Originally Posted On 2019-09-03 By Dumb-and-jocked

Were-Stud

It had all started a few months ago. Isaac had been walking home late at night taking a shortcut through the poorly illuminated local park. Suddenly a series of deep screams and shouts rang out through the night air, stopping him in his tracks. Isaac moved forward, believing it to be the antics of some drunk men nearby. But another set of yells boomed out, closer this time. He walked faster, through the dark park only to see the figure of a man hunched on the ground in the distance.

Concerned for himself and the man, Isaac nervously approached, “E-excuse me? Are you okay?”

Isaac got close enough that the light of the full moon revealed the man to be naked, panting on all fours. “What the hell?” he whispered to himself.

The man slowly stumbled to his feet, unveiling his imposing height and muscular frame. Isaac looked on stunned at the sight of this naked specimen of virility standing mere feet away from him. Tattered clothing hung from the man’s thick, hairy limbs. The man’s chiseled, bearded face oozed masculinity, his eyes tinged with fear and lust. Most eye-catching of all was the enormous, hard cock jutting out from a pair of ruined shorts, surrounded by a nest of dark pubes.

Isaac braced himself as the man seemed to come to his senses and dashed forward. “P-please, get away!” the man yelled as he pushed Isaac out of the way and ran. Isaac tumbled to the ground and the man span back around, realizing how hard he’d pushed the scrawny twenty-eight-year-old. Terrified, the man looked on at Isaac pushing himself off the ground, and continued his sprint away, disappearing into the dark.

“Fuck…” Isaac grumbled, brushing the dirt from his arms only to feel a damp, sticky something as well. He looked at the ground, seeing streaks of the watery, white substance sprayed across the dirt and pavement. “It looks like… Oh fuck, gross!” Isaac bemoaned. He rushed the rest of the way home, noticing how the damp spots on his arms and hands seemed to tingle and burn. He immediately showered to wash the man’s spunk from his limbs and crawled into bed, hoping to forget the experience quickly. Indeed, the events of that night left his thoughts over a few days and life went on. Until the next full moon, anyway…

It was about a month later when Isaac was relaxing on the couch, holding his phone over his face while the light of the full moon glowed through the window when a strange shiver rushed through him. The phone slapped him in the nose and fell to the floor. The lanky man followed suit, rolling to the ground as the twitching and tension spread quickly through his body.

All he could muster were primal moans, growls, and shouts as his body stretched taller. His limbs lengthened like his torso while his feet erupted from his shoes. Muscles swelled across his figure, destroying his slim-cut clothing. His head crunched and groaned as his face shifted and morphed, taking on more masculine properties and becoming incredibly attractive. He screamed in bliss as his cock pulsed larger and larger, shooting cum across his stunning body. Isaac spent that entire first night exploring his new body. Then, as the moon faded from the sky, his body retracted and reverted to how it had always been. This would be the first of many transformations to come.

At first, Isaac wasn’t sure what had happened, or if it would happen again. It was only after the first two transformations that he connected them to the full moon, leading him to prepare so his growing body wouldn’t obliterate his clothing as it did before. It was then that he realized he’d inherited some curse or contagion from the man in the park that night. Logically, he concluded he was contagious too, and so he tried his hardest to resist the overwhelming desire to seek out other men during his transformations. But in that superior form his inhibitions were lower and his personality carefree.

By the third full moon, the changes were becoming stronger. That night he couldn’t resist and found himself in bed with a handsome twink. Part of Isaac was horrified knowing that he was spreading the curse to someone else. But a growing part of him saw the affliction not as a curse, but a blessing. He couldn’t help but be turned on knowing that the cute bottom would morph into a jock stud like himself at the next full moon.

It was only two weeks after the last transformation that Isaac was walking home when he felt the changes strike out of nowhere. It was only early evening, and most definitely not a full moon. He barely made it to his home before he collapsed, incapacitated by the searing pleasure of becoming a masculine stud. From there the transformations grew more haphazard in duration and frequency, striking every full moon, but increasingly in between them as well and lasting longer every time.

After one week where Isaac had transformed four times, the last time during the middle of the day for almost 18 hours, he knew he was likely to change permanently at some stage soon. He wondered how he would manage the contagious nature of his condition if it became permanent, or if the new him would care at all.

It was right at the end of a workday while Isaac was on the phone with his supervisor when the telltale pins and needles moved up his arms, “Oh no…” His boss could hear him groaning down the line.

“Is everything alright?” his manager asked with some concern.

“I… argh… I think I’m coming d-down with something… I should g-go…” Isaac stuttered, slamming the phone down and fleeing the office. He got into his car, trembling as he tried to insert the key.

Sweat dripped from his forehead and stung his eyes as he sped down the roads. “No, no, no not now… Not n-n-nooooooow, augh!” Isaac cried out as his entire body stretched taller in the driver’s seat. He could feel warm cum unload against his leg. There was no holding the changes back any longer.

Isaac’s mouth hung open as he struggled to keep his eyes fixed on the road, resisting the urge to watch his shirt stretching and tearing under the pressure of huge pecs and broad shoulders bulging out from his body. His arms were bloating, expanding the sleeves of the slim-fit business shirt to breaking point. He gripped the wheel tight - the closest thing to flexing he could safely do in the moment - and moaned loudly at the power he felt in his strengthening limbs.

“Augh, god!” Isaac groaned, his hands cramping around the steering wheel as they too swelled in size. His hands broadened while his fingers curled longer and thicker around the pliable wheel.

A red traffic light offered some respite, allowing Isaac to survey the damage so far. His thick, furry pecs were painfully tight against the shirt and visible between the gaps of stretched fabric between buttons. He took the chance to relieve himself of his shirt and feel up the washboard abs that were gradually building above his stomach. “Oh god yes…” Isaac whispered before noticing the green light ahead, “Shit… shit… n-need to get home.”

As he pressed the accelerator he could feel the changes sweep across his legs. His slacks braced against his thighs as they ballooned outward. The swelling legs pushed and squeezed Isaac’s hard six inches which ejected another load. The cheap fabric stood no chance against the expanding muscle, tearing and splitting at the seams as the growth traveled downward. His lower legs followed suit and made short work of the pants, revealing limbs far more muscular than they had been minutes ago while his flat rear plumped up thicker and rounder against the seat cushion.

Isaac wasn’t far from home now. “Oh god,” he moaned as his feet began to enlarge within his shoes. He turned sharply into his driveway and stopped the car hard. He wasted no time dashing flounderingly into his home, hoping no-one saw his shirtless, half-transformed body from the street. He quickly removed the unbearably tight footwear from his feet with a sigh of relief and stripped off what remained of his shirt. He tugged the split and torn slacks and underwear down his long, thick legs and kicked them onto the floor. Long, meaty feet burst through the strained material, causing Isaac to fall onto all fours with a loud bellow. Cum unloaded onto the floor as his socks exploded, the size nine-and-a-halves pushing past size twelve into thirteen, then fourteen.

The next part was always Isaac’s favorite. His six-inch erection trembled as it pushed further out of his body. “Ah! Fuck!” he screamed as it bobbed in the air, pulsing longer and thicker with every passing moment. His cries of joy deepened over the coming seconds while his head reshaped into a more masculine appearance. His plain, average features became angular and broad. His smile was straighter, whiter, and devilishly handsome. Brown eyes shifted to blue and his dark brown hair lightened in tone while a blond stubble dotted his sharpening jawline.

Isaac growled, pumping the air with his now large cock as it continued its growth. With the end nearing, the throbbing member surged to ten inches, veins rippling down the shaft which thickened and stretched. The young man roared in rapture as the head of his pole swelled to match, shooting load after load as his final transformation came to a close.

Still hazy in the afterglow, the studly Isaac rose to his feet, dizzy and stumbling. “I… no, no,” he stammered to himself, feeling the urge to find a sexual partner rising already, “N… Y-yeah… Yeah, fuck yeah… Guys should be thanking me for passing this on!”

Isaac smirked as he thought about how to spread his gift…

Roommate Needed 7

--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---

The barrista across the counter looked annoyed with me as I mumbled my way through my order.

"Um ... I'll have the ... uh ... a medium caramel latte."

"What kind of milk?" she asked, but before I could mutter an answer she continued, clearly anticipating my next question. "We have whole, 2%, skim, or soy."

"Whole milk, I guess."

"What's your name?"

"Um ... oh, right ... um ... Elliot"

She gave me a sour look at started working on my drink. She had a few other orders to make, so it would be a little bit of a wait. I suddenly realized that I really had to go to the bathroom and figured my drink would be ready by the time I got back. The coffee shop was pretty full with people, many of them staring into their computer screens or down at their books. No one seemed to notice me as I walked past.

I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. It was a small room, unisex, with a toilet in the corner, a few hooks for clothes or a backpack, a sink, and a mirror. I hung up my bag and saw my reflection in the mirror. My hair hung down over my eyes, touching the frame of my glass and darkening my pale face and watery eyes. My thin arms hung weakly at my side.

On the edge of the sink, I noticed a pair of sunglasses. I picked them up, thinking I would give them to the store manager for the lost and found. But as soon as I touched them, I felt the urge to try them on, just for a second. I had always worn glasses because I had terrible eyesight, so I never had the chance to wear sunglasses very often. I took off my glasses and saw my reflection become blurry in the mirror.

"What's the use," I thought to myself. "I won't really see how I look in them anyway ... I would need my real glasses."

But, as soon as I put on the dark shades, the reflection in the mirror transformed. Through the lenses, I saw the image of a muscular body, perfectly clear. I pulled off the glasses and the world brightened and blurred. I squinted at my reflection and saw that my shirt was unbuttoned. When I put the shades back on, I saw the image again, but this time noticed the tattoos covering his arms and chest. I looked down at my arms and saw that the same tattoos were winding their way up from my wrists, slowly covering my pale skin. This time when I looked at my reflection, I could see myself clearly, as if I no longer needed my glasses. I quickly pulled off my shirt and watched as the tattoos advanced onto my biceps and down my back. I put the shades on again, looked into the mirror and saw that stubble was bristling on my chin.

"This can't be real," I said to myself. I could never grow facial hair. "This must all be some optical illusion."

But, I rubbed my hand against my chin and felt the rough texture. I tipped the glasses down, expecting to see my body transform back into its original, pale and thin version. But the image stayed the same, only the light had changed back to the bright white of the room. I started flexing, watching my muscles tighten and bulge in the mirror. My chest was smooth and tan, clearly shaven and waxed. But at the base of my chiseled abs was a line of hair leading to my crotch.

I unbuckled my belt and pulled my pants down. There I found my manhood bursting out of a tight pair of sports underwear. I guided my erection into the sink and thrust towards my reflection. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the beautiful face and body in front of me. Was this really me? Was this really my body I was pleasuring? With every stroke I felt my mind relaxing into its new self. I was forgetting ... no ... I was remembering. With a final thrust, a hot stream of cum shot into the sink.

I backed away from sink, pleased with my new body. In my backpack, I found a white tank top and a plaid shirt to replace the one I had thrown on the ground. I changed into my new clothes and headed back out into the cafe.

As soon as I reached the counter, I heard the barrista call out a drink. She looked me straight, then scanned up and down, lingering a moment on my crotch, and then blushed as she said, "Medium raspberry mango protein shake for Mark."

I walked up to the counter, smiled a bit, watched the barrista blush even more, grabbed my shake and walked out the door, not wanting to be late for my lifting session with my roommates. They would be waiting for me at the gym.

Bro-Job

--- Originally posted on 2023-12-04 by dumb-and-jocked ---

BRRRRRRING!

Rodney paced awkwardly in front of the door, two voices in his head battling viscously for control. The first, which begged the question “Why am I here?!” over and over was the more persistent. A 5’5 skinny gay psych major on Greek Row? Yeah, that voice was definitely winning. The other however, the one prompting the single response of “Money.”, was enough to make Rodney stay.

“Hello?” Rodney called out, his bright tenor a little too nasally. He had come in response to a job offer put up on campus. He didn’t actually know what the job was, but it promised “All dudes welcome, free food and drinks.” The free amenities would certainly help pay for his student housing.

After still hearing nothing, Rodney decided to investigate. Someone had to be home, it wasn’t like all the frat boys would already be out and about town. Actually, that possibility didn’t seem too far-fetched. With a huff, Rodney marched his way around the massive frat house, following the driveway to the backyard. Three frat boys were parked by the detached garage, their muscly forms on full display.

“Uh,” Rodney started out. “Excuse me?”

The three men, in a heated argument over big tits or big butts, turned to face the boy half their size. Two of them wore a face of disgust, but the third popped a smile of delight.

“What can we do for you, little man?” the third greeted with two Natty Lights in one massive mitt.

Rodney gulped, noting the major size difference between him and them. “I’m uh…here for the job opening?”

The other two frat boys smirked at that response.

“Hey Chet, looks like someone finally replied,” the first chuckled.

“Cheers to that, broski!” the second, who would make any excuse for a celebratory swig, cheered.

The third, Chet, couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright little man, let’s head in the frat house and get this interview started.”

Rodney nodded, surprised at how simple this whole ordeal was. The much larger jock tossed a bulky arm around the gay nerd and led him to the mansion. Rodney tried to hide his blush at the physical touch, praying that the frat boys wouldn’t see his small, but very present boner.

“First things first bro,” Chet started, tossing Rodney a beer. “We gotta get you a little more comfortable.”

“'Comfortable'?”

“Well sure dude,” Chet laughed, falling back into a crusty couch behind him. “I’m already four deep, so we gotta catch you up.”

Confused, but desperate enough for a job, Rodney cracked open the cold one. He took a timid sip, much to the disapproval of the frat boy.

“Nah bro, don’t be a fairy about it.” Chet shook his head as he patted for the nerd to sit behind him. Trying his best to ignore the previous comment, Rodney placed himself beside the jock. Immediately, Chet grabbed the can and lined it up to Rodney’s mouth, forcing the smaller boy to chug the rest of the beer.

“What the…!” Rodney sputtered, catching his breath. “What was that for?!”

Chet handed the kid another beer. “That’s how you smash, bro! Alright, next one.”

Rodney hated this situation, but he knew he would more despise a situation with no money. After some slight hesitation, Rodney pounded the second beer. Chet made him move through one more, joining the nerd with his own can, tacking their totals to three and five.

“Ahhh…” Chet moaned, patting the stacked eight abs underneath his sweaty tank. He then belched proudly, letting the alcohol take its course. Rodney could only watch on in amazement and an embarrassing amount of arousal.

“Now,” Chet tossed his meaty arm back around the nerd. It took Rodney a second to realize the warm, wet liquid coating his shoulder was sweat from the frat boy’s jungly armpit. “So the job-”

“Oh yeahhh...” Rodney followed with a short giggle. He guessed the alcohol was beginning to assimilate into his system.

“That’s what you’re here for!” Chet exclaimed. “It’s so easy, there’s really only so much you have to know and do.”

Rodney took a swig of his fourth beer, copying the movement Chet had displayed with his sixth can. “Well, what’s to know?”

