Each time Brian tugged on the athletic supporter, navy blue lycra materialized over it. The new fabric started materializing around his waist before promptly extending down over his small butt and down to his lower thighs. The uncomfortable draft from the jockstrap was quickly eliminated. He couldn’t help but smirk with conflicted relief as he realized he was now wearing a new pair of compression shorts and his embarrassing jockstrap was hidden away. Brian pulled on the new lycra, enjoying how tight yet breathable it felt against his loins. With all the movement around his dick, Brian couldn’t help but feel it rise with arousal.

‘No…no,” he whimpered as he slowly sat down on the bench. Now breathing much heavier, he swore he could feel his thighs growing beneath his hands. And sure enough, they were. They gradually swelled to an immense size beneath his compression shorts. It looked like he could squeeze a watermelon between them. Prickles of blonde hair appeared on his thighs before spreading all the way to his ankles. That was odd, his hair was black.

He could feel a tremendously ticklish feeling on his feet as if a million tiny threads were forming around them. As he shook his legs, he watched as a beautiful shade of white spread upwards from his feet, rising past his ankles until they stopped just below his knees. Brian’s new pair of white athletic socks brought a new wave of growth with them. His feet grew to a hulking size 13 before a pair of blue and white cleats formed around them. Huge calves the size of footballs swelled into fruition beneath his new socks. Brian’s disgust was turning to wonder.

“Am I…is this…really...happening?” he gasped as he placed his hands on his meaty thighs, marveling at how gigantic they had become. His breaths sounded lower, deeper even.

A strong odor filled the air and Brian immediately recognized it as sweat, and it was emanating from him! Brian’s fear had amplified a tremendous amount of his body odor. It felt like he was forced to inhale a cloud of his own manly musk. He couldn’t believe he had even been sweating this much. Uncharacteristically, he began to laugh, although came out at a much lower frequency. His tenor register sounded not only lower but also slower-sounding.

Brian closed his eyes and clenched his upper thighs, feeling the sinews of muscle pulsate beneath his fingertips. “Mmmm,” he moaned as he glanced at how disproportionately huge his lower body now was compared to his slender torso. Muscles this size took thousands of hours of strenuous exercise to appear. His pride skyrocketed as he caressed his thighs, partially concealed beneath his compression shorts. He wasn’t feeling afraid of the jocks anymore. If anyone of those cocky football jerks gave him trouble, he’d give ‘em hell!

“Mmmm, yeah,” he grunted as he cautiously guided his hand to his cock. He touched it once and felt it harden. After a brief moment of abstinence, Brian began stroking his cock beneath his black compression shorts. “That’ll show...those…fake posers,” he said, oblivious to how he was becoming one of them. Brian’s cock was lengthening in his hand as he closed his eyes and pictured all of the football players’ stupid smug faces. He could just picture himself flexing in front of the guys and them all respecting him.

RIIIP!

Brian’s stroking was interrupted when his pecs exploded through his black sweatshirt, tearing it apart into tatters, and exposing his chest. His initial confusion dissolved into satisfaction as he marveled at the size of these gigantic new muscular tits, each one had to be larger than his head. He delicately brought his hand up from his dick, tempted to feel the humongous muscle.

“Ffffuck!” he cried as he gave one a loving squeeze, feeling how thick the muscle really was. A million little tingles dispersed through his body as he lovingly cupped his pecs with both of his hands. A light dusting of blonde hair, just like the one on his legs, appeared above them. He was starting to obsess over the way he looked. This new size was so inspiring, but also a little nerve-wracking. Brian had memories of being a shorter young man who only wore black clothing and made it his personality to act apathetic to everyone. But that seemed out of character for him now. Brian enjoyed standing out in a crowd.

As if to counter those contradictory thoughts, Brian continued to inhale his manly musk and his heartbeat started to slow. With oversized muscle tits larger than the rack of any girl he’d ever seen and a thunderous set of legs, he looked like a circus freak. The barrel-chested young man squirmed on the bench as he felt follicles of blonde hair burst from beneath his armpits. A stream of hair flowed across his jugs to his abdomen before culminating in a visible treasure trail. Not only did the new path of hair indicate his increased testosterone levels, which had to be as large as half the team’s, but it also indicated virility. Brian was a man. Or at least he was growing into a huge one. And he was loving every second.

Throwing up both of his skinny arms into a flex sent more testosterone through his body. Brian watched his biceps explode with muscles, becoming larger. And larger. And larger, until eventually, they were larger than everyone else on the team. Years of training under the iron bar entered his mind and Brian remembered how long it had taken him to become this strong. An eight pack burst through his slender abdomen while also causing it to broaden in size. Brian looked at his tight muscly core. Like his arms, they felt eerily familiar, like they were created through strenuous physical activity. His arms felt like lightning bolts filled to the brim with testosterone that spread across his body like a static charge.

A football came flying through the air accompanied by a player saying “Wood, catch!”

Instinctively, Brian turned around and extended his tree trunk of an arm out to effortlessly catch the flying pigskin. He looked back up just in time to see Jake Thomas walking away. “Nice one, dude!” Jake said as he walked through the door, leaving as quickly as he had entered.

The tight end was one of many players who always tried to catch Brian off guard. They were hardly successful. Brian was a colossal athlete and zealously vigilant. Coach always told him his determination would get him very far in life, sometimes calling him the greatest on the team, which only inflated Brian’s ego.

Before Brian could question that thought, he felt a numbness in his hand where he was holding the football. His hand, once demure, was palming the football no problem. His hands grew meatier before his eyes, accentuated by new calluses and hair above the knuckles. They had to be the size of baseball mitts and were perfect for catching and throwing footballs with ease. That was an exciting thought.

“UNNNGHH, no!” he bellowed helplessly, resisting the side of him that was yearning for football practice.

As the immense young man stood up from the bench, his muscles shook like jello, before they solidified into hardened, insurmountable walls. Where there had once been a scared boy, there was now a hulking Adonis who was obsessed with his muscles. As Brian continued to flex his arms and twiddle his pecs, a rush of blood poured into his cock, causing his arousal to return stronger than ever.

“Oh…fuck,” he trembled with carnal anticipation. His much deeper voice echoed through the locker room. Its new baritone register was rendered completely unrecognizable from what it once was. That was hot. He sounded just like…just like…one of the boys. And he didn’t mind.

Brian’s husky bulge was on prime display for anyone who happened to walk by. His cautious expression shifted into a satisfied grin as he reached down to stroke it. Then all of a sudden, it disappeared beneath a layer of white. The new fabric extended from his waist to just below his knees, giving him a brand new pair of football pants. Brian chuckled to himself, unaware of how numb he was feeling to the changes.

The new player’s cock twitched as his ass inflated behind him. Two perfectly muscular globes stretched his compression shorts to the limit before they were swallowed by his new pants. Just like his pecs, his butt was a wall of muscle, on display in everything he wore. And Brian could remember every squat, leg lift, and all of the hard work he put in to become huge. His butt was the biggest in the team for a reason. His reputation of going hard on leg days warranted impeccable results.

He laughed again, although this one came out much...slower-sounding. Brian’s disdain for dorky meathead jocks was being replaced by an understanding of them. After all, these were his bros and their sense of camaraderie was unbreakable. As a senior, he was one of the strongest on the team and they all worshiped him.

But this...this wasn’t right. Brian was a scrawny goth sophomore who wanted to disappear in a crowd. But this new body and personality were the polar opposite. His sheer size and athletic prowess were impossible to ignore. He began to pace around subconsciously, transfixed on the way his body moved.