“There’s that confidence, bro!” Chet took the arm wrapped around the nerd and gave him a playful noogie, the tangled mess cropping up into a neater bro cut. “I was wondering how long it would take for that beer pressure to start hitting you!”

Rodney wanted to correct the jock’s expression, but instead he let out a solitary hiccup. That was followed by a second swig as he watched Chet open into a grand explanation of the job’s responsibilities. 

There was a lot to take in, more than Rodney had thought there would be. The exercise standards, the room-and-board requirements, the daily bonding with bros. And while Rodney listened to everything Chet said, he didn’t realize he was also paying attention to the frat boy’s mannerisms. Rodney was so entranced at every movement of the broadcast. Every scratch, every subtle flex, the way the Adam’s apple bounced with every chug. Even Chet’s dazed-out dumbness and increasing amount of slurring was absorbed by the nerd.

What Rodney didn’t realize however was that each time he picked up on one of these moments, he mimicked it as well. The behavior was being digested into his psyche, the frat boy’s macho ideology sinking down into his core with each new swig of beer. 

While Chet discussed the height requirement, Rodney’s frame shifted underneath the jock’s grasp to notch him up to a proper 6’3. When Chet mentioned the necessary sizes of the biceps, triceps, and quadriceps, Rodney failed to notice his own arms and legs bloating out to gigantic muscular portions. And with each and every swig of beer Chet took, Rodney copied and pasted.

BUUUUUUURRRRRP!

“Ah yeahhhhh!” Chet proclaimed, dropping his seventh empty can. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, bro.”

With a hearty swat, the frat boy smacked Rodney’s small gut. His torso immediately deflated under Chet’s touch, sharpening out into eight stacked abs that fit perfectly underneath his cushy pectorals.

Buh-UUURRRP!

“Huhuhuh,” Rodney chuckled, not noticing his voice was morphing into Chet’s silky-smooth baritone with every syllable. “Like…that felt sooo gooood.”

“Of course it did, bro!” Chet obnoxiously replied. “That’s how frat life always is!”

Rodney watched as Chet groped himself with his free hand. Although it was more than that really: tugging at his massive cock and balls. Rodney then noticed the swath of pubes spilling out over the waistband of Chet’s tiny shorts, realizing the frat boy was going commando.

This typically would’ve excited him, almost to the point of bursting right there, but Rodney's meager dick had surprisingly gone dormant. Rodney rationed it was the alcohol, noting that he’d already started his sixth can. And he was thankful for the lack of attention anyway. If Chet would’ve seen him get hard over another dude, that would’ve been awkward. Yet Rodney couldn't exactly figure out why...

With one hand still handling his boys, Chet suddenly grew quiet and leaned in close to Rodney. His breath was warm and laced with alcohol, each tickling Rodney’s neck before climbing down his shirt, the shirt that had removed its buttons, expensive material, and sleeves.

Rodney watched as Chet got his hand out of his shorts and began feeling up Rodney, piece by piece.

“These arms, brochacho…” Chet murmured, wiping his ball sweat across Rodney’s thick, tanned canvas. Small hairs poked up in Chet’s wake. Chet then lifted one of Rodney’s arms and took a sniff, as if inspecting for quality. Sure enough, a rotten smell emerged from the chestnut groves that had erupted within Rodney’s pits, yet that was the fresh quality Chet had been looking for.

After a quick swig, which was repeated on Rodney’s part, Chet’s massive hand swooped down towards Rodney’s legs, evaluating the meat. Rodney only watched on with a lazy smile, propping his legs out into a typical, bro-ish manspread to accommodate. Without warning, Chet’s hand then launched underneath Rodney’s buttocks, giving one of his cheeks a sharp pinch.

“Hey! Watch it, homo!” Rodney shouted, not catching the slur or the fact that his exclamation had come out with complete clarity.”

“Woah woah, broooo…” Chet slowly pulled his hands back. “I’m just checkin’ if we’re sealed shut dude, wouldn’t want the fairies intruding.”

Sinking immediately back into his drunken haze, Rodney nodded along pleasantly. He thanked his bro for watching out for him, his hole silently shutting tight in response.

Chet let another belch loose before continuing, “Minddd if I tell you a secret, brooo?”

Chet got closer to Rodney, even going as far as to place his sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet on top of Rodney’s.

“Yyyyyeeah dude…” Rodney slurred back.

“Huhuhuh,” Chet started. “See the sorority…rity next door brah?”

Rodney shifted a bit in his seat, slightly turning his own sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet.

“I just banged like…” Chet had to take a second to count. “Ten…eleven…eleven…twelve of those chicks last week. I set…like…a completely new record brochacho!”

The pair burst out into a massive drunken laugh fest, tossing their heads back in an exaggerated manner. Rodney chugged the rest of his beer messily, some droplets splashing onto the bushy mustache crawling over his upper lip like a caterpillar. They both tossed their sixth and eighth behind them.

“Nowwwww…” Chet slowly started again. “We’ve discussed the bro-knows, but now we oughta get to the bro-dos of the Bro-Job.”

“Brahhhh…” Rodney echoed. “The way you’re sayin…sounds kinda gay man…”

Rodney didn’t even consider why this could be a problem.

Chet moved on, “Brah, how I handle my initiations…it's gotta be personal.”

“Init…inuiti…initiations?” Rodney tried to ask, struggling on the word.

“These Bro-Jobs dude…” Chet tried again, screwing off his backwards cap before fixing it onto Rodney’s head. “They're serious busy-nesss….”

Rodney snickered at the odd pronunciation, his jaw and browline growing more pronounced after each chuckle. He then tossed back the rest of his beer, crushing it in one of his massive paws.

“Brah…I need more beeeeerrrr, stat.” 

“Heh, don’t we all bro,” Chet crushed his own empty can before adding it to the disarray of the messy house. “But you gotta pass the initiation man! Your next beer can is your own!”

The frat boy said it in a way where even though the statement made no sense, in their drunken comradery it held like a secret code. 

“Wha…bro…arrrrre you sayin’-?”

“No homo man” Chet immediately quelled the alarm that had been arising in Rodney’s system. “It’s just a part of the Bro-Job…gotta…gotta add more of that frat sauce to the brew or somethin’...”

Both of them stuck their hands down into each other’s packages through their tiny shorts, which Rodney didn’t remember his own had been long slacks before. Or that he had been wearing underwear before. But what did strike Rodney as odd was the manner of this exchange. It still felt off.

“But…” Rodney tried to find the clarity he needed through his drunken incoherent mass of thoughts. “Kinda...gay brah?”

The not-so homosexual man flinched, his lingering sexuality slowly succumbing with the strangely tough pulls that enlarged his precious tap forcefully. It wasn’t long until Rodney’s pride and joy were surging with the same potent and propagating brew of the frat boy who was pumping him. His manhood was now a giant spout, with his swollen balls filled with the pure, raw hormones that ensured his kegs were always juicing.

“Dude…” Chet chuckled. “It’s not gay if you’re thinkin’ of all the chicks that will be beggin’ to ride this thing.”

After a hefty amount of thought, Rodney realized Chet was right. He wasn’t thinking about dudes or bros or nothing. None of the homo crap was even in his mind. In fact, the very idea of being a faggot disgusted him. All Rodney could think about was chicks. Tits and pussies and breeding them one by one with his vaccination shots. Except these shots weren't protecting these babies from anything. Rather, he was contaminating them. And that made Rodney feel good. Absolutely frat-tastically good.

“Ahhhh….brooooo…!” Rodney moaned. “I think I’m gonna blow!”

“Then do it, dude!” Chet replied.

“NO HOMO BROOOO!!!” The frat boys shouted in unison, their gigantic splooges pouring out into their bro’s hand. After the ecstasy had released, they both removed themselves from the other’s shorts and returned the babymatter to their owners, wiping each other’s work on the other’s tank top.

“God dude,” Chet replied. “Nothin’ beats THAT part of the Bro-Job.”

The newly-minted frat boy could only guffaw. His dreams, aspirations, and uniquities were completely gone, let alone his intelligence deteriorated down to the bare minimum. He was now only gifted with the simple desires of a sexually-overdrived culturally-accepted delinquent.

“I never got your name by the way,” Chet laughed. “I’m gonna need it for the prez so he can register you for the frat.”

“Hot Rod,” Rodney replied, the nickname coming out as if it was a programmed response.

Chet gave Hot Rod a brotherly swat before lifting him up off the couch. “'Hot Rod', huh? I think that will suit the other bros well once you finish the last part of the job.”

“There’s more, dude?” Hot Rod asked, following the other frat boy out to the front yard. “We both know I’m perfect for the frat life!”

“Well of course!” Chet then grabbed a computer and handed it over to Hot Rod. After looking for a little too long, Hot Rod eventually realized it was an online job board.

“I gotta get a job, bro?” Hot Rod asked, somehow making the dull timbre of his tone sound even dumber.

“No, dude!” Chet rolled his eyes. “The last part of the Bro-Job is recruiting the next member.”

Hot Rod’s empty expression signaled his lack of understanding.

“I just completed the Bro-Job,” Chet explained. “Now it’s your turn.”

Again, after a little too long of a pause, the pieces finally managed to place themselves together in Hot Rod’s head. With a thick guffaw, he made the job opening available once more before closing the laptop. He then placed the device behind him and took a seat at the end of the driveway, twisting his cap and assuming a cocky pose.

“What are you doing, bro?” Chet laughed.

“Sittin’ pretty, brah,” Hot Rod shot back. “Wanna make it easier for the next fag that rolls around.”

The New Frat: Part 2

--- Original author: newyoutf ---

“C- Chris? No way… This is some sort of prank right?”, Todd stuttered.

“Not a prank, man! Tried on those slides and now look at me!”, Chris replied, “Guess I don’t need a costume now if I’m the real thing!”

“What slides? What is going on?!”, James yelled, puzzled.

“T- the frat bro costumes we ordered… We just got footwear, but this can’t be real… Wh- where’s Chris? Who are you?”, Todd answered.

“Todd, James, it’s me! You told me ten minutes ago to make the best with what we had for the party tonight!”

Todd’s mouth slackened slightly, no-one else could have heard that conversation…

“You guys should try this shit on too!”, Chris continued enthusiastically as he reached back into the shipping box, “I think these boat shoes might be a good match for you, bro!”

Chris tossed the box containing the boat shoes at a startled Todd, followed by the final box holding the flip-flops towards James.

Todd’s mind raced. If this was really, actually real then he might be able to *become* a frat boy instead of just lusting over them from a distance. Part of him still feared this was an elaborate hoax of some kind, but this was almost certainly Chris, no other explanation made sense. And the thought of actually being what he what desired most was too much to pass up.

“S- So… I put on the shoes, and I became a ‘bro’ or whatever?”, he asked nervously.

“Uh, I’m 99% positive, but only one way to be sure, bro!”

“Todd! You’re not actually believing this right?”, James interrupted.

“James, man, we all know Todd’s crazy for the prep bros, this is his one chance!”, Chris snapped back.

Both of the roommates were stunned, only the real Chris would know about Todd’s admittedly embarrassing predilection for the preppier men on campus.

“O- Okay, I’ll do it…”, Todd began to kick the shoes and socks off his feet while opening the box in his hands and tossing the leather boat shoes to the floor.

“I- uh… s- sure…”, James added while he more cautiously followed.

Todd slipped on the left shoe. It went on with ease being larger than his foot. At the same time James nervously stepped into the flip-flops. He couldn’t believe he’d ever fit into these, the massive slabs made his feet look tiny in comparison. In that moment he thought how crazy he was for falling for whatever joke this was.

“These are like wearing skis! This is ridic-”, James stuttered as he inhaled deeply.

Todd looked at his roommate in surprise just as the right shoe covered his remaining foot. Unimaginable waves of intense pressure and pleasure rocketed up the two men’s legs causing the sounds of moans to fill the room. Todd bucked his hips in the air, “C- Chris! You… urgh…. didn’t mention this p- paaaaart!”

Both men could feel their limbs stretching longer as they grew taller. Backs groaned upward and arms dangled down longer. Todd growled as his 5′9″ frame was stretched into one 6′0″ tall.

James - previously the tallest of the trio - grew slower going from 5′10″ to 6′2″ - a substantial increase, but leaving him to be now the middle height of the group. He staggered forward and tripped over the leather slabs loosely held by his toes, catching himself on his knee as the bones and tendons of his size 9 feet were forced to grow. Sweat rolled down his face to the floor as leant onto his bent knees, watching the exposed feet spreading wider, thicker and longer as they covered the size 13 leather soles completely.

By this stage Todd’s toes were stretching forward within the boat shoes. His heel eased backward while the rest of the sole grew forward. The feet pushed wider, his lengthening toes striking the sides as they filled up the size 12 shoes.

James began muttering senselessly with his lip trembling. All over his skin had darkened to a deep bronze surfers tan. He pulled desperately at the waistband of his pants and freed his hard 6 inch cock. His member quivered with tension as it began to very slowly extend extend longer…

Chris watched on as the mens four legs began to tremble as growth infected them. Thick muscle spread up from their strengthening ankles, wrapping up the back of their calves. James’ legs bulged harder and thicker than Todd’s, violently blowing apart his pants revealing thick, bulging thighs and sturdy, strong calves - all now devoid of hair.

Todd’s shorts, on the other hand, groaned under subtler pressure, tearing and falling away slowly as strong legs emerged from the ruins. Light hair spread across the powerful thighs and reached his pubes, which became tidier, revealing more of the gradually expanding cock.

Todd choked back a loud moan as head of his cock surged in size wildly. He stood panting and shaking as pecs and abs began to press against his shirt, the buttons struggling against the muscle. One by one the buttons popped away, revealing a lean, muscular chest decorated with light hair.

The other friend’s transformation was becoming more dramatic by now. Failing in an attempt to stifle a lustful growl, James collapsed backward onto the side of the bed, feeling abdominals bulge out of his stomach. He placed a hand on his abdomen and felt defined cum gutters chiselling their way out below his new abs. His pecs weren’t far behind as the sensitivity in his nipples rose to unbearable levels, the muscles beneath them surging outward. As his hand brushed along the meaty chest muscles, he felt what little body hair he had dissolving away, showing off his tanned skin and glistening muscles. His small shirt began to warp and tear before exploding under the pressure of the meaty pecs and huge shoulders.

“Fuck yeah, man!”, Chris chimed up, turned on and excited by his friends becoming frat studs like himself. He pawed gently at his own hard cock watching the transformations unfold in front of him.

James wailed, pushing his shoulders back as they expanded even wider. Muscles bulged from them and rippled down his biceps where they swelled even larger. Individual muscles could be seen wriggling and expanding, creating the deeply attractive bulges of muscle seen on other jocks. With the growth spreading down the limbs, hair faded from his inflating forearms. The fingers on his hands stretched outward as they grew longer and thicker alongside his palms. He watched as the digits cracked and flailed becoming intensely long and broad.

The disproportionately enormous hands would provide the world a hint of the massive cock he possessed, now sitting at 8 inches and continuing to swell. He gripped the shaft with his hand and began to stroke.

Todd meanwhile was growling with lust at his own expanding biceps. He gripped his scalp as the changes moved through his head. He could feel his fingers sliding longer through the mop of hair on his head, the hands becoming large and nimble. The hair pushed through the long, tidy fingers, sweeping into a neat, preppy part. He rubbed his face and moaned feeling short spiky stubble where none existed prior. His fingers traced a reshaping facial shape: a sharper jaw and chin, a smaller, cuter nose and ears, a steely-eyed brow.

Both men moaned in acceptance as their personalities were plucked apart and rearranged. Todd staggered, feeling thoughts and memories filling his head: sex, drinking, prep fashion, sex, more sex.

Similar mental changes zapped away at James’ mind. His days would now be consumed by sports, working out, the beach and fucking. Overrun with lust, he angrily stroked his cock as it stretched to its finale of 9 veiny inches. While he thrust desperately he gritted his teeth, feeling them shifting in his mouth. His face creaked and rippled as it shifted into that of a gorgeous, vain, beach-dwelling jock.

The fully transformed James was close to his climax now as he turned to Todd, witnessing his friend clamor and grasp in lust at his own shifting visage. His face was widening and elongating, accomodating a broad and ever more stubbly jaw. He was smiling and moaning, running his hands through his hair as it swept across and lightened a shade. His newly blued eyes fluttered open as he felt his cock surge outward.

“Oh shit, bro!”, James watched lustfully as his friend approached the end of his changes, “Almost… there, man!”.

Todd nodded at James, his mouth hanging open while his cock and balls inflated like balloons - what was once 5 inches minutes ago now pushed beyond 7.

“You ready… bro!”, James gasped loudly.

“I- I’m… r- ready… b- b- broooooooooo!”, with two simultaneous roars, Todd’s cock shot out to 8 long inches and ejected it’s preppy frat boy contents over and over. Similarly, James’ huge cock sprayed stream after stream of his hot jock cum across the floor and up his tanned abs.

“So you guys believe me now?”, Chris chimed in.

“Ha… ha… yeah, man…”, “Ch’yeah, bro…”, the two new additional frat boys replied.

“So, fuck tonight’s party. What do y’all think about throwing our own frat party? A few beers, maybe order some more shit from that site for some friends? What do you think, boys?”, Chris said with a smile as his yanked his phone off the bed and opened it to the website that had started all of this.

James and Todd looked each and smirked, nodding in approval.

“Hell yeah, bro…”

Beach Bod

Rusty’s favourite thing about being home was the beach. Well, maybe not the beach itself - but certainly what was on the beach. And that was, as it usually is for horndog college students, the copious amount of shirtless boys.

Rusty’s parents had invited him to spend the weekend down at the family beach house - a proposal he’d eagerly agreed to. His first semester of college hadn’t gone exactly as planned. In fact, Rusty had already accumulated a list of crimes committed against his freshman year: his roommate was a homophobe, he’d somehow lost weight, and his grades were plummeting faster than his metabolism. He needed a break - and a weekend spent in the unadulterated, midyear sunshine might be just what he needed to get back up on his feet. 

So there he was, waddling up the driveway in his flip flops with fluorescent zinc already smeared on his slightly crooked nose, and a spritely grin plastered on his equally as crooked jaw. With a beach towel flung over his slim shoulders, Rusty was looking forward to a one-man, 48 hour paradise; a weekend spent on the sugar-sand beach just a short distance from his bedroom, soaking up the mid-summer coastal sunshine and sizing up the bountiful amounts of hunky blond beef that would no doubt be lining the shoreline, glittering like seashells. As the old saying goes: if you hold a conch shell to your ear, you can almost hear the sound of a surfer dude moaning, “Fuck me harder, bro!”

Rusty nudged open the door to the house and called out for his parents. His soft voice echoed through the open floor plan, bouncing between pockets of coastal furniture. 

No response. Huh. 

He checked the living room, the kitchen, called up the stairs. Still no response. He figured they’d already beat him to the beach - which meant he was all alone, horny and heat-fuelled. Perfect. Rusty whipped off his shirt, shimmied into his board shorts and reached for a beer.

He dropped his bags by the door and made his way over to the veranda, which seemed to be beckoning his name with every warm breeze that blew in through the open sliding doors. The hardwood deck was stark with heat, and the sun beat down on him as he shaded his face to get a good look at the view. It was a prime vista of the beach, and the water was as glittery as the sand it lapped at. He couldn’t see his parents… But he did see a whole lot of something else. Men. Lots and lots of shirtless men. 

Rusty’s itinerary was pretty standard: stare at the crevice between the big bouncing pec’s of some adonis in a speedo; admire the way sweat and saltwater, a concoction he’d dubbed beach-boy-brew, dripped down a surfer boy’s cum gutters; and ogle at the sand dollar sized nipples of a bronze boy-toy too big for his own good. Oh, and if he could be crushed between the thick, rolling thighs of a strawberry-blond titan with the strength of the ocean, that would be pretty rad, too. Just the simple pleasures of any good summer getaway, really. And on a hot weekend like this one, Rusty was certain he’d have no problem ticking them off his lascivious list. 

He could see a few groups of collegiate hotties already partying on the sand, tanning and drinking and looking generally sexy. A football flew threw the air, the smell of testosterone wafted up the sand. He felt his grip on the veranda railing weaken as one of them began drunkenly gyrating his bubble butt against the air as an unimpressed group of girls walked by.

Rusty could see it now: the entire coastline would soon become a sprawling panorama of empty heads and beefy muscle, just aching to bend over and get eye-fucked. For a jock, the heat tended to act as an aphrodisiac: a stupefying, steamy somnolent that washed away any desire to put clothes on and instead amplified an innate, irresistible desire to show off. No well-bred stud could resist the urge to strut bulge-first down the runway of a busy beach. Every buff blondie within a ten mile radius would stuff his bubble butt into a speedo, lumber into his dad’s open-roofed jeep, and cruise down to the ocean - one paw on the steering wheel, the other on his crotch. Revving his engine. The heat would feel too good on his golden skin not to, flaunting his premium goods and soaking up the rays. Photosynthesising, preening, growing. Of course, he’d make a pitstop along the way to pick up his platoon of linebacker buddies, packing the backseat with brawn, their off-season quads fighting for room on the hot leather seats. Deltoid to deltoid, like canned sardines. Huge, hulking, steroidal sardines. They’d turn up the radio, tunes pumping, pecs bouncing to the trap style beat. Cockily flexing their biceps for a group of girls in a passing convertible, waggling their overly long, thick tongues at the flustered beach bunnies, miming vulgarities. Eager to impress. Rusty didn’t blame them. Having an uncontrollable libido and shoulders twice as broad as your waist when you’re young and dumb and impossibly full of cum would turn anyone into an exhibitionist — and anyone close enough into a hopeless and drooling voyeur.

Rusty had spent many summers sat by the water, ogling and drooling until the sun was low in the sky and the sea of blond hunks had receded with the tide, sand sticking to their tanned bubble butts as they staggered back up the coastline to hit the bars and get even drunker. Turns out, 19 inch biceps and a cleft chin work just as well as a fake ID. All it took was an absent-minded flex, a slow lick of the lips, or a strategic, innocent bend-over, and the doors to every bar and club on the boulevard flew wide open. If only one of them had extended a hand and asked Rusty to join them - or pulled down his speedo, popped his pecs and ordered Rusty to fuck him. Either would’ve sufficed. 

But hey, maybe this time one of them would. With Rusty’s lanky physique and unimpressive features, it was pretty unlikely - still, a dork could dream. Surrounded by steroidal blondies, Rusty had always felt like a washed-up stalk of seaweed. When all his hometown peers were prodigal bodybuilders with movie star jawlines, it was difficult not to feel inadequate. You couldn’t walk down the boardwalk without some bronzed-out bro giving you a boner. They swaggered to and fro, their bulging shoulders too big for their pretty little heads, no care in the world. His dad always seemed to have a permanent twinge of disappointment etched into the corners of his face, his dreams of having a football hero for a son dismantled by the tech major Rusty had become. He’d often dreamed of what seeing the world from over six feet tall felt like. He’d often dreamed of his father throwing him a football, and catching it with an arm bigger than most peoples heads. 

A large sea swell broke over the sand, and Rusty watched as the golden frat bros lumbered down to the water (their bodies too big, too clumsy and too inebriated for it to qualify as running, though he guessed that was what they were trying to do) and dived in after it, covering their muscles in sparkling sea foam and rubbing it into their abs like soap on a washboard. Rusty glided a hand over his own pasty torso, lightly dusted with hair and sunken inwards. He took a long swig of beer.

Rusty turned back to the living room, the sound of the waves dimming. He saw something flapping in the breeze on the coffee table. He hadn’t noticed it on the way in, but somebody had left a note.

“Dear Rusty… Sunscreen’s in the garage. We’re trying out a new brand. Give it a go. You’ll like it. - Dad”

Huh. Alright then. Rusty couldn’t conceive of a sunscreen special enough to elicit its own foreboding note, but his dads writing always came off a little ominous. Truncated sentences. No personality. Scary. 

Rusty followed the big mans orders, flicked on the light in the garage, and was greeted by a familiar sight. It was filled with his father’s workout machines, rows of dumbbells and weights lining the walls. Before he’d moved away for college, his dad was always trying to coax him into the home gym with fancy new equipment. He must’ve kept buying them - the place looked like a certified fitness centre. Rusty figured he’d put the sunscreen by the weights in a final attempt to get his pip-squeak son interested in working out. How very subtle. It was sat on one of the weightlifting benches, and he weaved his way through the machines towards it. 

The bottle had almost no labelling - it didn’t even have a brand name. Rusty pressed down on the nozzle, and a big glob of the stuff shot into his hands, creamy and white. It was surprisingly warm, and the texture vaguely gelatinous. It smelt good, too. Like musk and sweat. His horndog brain waltzed into the room with an intrusive, albeit sexy thought: it was a lot like holding a handful of cum. 

Rusty applied a liberal amount of the sunscreen to his whole body, diligently smearing the zinc infused jizz into every pore - noting with lip-biting surprise how good, and oddly erotic, it felt on his pale body. It was kind of turning him on. In fact, there was a strange and pleasurable buzz emanating from his skin everywhere he applied it to.

Rusty reached for his cock, lubing it up with sunscreen, only half aware of what he was doing. Aw, fuck. He barely stifled a moan. Not because of his achingly horny brain, or even his needy, stiffening cock. The buzz had evolved. There was a strange, static warmth in his hands that was quickly blooming into a crackle of fireworks, shooting up his scrawny digits with hot pleasure. Fuck, what was in that stuff? It felt like his fingers were on fire. Had his dad mixed up the sunscreen with some sort of weird sex lube? Did he want his son to blow a load all over his workout equipment? Rusty’s cock was rapidly engorging with heat - and, weirdly, it kind of felt like his fingers were too. 

He felt a sudden pop in his knuckles, and Rusty opened his eyes just in time to see his index finger shoot out in length and explode with size, a quicksilver rush of pleasure accompanying the birth of the dildo-sized digit. He stared at it, slack-jawed. An involuntarily groan escaped his lips as his middle finger followed suit and lurched longer, shooting out in length and then thickening up with meat like a pier-side hotdog. Holy shit. Rusty stumbled back in shock as the next finger joined in, and then the next, the bones cracking longer and the muscle thickening. He shook his hands, trying to shake off the extra beef, but each of his fingers gleefully continued to fire off, exploding with size like red hot sticks of dynamite, bursting outwards and swelling thicker. Both his hands began to bulge bigger in unison, pulsating outwards, palms stretching wider as his knuckles cracked to make room for more growth. Rusty watched as the pale skin on his hands shimmered like the sparkle of a breaking wave before deepening to a golden tan and suctioning down onto two thickly veined, hulking fists. 

Rusty quivered, slowly bringing the gargantuan mitts up to his face. They were still twitching with growth, buzzing and inching slightly longer. Holy shit. Somebody had attached a bodybuilder’s hands to his lanky wrists. 

Rusty tentatively wriggled his fingers, testing their new size, watching the meaty soldiers bend to his will. He almost started drooling. Fuck. These babies belonged around a football, or a dumbbell, or a throat, or a cock. He’d absolutely dwarf all of them. The thought of making any of those things look small in a single grip was almost enough to make his hips start bucking, but the transformation of his hands from wimpy to stud-sized had completely robbed Rusty of all motor control, and all he could do was marvel at their utter maleness and try not to freak out. He imagined he looked like a total weirdo, waving around these huge, cartoonishly out-of-proportion hands on an otherwise puny body. Shit - what was he supposed to do about the rest of his scrawny self?

Wait a minute. Rusty whipped his head around to where the bottle of sunscreen sat on the benchpress. Its innocent packaging stared back. Shit. It was the sunscreen. For just a moment, Rusty wondered how his dad had gotten his hands on some kind of growth-inducing miracle cream. But then, a much more pressing thought entered his head. The hole at the tip of the nozzle seemed to wink at Rusty as he realised he’d just smeared the creamy substance all over his entire body. Oh, fuck. 

Rusty threw his head back and moaned up at the ceiling as he was hit by a wave of oceanic bliss. Currents of tingly pleasure coursed through his arms as they suddenly shot out and extended several feet to the ground, hanging off his shoulders like pool noodles. Rusty whined in pleasure - he could feel his knuckles grazing the floor. He wriggled his thick new fingers, moaning as they continued to bulge even larger on the cool concrete, now big enough to jerk off a giant. His left leg trembled with energy, then rapidly elongated, sending him straight towards the ceiling as he grunted and moaned in combined shock, confusion and pleasure. He wobbled this way and that, his disproportionate body caught in a riptide of ecstasy, before his right leg detonated and lengthened down to match its neighbour, allowing him to surf the wave of euphoria with just a bit more balance. Rusty arched his back and moaned, and with several pops his torso began stretching longer, as well as his neck. His tongue lolled out in glee as he felt himself rising upwards, being stretched taller than puberty ever allowed, inching closer and closer towards the garage ceiling. It was as if he was being pulled at both ends by some invisible, horny force, eager to turn him into a freaky wet dream. 

Rusty grinned down at himself, his neck spasming and inching up even longer. It lurched upwards like one of those inflatable palm trees - he wondered for a moment if it wouldn’t stop, and he’d end up shooting through the roof like a cartoon character - but his body only remained disproportionate for a moment, as his other limbs stretched down accordingly and evened him out.

A ripping sound alerted Rusty to the state of his ginormous feet, which were in futile competition with his flip flops, barely holding back against a pair of widening soles that had sneakily accelerated with growth and doubled in size while he wasn’t looking. A little left behind, he wriggled his toes as they popped out longer, bulging in a race to keep up with the rest of him. Rusty couldn’t help but laugh as the asynchronous growth suddenly coalesced and crescendoed with power, both feet swelling to the conferred stud-status of his hands, and finally destroying his shoes like the mythic Hercules outgrowing his willow-leaf sandals. 