“Whuh!” Brian exclaimed as he tripped on something on the floor. He flung his arms out and caught his fall by palming the locker, which had somebody’s navy blue shirt sleeve sticking out of its closed door. When Brian stood back upright he noticed the black fabric was sticking around his wrist. When he tried to pull it off, it stuck to his arm like glue. The blue fabric then began crawling up Brian's forearm with impressive speed. A few moments later, it had reached his elbow, concealing his muscular arm in a brand new shirtsleeve. However, it didn't stop covering him up and continued to Brian's shoulders before cascading down over his bare chest. His new skin-tight workout shirt did nothing to hide Brian's beefy pecs.

“Oh shit,” Brian whispered to himself as he ran a hand over his pants. "I...I look just like a player."

Although the utterance had been subconscious, Brian found him remembering more instances where the football players turned to him for advice, like he was a mentor towards them. With each recollection, pieces of a black jersey appeared over his workout shirt. The number "5" appeared in a rich cerulean blue color in the middle of his chest. It was slightly curved over the giant breadth of Brian's pecs. The word "CHARGERS" appeared above it in the same blue color. Anyone who would've seen the impenetrable wall of uniformed muscle that was Brian would've assumed he was a football player.

“FFFFUCK!” the growing jock cussed as he placed his massive hands above his saucer-like pectorals, wasted in his masculinity. Too preoccupied with himself, he didn't notice his black satchel moving on its own. It started to contort on its own, its rectangular shape became more cylindrical and the leather material turned into nylon and polyester. Instead of schoolwork and books, the bag was now filled with Brian's change of clothes, which were nothing like his goth attire. His wardrobe was like Michael's, full of pastels and board shorts that showed off every curve of his.

The bag twitched and leaned against Brian's foot. When he looked down, he was met with a new light gray duffel bag that had the word “CHARGERS” on the side next to a cartoon lightning bolt. He smiled broadly. Even just seeing the team name excited him. He felt an odd sense of responsibility towards that name like he was a leader of it or something.

The letter "C" embroidered itself over the top left corner of his jersey, revealing the validity of that thought. When Brian looked down, his smile only broadened. He remembered that he was the team captain and the star quarterback. The Chargers were his team and he was going to lead them to glory this season. "Shiiiiit…" he muttered with disbelief as he ran his hands over his massive body, caressing every muscle of his body.

A piece of Brian hated the thought of being around football players, but another part loved it. His fear was reforming into adoration. As a captain, he was able to work with the coaches to guide his team to victory. And judging by how well the season was going so far, he was doing a great job. He inspired his teammates every day. Brian’s confidence was contagious and his devotion to the team was unyielding. He wasn't afraid of the jocks anymore. The thought of leading them was much more exhilarating.

“Looking good, Wood!” a familiar-sounding voice said. “You ready?”

“HELL YEAH!” Brian Wood replied with impressive volume. It was at that moment his black hair was saturated with gel and dyed itself blonde. Brian itched his nose, unaware that it grew slightly larger after his finger touched it. His face also resculpted itself, the boyish shape taking hold to the chiseled visage of a real meathead. At one point, Brian would’ve hated what he looked like, but that time was past. It only felt natural that his face should be much more square if he was to lead the players. His boxy face made his gaze more domineering than ever. Even Brian's forehead expanded a little wider. Everyone knew he was the team's alpha.

Unseen to him, the word “WOOD” formed in blue letters on the back of his jersey. Going to Woodside High School had been a perfect coincidence for Brian Wood. The guy was also a horny bastard who often lewdly joked about his own wood to the team. It was expected though. Men are ruled by their cocks and Brian was no different. After being around a team of equally horny guys with a similar sense of humor, they always made crude jokes about their dicks. The bulge in the team captain's pants swelled even larger, leaving no discretion that the blonde-haired dreamboat was well-endowed.

Michael Palmer walked up closer, like a prince eyeing a knight. Brian returned the wordless glance, unaware of the sensation of his chin jutting out. The star quarterback and linebacker had stellar chemistry together, they were able to be serious on the field and chummy when off of it.

"You look great," Brian blurted out. He hadn't meant to, but looking at Michael was getting him riled up. He liked the way he filled out the uniform.

"Right back at you, dude," Michael replied as he stepped right in front of Brian's face. Brian's cock twitched when he realized that he was slightly taller and now even wider than Michael. The two were so close now that they could feel each other's breath.

Instinctively, Brian touched Michael's bulge. Michael grunted a little bit and his erection twitched in Brian's hand.

Brian's cock stirred at that sound and the vulnerable look in Michael's eyes. It felt like time was frozen. Not only was he making the largest guy in school moan, but he was also getting his affection. Brian didn't even like guys, but looking at Michael's amatory expression was changing that. Michael was a macho beefcake like him who was just so sensational to look at.

Suddenly, Michael pulled him in close with impressive strength. The linebacker's lips met the star quarterback's as he tightly gripped his shoulders. Brian returned the kiss, loving the feeling of being the only guy in school larger than Michael. A fire inside the two was challenging their heterosexualities.

"Oh, Brian," Michael breathed as their kissing intensified.

Upon hearing his name, Brian felt something amiss. That name didn't sound right. It didn’t match the masculine prowess that was overtaking his brain. The newly minted football player had a rare moment of fear when he couldn’t recall what people called him.

Adrenaline coursed through the two mens' veins as they savored each other's taste and smell. Memories of a vehement relationship flooded their minds. Dating each other over the last year while playing on the team together had strengthened their bond to a level they had never imagined possible. The nameless jock's lips thickened as they pressed against Michael's. He loved Michael so much. Their love of football allowed them to properly separate their personal and professional obligations to each other. Even the team was cool with their relationship, which was so validating. The nameless jock loved his team, proud to be one of the boys when he was on the field. And at that moment, Zach Wood remembered his name. The two broke the kiss, both with a newfound and intense infatuation for one another.

“Holy shit, Michael!” Zach replied when the two pulled away. He caressed his semi-hard cock. "We need to stop doing this before practice."

"Uh-huh," Michael breathed in agreement. His heart was beating fast as he was going through his own internal turmoil. He could've sworn he had a girlfriend, but he had no idea what her name was. The harder he thought, the more memories with Zach resurfaced. They were a pair of sex-obsessed, macho jock boyfriends who couldn't get enough of each other's minds and bodies on and off the field. Their sex was tantric and their affection towards each other was unyielding.

Michael took a sip from his Gatorade bottle. The locker room was much quieter now and all of the other guys must be on the field.

"You ready, Mikey Palms?" Zach asked, nudging him with his shoulder.

"Of course babe," Michael replied as he shifted his brain to football mode. Usually, the two beefy guys were able to keep their love life away from practice time, but that was getting harder to do. They both loved seeing each other in their uniforms.

"Alright, let's head out," Zach said, excitedly heading towards the open door until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you gotta put your gym bag in your locker, ya gym bag,” Michael quipped as he spun Zach around.

"Oh right," Zach replied as he turned around to grab it off the floor. Sometimes his excitement for the sport caused him to be forgetful. He opened up his locker and placed it inside. "Alright Mikey," he said as he slapped his boyfriend’s butt. "Let's head to practice already."

Michael couldn't agree more. Although later, the two would have to pick up where they left off.

Rendezvous

Browsing through Sniffies, Maurice sighed gruffly. After six or seven weeks of coming up with zero responses, he was ready to throw in the towel. He was lonely, working a dead-end job downtown with no real trajectory or path to self-improvement, living alone in a house crumbling to debris around him. He was hoping one, just one guy would return his advances, just one little victory to put under his belt amongst the plethora of disappointments. He felt the ever watchful eye of his manager looming over him as he sat behind his desk, looking for any reason to have a "meeting" about his efficiency. Scrolling under the desk, he hoped that as long as his work was complete by lunch, he would avoid any unpleasant lectures. Under his breath, he muttered the names of the nearby guys looking for trade.

"BigDaddy69... Cockinator5000... Scatterino... TitsMcGeeTheGreat... Ugh, what the fuck, man. This is bullshit. None of these guys are even interesting to me, and I still can't even get a response." Frustrated, he slammed his phone onto the desk and continued typing away at his spreadsheets. More than anything in the world, he just wanted someone to be there by his side as he weathered the bullshit of the world, but be it his body, his face, his personality, something... there were never any interested parties. As he continued to plug away at the monthly expense report, his phone vibrated against the desk. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Surely his boss couldn't be ready to scalp him for not having an expense report ready before the last day of the month... Dreading the barrage of gaslighting and tedious sanctimony, he slowly grabbed the phone and turned it over, opening his eyes.

!!New Message from: BrotatoChip on Sniffies!!

His jaw dropped to the floor. Besides the ridiculous name, he was floored. This was the first message in months, and it wasn't even someone he'd contacted. He swiped his finger across the cracked screen, opening the Sniffies page immediately. There, in bold, was the message. He cautiously tapped on the profile, and when it popped up, he was even more dumbfounded. He was a hunk! One of those stereotypical dude bros he avoided eye contact with at the gym, naturally handsome, muscles with bulging veins, a bountiful beard, showing off one of the wettest armpits he'd ever seen. The tank top he wore looked equally as drenched, and the dominant scowl on his face immediately brought pause to Maurice. He was definitely emitting Alpha-bro vibes, surely amongst the BO that would waft around him.

Yet, to Maurice, it was immaterial. It was the first fish on the line in quite some time, and he wasn't going to let the moment pass. He scrolled through the profile: 24 years old, 6'3, 195 lbs, 9.5" uncut, fit, gay, vers, jock... quite the stats. Strangely, his bio only had a bunch of emojis one after another. Skeptical, but desperately hopeful, Maurice tapped on the conversation to see what he was sent.

BrotatoChip: Whassup bro! How you doin' today?

Maurice smiled warmly, eager to jump right into the fray. He responded meekly with a generic "Hey how's it going," in hopes that the neutrality of his statement would bely his true excitement. He moved his finger to the lock button, only to have the guy respond almost immediately to him. Maurice raised an eyebrow in intrigue and read the message.

BrotatoChip: It's going good, dude! I just finished going to the gym, working out with some of my bros and trying not to stare at their beefy pecs. Hahahah. What about you, bro?

Maurice grimaced, the guy spoke like a neanderthal. But, beggars can't be choosers. At least he was nice to look at. He crafted a careful reply.

Maurice1280: Ugh. I’m stuck at work. The daily grind, you know? Would much rather be there!

BrotatoChip: Aw, I'm sorry dude. The grind is the worst. I hope your boss lets you leave early to go hit the gym instead! But it sure is dope of you that you still took the time to chat with me! I'm Chip, by the way.

Alright, that was kinda cute. He was no Lord Byron, but at least he seemed sincere. At least, as sincere as you can be from typing behind a phone screen.

Maurice 1280: I'm Maurice! And if I could skip out I would. Feels like a better use of my time ya know? It sounds really nice to spend time with friends at the gym.

BrotatoChip: Oh fuck yeah, bud! We really get pumped! And after, I'm always sure to take off my worn-out tennis shoes that reeeeally stink, and then I don't bother to wash them because I know a bro will come and sniff them and love them! Do you like it when the shoes stink, bro?

Maurice sat at his desk, unsure of how to respond. It was rather forward of Chip, certainly. Though, perhaps from the sweaty profile picture and the simple fact that he was on an app called Sniffies would have prepared him for a guy into scentplay. He'd never tried it before, but it wasn't as if he'd had a lot of musky himbos knocking at his door to try it with. He wasn't against it by any means, but it was far from the top of his list of priorities. Yet, for the sake of pursuing the dim lug, he decided to play into it.

Maurice1280: Dude… I fucking love it. Kinda get off on it if I’m being honest!

BrotatoChip: Really? That's hot! I think I'll keep going to the gym without socks, so my feet can get really sweaty and gross, and the shoes are all rank with my hot stank. How does that smell sound to you, huhuhu?

Maurice1280: That sounds... mouthwatering.

BrotatoChip: Heh, thanks, bro… It's nice to know that another guy will be turned on just by sniffing my hot, ripe feet. Man, that's really hot, huhuhu. Maybe you should take breaks during the day and come meet me in the gym parking lot. It's private back there, and the bro air is gonna be hot and sweaty from me and the boys working out, you know?

Was this... Was this an invitation? Really? At last? Was it what he was expecting? No, absolutely not, but who knows what would happen. He sat back and reflected on how many times he'd been ignored, tossed aside, and never given a chance. Perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing to give a shot to the one guy who gave him a chance.

Maurice1280: Oh man… is that… is that an invitation?

BrotatoChip: Yeah dude! I'm gonna be in the parking lot for my one-hour rest break after I finish these deadlifts. I'm gonna be taking my worn-out, rank tennis shoes off after the workout, and I'm looking forward to having your feet slide into them. Think you'll be able to resist the temptation to sniff my bro toes? I know I'm gonna have you gagging with my stinky, sweaty puppies, huhuhu. If you're down, of course!

Maurice felt a strange sense of anticipation. He even started to like the sound of Chip's ideas. He'd try anything once, and if Chip was as friendly as he was on the app, perhaps it could be nice? After all, what's more intimate and sensual than indulging in some body worship? He found himself actually starting to believe the messages he'd exchanged with Chip. He'd read enough Tumblr smut to at least have an idea of what to do. With a blush-tinged smile, he replied.

Maurice1280: I think I could probably sneak away during lunch!

BrotatoChip: Fuck yeah, good idea bro! Nobody would think anything of it if you took an extended lunch break, especially if you're gone for a while…. That's an hour you could be gettin' some quality time if you know what I'm sayin!

Maurice1280: Fuck man, I don’t know if I’d wanna go back to work after something like that. Sounds too good to be true!

BrotatoChip: Heh, that's just cause you haven't had a bro! Or a couple of bros... Huhuhu! I'm sure after I'm done with you, you'll have a whole horde of thirsty, sweaty himbos who always want to sniff your hot, rank feet and worship your huge swole arms.

Maurice1280: Ah... You might be disappointed, then. I'm not really athletic or anything. Just a couple of cardio days at the gym every few weeks for me. I'm no beefcake.

BrotatoChip: You let me worry about that, bro. It's almost my hour break, and I'm feeling pretty worn out. I can't wait to take off my sweaty, stinky shoes and let you come sniff them and slide em on like I know you want to.

This guy was a freak... But it was a change of pace, it was exciting, and he was undoubtedly hot...

Maurice1280: Well, alright then. If you send me the location I'll meet up with you. See you soon!

He waited merely five seconds before a live location was shared with him. The gym was a stone's throw away from the office downtown, walking distance. Maurice shook off the nerves and hit 'plan route.'

---

The summer day was hot- blistering almost, as Maurice made his way down the side alley. The gym was in a warehouse by the docks, some sort of CrossFit specialization. It was a place he'd never venture if not for Chip's rather forward advances. As the alleyway cleared into a wider area covered in shitty, torn up astroturf and miscellaneous kettlebells & tractor tires. He was definitely in the right place. There, just beyond the plastic muscle garden was the parking lot; and hanging around a beat up Supra were four gigantic dudes laughing like hyenas. Among them, arguably the largest of them, was Chip.

He stood a solid 3 or 4 inches above the rest of his comrades, and was just as attractive in person as his photos. That stringy purple bro tank of his showed off his wide, muscular back and massive arms dripping with the sweat of a long gym session. On his huge feet, a pair of extremely beat up Nike Free 5.0 trainers; formerly bright white, and now yellowed with sweat from daily gymgoing since at least 2014 when the shoe came out. Did Maurice know this? Of course not, to him the shoes were on a hot guy, and that's what mattered to him.