Fuck, this was getting good. His body had clocked in at a cool six-foot-four, tall and tanned, and the high felt far from over. A heady rush had slowly filled his brain, a steady stream of gaseous, dumbing pleasure — and the sunscreen had only just decided to turn it up a notch and rev its tingly magic.

Rusty felt a cascade of tingles rush through his left arm, and he groaned as his bicep pumped itself full of muscle, swelling instantly to the size of a beach ball. He flexed his arm and watched the muscle ball up, thick and hot — and then watched as it grew even thicker and hotter. A puff of blond armpit hair exploded out from under it, which tickled a little but mostly sent a shock of sex down his spine, while the brawny peak above it continued to rise like the swell of a tidal wave. Rusty threw it up behind his head like an amateur model, almost hitting himself in the eye with his bicep as it suddenly inflated so big it connected with his ear, which only spurred the growing boy on as he began flexing like a stripper on a birthday card, revelling in the feeling of his arm growing so thick and huge it pushed into the side of his head. The sheer weight of it caused Rusty to wobble to the left, and, wishing his body would even itself out, with a sharp pop and a grunt, his right arm dutifully exploded with brawn, quickly growing to match the size of its beefed-out brother. Rusty whimpered as the growth rushed down from his shoulder and into his hand, another poof of golden armpit hair bursting out from under it. The size of his right arm seemed to overshoot its target, and his fingers popped out bigger at the end so as to remain perfectly in-proportion. Fuck, he had a pair of king crab arms! 

Rusty grunted, a sudden tectonic shift sounding in his shoulders. Oh, shit. He was pulled in two directions at once as his shoulders rapidly broadened, deltoids rushing away from his neck with anatomical abandon and widening his silhouette into an imposing mountain range of male breadth. His deltoids rounded out into armoured caps of muscle, and beneath them Rusty felt his arms lift up and fan out as his traps unfurled like wings, whimpers of pleasure echoing off the walls as the muscle stacked itself up in undulating rhythms. The pressure of the growth forced his hands onto his hips, and he thrust his lats out into a wide flex as muscle bloomed across his back, cracking and shifting into an impossibly broad V shape. He lout out a huff, feeling twenty pounds heavier and horny as a bitch as the tingles sparked on his skin like he was a walking beam of light. He flexed his guns as his shoulders stretched further outwards, boom, boom, unable to process the sensation of hitting a double bicep and feeling cannons of muscle jump to attention.

A gurgling groan caught in Rusty’s throat as it swelled from base to tip into a thick trunk, the tingles cascading down from his collar and into his chest. He felt his nipples harden, like a warning sign, and then a surge of energy enter into his tits. He looked down at them with a scared whimper as they lurched out a whole inch, and then another, and then another, pulling his whole body forwards with them. Another heave of muscle and his feet were covered by their burgeoning mass, the force of their growth momentarily closing the deepening crevice between them as they pushed against each other, striations trembling like surf over a reef. His nipples tingled like lit fuses, and he hoisted his meaty hands up in a desperate attempt to rub and squeeze the growth out, his eyes widening as they shot out bigger in-between his fingertips and bloomed into dark, fat caps, sensitive and raw, nipples you could suck on. The muscle shelf beneath continued to inflate like two water balloons connected to a tap, pumping bigger with each bounce as he wobbled clumsily. He had a despicably big rack. The kind of chest a dick would disappear in-between. He groped and groped the twin slabs of meat, feeling the pressure build, like someone had suddenly turned the tap onto high. It was too late to brace for impact as they suddenly exploded in a final oomph of size with such force that it knocked his head back like a sucker punch and sent him careening backwards onto the weight lifting bench, falling onto it with a thud. He laid there, face up, his chest heaving up and down, a pair of huge, enviable muscle tits.

Rusty stared up at the empty weight rack, his back cracking wider on the warm leather, beefy pecs obscuring the lower half of his vision. God, he was so top-heavy, his gorilla arms hanging off the bench and onto the floor, thick and heavy. He lifted his head up as best he could, feeling a steady stream of tingles rush down his torso, and wriggled as each of his abs popped into existence, a perfect 6 pack blooming across his midsection. He fingered them with his meaty digits while cum gutters swooped through his waist and tributaries of veins reached up from his groin to meet them.

Rusty writhed with pleasure, and out of his slim, cinched waist burst a pair of big, titanic thighs that ripped out the bottom of his board shorts and swelled huge with muscle, first in rippling grooves that carved a roadmap of teenage surfing into his bodies history, before quickly ballooning outwards into legs composed purely of thickness and size. He felt them inflate and spill out over the bench - man-spreading would now be compulsory - and used the extra strength to hoist his upper body up and into a sitting position, straddling the bench with his now behemoth thighs. It wouldn’t be possible to walk without these tanned, off-season, columns rubbing together - they were the kind of legs that spread out and dominated any surface they blessed their hairless, heat-filled mass with. He chuckled dumbly at the thought of swallowing any space he tried to fit himself into, so thick he’d been rendered human cargo.

A shockwave thrust his ass out behind him as he felt his cheeks inflate to the size of beachballs, sending a loud rip straight down the back of his board shorts. A long slither of his juicy, growing butt crack pressed into the tear, his glutes swelling huge and round, threatening to bust his shorts open completely. Rusty panted, riding the weight lifting bench like a dick, gripping the leather with his hands, arm muscles bulging in full relief. The boy’s butt was obscene, expanding out behind him into two tanned spheres of category 5, tropical muscle as he gyrated against the warm leather. He whipped his head around his beefy shoulders to watch the bouncing cheeks expand into a high shelf, a permanent jockstrap installing itself into his musculature. With a surge of tingles, Rusty leaned forward, gritted his teeth, stuck his ass out behind him and groaned in relief as it shot out through the back of his pants, exploding the fabric into strips of polyester confetti and swelling in naked celebration. Warm air instantly hit his hole, and he trembled as a bolt of tingles ran straight down his taint and lightened the flesh to a boyish, peachy pink. He gripped his muscled cheeks and pulled them apart to reveal a tight jock hole, tingling with desire. Fuck. 

Rusty thrust his hips forwards with the oceanic power of his muscled ass as he felt his balls churn and swell beneath him, tightening the remains of his board shorts around them with their expanding size. They pumped up into tennis balls, which in turn fed the sea cucumber he could feel his dick becoming. The fabric instantly gave up the fight as his sweaty, monster cock burst free from its confines and landed with a hefty smack on the warm leather, continuing to grow thicker and longer, unabated by swimwear meant for wimps. A waft of his manhood travelled up to his nostrils, and Rusty saw sparks. Shit, his cock even smelt big.

Rusty wriggled his nose as the delicious musk seemed to fill it up to the brim with tingles. It felt like he’d shoved a firework sparkler up his nose. He took a deep breath in, and then —

Achoo!

The bones in rusty’s nose instantly reshaped. The bridge cracked broader and the tip snapped perfectly straight. Rusty felt it twitch, and went cross-eyed watching it suddenly bulge bigger, growing huge and almost phallic on his otherwise unchanged face. He reached his sausage fingers up to touch it, and then, like a shockwave, the changes rippled out from his big nose and into the rest of his features. 

His whole head grew to match, lips popping bigger and forehead widening. He grimaced as his jaw broadened into a chiseled square, two angles jutting out from beneath his ears which simultaneously popped bigger. He grabbed his chin as it pushed forwards and expanded, moving his fingers apart as it turned into an ocean cliff of male geometry. Rusty licked his lips as they plumped up, feeling all the extra realestate of a big, beautiful mouth, while his cheeks became cut but ruddy and plump, a cherubic innocence that betrayed his otherwise lewd proportions. When he flashed a smile, his teeth shone brilliantly white and perfectly straight. His features had quickly masculinised into a mosaic of surfer boy good looks. Fuck, he was hot. 

A single blond hair dropped into Rusty’s vision, followed by a wave of golden fringe that cascaded down onto his forehead. He ran his hands through what he could tell was a beautiful mane of beach-bleached hair, and as he did, any darkness that remained turned to streaks of blond lightning with the brush of his huge fingers. He couldn’t tell, but his eyes had washed over into a sparkling blue. He was a total blondie. A maritime warrior, built for the ocean.

Rusty panted. Having grown a new face and body in a matter of minutes, he should have been exhausted. But he wasn’t. His pants were sexual, not sleepy. They dripped with erotic and kinetic energy he’d never felt before. He wanted to rip a can of beer open with his bare fingers and then shove them up some frat boys hole. And then shove them up his own. 

Rusty clambered up from the bench, feeling stacks of muscle follow him. His hair bounced in perfectly placed streaks. He looked down at his new body, at the heaving pecs that glimmered with pearlescent shine. He looked like he’d come straight from the ocean. Oh, god. He was gorgeous. The sunscreen had oiled him like a machine. Rusty, more like busty, he thought with a grin, bouncing his heavy pecs. He’d been turned into a  certified hunk. He spun his behemoth body around, craning his neck back to get a good look at the twin bowling balls that jutted out from behind him. He couldn’t stop touching himself. His hands were grabbing and groping at every new bulge, pawing at his edges, gripping… 

… the bottle of sunscreen. Without even realising it, he’d picked up the creamy formula and was holding it in his paws. It looked much smaller than before. As he stared at it, something flashed in his cerulean eyes. 

It smelt good. It felt good. He almost wondered what it tasted like. 

Before he could even consider the consequences - as if his new body had decided for him - Rusty lifted the bottle to his plump lips and chugged it down like a drunk frat boy fellating a keg. With his big wet mouth wrapped around the bottle, its transformative contents sliding down his throat, a smidgen of panic knocked at the door of Rusty’s brain and asked him, in a feeble voice, if he had any idea just what the fuck he was doing. Rusty slammed the door in its face and tore the knob off, crushing it in his gargantuan grip. This was going to fucking rock. 

He sucked the bottle dry - no, sucked the bottle off - groaning deeply, and the moment the white, creamy fluid hit his stomach, a neon-pink wildfire of rapture raged through Rusty’s nervous system like a lustful armageddon. Every neurotic emotion he’d ever felt in his entire life was filed away, replaced by a pyrotechnic explosion of rewired neurones, their microscopic dendrons flexing and growing like biceps, pumping dopamine like a set of weights. It was filling his bloodstream, his balls, his brain. Rusty was ablaze. 

He tore the bottle from his fat lips with a pop and ripped out a belch, his eyes rolling back into his head as he began to uncontrollably moan. Rusty’s entire body convulsed with pleasure, excess sunscreen dripping out of his mouth and down his chin like a satisfied slut after a good blowjob. He fell to his hands and knees, his body jerking in every direction. Rusty felt his back spontaneously arch and his gargantuan bubble butt stick straight up into the air behind him, being forced to gyrate in a please-fuck-me twerk. It was like he’d been possessed and made to act like the worlds biggest golden retriever, begging for a treat. He was drooling saliva, sunscreen and pre-cum onto the floor, his brain flooded with backed-up pleasure and pressure, a leaky faucet that was about to explode.

It went straight to his groin. Rusty involuntarily started bucking his hips as he felt his already sizeable balls tingle like mad, then swell and drop, quickly growing into a pair of huge, pendulous bull nuts. He looked down to find he was now sporting a pair of big fucking man balls, atlantean pearls, and actually felt them begin to churn with new and improved jock seed. The sensation was incredible. It began to drip from the tip of his purebred cock, creamy and concentrated. It was almost too much. Rusty quivered in hot delirium as an overwhelming sensation hit him at both ends, and too much became not enough, as the overgrown beefcake felt his throat widening and his asshole tightening. His balls swung beneath him as his throat stretched bigger and his hole constricted tighter, both ergonomically redesigning themselves to deliver maximum pleasure to beach-boy sized cock. One meaty hand stuck itself around his bulging neck as it thickened and grew, his gag reflex disappearing, while the other desperately groped at his fat, eminently pound-able ass cheeks, the gilded entrance to a tight hole that was getting tighter. 

His bellowing moans grew deeper with each vocalisation of his blossoming hunkhood, roaring in undulating ecstasy, a testosterone-drenched baritone booming out of his once-shrimpy throat. His adams apple swelled with unabashed ambition as the sunscreen coated his throat until his voice was as deep and powerful as the ocean, shaking the garage walls. 

Almost involuntarily, like a new jock-slut instinct hitting his thick skull, Rusty plunged a sex toy sized finger into his ass, gasping as the walls of his hole constricted around it and pulsed with pleasure. A long, deep, drawling groan oozed out of his lips as he realised he’d just coated his insides with the growth-inducing sunscreen, and he felt his finger begin to bulge bigger inside of himself, filling his virgin hole with its increasing size.

Aw, fuck. The impossibly sweet sensation caused Rusty’s tongue, which was coated in sunscreen and tingling like a motherfucker, to shoot out of his mouth like an unfurling party horn - surprise! - and the newborn hunk almost went cross-eyed watching it slap down past his superhero chin, thick and meaty and much longer than he remembered. Shit. He was huge.

Rusty suddenly felt a deep and strong tug at the end of himself, and immediately became aware of the porn star cock throbbing with hot need between his horse-heavy legs. With all his mental processes, Rusty seized it between his oversized hands, roared with lust, and began jerking himself off. He shoved his finger deep inside himself at the same time, quickly sinking into an expert rhythm of jackhammer speed - in and out, up and down - totally unaware through the heavenly stupor that he was now ambidextrous. 

Oceanic pressure flooded his system - his cock felt harder than obsidian as globs of warm magma pre-cum began to bubble and overflow from the tip. His finger was the size of a dick, fucking his prostate better than most dicks ever could. Rusty bellowed deeply as the pressure peaked and his cock couldn’t take it any more, vibrating with pleasure as the damn exploded and an eruption of jizz rocketed out of him. 

Load after load jettisoned out of his demigod, blond cock, covering his dad’s gym with his hot cream. It fired off like the nozzle on a bottle of sunscreen, arching in thick spurts of sex. He painted the room white, the smell of cum and man strong enough to put a beard on a boys face just by inhaling it. 

Rusty lay there, panting. His hands absentmindedly fondled his balls, his voice a low, unfamiliar growl. There was the sound of metal, and then the feeling of sunlight moving over his gargantuan form. He shaded his face with a thick forearm, and looked to see the garage door sliding slowly upwards. The silhouette of a man was being unveiled as it rose, and before it reached the man’s neck, Rusty could tell it was the shape of his father. He was holding a football.

Behind him, the beach sparkled with sun. A warm breeze blew in, and Rusty blew his load all over again.

Good Game

---

Originally posted on 2022-06-06 by dumb-and-jocked.

This was a collaboration piece with @rozza22365.

---

“Babe, how did you know exactly what I needed?” Brenden asked, skipping happily along the trail with his boyfriend’s hand in his own.

“I have my ways,” Chaz replied nonchalantly, although it was evident he’d thought about this long and hard. The whole day had gone according to his plan of making Brenden feel as relaxed as possible. After a very stressful promotion process at Brenden’s hair salon, Chaz knew the 22-year-old was going to need a break. He planned a romantic weekend getaway involving time at the beach, a stroll through the local park, and a fancy meal for dinner followed by “dessert”. Chaz was working hard to help his boyfriend take a step back from reality. Brenden just needed to slow down to keep his miniature body from exploding.