Chip was bursting at the seams laughing at Brody's gross joke, tossing his head back as he belched out his booming chortle. As he did, he saw Maurice standing by the gym, looking rather sullen in his cheap button up and khakis. Chip turned around and grinned from ear to ear. The little guy was cute, very much your run of the mill boy next door type, but endless potential. As Chip smiled and waved at him, the other guys around him chuckled to eachother; smirking and ribbing eachother as their leader strode towards the nervous little shrimp.

Maurice smiled and waved back, sheepishly walking toward the Greek God that was jogging at him. The closer he got, the difference in scale became clearer and clearer. Maurice felt like a child compared to Chip, he was at least a foot taller than he, and muscles that doubled him in size. The fact this guy was 24 was unbelievable. Maurice extended his hand to shake it, only to be met with a bear hug by the sweaty giant.

"Oh! Uh, hey there! Good to actually meet you!" Chip dropped Maurice back onto his feet. "Damn, dude that must have been quite the workout, you're drenched!" Maurice looked down at his cleanly pressed work shirt, now patched with sweat marks. Chip smirked and bounced his pecs.

"Yeah dude! I've been going extra hard today with the bros…I just can't stop pumping that iron. Like what you see, right?" Chip winked at Maurice, instantly flushing his face with a deep red. He would do what he had to do to suppress whatever insecurities arose from the difference in his perceived attractiveness, not that Chip would have noticed such shortcomings anyway. Maurice leaned a bit to the right, watching as the hunk's friends stared at them with jeering smiles.

"Yeah... I sure do... I didn't know you were with friends, though." Chip turned, only now realizing how intimidated his little date might feel around a hoard of sweaty muscleheads. He chuckled to himself, and ruffled Maurice's hair.

"Yeah, well, maybe all these guys would like a chance to get in on the action…but only if you want to, bro. If you want to have some time with my big, muscular body all to yourself, I can tell the other bros to take a hike and we can head across the parking lot to the car… If you aren't getting cold feet." Maurice read this for what it was; a challenge. A playful one at that, but he could tell that Chip was testing his boundaries, but leaving the ball in his court. He came to be with one hot guy for an hour of bliss, but now he had the opportunity for four? Was it dangerous? It was broad daylight, which he hoped would dissuade anyone from doing anything they shouldn't... and if he was being honest with himself, the idea of spending some time with four muscular dudes wasn't entirely unwelcome.

"I mean, as long as I get to be with you I don’t care what other sexy dudes come join in. I came to… hang with you. You take priority here." Chip stood back for a moment, seemingly touched by the earnestness in which Maurice presented himself there. The little guy was putting himself at Chip's mercy, and it was an opportunity he wasn't going to pass up. Though in the back of his mind, cogs began to turn.

"Yeah, the fact that such an attractive guy has such a clear attraction towards me and my big, buff, stinky body… well, that kind of has me feeling like the best thing since bottle preworkout. Huhu…." His dim laugh really spoke volumes besides the decibel, Chip wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack. It was somehow endearing to Maurice, and making him feel more secure in being around guys who may have been as sweet as this dumbass. Chip threw his arm around Maurice; the hot, wet hairs in his pits sitting just to the right of his face, as the duo strutted toward the car. Chip's friends started high fiving and whispering amongst eachother: to them, another fun little conquest under their jockstraps. To Chip, on the other hand, perhaps something more.

The crowd parted as they arrived at the car, moving their quiet cheering a foot or two away from the car. Maurice smiled and waved at them, which had all three of them winking, flexing and puckering their lips. Idiots, all of them, but harmless for now. As Maurice opened the car door, the intensely hot and humid air from inside seeped out like molasses from the car. The scent was ripe, like an entire NBA locker room condensed into a little Supra sedan in the baking summer sun.

Maurice took a seat in the car, and Chip plopped down in the driver's seat. He turned to his puny Sniffies date awkwardly smiling at him. Smirking, Chip shut the door, and began to slip off his beat up sneaker. Almost immediately, the stink in the car intensified. Like a mixture of blue cheese and camembert after being microwaved. Chip lifted his sweaty bare foot onto the dash, flexing his massive bicep.

"Fuck, bro. Those puppies are ripe! Here, take a whiff!"

That smile… Those huge arms… Those size 15 monster feet… And that smell… Maurice couldn't have a single coherent thought outside of 'please let me have them.' With Chip grinning his pearly whites, Maurice brought his face just close enough to feel the heat radiating from the meaty sole. Just as he was preparing to take his breath, he felt Chip's calloused fingers on the back of his head, and his face soon collided with the sticky sole of his foot. Outside of the car, the three other jocks watched intently, pawing at their growing bulges as Maurice began to feverishly sniff their bro's ripe foot. They were all too familiar with the scene, as they all savored their moments not just with Chip but eachother as well, and they were drooling to get in on that action.

"Fuck yeah, bud! Get some of that good shit. Stick your tongue out!" Maurice did as he was told, letting his tongue gently slide up the sole of Chip's foot. Over callouses, between his toes, suckling on every fragrant inch of the foot, Maurice had never felt more alive than in that moment. The hours… no, days spent wasting away at that shitty office, when he could have been savoring Chip's flavorful body. As Maurice savored the salty, funky flavor of his feet, Chip leaned back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head and taking in the smell of his own ripe pitsweat. By the time Maurice had come up for a breath of air, he turned to the window to see the three jocks leaning in against the window of the car, their sweaty dicks all being out and in hand. Chip smirked, "What do you think, bud? Think you're ready for a party?" Maurice turned and smiled.

"Let's go." Those two simple words were enough to send Chip into a frenzy, as he grabbed Maurice by the head and pulled him into a deep kiss. The bros outside start cheering, and pulling at the door. Chip took no time in pulling both himself and Maurice into the backseat, while the other three piled in the car: two in the front and one joining them in the back. Maurice was so enamoured with Chip's sensual kisses and firm gropes, he was oblivious that the jocks began to strip their gymwear from their sweaty, muscular bodies, tossing them into a pile in the back as they began to swap spit and sniffs.

The car windows were fogging from the heat, and in the dead of summer that is tough to do; but the humid stink of four massive sweaty jocks and one normie was enough to make the interior of the car feel like the Amazon Rainforest. Sticky, hot, sweaty, wet, and musky, the jocks began to pry the clothes right off of Maurice as he continued to suck Chip's tongue. Before long, he was bare ass naked, with meaty hands all over his body; roaming, groping, squeezing, and pumping. Chip pulled away from the kiss for just enough time to let Maurice moan from the pleasure.

"Whaddya think, bro? Wanna roll with us?" Maurice could only squeak out an affirmative, as he began to suckle on one of the jock's fingers. Chip let out a hardy chuckle. "Fuuuuuuuck yeah, bro. I'm gonna make you one of us. I wanna show you just how good and manly it feels to be a gay meathead like us! I wanna get you dripping with sweat and smelling like a man. I wanna see your muscles pumped, your body pumped, your brain pumped……all with man musk, huhu…." Chip nodded to the other jocks in the car, it was time for some initiation. One by one, the jocks picked an article of their gym clothes from the pile in the backseat. Maurice suddenly felt a warm, wet fabric being shoved down his arms. He opened his eyes, and one of the bros had slipped their sweaty white tank top onto his slim frame. Before he could protest, not that he would have at that point, Chip had taken the liberty of straddling him, pulling down his shorts and yellowed jockstrap to reveal his thick, musty uncut dick. Maurice had little time to admire the easily 11 inch cock before Chip plowed it straight into his mouth. The taste was tangy, salty, cheesy, and irresistible as Chip made easy work of the man's throat and mouth.