And by miniature, Chaz meant the 5’5 skinnier-than-a-flagpole twink hopping beside him like a delicate gazelle. His stick-like figure (along with the platinum-blonde locks gelled up in the front and a pair of beach balls in the back) often made him a target for bullying, including homophobia. Luckily, Chaz was usually enough to scare them off. The recent college-grad was only 5’11, but thanks to his many years on the swim team had developed a modest frame. He’d also gained a comfortability with public speaking and argumentation thanks to his political science degree. Once he got a job, then Chaz believed he would have everything he would need to be happy in life.

“Oh! Honey, look!”

Before Chaz could even follow Brenden’s sight line, his boyfriend was already skidding across the field. Chaz walked comfortably behind, smiling as he noticed how the light breeze blew through Brenden’s salmon-striped tank and ripped white jeans. Chaz thought about catching up, but he didn’t want to run in his cheap sandals. Not only that, but the last thing he wanted to do was rip his khakis and sweat through his casual button-up. It was already pretty warm out, so any extra effort might have strained Chaz’s body in ways that wouldn’t be attractive.

“Yum…” Brenden was basically drooling as Chaz joined him at the top of the hill. About 200 feet away were a group of jocks wrapping up what looked to be a game of baseball. They all appeared to be around the same age as the couple, except each was about double the size of both boyfriends put together. Even from a distance, one could see the jocks’ bulging muscles, shimmering layer of sweat, and (thanks to their lack of shirts) set of washboard abs. And their gym shorts perfectly showcased the numerous perky behinds and overstuffed pouches. With their hats all turned backwards as well, they looked exactly like the stereotypical college jocks.

“No kidding…” Chaz joined in the ogling, watching as they packed up their gear and started heading out. The boyfriends couldn’t stop admiring how the jocks looked, strutted, and acted. Their physical features weren’t the only thing the pair noticed however. The jocks were all engaging in playful gay banter, fake-kissing and bromanticizing with each other. Although it was pretty obvious that all of them were typical arrogant, straight boys pretending to be men, Brenden and Chaz couldn’t help but fantasize about the simplicity of their life.

The couple watched on as the jocks got into two lines facing opposite directions, ready to give each other the classic “Good Game” sendoff. However, instead of giving high-fives, they instead swatted every butt playfully. Brenden and Chaz bit their lip, every jiggle of a straight male’s buttock translating into a tiny pulse of pleasure through their modest boners.

“Did we…” Chaz started. “Did we just get baited?”

“No, at least I don’t think so,” Brenden retorted, taking a breath. “I think that was all natural. Nothing gay about it.”

“No homo,” Chaz imitated in a broish tone, gaining a laugh out of his boyfriend. “Ready to head out, sweetheart?”

“Just a second.” Brenden was still looking down at the field. “I think the boys might’ve left us a present.”

Sitting on home base lay two blue baseball caps. Making sure no one else was watching, Brenden instantly made a run for it. With a small smirk, Chaz followed behind at a quicker stroll. Apparently tonight’s “dessert” was going to involve roleplay.

“Chazzy! How do I look?”

The blue hat sat comfortably on Brenden’s head, the bill shading his cute face from the harsh sun.

“Exactly like them,” Chaz responded sarcastically, placing the other hat on his head.

“Thanks, bro,” Brenden replied in his version of a broish tone before leaning in for a kiss.

“Mmm!” Chaz was surprised to feel his boyfriend’s tongue quickly slide through his mouth. Once they pulled apart, Chaz stopped any further affection, “Darling, let’s roleplay when we get home.”

“But no one’s here,” Brenden whined. “No one will see us. Now, flip your cap around.”

Chaz quickly surrendered, too horny to use any of the argumentation skills he had learned over the years. Rushed, he did one more sweep around the field before following instructions. Brenden flipped his own as well, letting the front of his quiff pour out of the empty hole in the front. Instantly, the pair felt a sharp shock strike through their bodies. They physically lurched in extreme agony for a moment, but seconds later they had already forgotten about the pain.

“So what do you say, babe,” Brenden tried replicating his broish tone again. “Should we…”

Chaz, getting the memo, leaned down for a kiss. He closed his eyes, ready to feel his boyfriend's soft lips touch the bottom of his own. Chaz kept feeling himself get lower and lower, but eventually he became confused as to why he hadn’t reached Brenden yet.

“Dude! Open your eyes!”

Chaz’s eyelids lifted to reveal Brenden’s crotch right in his face.

“Ah ew babe!” Chaz backed away in disgust. “How could you prank me like that?” Brenden however was laughing so hard that Chaz could see each one of his skinny abs rippling on his lanky body. The 6’5 beanpole was cackling up a storm.

“Gotcha!”

“I didn’t even realize I had leaned in so far,” Chaz joined in with Brenden’s jovial nature. At 6’4, he must’ve bent almost straight down in order to get to his boyfriend’s crotch. “Ok, so can I kiss you now?”

“No bro, we’re still roleplaying.” Chaz noticed how Brenden was getting more in touch with his broish tone, so he decided to follow suit.

“Alright then…broski…what’s next?”

“What’s next babe is a game of gay chicken.” Brenden appeared extremely eager for this. Chaz could tell by the way his boyfriend’s cut-like-steel and shaped-like-diamonds calves bounced excitedly back and forth.

“What’s that?” Chaz replied, positioning his own legs out into a kickstand. Thanks to his khaki shorts, people were also able to see the fine, rugged calves he owned. Similarly cut like Brenden’s, yet just a little tanner and meatier. Although if Chaz ever brought this up, Brenden would just compete by acknowledging how he was slightly taller so his calves were drawn out more.

“It’s simple, bro. It’s where basically two dudes get as close to a kiss while trying not to. The person who kisses first loses.”

Chaz considered this, a little thrown off by the game. The rules seemed simple enough, but why would his boyfriend want to play this? Chaz was so horned up right now that he could just stick his head between Brenden’s two massive thighs. Chaz could just daydream about how if he placed his skull into Brenden’s gym shorts, then his boyfriend would probably be able to break him open like a ripe watermelon. Their chunky, meaty size was almost tangible, but unfortunately that’s not the game his boyfriend wanted to play right now. Chaz instead reminded himself that it could happen tonight for dessert.

“Ok, I’m in,” Chan announced, suddenly enthused over the prospect of a challenge. He clapped his own thighs together in anticipation, sending ripples across his soft and muscular quads. Just like his boyfriend’s, they too filled his own gym shorts nicely, looking like candy with a tight wrapper.

“Sweet dude! Since I brought the game up I have to go first.” Although Brender had seemed excited, Chan noted the new tone in his voice. The use of “have'' accented a new emotion laced into his boyfriend’s words: fear. The emotion was also evident in the way Brender’s torso was super tense. The man’s abs were extremely hard, flexed to their max capacity. His tender pecs were solid while his silver-dollar nipples were rock hard. Even the man’s delts displayed apprehension, hiding away from their true larger-than-life wingspan.

Slowly but surely, Brender slowly reclined forward. To make sure he didn’t get too close and lose in the first round, he placed a porcelain hand against Chan’s carved chest. He subtly felt up his boyfriend’s 6-pack, noting how each one felt like a stone plucked straight from the earth. Brender’s finger ran up the valley into the upper torso, giving each of the mounds of flesh Chan called pectorals a cheeky squeeze. He also made sure to give a little flick to one of Chan’s nipples, which truly looked more like an udder than something meant for nothing.

Brendor got close, but he paused at about 6 inches. “Gonna be hard for you to beat that!”

“Pfft, sure bro.” Chant was pretty confident this wouldn’t be as difficult as his boyfriend had made it look. Chant took a similarly sluggish speed that Brendor had, making sure to move forward at a cautious pace. To assure he didn’t fall forward, Chant grabbed his boyfriend’s massive arms. Brendor’s forearms were so long and sturdy with veins accentuating their muscular mass. His biceps were so firm and his triceps had a similar amount of vigor. Even the other man’s hands were gigantic, looking big and solid enough to catch a baseball without the mitt.

Getting to the 6-inch mark that Brendor had made it to, Chant slowed down his pace even more. He felt his own brawny appendages become strained, his own veins snaking across robust arms. Similarly to Brendor, Chant’s biceps stood as two proud mounds atop his tanned flesh. His triceps had a identical mass, and his forearms displayed a strength that had been built up over years of hard work. His heavily-calloused, giant hands only furthered the argument by looking more fit for a package of Hamburger Helper than a human being. Right as he passed Brendor’s previous attempt, Chant gave an obnoxious set of kissy lips before taking a step back.

“Almost had me there bro,” Brenor replied in a tone that was deep, masculine, and empty.

“Huhuhuh, you wish dude.” Chent couldn’t help but guffaw, his voice an almost identical replica. Absentmindedly adjusting his rope wristband, Chent felt a rush of adrenaline race through him as he said, “Ball’s in your court.”

Brenor gave a quick nod, his bulging Adam’s apple shaking in agreement. Bending his tremendous upper traps, Brenor approached Chent’s face once again. While watching his boyfriend dip closer, Chent took his time studying every part of the other man’s face. A square jaw loosened gently with some baby fat that made him look extra adorable. Eyebrows bushy but his brown hair was at a crew cut length beneath the cap. Big nose to circulate air while working out and fading eye black to advertise that there wasn’t much behind those dull brown eyes.

Reaching in on Chent’s last milestone, Brenor carefully cupped one of his gargantuan hands against his boyfriend’s face to steady himself. He loved how it perfectly fit against the other man’s carved jaw, the way it caressed the other man’s Neatherandthal-like bone structure. He couldn’t stop himself from analyzing Chent’s crooked nose after being broken from a previous game, or the way that his blond crew cut matched his light eyebrows. Even Chent’s lackluster eyes had a certain shine to them. He wasn’t hypnotized by the looks however, he was just purely appreciating aesthetics. And with that realization, Brenor pulled away gleefully.

“Let’s go bro!” Brevor cheered, stomping his Size 15 blue Nike’s hard on the ground.

“I thought I was just about to win there, babe.” Crent playfully kicked Brevor’s shin with a Size 14 black Adidas, not noticing how the term of endearment had come out more like an insult. Noting his socks had fallen down a little, he faithfully bent down to pull them up before continuing.

“You still have time to surrender,” Crent sniggered.

“Nah bro, you’re about to fade!” Brevor may have been right, that last stretch was getting close. But that didn’t mean Crent was going to give up! Confidently, he grabbed his boyfriends behind and pulled him in. Crent may have been focusing on his game of gay chicken, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to feel up his bro’s ample bottom on the side. And wow, was he glad he did. It was thick and tough. Soft, yet too muscular to derive any pleasure from. Sneakily, Crent shoved a finger into Brevor’s butthole, finding it was way too tight to be welcoming.

“Hey!” Brevor yelped.

“Sorry, brohama,” Crent purred. “I’m just luring you in.”

“The point of the game isn’t to turn me on, dude,” Brevor sneered. “That’s a different game of gay chicken.”

“I just gotta get comfortable, bro. Just doin’ the same thing to you I do to a…”

Crent stopped himself, unsure of what word was supposed to finish that sentence. Instead of dwelling on it however, he continued. With one hand still on the butt, Crent slowly explored the rest of Brevor’s midsection. He found a pair of heavy kumquats hiding in the man’s shorts, so large they were probably painful to contain in clothing. Above those was his boyfriend’s babymaker, a soft 7 inch sausage stuffed not so subtly. Right as Crent passed Brevor’s previous point, mere centimeters away from the lips, Crent gave the other man’s dick a quick squeeze and backed off.

“Is somebro feeling a little frisky?” Brevor remarked.

“We’ll see when you kiss me,” Crent antagonized back. Not being one to back down, Brevor stuck his hand right into Crent’s shorts. Finding the soft 7 inch joystick, he pulled the other man so close that he could feel Crent’s balls rub against his. Even though they were separated by layers of fabric, Brevor was able to feel their succulent, robust nature. After giving the pouch a good squeeze, Brevor found that Crent’s buttocks shared the same descriptive adjectives. Succulent and robust, but also tense.

“What…what are you doing…bro?” Crent murmured, finding Brevor’s actions were a little less playful than his own.

“I’m losing.”

And with that, Brevor pushed himself into Crent’s lips. At first it was only Brevor kissing, but Crent got the memo and quickly began reciprocating. It wasn’t very long and it wasn’t involving tongues, but it was a kiss nonetheless. Both of the men felt odd and weird about the kiss, but part of them felt good about it too.

Immediately, the two men felt their dicks get hard followed by a constantly-looming need to touch them. Being preoccupied by their strange kiss however, they could only think of one way to resolve their issue: grinding. The two bros instantly started humping each other, as if the same, horny thought process was guiding their decisions. But with each rub against the other body, their attraction and horniness faded, becoming nothing more but amusement towards each other. The thought of actually liking each other felt pretty gay. And the more the two bros shared their gaze while kissing and humping, the less desire they felt. Instead, they discovered a great friendship and comradery towards each other.

The fading of attraction towards was closely followed by their homosexuality as a whole. Even though they were physically with their bro, they were mentally dreaming about boobs and tight pussy. Their homosexualities weren’t the only things disappearing however, as their IQ had been steadily dropping during their entire process of “appreciation of the male form”. Their minds began restructuring, new memories settling in and piecing together their new lives.

Flashes of sports, porn, and endless sex. Bad grades and rich parents, privileged backgrounds and dull futures. Lots of banter with the bros, even a bit of gay banter. Obviously, they sucked and jerked their bros off every now and then but that wasn't gay–just dude stuff. Sometimes they even destroyed nerds’ holes in order to make them do their homework, but as long as they topped it wasn’t gay. And a simple “no homo” always cleared things up though.

Laughing more as they humped, the two men (if they could really be called that) began thinking of this more as a stupid game. With so many memories of banging and impregnating countless cheerleaders and sorority chicks over the years, the thought of being gay seemed like a foreign concept. Just the idea of motorboating or ramming their cocks and seeding some bimbo made the two jocks want to-

“OH BRO!” they both shouted in unison as giant blasts of cum soaked the front of their shorts. With IQs under 90, the pair began showcasing the best of male intellect by jokingly rubbing their wet fronts against each other.

“You’re such a fag, bro!” Trent guffawed. “I knew I was gonna win.”

“Oh whatever dude,” Trevor huffed. “I wasn’t the fairy who was enjoying it.”

They both continued bantering with each other before realizing the rest of their crew had already gone back to the frat house. Accepting defeat for now, Trevor smirked and gave Trent a playful spank.

“Good game, bro,” Trevor ceded. “But I’ll getcha next time.” Trent chuckled dully before giving a smack back to Trevor’s behind.

“Sure, broski. Good game.”