As the rhythmic face fucking continued, another jock slipped their ripe jockstrap and black shorts onto Maurice, leaving just enough room up top for his cock to be sucked by the hunky lug. The last one pried the sweaty cap from his head, slamming it down onto Maurice's head as Chip thrust forcefully into his mouth. The scene was surreal- this normal guy decked out in four dude bro's nasty gym gear as they pleasured him: his mouth gagged by Chip's musty cock, his own cock being sucked, his own ass being eaten, his own pits being huffed... A pervert's dream. Chip's pace began to hasten, his breath becoming bated and shallow.

"Ohhh fuck, bro... You ready? Fuuck I'm gonna blow one big ass load into you. You want that? You want my seed inside you, bro?" Maurice could only say yes with his eyes, looking Chip directly in those sapphire eyes with the faintest gleam. Huffing as he finally began to climax, Chip let out one final grunt: "Welcome to the club, bro!" Immediately, the floodgates opened. The first torrent of Chip's potent spunk went barreling down Maurice's throat, a gush that lasted a total of 10 seconds uninterrupted. More and more cum came flooding into Maurice's gut, Chip's sweaty balls still slapping against his chin as they pulsated. It started in his belly, as it inflated fairly quickly with the spunk, expanding like a water balloon filled with cum. The jocks began to knead at it, smirking as the seed started flowing out into his muscles and bloodstream.

From the bulbous gut, a firm six pack of abs popped out one by one as the cum squeezed into their muscle fibers. Two prominent cum gutters quickly followed suit, along with a quickly inflating ass beneath him. Maurice could feel himself being inundated, taken over by Chip's essence, but he was so in the thralls of euphoria and gleeful at the prospect of this being his new life that it couldn't matter any less. Two juicy pecs pillowed out, as his back expanded with thick, carved muscle. His fingers began to swell, and callouses began to develop on his palms while his biceps and triceps quickly swelled with jiggling muscle and bulging veins. His legs swelled quickly, his calves becoming hard as rocks and his thighs firm with a nice layer of fat just as bristly hairs began to sprout from his skin.

"Ahh, bro, your legs are getting huge, huhu…. those tight shorts are almost cutting off your circulation bro! Ahh man, you look so damn good now, huhu……your body looks huge and muscular and sexy as hell…" Chip's dim-witted voice soared over the moans and sounds of wet kissing and stretching skin as more cum shot out of his musky rod like a geyser. Maurice's feet began to swell and crack, growing and expanding quickly. Size 10... Size 11... Size 13... Size 14... Finally filling up with as much seed as possible at Size 15, they immediately began to emit a ripe funk of their own, one that did not go unnoticed. Maurice felt tongues lapping at the sweat dripping from his meaty soles, a feeling that began to feel so right and so empowering. He grabbed the back of Chip's firm ass, pushing his face harder against his groin, milking every drop from his bro's ripe cock.

The spunk had filled every possible crevice and fiber of him, so as it started to slowly rise up his throat, pooling in his mouth, he could feel the pressure growing in his head. His cheeks started to swell as the cum had no where else to go, the pressure growing and mounting against the top of his palette. Chip smirked with one final and extremely rough thrust. Something popped in the back of his head, and the cum rushed up into his skull. His head started to feel tight and malleable, as his features began to shift and change. His brows lowered and thickened, his lips swelled into plump kissers, his nose widened and the veins in his muscular neck prominently bulged out. As Chip slowly removed his cock from Reece's dripping mouth, his dim witted, empty brained bro could only smile and pant.

"Shiiit, bro. Lookin' fine as fuck, aren't we?" Chip smirked as he looked down at his creation with pride. Reece smiled as he panted.

"Yo, bro. That shit was fire! Look at me, bro!" Reece slid upright, flexing his new muscles with that trademark emptyheaded look on his face.

"Lookin' like a real bro now, Reece! Just one thing missing." Chip turned to their bros in the front seat, grinning from ear to ear as his stanky sneakers were placed in his hands. "From me to you, bro." Chip slid the sweaty sneakers onto Reece's feet, a perfect fit.

"Awww, bro!" Reece chided, as he pulled Chip in for a kiss. The two locked lips, pulling eachother tightly together while their friends went to town on eachother.

---

The gym attendant had plenty of experience with the group of dipshits plowing eachother in the parking lot. It wouldn't be the first time someone came in to complain about the car rocking from side to side with an orgy of men inside. He trudged across the hot asphalt toward the Supra, windows completely fogged up. He sighed as he knocked on the car window, watching as the rocking of the car quickly subsided and a guffaw of dim witted chuckles quietly rang out inside the car.

"Okay, Chip. Hope you got your nut, but the neighbors are complaining again... Open up." The window slowly rolled down, and a thick haze of manscent gushed out of the opening. Inside, five ripe, ripped dudes all smiling and snickering- one of which was unfamiliar. "New guy, then Chip?" Chip smirked.

"Yeah, Clint. This is my boy Reece. He's probably gonna join the club. Right, Reece?" The massive stud of a man in the drivers seat leaned over the armrest, licking the cum off of his moustache.

"Yeah, bro. This place seems tight. I'll be in to sign up in a second, unless..." Reece's sultry gaze stared holes into Clint's soul, as he leaned in closer, gripping Chips prominent bulge in the passenger's seat. "Unless you wanna hop in with us, bro? Bet I'll get you sweating before the sun goes down."

Grindr Gold

This is a rewrite of Rozza’s rewrite of Tinder Gold. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

“Fuck, why don’t you guys respond!”, Tom moaned as he fell back into his bed. Another guy had just gone and ghosted him, the sixth one this week. Tom was pissed and confused as to why he was failing with so many guys. It was true that he didn’t have the looks. Average height, average hair, average face. A face dotted with acne, on top of his unremarkable body, pudgy from years of studying. He was smart, provably so, but also funny and kind. He hoped that would shine through in his bio. Tom went back to his phone and looked over it, and his pics. Maybe there was something he could tweak to make him more attractive. Or it could be a waste of time. All the guys wanted was cheap sex with the man of their dreams, and that was it.

Tom was about to let go of the phone when he saw a new banner at the bottom of the screen, advertising Grindr Gold. “Stop looking for the perfect match - become one!” It totally looked like a scam to Tom, but he had been so unlucky recently that he would consider anything. He tapped the banner, bringing up the purchase screen. It wasn’t very clear to him exactly what they provided for the hefty $250 a month. “Personalized profile to maximize your chance to strike gold.” Whatever. The first month was $10, and he could cancel at any point, according to the page. He could buy it, maybe get a few dates, and then keep the profile as is after cancelling.

He tapped his screen again to pay, ignored a mile of terms and conditions, and finalized his payment. He looked impatiently at the screen as nothing happened. Everything was the same. A scam after all. A few seconds later there was a knock on the door, giving Tom a jump scare. He got up to go and see who it was, still pissed about his lost $10. He opened the door and almost dropped his jaw on the floor. Outside the door was the most handsome twink he had ever seen, online as well as in the flesh. A shorter, younger boy with bronzed skin, blond hair in a quiff, sparkling green eyes, and just as sparkling, white smile. He was wearing gold shorts, trendy shoes, and nothing else, showing off the rest of his body. It was fit, without being muscular or overly cut, showing hints of definition and abs. His skin was beautifully, evenly tanned and smooth, and like the rest of him looked perfected with many products. His face had been cleansed of any impurities and facial hair, while his golden gelled up quiff was flanked by freshly buzzed sides. Tom’s brained blanked, partly because of the unexpected surprise visitor, partly because of this visitor in particular, and partly because the blood rushed into his quickly stiffening dick.

“Tom, I assume?” the twink queried.

Tom was speechless, struggling with where to look. When he looked at the face his eyes were drawn into the green eyes, and it felt rude and awkward to gaze into an unknown mans eyes like that. Anywhere else on the body was worse. Look at the nipples? The golden bulge?