Be of Service

--- Originally posted on 2024-04-06 by dumb-and-jocked.---

Round of applause to @mrrharper

I dumped my uniform and bag into the locker, my partner John doing likewise beside me. After a graveyard shift, the two of us had decided to hit the gym bright and early in the morning before sleeping through our day off. John and I had been partners since we had first joined the police force. As officers, we had done a lot together; rode together, drank together, laughed together. One time we were even in a foursome together with two chicks we had picked up at a bar.

Now in our early thirties though, we had begun to take life a little more seriously. Start choosing wisely, acting responsibly. Working out had been my idea, and after six months it had already shown some results. Both of us were average height and had gained some pudge over the years, but now we both had notable definition. I could not help but flex a little in the mirror, impressed by the beginnings of my triceps.

“Looking fire, broski!”

My eyes shifted over to one of the three football jocks who sauntered into the locker room. I was immediately annoyed by the trio of obnoxious meatheads, and I could tell John was as well.

“Have you been coming here for long?” the first asked. “We haven’t seen you around.”

“We come when we can,” I replied. “Working for the law gives us busy schedules.”

“Woah…so are you guys like, officers or something?” the second guffawed.

“Officers, yeah.” John was irked.

“Huhuhuh…cool bruh!” the third jock inserted. “You two should totally join us!”

Before we could respond, the first jock piped back in, “Yeah dudes! We could have a great sesh between the five of us. Brock here is stellar at arms, and Duke is the best at working those legs and glutes.”

“Jalen’s a pro with chest,” the second jock, Brock, finished. “And you two officer bros, what are you good at?”

I grunted, “Knowing how to refuse an offer.”

It took Brock and Duke, the third jock, a second to process what I had implied, their mental capacities obviously slower than the average male. Jalen was a little faster however, putting on a dumb smile. 

“Your loss bros, but totally understandable,” he shrugged. “In case it wasn’t obvious, we’re on the football team at the local college, so let us know if you need any workout tips or exercises.”

I barely nodded my head, offering a blunt, “Ok, thanks.” John and I then made our way past the bulky jocks, the three of them each larger than either of us. I took a breath as soon as we exited their collective earshot.

“Three cocky dicks,” I snorted. “No better way to start the morning.”

John mockingly agreed. Our workout was brutal, our bodies already tired due to our unusual sleep schedule. This, along with the occasional stare from one of the jocks, only encouraged us to work harder. Nothing was spared from our exercises, we utilized machines that hit multiple areas at once. Arms and chest, legs and back, abs and quads. At the end, we hit the treadmills for a thirty minute run, sneering back at the trio while they stood in front of one of the many mirrors and flexed their pumped arms, taking pictures for social media.

Eventually, we were back in the locker room cleaning up, both expecting the jocks to ambush us again. Fortunately, the lumbering footballers never arrived. John had joked they were probably still drooling over their own muscles in the mirror, and I had replied better they were drooling on themselves then us. I did not want their narcissistic, dim-witted reek all over me, and neither did my partner. We both opted to skip showers; we could take them back at our respective apartments before crashing into our own, cool beds.

As we left the locker rooms and headed towards the exit, we were immediately swarmed by our unwanted acquaintances. 

“You know, bros,” Jalen swung a beefy, sweaty arm around both of us. Brock paced behind me, and Duke followed suit with John. “We never caught your names? We’d like to thank you for your service, officers, whatever it is you do."

His tone was a little menacing, but I knew he would not try to pull something in broad daylight. “Darren,” I responded. “and John.”

Jalen grinned, moving his arms to pat the back of our necks. I felt a little sting at his touch, almost like an electric shock.

“Now c’mon bros, how about you come join us at the frat house where we can properly use your services.”

John frowned, and I retorted with, “I think you boys have had your fun.”

Brock chuckled, “Fun’s not even started broski.”

Duke’s response was even deeper and dumber, “Huhuhuh...dudes aren’t even ready.”

We had finally made it outside, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon. I noticed our squad cars parked up front, we would be out of this mess in just a moment.

“Alright, this is our stop,” I exclaimed, making sure the three got my message. Suddenly, a piercing jolt was sent across my spine, traveling all the way from my brain to my toes.

“Our stop is actually over there, officers.” Jalen pointed to the two trucks past their cruisers. “Darren, you can come with me and Brock, Duke here is gonna take John.”

Robotically, my body followed Jalen’s command, tracing behind the first two jocks to their obnoxiously big vehicle. Although I could not turn my head, I could tell John’s body was following the orders as well.

“Disengage Operation Mode, security bypass JALEN, sleep.”

— —

“Engage 25% Operation Mode, security bypass JALEN, wake.”

My eyes fluttered open. I was standing in an empty room, not rigid but not slouching either. To my right, I could sense my partner’s presence, familiar with John’s aura. We were still in our dirty gym gear, although our body odor was nothing compared to the three jocks standing proudly before us. Through the windows behind them, I assumed it to still be some time in the morning, but that was the only piece of the situation that I could try to fathom.

“Bet you’ve never had a mind control chip implanted, have you, officers?”

I tried to respond with something snarky, but my mouth wouldn’t let me.

“We were just trying to be friendly, help some bros out, but you two insulted our kindness.” Jalen stepped a little closer, even from a distance I could feel his large, masculine presence. “Maybe next time you won’t mess with the son of a government-funded millionaire.”

Jalen pointed his fingers at his two goons. Brock and Duke each stepped forward, crossing the distance between them and John and I. They removed our shirts, and although I could see or move my feet, I realized my shoes had already been taken too.

“My dad gifted me some leftover mind-control chips he had built for the military, said I could use them if I ever needed them. Something along the lines of "accessing the nervous system" and "reprogramming capabilities". Didn't matter to me bros, it was all nerd-speak. I just needed the commands.”

If I could have, I would have gulped. Jalen stepped closer as the other jocks discarded our clothes.

“MC 1001, 50% Operation Mode.”

Suddenly, the feeling was restored throughout my body. I did not bother with attempting an escape, recognizing my body was still glued to the floor. When I turned to my partner, I realized John had not been released.

“What’s the plan, Jalen?” I spat.

“You were so rude to us back at our gym when you are employed to be of service” Jalen smirked. "The bros and I thought we should remind you of your duty, and what better way then by dispatching you as our new security guards who obey our every wish and command?”

“So what, you’re going to 'reprogram' us?”

“How about you see for yourself?” Jalen then turned to John. “MC 1002, engage Modification Mode, security bypass JALEN.”

“MC 1002, Modification Mode engaged, security bypass confirmed." It may have been John’s mouth that had opened, but I knew it was not him who was speaking.

“Brock,” Jalen invited. “How about you take the first swing?”

Brock laughed and scratched at his crotch, “Get him jacked bro.”

Jalen turned to Duke, “Anything specific you’d like to add?”

To my surprise, Duke did have something to add–a lot to add: “Make them former rugby players bro, cause rugby is for idiots and rugby players should serve football jocks, the real alphas.”

Jalen raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised too. “Works for me. MC 1002, enter in keywords ‘Rugby’ and ‘Jock’ to the personality frame and set both at 88. Raise ‘Muscle’ by 40 base points and remove any post-secondary education from the mainframe.”

Watching the football neanderthal list off a series of programming commands put our situation into a new perspective. My eyes grew with fear as the changes installed into John’s body. It was like watching a horrible balloon inflation, his body contorting as it expanded. John’s once meager chest bloated into two massive pecs supported by two trunks of legs. His arms cartoonishly bulged until they were practically circular, his pits filling with hair as a tattoo wrapped itself around his right bicep. His face thickened too, adopting a square shape along with a wider nose and thicker stubble.

“Keywords ‘Rugby’ and ‘Jock’ successfully installed.” John’s voice was now deeper, gruffer. “‘Muscle’ upgraded, post-secondary education deleted.”

Jalen nodded, “MC 1002, add 10 base points to his age as well.”

“Adding 10 base points to ‘Age’.” To my shock, I helplessly observed my partner grow older beside me. The skin around his body tightened, pulling in to reveal the more delicate details of his veins and tendons. Wrinkles began to develop across his body along with other age marks. It was painful to watch his hairline slowly pull back, his scalp thinning out into a well-maintained crew cut.

“Here’s the fun part,” Jalen mocked, noting my face of terror. "Lower cognitive abilities by 20 base points and independent identity by 30 base points. Install the ‘Security’ package to the mainframe and boost the ‘Obedience’ category to max potential."

Although there were no visible alterations, I could have sworn the light went out behind my partner’s eyes. “All actions executed, please confirm modifications to MC 1002.”

Jalen smirked, making direct eye contact with me. “Confirm MC 1002, disengage Modification Mode, reengage total Operation Mode.”

To my delight, I watched as John’s body reanimated completely, indicating he now had full control over his body. But any hope I had was immediately crushed as soon as he stood at command, dumbly  grinning with his arms crossed over his chest.

“How can I be of service, sir?” John asked Jalen.

“Go do a full sweep of the yard of something, bro.” Jalen tossed John a pair of sunglasses, not even bothering to hand him any other clothes. Apparently his now too-tight joggers were enough. “Oh, and by the way, you go by Hammer now.”

“Hammer…” John processed. “Yes sir, thank you sir.”

I watched as my former partner stomped out of the room, out of our reality.

“Why ‘Hammer’, bro?” Brock piped in from behind me.

“‘Cause he’ll be laying down the law of the land.” Jalen then shifted back to me. “Our other friend here will be ‘Brute’.”

I heard two empty-headed laughs from the two empty-headed jocks behind me.

“He’ll be nothing more than a wall of meat,” Jalen taunted. Before I could insult him back, he instantly shut me up. “MC 1001, engage Modification Mode, security bypass JALEN.”

“MC 1001, Modification Mode engaged, security bypass confirmed." My mouth was out of my control. I tried to fight back, reanimate myself by any means possible.

“Alright Duke, it’s your turn.”

“Same thing as last time, bruh.”

Disappointed, Jalen shifted back to Brock, “Got something else?”

I prayed Brock would not say anything too damaging “Make him huge dude,” he requested, putting me at ease before following up with: “And make him like a butler too.”

Jalen laughed, and if I could have I would have cried.

“Oh MC 1001,” Jalen merrily instructed. “Copy MC 1002’s personality frame and mainframe, and enhance body and clothes proportions to 1.5. ”

“Modifications downloading,” I stated, a sudden sinking emerging in my stomach. In moments, I sprung upwards towards the ceiling, my height soaring above the jocks to an astonishing six and a half feet. Muscles exploded out of my body, bloating me thick with bulk. My arms were plump and my hands meaty. Two juicy pecs larger than my head were now carried by my absolute barrel of a chest, stretched out and taut. My legs were colossal, so dense that I would permanently be forced to take wide, swaggering steps. Even my neck thickened, supporting my newly masculinized skull.

“Copy and paste procedure successful.” My voice was husky, low, deep and booming. “Body and clothes proportions at 1.5.”

“Look at his socks, bro,” I heard Brock snigger behind me. “Whattya think those stompers are?”

“Huhuhuh…I don’t know dude…maybe Size 15?”

“Looks like I missed something,” Jalen appeared disappointed. “MC 1001, reduce reproductive size to 3.”

“Redacting 4 base points from ‘Reproduction’.” I screamed, pleading for this to stop. But no words exited my mouth. Instead, I remained painfully silent as I felt my cock and balls shrivel down within my shorts. 

“Helps with the obedience factor” Jalen stated. “Now, let's lower cognitive abilities by 40 base points and independent identity to 15 base points. Install the ‘Security’ package to the mainframe, boost the ‘Obedience’ category to max potential, and add in keywords ‘Respect’, ‘Humility’, and ‘Subservience’."

I would not give up, I would not cave in. “Please confirm modifications to MC 1002?”

Jalen was finished with his game. “Confirm modifications, disengage Modification Mode, reengage total Operation Mode.”

After a moment, I blinked. My head felt fuzzy, empty, as if some great weight of responsibility had been removed. I dumbly chuckled to myself.

"Feeling good there, bro?” Jalen smiled. “Excited to serve us jocks?"

"Uhhhh, yeah bruh…be of service."

"Well said, Brute."

"Brute?" I smiled lazily. “What can I uh…do bro?”

"First, let’s get you in uniform.” Jalen signaled to Duke, who then tossed a black cap to me. I secured it backwards onto my head proudly.

“Now, clean the frat house from top to bottom. I’m talking dirty laundry in the machine, trash taken out, floors scrubbed–the whole deal. I want this place looking slick before the party starts tonight. Once you’re done with that, you can go patrol the lawn for any feds. Got all that?”

It took a while for me to process everything, but eventually the dumb grin came back to my face.

“Yeah bruh…whatever you need.”

Can u do like one with a dorky geek being forced against his will to be turned into a jock and become like the star quarterback for the team like me

“You see, the problem with modern society is that, suddenly, all the emphasis has shifted from physicality and physical endeavours to cerebral enterprises and the furtherance of technology.  Societally speaking, that can only lead to a slow downfall of everything we, the human race, have ever built.  We have to get back to basics!”  On each word of the last sentence, the man banged the meat of his palm on the desk in front of him, emphasizing each point.  His gaze, however, never wavered from the array of students sitting in front of him.  His eyes swept the room, as if daring anyone to disagree with him.  He held the menace in his teeth, playing the silence out, and suddenly relaxed, shifting entirely into another mode, that of easy-going, affable Coach.  “But the pendulum swings, boys, the pendulum always swings.  One extreme to the other, and boy, when it comes,” he chuckled, swaying his head and clicking his tongue, “it’s gonna come hard.” 

The bell sang its saw-song through the air, jarring everyone from their respective trances.  Matthew snorted, turning to his friend.  “Are you kidding me?  One logical fallacy after another.  And that pseudo-social science he was spouting?  Did you even hear that?  Why did we even have him in class today?  What was that supposed to teach us?”

Sanjay shook his head.  “Which one do you want me to answer first?”

“Any.  None.  It doesn’t matter.  Just doesn’t make any sense.  Why have the coach of the football team lecture us on how intelligence and critical thought and technological know-how is actually, you know, in disguise, the downfall of human civilization!  Oh, yeah, let’s prize barbarity and tout physical achievement as opposed to …”

Honestly, Sanjay tuned him out.  Sure, Matthew was his friend.  Yeah, he was smart.  Probably one of the smartest kids in the school, but he had a demanding, needy persona that was just sometimes hard to bear.  He could be arrogant, almost preening, constantly displaying his prodigious vocabulary and scorning anyone who didn’t reach his impossible standards.  Still, better to have him on your side, Sanjay reasoned, than not.

“So, yeah.”  Matthew tossed his hair back from his eyes.  He’d been letting it grow long, some rebellion thing.  “Wanna watch foreign films tonight?”

“Uh,” God, again?  He had a passion for subtitles that bordered on the pathological.  Sometimes, he’d even quote the French when the appropriate time arrived.  “I can’t, tonight.  Family … thing.”

“Oh.  Okay.  Well, a toût a l’heure, mon ami!”

“Seeya,” Sanjay moved off into the hallway throng.  “Weirdo.”

o

The faint, overlapping sound of calls and cries, short and shouted, that echoed from the field.  Some grunting.  Matthew hated that, in order to walk home, he had to follow the small sidewalk around the back side of the school and around a fairly large chunk of the football field.  He usually had his earbuds in, and today was no exception, with Einstürzende Neubaten playing (and only because of the name) in his ears.  He tapped his hands idly against his thighs as he walked, tapping out a badly-timed beat to the song he was listening to.  His eyes he kept firmly fixed ahead.  He refused to look at the game in progress, or the training, or whatever.  Can’t deny that his eyes did flick to the left, but he didn’t turn his head, so that doesn’t count.  Or so he reasoned.

Out of all the sports, Matthew hated football the worst.  He could make concessions for “real” football, or soccer, if he was pressed, but American football, the NFL, all of it, just left a bad taste in his mouth.  Stupid celebrity body-glorifying inane banal moronic and, on one occasion, mentally retarded, were all words that came out of his mouth whenever confronted with the topic.  Team sports on a whole repelled him: the whole notion of conforming to a set, of being reduced to a function, caused him to shiver way down deep inside his skinny body.  He was furiously proud of his body, liked that he could slip in and out of places unnoticed.  He wore mostly blacks and grays for the same reason.

Of course, he was bullied.  What kid isn’t?  Matthew is no idiot.  He’s read books, seen movies, he knows.  The bully does it because the bully feels like he’s inferior in some way, is over-compensating.  Yeah, he knows the “why,” but the “what” keeps happening.  Physical threats.  He’s been tripped, kicked, spat at.  He does not let himself break to the bullies.  He knows that he is superior to them, and one day, they’ll be pumping his gas.  The knowledge of this certain future is enough to glaze and harden the sneer on his face whenever he runs into them.  

He looked up just in time, swerving to miss the outstretched hands of one of his classmates.  He didn’t even have time to notice which one it was.  All he saw was a wide grin and the palms of the hands, and the world yawed above him, sky to treetops to treetrunks to dead leaves on the ground, and he was falling, poorly, ungainly and akimbo, ass over teakettle, and rolling, crashing through various underbrush, skinning his palms on ill-placed rocks, the world became a splatter of color on a palette, and then turned to gray fuzz as he came to a halt.

“Whoa, kid, kid, holy fucking …”  Someone had rushed to his side, but Matthew couldn’t tell who it was.  His eyes were unfocused, his ears were slamming loud carillons of hiss and bells, he throbbed, nearly all over.  He thought, well, nothing’s broken, and remembered relief.  He cracked his mouth and a strange noise flopped out, like a broken bassoon.  “Are you OK?  Did you just fall?”

“Stupid … question,” Matthew said, and passed out.

o

He woke up at home.  In his own bed.  His posters on the wall, his strange Russian propaganda posters, his vintage movie posters.  He still throbs all over.  That part wasn’t a dream.  This is, however, that weird murky space between waking up and really waking up.  Surfacing, sort of, through the shallows.  He remembered … falling.  He remembered … being pushed!  His head is like an anvil factory.  Jabs of clanging pain twinned to his heartbeat.  He groaned, and ground his hand, hard, into his left eye.  The pain did not abate.  He rolled over, the sheets followed, and he untangled himself, with some amount of confusion.  There was a slightly heavy … slightly wet smell in the air, almost as if someone drenched in cologne had been there recently.  It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, Matthew thought murkily, then shook his head violently.  No!  It was awful!  It smelled like a locker room.  How the fuck did he get home?  He reached for his phone, which was where he always kept it, on the night stand next to his bed.  He thumbed it open.  No missed calls.  No new text messages.  The time was 10:30pm., on whatever day.  He idly thought he might have amnesia.  It was dark, and he could hear the crickets sawing feverishly away outside his window.  He felt a stab of hunger, and slowly swung his legs out of bed. 

The anodyne glow of the big-screen television was near-blinding as Matthew limped down the stairs.  Weird, he thought.  No one in this house is usually awake at this hour.  He moved closer to inspect.  No one on the couch.  Not a sign that anyone had been there, actually.  It was all very Roanoke.  He half-expected to find “CROATOAN” carved into the coffee table.  It gave him a little, dull chill.  As he moved closer, the sound of the television grew louder, and the picture seemed to clear, resolving from white noise to figures, moving back and forth on the screen.  The white noise resolved into the sound of … an audience?  Matthew squinted at the screen, came even closer, outstretched a finger to prod at its surface, delicately.  Then he backed up, shaking his head, chortling.  “C’mon,” he said out loud, the sound of his voice flat in the living room.  “Don’t be a moron.” 

It was a game on the television.  A football game.  NFL, from the looks of it.  Uniforms … orange and white and orange and black.  The, uh … Broncos and the Browns.  Right.  That’s a lot of orange.  I didn’t even know we got this channel.  What channel?  Oh, ESPN, right.  The football’s pretty fucking elusive, doesn’t seem like anyone can get a handle on - oh, there we go.  That guy’s running.  He’s got the ball.  Feels like something’s going to happen.  Oh, hey, this guy’s coming out of the, no, no, he’s gonna make it he’s - oh.  Nope.  That guy jumped on top of him and he wasn’t close to the end zone.

Matthew felt a strange sense of disappointment, almost deflation.  He cracked his neck to one side and frowned a little.  The players were reassembling.  Some of them look kinda goofy.  The uniforms are kinda cool.  I mean, sorta.  It’s like armor, or something.  Representing … uh, like, houses, or … hey, they’re playing again. 

He found his muscles tightening, his hands forming into fists, as the football was snapped into play.  His eyes watched it as it described its arc over the field, soaring, spiralling, toward the eager and outstretched hands of – and

“INTERCEPTION!” 

Matthew snapped back to himself with all the force of a comet smashing into Siberia.  He blinked, blinked again, and then shook his head.  Was that something rattling around up there?  Jesus, he must’ve hit hard.  He should get some more sleep.  Was he just watching football? 

And … was there a moment there, just a moment, where he … kinda enjoyed it?

o

“Day 2,” Sanjay mimed a gun at his temple, lazing back in his chair.  The windows were open, and a light breeze sashayed in.  “Seriously, though?  Mandated physical education in the form of indoctrination?  Not sure that’s what they had in mind, but … hey, it’s gettin me out of class, right?”

“Yeah,” Matthew mumbled.  He was still kind of out of it, bruised up and scraped pretty badly, but with no lasting injuries.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I must’ve really rattled my brains in that fall.  Shit…”  He dropped his pencil and fumbled around under the desk for it.  “I’ve been so clumsy, today, too…”

“Maybe you got a concussion or something, man.  You should check in with the nurse.”

“Naw, it’s … I slept, last night, so, I don’t think it’s a, uh, you know.  That.  Man, this headache.  I keep taking all this aspirin.”  He shook out a pill from a plain white bottle.  “Don’t know if it’s actually helping, or what.”

Sanjay cocked his head at his friend and shrugged.  “Suit yourself.  Your funeral.  And I wouldn’t take so much advil, man.  Five, at the most.”

The door to the room slammed shut, and the coach walked in.  He never wore street clothes, or, if he did, his street clothes were the same as his regular clothes: basketball shorts and t-shirt, sneakers and socks.  He was a younger man, probably in his early 30s, with a corded, muscular body and a commanding presence lightened only by an aloof affability.  “Welcome back,” he said, and the room immediately quieted.  His eyes swept the room again, much in the same manner as before, as if surveying a course of meats.  “I - “ he stopped as his eyes fell on Matthew.  “Matt,” he said.  “Hope you’re feeling better.“

“It’s Matthew,” he said clearly.  “And yeah, I’m fine.  No thanks to the guy who shoved me.  And I will find out who that is,” he added venomously.  “And when I do, you can be sure I’ll be taking it to the proper author - uh - “

The coach seemed expectant, then shook his head and continued.  “Well, recent drama aside.  We’re here today to talk about the benefits of fitness, and how being physically fit is important in all ways, and, in some ways, how it is the most important.  Your brain won’t function if your body isn’t fed, right?  And we feed our bodies by giving it nutrition and exercising it just like we would a machine.  Sometimes … those machines need a tune-up.  I bet most of you here need a tune-up or two.”

“Not me, Coach!’  Brody piped up.  Matthew’s eyes skated over to him.  He was the QB.  He was just over six-foot and weighed twice what Matthew did.  He sat in his desk and possessed it of a gawky adolescent superiority.  His voice was deep and his face was shadowed around 5 o’clock.  “I’m runnin’ on all cylinders.”  He lifted his arms and flexed.  Most of the class groaned, some of the girls looked sideways, and a paper ball or two was tossed.

“Yeah, well, simmer down there, Bro.  It is true, Brody is at his peak physical form for his body type and his age.  That’s something you can all aspire to.”

Matthew felt dizzy.  The top of his scalp itched.  His throat itched, felt swollen.  He glanced at the back of his hand.  He watched it detachedly as it rose of its own accord, sleepily at first, then erect as a flagpole, fingers straight, unmoving.  “Yes, uh, Matthew?”

His words sounded, to his own ears, as if they had been dredged out of him.  “How do we .. uh, do that?”

The coach stared at him for a minute, inscrutably.  “Good question, Matt.”  Matthew let the name go, almost like a bullet in slow motion past his ear, creating auditory ripples in through his ear and passing through his brain - “Well, we can work out, we can play a sport and join a team - shameless plug, football team still needs some good bodies, signup sheet’s outside the door - but there’s lots of different ways to achieve your physical potential.

“You really don’t look so good,” Sanjay commented.  “And what was that all about?”

“Nothin,” Matthew said.  He felt drunk.  “I, uh, it’s fine.” 

The class continued, and Matthew sat there, silently, eyes fixed ahead.  The buzz and pound in his head continued.  It was almost as if the dream he’d had about watching football on the television was still playing, projected on the inside wall of his skull, and he was hearing it from far away.

o

The bell announced in its shrill, strident way, the end of class.  Matthew filed out with the rest, past the coach as he was erasing the whiteboard.  “Matt,” he heard, and he stopped.  “I just wanted to … are you OK?”

“Yeah,” he heard himself say.  “I’m good.”

“Well, you had a nasty spill.  You said someone pushed you.  You hit your head and you scraped yourself up, but nothing was broken.  We used your phone and called your roommate and they came and picked you up.”

“Oh,” Matthew said.  “It’s Matthew, you know.”

“What?”

“You keep, uh, callin me Matt.”

“Well, I guess it’s just easier.  Just a nickname.  What’s so wrong with Matt?”

“It’s, uh.  It’s not my, uh.  Yeah.  Whatever.  Look, I - “

“Want to sign up for the football team.”

“… Huh?”

“I’m joking.  What’s up?”

“I, that question I asked.  Maybe I should, you know.  Work out.  So I don’t, you know, ‘fall,’ anymore.”

“Hey, Matt, that’s a great idea!  Not to mention it’ll really help build up your confidence.  Who couldn’t use some of that, huh?”

“Right,” he agreed, a little uncertain why.  A weird molten surge of … something, was starting to heat up in his stomach.  “Yeah.”

The coach dropped his big hand on Matthew’s shoulder and grinned.  “I’m so glad you want to do this, Matt.  I really think it’ll do you wonders.  How about I take you down to the gym for your free period and show you the ropes?”

“My - how did you know I have a, next?  I didn’t -”

“I get all your schedules.  C’mon, I’ll show you and I promise, you won’t be able to stop once you start.  It really is addicting.”

“Yeah, right,” Matthew mumbled, but was already being ushered to follow by the coach’s arm and hand.  Before he knew it, they were walking down the hallway, out through into the dazzling sunlight, and then back inside via two metal doors with arrowslit-like windows, metal wiring.  The gym.  The echoes began almost immediately.  Basketball sneakers against the floor with their skreek skreeking, rubber on lacquer.  The clang and repeated thud of weights against racks.  A pumping soundtrack, fading in and out. 

“You’ll be right at home,” the coach said.  “Trust me.”

I doubt it, thought Matthew, but Matt’s face was grinning, and Matt’s mouth was saying, “Awesome, Coach.”

o

“So, how’s the recruiting stage going?”

“Great.  Aspirin was a great way to hide it.  No one knows.”

“And after a minor, accidental, spill, pain relief … is somewhat necessary, wouldn’t you say?”

“Brody is a good QB.  He’ll do whatever I tell him to, even if it does include a little … hooliganism. ”

“How about your white whale?”

“Oh, Matt’s doing amazing.  You know, you wouldn’t believe it, but the kid’s twice his size.  We’ll have him on the football team for this coming season, and he’s gonna make a hell of a QB after Brody graduates.  Isn’t even a trace left of who he was.”

“We want to thank you for allowing us to test our new drug out on your student body, as it were, Coach.”

“Well, I understand the need for a return to the fundamentals of society.  If that comes at the expense of some brain cells, well, so be it.”

“Quite right.  Excellent work.  I assume you’ll be having another winning season?”

“Year after year.  Year after year.”

Hey there! - I was accidentally daydreaming when I was searching for dude ranches, and ever since, this city boy's inbox just keeps piling up with invitations to them. No,no I didn't follow through with any of them, but I've been eying the flyer to visit a rodeo though. I'd love to be a badass cowboy, but I know I would stick out a mile standing next the real deals. Plus, I've been hearing strange rumors about what happens to rodeo protestors who get lassoed in the arena. Fuck it! I'm going!

While it was true that New You Industries was supplying the small, rural farming town of Hayside with special equipment, it wasn’t well known outside of the handful of people running the town’s rodeos. The organization that protested those same rodeos had so far lost two of their members to the town. The group believed them dead or in hiding, perhaps having been threatened. You believed you knew better though. The more bizarre circles you moved in online spoke about rumors of men turned into studs by the full moon, a police force with a seemingly endless supply of handsome, buff cops; and a shady corporation with advanced or even magical technology; but what interested you most was a series of posts claiming that the missing protestors were merely “assimilated” into the town.

There was only one way to find out if this meant what you thought. And so you arrived in the town in time for the next rodeo. Only a dozen locals sat in the arena. Along with a protester, sitting silently in the stands with a placard over their head, perhaps too afraid to vocalize given the mystery surrounding their missing colleagues.

The rodeo proceeded as one typically would, with the townspeople paying both you and the protestor little mind, until the very end at least.

“So, uh, how’d you enjoy tonight’s show?” asked the cowboy in the center of the arena, gesturing at the protestor.

“M- me?” the thin, young man replied.

“Yeah, you. Why don’t you come down ‘ere and tell us all what you wanna say?”

The man shuffled nervously.

“C'mon there, don’t be shy!”

Anxiously, the man got up and made his way to the arena, clearing his throat as he was passed the microphone. He barely got a word out before another handsome strutted out from the passage underneath the bleachers and threw a lasso round the young man’s chest.

“And how’s that, we got another one ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer chuckled as the dozen or so people in seats hollered and hooted, “Let’s get you outta here, city-slicker.”