“I am Grindr Gold, professional dater and dating expert, and I am here to assist you. May I come in?” Tom was struggling to comprehend that Grindr Gold wasn’t a software update, or a service feature, or even a scam, but a real, life something seemingly teleported to outside his door.

“Yeah… Yes! Yes, of course. Step right in.” Tom moved out of the way and waved towards the interior of the messy apartment. “Are you some kind of dating coach? Will you get me laid?”

“Of course! I am Grindr Gold, and I never disappoint.” Gold was slowly turning, taking in the sight of Tom’s small student apartment.

“Wait, your name is Grindr? No, nevermind. What’s first?”

“Take off your shirt and have a seat”, he motioned towards Tom’s study armchair. “We know exactly what everyone is looking for, what types get hookups, what the supply and demand is. I’m here to improve supply where it is needed the most. Firstly, no one wants another post-college graduate. There are plenty of them around. They want a freshly minted fuckboi.“

What did he just say now? Did he just say fuckboi? No way Tom was going to be like one of those dumbasses, who just existed to get laid. But before he could object, Gold began waving his hands. Tom became dizzy and distorted as energy waves from Gold’s hands flew into him. His skin vibrated, turning back years. His fat mostly melted away, leaving a little around his stomach. The hair on his chest receded back into his skin, softening out his pecs. The hair on his legs thinned out as well, but remained spread out for his age. The lines and bags on his face, caused by all the stress of college, faded. His looks had gone from mid-twenties PhD student to a youthful 18 year old.  

“What the fuck! This isn’t what I wanted! I look like a dumb teenager!”, Tom shouted in a decidedly younger voice, as he saw his reflection on his phone screen.

“Relax, this is just the first step to getting you laid. Your profile said you are just looking for a hookup, right?”

“Yeah, but not like…”

“I’m gonna do the best I can, making you the most sought after fuck for miles. Let me change your mind on this. If things don’t work out, we can always go for a different look. Now we gonna get you yeeted up…”

Without waiting for a response Gold started massaging Tom’s arms, infusing them with the same energy. Tom laid back as all he could do was relax in Gold’s hands. Gold moved his hands carefully across the entire surface of Tom’s skin, everywhere his hands went hair disappeared. After finishing with his arms, he moved to his chest and then finishing with his legs, removing any stray patches of hair.  Once he was done, the only hair left was around his dick and his pits. Gold focused harder now, causing his hands to vibrate and made a second pass. This time as they swept across Tom’s body they instilled a golden tan with a touch of Italian olive as he rewrote his genetics. His hands swept through the mess of Tom’s hair, changing it into a light, crisp brown. Then he continued down, focusing on Tom’s face, cleansing it of impurities and perfecting his features. Tom’s nose and mouth shrunk, though his lips grew, and eyes turned brown. Gold poked Tom’s nipples causing them to darken and grow slightly. Golds hands then pushed the energy down Tom, doing unseen magic down his pants.

“Now, anyone can be young and pretty, but there are really only two sorts of people looking for a date around here. Alpha males, and those who wish they were. And there is one thing that get both of them going, that invites them to dominate.” Gold stepped back and framed his hands sideways as if to take an invisible picture. Then he quickly slammed his hands together. To Tom, it felt like crashing into a pool of water. All of a sudden he was being compressed. His height fell from 5′10 foot down to a more modest 5'6. His limbs crushed in on themselves to meet his new height. Feet and hands adjusting down as well. His size 10 feet shrank to a cuter 7.5. His loss of height and body hair made him look not just young, but cute. The kind of look that if he got angry people would find it adorable. How on earth was any of this going to get him laid? Gold smiled, sensing his skepticism.

“Patience fam, the best is on the way! I promised I would change your mind.” Gold took one hand and placed it on Tom’s temple and with the other grabbed his small package.

“Wait what are you…. ohhh…” Tom moaned as his muscles slacked and resistance faded. He could feel a strange hum in his mind and a stirring in his dick. The sensation scared him but it was also too pleasurable to fight. Tom’s hair began to change, his sides faded down so you could see his skin, while the hair on the top also shortened, before collecting into a cute ruffle. Tom’s pecs remained small but the remaining fat converted into muscle giving him a toned look. His arms swelled with strength and pudgy stomach shrank into a faint but hard six-pack. At the same time, his small dick began to grow, gaining inches. His facial features became more pointed, eyes darkening with hunger and lust in them, and his mouth curled into a pout smile, with his lips puffing up into a pseudo duck shape unless consciously pulled back.

Old Tom would be embarrassed at him now, but Tommy was swimming in horniness, as he began to lust for boys and sex. Any knowledge he had gained, and dreams of careers faded and were replaced with a desire for screwing every boy in town. Gold’s smile transformed into a grin.

“One last thing to make you a proper fuckboi!” Gold said as his energies forced themselves into Tommy one last time. Two shiny studs pierced his ears, glistening in the sunlight. A golden bracelet appeared on his left wrist. Tommy looked down, feeling his dick still growing and tingling, and saw Calvin Klein underwear peeking out from a pair of baller shorts, with slowly filling bulge.

“Ahhhhhhhh fuck boooooooooi!” Tommy screamed in his soft, boyish voice as he came, filling his underwear with boy cream. Posters of video games vanished, replaced by posters of boys bands, athletes and cars. His new idols and interests. His computer shrank and changed into a worn-out basketball and books evaporated, replaced with sports gear, outdoor equipment and playboy magazines.

Having done the final touches on wardrobe, accessories and interior decoration, Gold turned to Tommy. “I have a new Grindr bio ready to go for you. Just need a new photo to update your profile with. You should take it with your shirt off. Do it somewhere public, like an elevator or shopping mall, so you look easy and cheap. It’s fucks you want after all, not a boyfriend.”

I got some dirty motocross boots on my doorstep today with a note from Coach: "Great job on the track, here's a pair of my lucky boots." I I don't know how to feel about a used pair of boots, but Coach is always looking out for me. He knows I go through my gear quickly and these boots are a huge upgrade from my current pair. As the star motocross rider for his racing team, I'm not surprised he wants to show me some love. Some on the team joke he gives me more attention because they think he's crushing on me. That's all jealous bullshit I pay no mind to. Coach knows I don't swing that way.

I walk out to my garage to try on the boots. They're definitely a few sizes too big. Coach is a bigger guy, and I don't see how I could wear these for my next race. I slide into the boots and there's quite a bit of space in them.

"How do you like the new boots?" I look up to see Coach standing in my garage with a smile on his face.

He's never showed up at my place before. I'm more concerned how he found his way here, but feel a little inferior standing in his much bigger boots.

"I just tried them on. Thanks so much man, but they feel a little big on me."

"I expected that, but I have some more stuff for you that might help. Figured I'd drop it off personally." He pulls out a pair of bike pants covered in a layer of dirt. "These may be a bit bigger on you, but try them on. They're my special pair and I've had some great rides in them."

Maybe he's on to something I'm not seeing and this is a learning moment. I slide out of the boots and my jeans to slip on his pants. Just like boots they're hanging off me. I try to slip the boots on the boots again. Maybe the pants will fill in the boots some.

"Uhm, I don't know man. They may get caught up in the bike."

Just after I said it, I start to feel a growing surge of energy coming up through the soles of my feet. It's like static electricity tingling all around them. My feet are beginning to pulse and stretch out to fill in the boots. It feels like someone's massaging them and they're really starting to mold to the boots. My feet must now be a size 13!

The static is moving up my legs and I'm overwhelmed with pleasure. I stifle a moan as they begin to inflate my calves and quads. The pants are closing in and the cloth is now hugging me.

"Of fuckkkk" I'm feeling my ass bubble and fill out the back of the pants. My crotch has lightning running through my dick and I feel it begin to bulge and swell. I'm so fucking horny and look up to see Coach. He's got a smirk on his face and there's something really intriguing about him. I steady myself by leaning on my bike as I'm taking in all of his features. I'm seeing him through a new light and he's actually pretty fucking hot.

What would it feel like if he brushed up against me? Why am I thinking this? Oh fuck there's a jolt of lightning going through my ass. My hole is throbbing with energy and I'm breathing heavy like I'm an animal in heat. I slide the pants down to my ankles and push out my ass. Maybe he'll help a guy out.

He walks up and slides his hands down my boxers to find my hole. I find myself leaning back into his chest and let out a guttural moan as he slides his finger into me. I have pre flowing out of my dick as he begins to rub my prostate from the inside. He's got me hooked, and I'm completely under his control. He leans in and whispers into my ear "Prepare for the best ride of your life."

Man-Candle

Under the guise of a gag-gift Chad gives his bookish friend a candle based on his own b.o. Little does Stephen know, as soon as he lights the wick he sets off to join the jock in sweaty abandon.

Very musk forward Jock TF! Hope you enjoy this story of Stephen's scent-based (new)self-discovery, Best! -Occam

His ears ring with tinnitus as he opens the gift. It’s as if an explosion has gone off as he tries to process the pancake in his hands. Everything in him says to laugh, it’s clearly a gag gift, a Man-Candle? His mouth is dry and all the blood in his head rushes to its other epicenter as Stephen looks up, eyes wide, to the man who by all appearances has given him a candle of his own musk, Chad.

His cocky grin is a perfect likeness of the one on the candle’s label staring up from Stephen’s lap. Chad’s expression grows even smarmier as he winks and raises an arm to smell his pit. Stephen’s face burns red as he sees the clear patch of grey that must have been fermenting all morning, his cock bumps against the package.

Chad’s eyes shoot immediately to the sound and his smirk shifts and an eyebrow’s raised in curiosity, excited that his friend must quite like the gift. Stephen speaks up quickly, lest the two brain cells bouncing around the jock’s skull stumble across any ideas, “What the fuck?” The first volley, bounces off Chad’s steel confidence. The second “what the fuck,” causes an eye narrow as the idea that this may be a misstep finally occurs to him, the third repetition of Stephen’s new mantra apparent gets through through Chad’s thick skull.

The jock’s arm remains raised to scratch his back and Stephen’s cock is more than happy to see the grey patch return and his mind must remain focused on not staring directly at the few pit hairs sneaking above his sleeve. Chad clears his throat awkwardly, “I mean bro… Chicks are always talking about how they love, huh- y’know,” he gestures to the air around him, “my aura. Just thought, you know, uhhh- a dude like you might too?”

The jock braces as he sees Stephen’s eyes narrow as he clearly winds up to somehow lash out. Unfortunately for the twink he takes a deep breath to start and is hit with the full force of the man’s ‘aura,’ it catches him off guard and underneath the package his cock pushes again. Stephen grits his teeth and averts his eyes as he tries to hide his desire, “Chad! Those are people you’re sleeping with! I’m just- This is-” Stephen does everything in his power to quiet his lust as he finishes, “Why would I want this?” 

Chad tongues his cheek and juts his stubbled jaw. Scratching his meaty stomach in thought, Stephen can hear the hairs dragged underneath the jock’s tight shirt. Making up his mind Chad decides to speak on the elephant, or moreover the trunk, in the room. Nodding to the gift poorly hiding Stpehen’s erection, Chad shrugs “I mean bro, seems like you’re enjoying it just fine.” 

“Jesus Christ, fucking straight men!” As unfortunately turned on as Stephen is from the gift and the hunk he has long tried to not be attracted to, at the highlighting of his out of control cock he finds the will to defend his paltry dignity. Though instead of speaking up as his mind is not running on all cylinders, his hands instead reach for anything not breakable to hurl at the man still smirking.

Pillows fly at the man as he continues to try and explain his thoughts, “Yo bro! Watch it-” he grabs one to use as a shield against the continued volley, “I mean I can take it back if you want!” Stephen’s dreams of salvaging dignity perhaps fall to the wayside as this remark causes the hardest throw yet. Chad smirks behind the pillow and finally gets to the door, “Whatever dude! I’ll see ya later! Once you’ve cooled off a bit-” 

Chad stands behind the closed door with a shit-eating grin on his face, straight men huh. Awfully dismissive of the bi jock’s identity but whatever. He listens to Stephen huff and unbox the candle through the wall, unaware that the real gift is to come when he finally lights that bad boy up. Whenever the pair get drunk enough it always devolves into Stephen wishing he’d hit the gym more and Chad begging for his friend to join him. He’d love nothing more than a gym bro he can fuck, and soon enough, unless Stephen has the strength to nip his blue balls in the bud, both wishes are to be granted.

It does not take long for already riled-up Stephen to give in to his curious urges. As soon as the scent of Chad in the air dissipates and he hears the front door of his apartment close, the countdown begins. Stephen stares at the obnoxiously smug photo of Chad on the candle and narrows his eyes, “I mean surely it’s a bit? It can’t actually smell like him specifically? Seems hm, expensive to do.” 

He bites his lip as he shakily goes to remove the lid, driven by a mind less than conscious and more than hungry. Mouth on the precipice of watering, as soon as the seal is cracked the scent washes over him like a tidal wave. Somehow more powerful, more alluring than the real thing. Rich and grimy, and indisputably the essence of Chad distilled into waxen form.

His eyes are glazed over and his mouth is now pooling with drool. It's anyone’s guess as to how the candle gets lit, but so it does. Stephen falls back onto the couch as his hands struggle to free his cock quick enough from pants that force it down at an awkward angle. It finally bounces free, flinging more pre than he’s ever produced upward. Droplets land just shy of his own face as his mouth falls wantonly open and his hands begin their gleeful work.

The creation of Eau De Chad was not light work, the boiling down of man into a single candle is quite the ask. Perhaps even more so than the transformative magic that it is to instill in Stephen. Within the candle are notes from every musky epicenter of Chad’s being, more than powerful enough to distract Stephen as he begins his journey into a musky jock’s shoes himself.

Foremost of the mind-numbing notes that the lost man is bathing himself in is perhaps the one he’s smelled the least. As strong as in his jock after a workout, sweaty pubes and dripping pre. The medley of scents from Chad’s crotch is so powerful that even without clearly even knowing the source it’s on the tip of Stephen’s tongue, much like he would dream to have on his tongue in reality.

Each breath pulling him deeper than the last, Stephen continues to paw at his cock now free to the open, musky air. With each kneading thrust his hands struggle to encompass his dick as it begins to change. Years of pushing down primal desires for his friend, the Adonis, evaporate into the air as he pictures himself working Chad’s cock. Breathing and licking the heady swear straight from the source.

He imagines working the larger man’s spit-covered cock and with each new image in his mind his own beast begins to reform. Dripping more pre than he’s produced in his life up to this point, his hips thrust into wanting hands as his dick thickens and spears high into the air. Lengthening to press against his sternum, veins bulge and criss-cross across its length as its head regrows a foreskin he never had the chance to enjoy.

When his smaller hands, unable to truly satisfy or encompass his new rod, shift down to try and cup balls bulging larger and pumping him full of masculinity, he hears them scratch against the new jungle of growing pubes. Though the jock tries to keep his chest relatively hairless, under the belt hair growth is wild enough to more than make up for it, and as Stephen begins changing into his new musky lover, he seems to be of the same persuasion.

The candle wick flickers as a new scent begins to rise in prominence. This one Stephen recognizes all too well, though usually poorly masked under cheap deodorant, the scent of Chad’s pits could never be truly hidden. His mouth waters as the scent washes through him and his whole body contorts in pleasure. When his own pits begin to itch he gasps and for the first time opens his eyes to find an impossibly large cock hanging over his thin thighs. His mouth quivers into a smile as the line between dream and reality shifts muddy.