You watched closely as the protestor was dragged out of the arena. But something was amiss. He thrashed and wriggled strangely and his mouth seemed to slacken. More of his legs appeared to be visible out the ends of his jeans and his arms looked swollen in his shirt. This was your chance, you had to follow, and so you did.

You waited a few minutes as the rest of the crowd filtered out while you slipped down to the arena and through the passageway. Grumbling and moaning echoed down the corridor as you quietly crept closer. Shouts and growls boomed out from behind a half-closed door. You carefully pushed it open before stumbling back at what you saw. The protestor was tied to a pole by the rope he’d been captured with, newly hirsute muscles and lengthy, thick limbs protruding through his slim-cut clothing. Though you never got a very close look at the man earlier, he was easily bigger in every regard than he’d been just minutes ago. Most impressive of all was the huge, hard, slick cock pressed up against his bulging abs, held there by the waist of his increasingly tight jeans.

He tilted his head up at you, breathing heavily with a charming smile on his freshly bearded face. He looked different; sharper, sunkissed, and rugged.

“Holy shit… I was right,” you muttered aloud.

And that’s when you felt a powerful tug around your waist before being smashing into the floor.

“Right about what? You didn’t come here with him, so why are you down here, city boy?”

The voice was deep and serious. You looked upward to see the beautifully rugged rodeo master standing over you.

“I… I want… you to do… that… to me,” you gulped, glancing back at the tied-up protester.

“My oh my, can’t say this has ever happened before,” the studly cowboy chuckled, his sinister tone shifting to one of amusement, “but if you haven’t noticed, it’s already happening.”

Everything had happened so fast that you didn’t even realize that it was rope lasso that sent you hurtling to the ground. It was at that moment you realized you were getting exactly what you wanted.

Sweat pooled onto the concrete floor while you tried to stand up, only to fall to your knees as every bone, tendon, and muscle in your body began to reconfigure. You moaned loud and uninhibited at the feeling of your spine stretching and your legs lengthening wildly. What you hadn’t anticipated is how intensely pleasurable it would feel. It was like every part that grew and shifted brought with it a powerful sexual edging.

“You people normally fight it, but I’m sure you can tell now there’s no point,” the redneck chuckled, tapping his boot against the raging tent in your tightening pants.

You held yourself up by your hands, the rope dangling from your waist against the floor. Arching your back with a groan, your arms grew longer, pushing you further off the floor. You watched in delight at your hands spreading out larger and larger against the dirty ground. The fingers stretched long and thick, the skin on your swelling palms hardening from farm labor.

Upward from your massive hands, your veins began to bulge. Holding yourself up by your trembling arms became easier and easier as your arms inflated with thick, hard muscle, stretching and tearing your shirt. Hair densified across your thickening forearms.

The growth spread through your upper body. Howling in ecstasy you ripped open the front of your shirt with your powerful arms, revealing the rapidly expanding pecs and abs underneath. You rubbed your huge, rough hands along the growing, hairier mounds. Memories flooded your brain, these weren’t the muscles of someone who worked out, these were formed by years of real, hard, manly work.

A sudden and forceful pulling in your feet forced you to flip onto your back as tightness in your shoes intensified. Removing them was no use, they were far too tight now. You could feel your feet mercilessly stretching against their confines until with a shred and a moan of relief, two long, wide, and hairy feet burst forth.

And upward from the huge appendages came more growth, flooding your thighs and calves with hefty, ballooning muscle and thick, manly hair. As your ass pressed outward, hairier and rounder, you felt thoughts of your past life draining away, making way for one of small-town living and honest, hard work. You gave a dumb smile as a short beard spread across your increasingly handsome, rugged face. Your hair became short and maintainable, while also accentuating your manly, country features.

“G- gosh… darn it,” you gasped in a thick, rural accent feeling your cock stretch and swell. You fidgeted with your large, clumsy fingers for the waist buckle on your pants, groaning deeply as you loosened it and allowed the swelling head of your cock to inch further and further out of the pants. You were so close it was almost unbearable. Your hips thrust involuntarily as your member throbbed larger, toward a glorious, thick nine inches; your balls aching as they too inflated. Then, with a gruff cry of pleasure, you came; spewing load after load across the concrete and marking the conclusion of your metamorphosis.

The cowboy, who had stayed to watch the entire process, helped you to your feet. The rope around your waist morphed as you rose, replacing your old belt with one significantly larger. Your pants morphed into tough, worn boot-cut jeans while the huge feet protruding out of the front of your shoes were quickly covered as the tattered remains shifted into a pair of size fifteen boots. Your torn shirt similarly repaired itself, though dirtier and muskier with a plaid pattern.

“Welcome to Hayside, rancher,” the rodeo master said, “You ready to get to work?”

Everything seemed like a distant memory now, you knew this was all brand new, but it also seemed so familiar.

“Yessir,” you uttered, your charming smile shining through your new beard.

--- Originally posted on 2021-01-16 by breedertfs ---

--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---

What You Desire: Poll Story

Personality Change. Masculine - Hairy, Dirty, Daddy. Straight to Gay. Mental Change - IQ Loss. Nerd to Jock. Muscle Growth. Race Change: Latino. Himbo TF. Changed By: Clothing/Wish Gone Wrong.

Hope y’all enjoy! More stories coming soon.

( update after the flagging issue: thank you for your patience! i reposted every image by itself to find the culprits, and i even found two variants to make up for taking them out. we should be good to go!! )

It had started off innocent. As innocent as stealing the college quarterback’s sweaty jockstrap could possibly be.

I know how it seems, but Nathan here isn’t a pervert. He doesn’t even like guys, let alone the toxic fumes that the jocks around campus seem to produce. So if you’re thinking that he stole Miguel Vega’s underwear to sniff the piss and cum-stained glory in private, you’ve got it all wrong.

If we’re being entirely honest, Nathan has always admired the jocks - in some quiet way that he’s never been able to put into words. As obnoxious as they are, always making vulgar jokes and putting fitness over their education, one fact remains true. They always get the girl.

For all their belching and farting, smashing their heads together on the football field day in and day out, Nathan can’t deny that the jocks seem to have it all figured out. They’re the big guys on campus, always surrounded by friends and bringing a new girl back to their rooms each night. And Miguel is the top dog, the boss man, the undisputed king.

As much as Nathan wants to be happy with his life, with his good grades and bright future and the strong friendships that he’s built with his teachers, well… he can’t help being envious of the other side. It’s lonely being a nerd. Only a few friends to call his own, invited to even fewer parties. Zero girls.

Maybe that frustrated horniness is what made him steal Miguel’s jockstrap. He had been helping the janitors clean out the football locker room, hoping to add some volunteer hours to his already shining resume, and then there they were, Abandoned under a bench and reeking even from a distance. The straps were strained and the pouch was stretched. Only the biggest cock could pull that off.

He grimaced as he stuffed them into the inside pocket of his hoodie without thinking, grateful for the gloves on his hands. He instantly felt dirty, the damp heat radiating against the side of his stomach, the raw smell already wafting up to his nose. He zipped up his hoodie and got back to work, but the whole time he was thinking of Miguel’s girlfriend, Cindy The head cheerleader, of course.

Nathan couldn’t help but to wonder - was Cindy attracted to Miguel’s musk? The combined force of sweat, testosterone, and gas was only making his eyes water, but his dick started to chub up when he imagined Cindy breathing in the scent of Miguel’s armpits, licking his biceps clean. That’s the kind of girlfriend he wanted. Someone wild and freaky; someone who would worship every inch of him.

But he wasn’t Miguel Vega. He was thin and tall, happy to wear his prescription glasses and button up shirts. He was Clark Kent without the alter ego, forever living his life as a shy, awkward nerd. Nathan wanted more. As much as it frightened him, he longed for Miguel’s life. To be carefree and popular, to have a body that made people want him, to have a girl like Cindy riding his cock.

That night, he stripped off his clothes and held the jockstrap in his bare hands. His features looked uncomfortable in the mirror, and for a moment he considered stopping. This was ridiculous, and gross, and he was losing himself in the fantasy. He was always going to be a nerd. He would always be forgotten, and he’d never get the girl. But he couldn’t stop… he wanted more.

All he wanted was a visual reminder of the goal he was about to set for himself, a way of looking himself in his blue eyes and telling himself that one day he could have what Miguel had. He slid the jockstrap over his long, pale legs, shivering as the sweat helped them to glide along his skin. The stretched fabric drooped on his waist, so he held it in place with a shy smile.

He stared at himself for a long while, taking in his average looks and timid personality, only to glance down and see Miguel’s jockstrap on his slender body. Breathing in the rank scent of him, letting himself imagine that it was his own. Pretending like one day his body could swell to fill the fabric, that his cock could support the large pouch. That a girl could place herself between his legs and breathe him in. Nathan’s musk. Not Miguel’s.

Nathan opened his eyes with a euphoric smile, making a promise to himself to start working out, to put less pressure on himself in his classes, to learn how to talk to girls. “I wish I was worthy of wearing these,” he whispered to himself as his fingers hooked around the straps, thrusting his hips into the soiled underwear. “I will be.”

For a moment, he imagined Miguel’s reflection staring back at him in the mirror. That’s the kind of guy he was going to become. A stud, a superstar, a king. A real pussy hound. He knew it was silly, thinking he could go from being himself to being anything like Miguel, but he had to let himself believe. It would be a long road to become worthy of wearing the star quarterback’s jockstrap.

“I wish it could happen sooner.”

And that’s when he yelped in pain, breaking free from his imagination and glancing down at the jockstrap constricting around his waist. It seemed to vibrate with life, sliding its wet fabric along his cock shaft and causing him to moan. Out of nowhere the loose underwear had become snug on him, grinding itself against him in an impossible way.

He cupped his hands over his crotch, trying to swallow down his moans, trying to ignore the energy that was swelling inside of him. “You’ll be worthy of me,” an unfamiliar voice purred in his mind, making him glance around the room in fear. “Look down at your new master.” He lowered his gaze to jockstrap, shining with a blue light, still working its sweaty fabric along his cock.

“You’ll be a stud.” Nathan gasped in pleasure, knees buckling as he crashed to the floor. The energy inside of him swelled to the surface, and he watched in shock as his body began to inflate with thick muscle. His chest ballooned out into a perky pair of pecs, his stomach became broad and firm, even his waist began to spread out, stretching the shrunken jockstrap back to its former size.

And then it kept stretching, his legs becoming massive tree trunks, his hands still pawing at his crotch. Even as his fingers became thick and meaty, his biceps swelling until they rubbed against his bloated chest. He could feel the cold floor against his ass, but even that was slowly swallowed by muscle and fat, lifting him up higher. “You think Miguel was worthy of me? I want a man.”

Nathan tried to steady himself, but his new body felt foreign and strange. Everything was rubbing against something, causing his body to keep shaking in pleasure. Even as the itching started, he couldn’t stop himself from rolling onto his stomach, thrusting against the air as dark, wiry hair broke through the surface of his skin. It spread everywhere that he could see, and where he couldn’t, he could feel the warmth of the hair sprouting into forests. He touched his sensitive nipples, piercings and tattoos manifesting out of nowhere.

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Inside the jockstrap, he felt his lengthening cock throb against the thick bush around it, and he could feel the hairs thickening beneath his arms and on his chest. It was everywhere. His ass, his face, a stinging kind of pleasure that made him let out a howl of pain and euphoria. “A grown man. The only thing Miguel had going for him was his race.”

Nathan lifted his hands to his now bearded face, still shivering in pleasure and watching as they became weathered and worn, darkening with a tan from many years out in the sun… and then darkening further, watching the complexion drip down his arms and move across his chest, over his body in waves and up past his throat. He could only imagine what was becoming of him. He knew what he was becoming.

He moved his eyes to the mirror again, seeing the last of this new change as his new beard connected with his ginger hair, staining it black as the curls became thicker and glossier, his whole body shining with sweat and dark hair, looking like he’d lived his entire life under the sun. He was glorious, and handsomely matured, the pinnacle of Latino sexiness. “You’ll be a superstar. I want sweat, and filth, and I want you to want it, too.”

There was a flash of blue light, and then something moved beneath Nathan. He looked down in shock, then at his surroundings, trying to make sense of why he was suddenly straddling another man in a room he couldn’t recognize. He felt his dick become softer, trying to remove himself from this unknown hunk, before the horny man tightened his grasp on Nathan’s waist. He smiled so sexily.

The voice came from inside his head again.

“I want men, Nathan. You want them, too. My whole existence is worshipping cock.” Nathan felt his features shift with anxiety, feeling himself come to the surface for the first time. It had been so easy to lose himself in the pleasure, enjoying every moment of what the jockstrap was making him become, but now he was afraid. He didn’t want this. He wanted to be on top of a woman, feeling her squirm beneath him. Not this meathead.

“Your whole existence is worshipping cock.”

Then his mind snapped, and he let his lust take control. The stranger cried out in pleasure as Nathan lifted the guy’s leg to get easier access to his ripe asshole. He lowered the waistband of his jockstrap and wasted no time plowing the stud on his king sized bed. “Cum on me,” he spoke in accented English, unable to take his eyes off the younger man’s cock. “Cover me with it. Please.”

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“And don’t forget worshipping pits. Ass. Anything sweaty. That’s what you and I are built for, after all.”

Nathan didn’t hesitate, still thrusting his cock in and out of the sweaty asshole as he leaned down, shoving his face into the nearest armpit. His large tongue started licking up the sweet taste, shoving his nose and entire face into the glorious warmth, making the stranger cry out in ecstasy.

“Don’t you feel like a king now? Don’t you feel worthy of me?” But Nathan couldn’t even think of a reply, he couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t a thick cock, or a man’s sweaty body. He only wanted to be used, to be worshipped, to worship in return. “I am a man. A superstar. A king.” With a shock, he recognized the deep, accented baritone in his head as his own voice. His new voice. He had been listening to himself speak the entire time.

His jockstrap started squirming again, but he ignored the feeling. He felt like a jockstrap in human form now, made to devour cock and suck up sweat, bringing home a new man each and every night, never washing the scent of them out of his beard or off his body, always reeking and stained and loving every fucking minute of it.

He started doing porn under the screen name miguelsjockstrap69, though he never introduced himself with that name. He went by Rodrigo Royale in person, a real himbo of a man that had the gay community wrapped around his thick, smelly finger. His videos were the filthiest, and he had no standards. If you had a cock, he wanted to explore every inch of it.

“So, like, who is Miguel?” his conquests would sometimes ask after filling themselves up on his pit stink, and he’d chuckle to himself and flex his huge biceps for them to worship. “Nobody important. Just an old friend.” He was a man Miguel could only dream of becoming. A stud. A superstar. A king.

Funnily enough, he had a strange habit of calling his worn out, stained yellow jockstrap Nathan - not that his hook ups or fans cared, they thought it was hot. He was always wearing that jockstrap. Getting a chance to get between Rodrigo’s legs and sniff Nathan was worth every penny, and they both loved to please. Sometimes you could even see the underwear squirming in excitement.

Maybe fear.

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“Yeah, Nathan,” Rodrigo purred in private. “You’re worthy of me now.”