For now though, for the pit fiend there is only one thing to do. He raises his arm and gasps as he sees his few pit hairs lengthening, while in between each one a few darker curls make themselves at home. Stephen forces his head into the sweaty spot and hungrily sniffs. Nose tickled by the growing jungle he moans as he encounters his own changing scent, currently overcoming his own, usually superfluous, deodorant it is but a pale imitation of Chad’s. Though it races to be something equivalent, no, greater. 

He continues taking deep breaths, switching between the candle burning strong and his own pit as his musk continues to heighten and shift. With each needy sniff it becomes clear that his odor is not the only part of him shifting. Previously undeveloped arms cramp as muscle begins to pile on. Veins pulse down their center as biceps that have scarcely known strain burn as muscle fibers break and reform to create an impressive peak.

Stephven’s face suddenly contracts into a smirk that he never quite understood before now as his arms force themselves into a pose. Flexing and exposing his newly hairy pits in what he now knows as a front lat spread, he almost laughs as his heady powerful musk begins to overpower the scent burning off the candle. 

Having not actually left the apartment, Chad puts an ear to the door as Stephven’s laughter and moans rise in volume and deepen in tone. He creaks open the door and is almost physically hit with the wave of musk as it pours out like a fog from Steven’s bedroom. His own brand mixing with the steam of sweat seeping from his new bros pits is almost more than he can handle. With every step his mind strains to not just give into his own hunger to pounce on his half-formed bro sitting in the chair. 

Hearing Steven’s socks fray and tear as a subtle note of foot funk rises to the top of the candle. Seeing his new partner’s legs fill his young-professional pants to their limit, bulging thighs pushing at and swiftly bursting the strained seams. Chad bites his lip almost to the point of drawing blood as he feels his own thighs cramp. He doesn’t know if he’s somehow growing as his new gym bro continues to edge larger or if he’s simply overwhelmed, if his own mind is too clouded from the hunger and musk.

Chad shambles towards Steven, mouth falling open as he sees the shimmering sweaty traps that have torn his shirt open. His eyes can’t look away from the newly heavy pecs that hang over his defined abs, he fights the urge to lean down and lap at the muscle as Steven delights in bouncing them. Sending cascading shadows across his sweaty core, and gaining more mass with every dancing flex.

 Instead, Chad leans in close to Steven’s delirium painted face. “Looks like ya liked my gift after all, huh Steve?” His breath mists across Steve’s face. Its heavy humidity barely overcomes the sweaty atmosphere but the sharp mint and undercurrent of musty breath underneath call to his nose like smelling salts. 

His jaw cracks and widens as the changes that have overtaken him finally begin their work on the final frontier. Unable to control himself Chad licks the man’s face as it prickles with stubble. Steve’s nose breaks then reforms, his brows thicken and cast a shadow over his eyes as they lose both their color and clarity. Deepening to brown as their default state becomes glazed and thoughtless.

Feeling Chad’s sticky tongue drag on his cheek, it’s like he was struck by lightning. Every new bulging muscle in Steve’s body flexes at once and he stands to his new height, able to make direct eye contact with the man staring at him, just inches away.

Steve tackles him onto the bed, knocking over the candle and sending wax flying through the air. The pair are sparingly coated in the Chad scented candle as they begin heavily exploring Steve’s new form. As their mouths that have always been left wanting find new delight, whatever shreds of the old Stephen that are left begin to vacate.

The anxieties and priorities of a small meek man who never let his id loose disappear as he positions himself over Chad. He bites his bro’s lip and thrusts downward as he pins the massive man’s hands above his head. Masked by the pleasure of true release, he doesn’t care as his old self washes away. Memories evaporate like the sweat pouring off his form. He delights in maneuvering across Chad’s form and enjoying his musk from the source.

His tongue dances across sweaty pecs that match his own as his collection of classics on a bookshelf disappear to be replaced by free weights. Steve’s nose finally shoves its way into Chad’s pits as his extensive collection of hygiene and beauty products down the hall clatter to the floor and disappear as they’re replaced by a single bar of clinical deodorant only used for special occasions. Sleeves fall off his wardrobe of cardigans and button ups as sweat stains yellow every garment. The tops throw themselves from hangers while musty shorts and jockstraps heap into a pile on the floor.

Sweat drips from his brow as with each thrust into Chad his mind gives up the ghost. Each impossible wave of pleasure erodes his old self, each drop of sweat an idea gone, each rivulet of pre dripping down his veiny cock a sign of his intelligence drained to increase the muscle mass of his new form. After all besides pleasure nothing matters to him nearly as much as his fucking hot bod.

He feels his balls pulse as every remaining aspect of Stephen’s self shoots down and is quickly converted. His eyes roll back as he cums the few specks of self remaining in a massive load onto Chad’s sweaty abs. After a few moments of total mindlessness from the jubilee of release, Steve awakens to find himself atop his bro and simply laughs, “Huhuh woah dude that’s a fuckin’ fat load huh?” He scratches at his hairy chest and grimaces as he imagines how that’s going to hide his gains.

Seeing the thoughts on his face as the two are evermore on the same wavelength Chad pauses rubbing Steve’s cum onto his abs and offers, “Lookin’ a little rough there bro, wanna go top up and then hit the gym?” Steve smirks as his bro basically reads his mind, “Yoooo totally let’s hit it!” He punches down into his bro as he stands, smirking as he watches Chad’s cock bounce before sprinting into the restroom and prepping to get pumped.

The gym starts to clear out as the pair arrive, judging by the musk already following in their wake no one dares risk having to smell what it’s like once they actually start going. Stopping in the locker room the pair stop publicly groping and sniffing each other long enough to take a pre-workout photo, tongues out as ever. When they see some poor soul who didn’t escape the gym quick enough covering his nose they eye each other up.

“Yo dude, looks like lil’ bro over there’s gotta problem with your stink.” Steve performatively sniffs his pit and shakes his head, “Nahnah bro. It’s definitely yours, check it.” They continue to talk up eachothers musk while the young man can’t help but sit there, stunned into silence. With each new statement the pair swagger closer until their sweat may as well be dripping on the man.

Gasping as he regains awareness just as the pair are almost standing over him, the sharp intake fills his lungs with their musk as a smile creeps over his face. “Looks like lil bro’s likin’ it after all Chad.” Throwing a sweaty arm over his bro, the man who can scarcely recall that his bro hasn’t always been like this laughs, “Huhuh, well obviously bro, no shot anyone’ll be able to resist us soon.” The pair help the hazy man up and begin ushering him through the ropes, eager to have another musky jock in their image and excited to see how far their little group will grow.

Miami Heat

When I told my fam I was goin' to Miami for college, they all said I'd regret it. And yeah, I guess it took some gettin' used to at first.

I remember showin' up to move-in day in jeans, sweatin' my ass off, totally soakin' through my shirt, haha. But my roomie came in clutch. He's been in Florida for, like, his whole life, so he gave me some of his stuff to borrow: tank tops, shorts, slides, Miami gear.

I was walkin' around campus cooler than ever. But damn, bro, that heat is something else. I'd come back to the dorm and be too tired to think, hahaha. My roomie and me just chilled out a lot, talked sports, that kinda stuff. Even started hitting the gym together - his idea. And lemme tell you, the AC in there? Fuckin' heavenly, dude.

Now, between all the workouts and the heat, I'm always sweatin'. Honestly...I kinda like it. Like, I smell good. Sorta...musky? I dunno, but I just stopped wearin' deodorant altogether. 'Cause if I'm gonna get drenched anyway, why bother, y'know? And doesn't sweat, like, keep you cool or somethin'? Yeah, so it all works out...

I gotta few minutes before class, right? Think I'm gonna go send my roomie a progress pic: