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A/N: This can't quite qualify, as a 'short', so I won't even pretend it is.

A mysterious figure walks on the side of the road.

Hand extended out.

Waiting in a place where time seems to stand still.

—

Mr. Thompson was still speaking, eyes on the road, not staring at the video call on his dashboard: responsible.  “And don’t forget—

“To water Susan,” a youthful voice answered back.“For a fern she needs water like a fish.”

“And?” Mr. Thompson raised his pitch at the end of the word.

“Get to bed on time. I know dad, I know. I’m not five.” Daniel Thompson playfully responded.

“OOOoooo he’s the big ONE SIX and suddenly he can do everything,” Mr. Thompson joked. “I hope that means I can expect to come home to a clean house, all the dishes done, floors swept, bedroom clean.”

“Wait, I never said all that.” Daniel tried to backtrack. Mr. Thompson could see his son shucking shirts off his floor and into a hamper.

The man laughed. “Just messing with you Danny–though I would appreciate your bedroom being clean–I’m not expecting full maid service.”

Danny dragged a hand down his face, “but my room probably needs a maid.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Last year Danny’s. This Danny has no recollection of—Oh, here comes the bus!”

“Alright, have a good start to your morning son, Love you.” He stole just a second to look down at his son’s face.

“Love you too, gottagobye!” Danny waved and with a bloop, the call ended.

Mr. Thompson was left alone on his morning drive. Day 2 of a work mandated trip he had to take. Go there, smile, shake hands, schmooze, even fondle their balls if he had to. Those were the exact words given to him from his higher ups. They needed relationships with the company to go well, and Mr. Thompson was their best guy. Not quite great for Mr. Thompson. In his younger years he may have jumped at the chance to prove himself, but nowadays he had a son. He also wasn’t sure if he agreed with their assessment he knew better than anyone, he could come off as uptight. And Mr. Thompson was a worrier, even if he didn't show it. He wanted Danny to be safe. Driving states away and leaving his son on his own wasn’t exactly a promising way to ensure that. But in fairness, he wanted to raise a capable young man, and Danny deserved a chance to prove himself.

So Mr. Thompson drove on through the forest road. He’d come upon it sometime ago while talking to Danny. It had been such a quiet and peaceful transition, the trees grew denser around him without notice. That mid fall coloring had settled nicely in the area and matched the nippy morning air. Made Mr. Thompson wished he’d grabbed a cup of coffee to go with it.

No other cars had passed him in miles.

He tried to lean forward and peer at the clouds, however the trees were offering only a glimpse of the sky. Splotches of dark gray. A look to his rearview mirror, His umbrella lay on the back seat. He was glad he brought it; one never knew what was going to happen. The universe seemed to agree with that sentiment as he saw a figure come into view on the other side of the road. He couldn’t make the stranger out but knew that universal hitchhiker sign. The person was faced away from him, walking forward, but the closer Mr. Thompson got, the smaller he realized the stranger was. A simple backpack thrown over a gray hoodie and jeans.

A small conflict took place in Mr. Thompson’s mind, whether to keep driving or stop for the hitchhiker. He could pretend that he never even saw him. But then his heart spoke up, if that was Danny out here, he’d want someone to stop for his son. Mr. Thompson’s car slowed to a crawl, driving up alongside the stranger. He rolled his window down, as the guy kept walking.

“Need a ride?”

Jace was shocked and in disbelief when his Coach informed him that he had been drafted by the Mindfucked Jock league. He had heard things about guys who get drafted by them and transformed into nothing more than mindless holes and poles for their fans.

He tried to run away but was swiftly captured by 2 men that placed him into the reeducation room. They quickly strapped him to a chair, placed headphones over his ears, and activated the brainwashing process.

Jace was completely unprepared to fight against the hypnotic stimuli playing throughout the room. The mesmerizing spiral playing in front of him easily captured his focus as his Coach’s voice echoed throughout his ear about what a good obedient dumb jock that he was.

As ten days passed, Jace learned more and more about being a good jock. His priorities shifted to focus on only his Coach’s desires and wants. He was after all, just a dumb jock and dumb jocks obey their Coach.

Federal Containment Authority

File: AE-1184

Nickname: “The Extraction”

Status: Active

⸻

Acquisition Log:

AE-1184 is a recently identified drug first reported by local authorities in Medellín, Colombia. Since its initial appearance, distribution has spread across multiple criminal networks throughout South America, with confirmed cases in Bogotá, Lima, and São Paulo.

The substance is primarily used by organized groups targeting foreign tourists. All recorded victims have been Caucasian males from upper-middle-class or affluent backgrounds. Confirmed cases include individuals from the United States (87), the United Kingdom (43), Australia (4), and Ireland (1). Victims are typically identified in high-end hotels, bars, and nightlife venues.

Perpetrators approach in small groups, engage targets in casual conversation, and build trust before guiding them away from populated areas—most commonly into quiet streets or private vehicles.

Administration is direct and controlled. In most cases, the substance is injected into the side of the subject’s neck using a fine-gauge needle. A secondary syringe is then used to extract [REDACTED] from the subject.

The effects begin within seconds. Subjects enter a dazed, compliant state, showing no resistance or awareness of their surroundings.

Following exposure, subjects are abandoned. Extracted [REDACTED] is trafficked through underground networks and sold to [REDACTED] individuals for the purpose of [REDACTED].

No subject has been successfully reverted.

———————-———————-——————————-

Case File – Subject B-3 (FKA: Daniel Gallagher)

Daniel Gallagher squinted at his phone as he walked, the bright screen lighting his face in the otherwise dim street. The music from the club still rang faintly in his ears, bass echoing in his chest as he tried to follow the map back to his hotel.

The Irish tourist had been in the city three days, thinking he knew the area by now. But São Paulo looked different at night. It didn’t help that there weren’t as many people out now. Not as many lights either.

Daniel slowed, turning slightly as the map recalculated. “So, left… here?” he muttered to himself.

“E aí, mano.”

Daniel looked up. A man stood a few feet away, hands relaxed at his sides. Early-20s, casual clothes, nothing threatening about him.

“You… not from here, yes?” the guy said, his English broken but clear enough.

Daniel gave a small laugh. “Uh-”

The guy was young - Daniel’s age. There felt like there was an unspoken bond. The guy smiled, nodding. “This area… not so good. Especially with phone.” He gestured toward Daniel’s hand. “People see. They take.”

Daniel instinctively lowered the phone. “Right. Yeah, fair.”

“I help you,” the man continued, friendly, easy. “Where you go?”

“Uh—hotel,” Daniel said, turning the screen toward him. “This one.”

The man leaned in, glancing at it. “Ah, yes. I know. Is not far. I go same way.” He straightened up, already turning slightly down the street. “Come. I walk you for safety.”

Daniel smiled graciously.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. What is your name?”

“João.” The boy shook the Irish tourists hand firmly and the two begin walking.

The man kept an easy pace, hands in his pockets, occasionally glancing back to make sure Daniel was following. The street grew quieter the further they went. The lights were dimmer here. Fewer windows. No people.

Daniel noticed it, faintly. Something about it felt… off.

“Hotel is this way?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” the man said quickly. “Shortcut.”

They turned down a narrower street.

That was when Daniel felt it.

Two men grabbing him from behind, forcing his hands behind him holding him in position. They knock the tourist to his knees.

“Jaysus!”

As his knees hit the ground, João pressed something sharp into Daniel’s neck. He felt whatever liquid enter his vein spreading throughout his body. The world didn’t spin. It didn’t go black.

It just… slowed.

The tension in his body drained almost instantly. His thoughts, sharp and alert a second ago, dulled like someone had turned the volume down.

“Hey—what—”

The words came out wrong. Too slow. Little did Daniel know, his DNA was becoming like puddy. Completely mailable.

“Segurem-no firme. Prontos para a extração.” João readied a second device. This one was empty.

Before Daniel could react, João jabbed the device into Daniel’s neck, slowly draining a white liquid substance out of him. It just kept coming and coming, filling up the vial in the device.

As the gang member extracted the white liquid from Daniel, Daniel’s awareness dimmed. He didn’t notice as his skin slowly darkened, taking on the warm, sun-kissed tone of someone raised under the blistering sun, not the pale green pastures of his family’s farm back in Ireland.

His features shifted subtly but unmistakably. His nose broadened, eyebrows thickened, and his lips grew fuller. Each change felt impossible, yet inevitable, as if his body was being extracted of everything that made Daniel the Irish man he was.

Heaviness plumped into Daniel’s glutes, as two fat brown globes bounced outwards, splitting his pants. His two jiggling Brazilian cheeks begging to be free from his tight constricting Irish jeans. The same for his front. His average 5 inch white cock fattened and pushed forwards into a fat 7 inch uncut brown cock.

One of the men leaned closer, watching Daniel’s face rapidly grow facial hair. It was ginger, just like the hair on his head. One of the men holding Daniel scanned Daniel’s ginger beard. Against his darkening skin, it looked almost comical. A comical reminder of his diminishing Irish heritage.

“Olha a barba ruiva dele.” One of the men said, voice low and amused. “Eles vão pagar muito por um ruivo.”

Daniel felt it before he saw it—his beard losing its fiery hue. Slowly, the ginger strands darkened, blending into a uniform black, indistinguishable from the men holding him down.

João continued the extraction, the vial already three-quarters full.

Daniel’s mind began to fog. Words jumbled in his head, English slipping away like sand through his fingers. He tried to speak, to protest, but the sounds coming out were broken, confused. Two vocabularies warring inside him, one destined to win, the other to vanish entirely. Portuguese words eliminating his English vocab, like cells killing a virus.

“Por fa… me ajuda,” Danogo croaked, his voice weak and lethargic. His limbs felt like lead, as they thickened up with big beefy muscle. But even with his new Brazilian muscles, he couldn’t push the men off him, though he desperately tried.

Memories surged through his mind like a virus, rewriting him from the inside out. He saw himself as he used to be—skinny, pale, ginger, standing in front of a mirror.

That image flickered, unstable, before being overtaken by something else. A darker, fuller body. Broader. Warmer. Bigger. Round oversized pecs. Big large thick hands. His fat brown Brazilian cheeks wobbling behind him.

His memories of growing up... the cold, open fields of his family’s Irish farm. The green grass, grey skies, early mornings. They didn’t exist anymore, replaced by hot sunlight and salt air, long days by the sea, heat pressing into his skin. His massive body bouncing on the sand as passerbys ogled him up and down.

His years of GAA training, discipline, dedication. All of it began to be overwritten. In its place came football in the streets, laughing with friends. It came so naturally. Like his body was meant for it. Fuck, he was obsessed with it. Football took up so much of his mind. A new obsession that felt like it had been there forever. It was at that point where he questioned what GAA even was.

His memories of himself were overwritten too. His self perception of being a quiet dedicated bookworm with a love for Irish sports VANISHED. As if it was never there. In its place came something louder. Music thumping through crowded rooms. Late nights. Easy laughter. A need to be around people, to be seen.

He tried to push the memories away. To hold onto his Irishness, but it was no use. His thick Brazilian accent prevented anything he said from even sounding vaguely English.

“Sou irlandês… sou… eu… por favor.” Diogo cried to the men, in his dazed stupor. But he looked anything but Irish. “Estou tão confuso.”

He slumped onto the concrete as the men withdrew the device from his neck. The vial was full of the thick, white liquid.

Diogo moaned softly, every movement painful, his body heavy and unresponsive.

“Boa sorte, cara.” João said with a casual wink, leaving the newly Brazilian man sprawled on the ground.

The gang melted into the night. Diogo inspected his unmistakably Latino hand before passing out.

———————-———————-——————————-

Post-Exposure Analysis – AE-1184

AE-1184 does more than just sedate or confuse its targets. The drug extracts the subject’s whiteness (their background, heritage, English fluency, cultural knowledge and memories) - storing it in the white liquid from the subject.

Evidence shows that local gangs are selling this material on the black market. Buyers are often non-white individuals who aim to attain the advantages, social status and privilege associated with white populations, by injecting the stolen whiteness, making themselves privileged white men.

The network appears highly organized and the drug is highly sought after. Victims are carefully chosen for appearance and socioeconomic background, targeted in wealthy areas, and then harvested efficiently.

FCA continues to investigate the buyers and distribution channels. The scale suggests a deliberate, profit-driven trade in human cultural and social capital, with international implications.

Victim Overview – AE-1184

Recovered individuals have been effectively stripped of their original racial and national identities. White, Caucasian tourists lose their English fluency entirely, and in cases in South America, their genetic markers are altered to align with local Latin American populations. Skin tone, facial features, and other inherited traits shift accordingly, leaving the subject biologically and socially indistinguishable from local populations.

Despite some awareness that they no longer belong to their former nationality, subjects are unable to recall meaningful details about their previous lives—names, family, education, or social history are largely inaccessible. Memories of cultural practices and social structures are erased, replaced by the cognitive void left after extraction of privilege and heritage.

All victims are taken in for monitoring and initial assessment. Following containment, they are relocated to supervised housing across Colombia, Peru & Spain (for now Spanish speaking subjects) and Brazil & Portugal (for now Portuguese speaking subjects). Subjects are effectively unable to return to their countries of origin, as the loss of English fluency and cultural familiarity renders them incapable of independent functioning in those societies.

Image of Diogo Galvão (formerly Daniel Gallagher) in São Paulo.

Ongoing Notes

New cases of AE-1184 exposure are reported daily. The drug appears to be spreading beyond South America, with victims now appearing in parts of Africa and India. In these cases, subjects are observed to adopt local racial and cultural traits, effectively becoming African or Indian men following the extraction of their original identities.

At present, it is unknown whether affected individuals can ever be returned to their original identities. By this stage, their original cultural, linguistic, and genetic essence is likely too extensively extracted, used, and dispersed to recover.

Cristian didn’t know his father at all growing up and his mom was always tight-lipped. He didn’t get why; in the old pictures she had around the house the two actually looked happy. His dad looked like a normal dude. Goofy smile of a 20 something recently married, finding out he was going to be a dad. A former art collector in his pastime. Something changed. In him. To him. Whatever. The smile Cristian only knew through magazines or scrolling on Instagram wasn’t the one in his house. The one online was one belonging to a much older self-assured male in a position of power.

Then the call came. Cristian had turned 18. His father wanted to meet him. Told him that he’d explain everything the boy wanted to know and pay his mother what she was owed for raising him with interest.

“Don’t go.” Cristian mom would warn him, for reasons even she didn't quite understand.

“You think he’s lying about the money?” He didn't give a shit about his dad’s truth; it wouldn’t change the fact he had impregnated his mom then dumped her.

The woman would suck her teeth before sighing, “I’ve known that man since we were in diapers. He changed one day, but no. Out of all the things I could call him, a liar isn’t one of him. But it’s not his lies I’m worried about.”

“I’m getting your money mom.” Cristian would say hugging her close. The next day he’d be on a plane to meet his elusive father.

The man’s walk, or rather saunter, reeked of money. Tight swim trunks for the pool, bare chest, douchey sunglasses. A body that saw as many workouts as it did boardrooms. He hugged Cristian tight. Cristian wanted to push him off but was attempting to play nice. He stomached the affection even though it reeked of performativeness. Not like he could fight the guy anyway. Cristian was fortunate with his genetics, but his father was in a whole other weight class. Cristian was a jock and his father looked like what ate jocks for breakfast.

“A DILF.” His father said.

“Huh?” Cristian asked.

“I said you probably didn't know your father was a DILF.” The man grinned, all pearly white teeth showing. Cristian groaned as his father walked them inside his massive estate. The living room was larger than most hotel lobbies, stark white walls, gray rugs, black furniture. On the wall above the mantle sat a huge painting of a lion’s head, eyes staring out into the room. Cristina felt like its eyes were on him

“Like it?” His father whispered in his ear. Cristian didn't move. “It’s called ‘The Leo’. I'm Leo. I just knew I needed it when I saw it. I bet your mother remembers, she got it for my birthday. You can say it inspired me, put me on this path today.” The man rested his head on his son’s shoulder smiling, “I think it’s having the same effect on you, as it did me.” He patted his son on his chest, knocking Cristian out of his frozen state. “Let me show you to your room” he waved for his son to follow. Cristian didn't move; he looked back.

“Don’t worry there’s copies all over the house…even in your room.” His dad winked.

Cristian forgot to ask questions. He didn’t want to ask questions. All he wanted to know was more about the painting. How did a picture inspire his dad? He laid awake eyes on the copy above his bed. Nothing special about it, and yet he got out of bed walking through the dark house to stare at the original.

“I was there you know.”

Cristian jumped as his father stepped out of the shadows, “I was there you know. When you were born. Held you in my arms.”

“I–I didn’t know that.”

“Told your mom not to tell, but I had long since promised her, I’d be there. But she probably knew just by the sight of me, I was falling apart. A sweaty mess, unkempt,” The man chuckled, reflecting on his past state. Cristian didn’t see what was funny. Then his eyes switched from reminiscing to predatory hunger in his eyes as he circled his boy.

“The picture needed me, and I knew it would need you too.” The man rolled his shoulders, “I told your mother to stay away. I knew the responsibility of the weight wouldn’t ruin you if you weren’t ready.” Then he paused, approaching from behind his son to rub the teen’s shoulders. “But there was another reason. I knew watching you fall would hit so much better with delayed gratification.”

A roar came from the painting, as a ghostly lion figure stepped out, floating in the air then lunged at Cristian. The boy screamed as the animal turned into smoke, flying down his throat as he collapsed back into his father. Cristian's stomach gurgled and churned as his body recognized what it was digesting was the boy’s own desires. His pride. His arrogance. Great fodder for a growing young man. Cristian’s body got yanked higher, forced to stand as tall as his dad. Shoulders more akin to cannon balls heralded the appearance of skull crushing arms. His face whisked away any last vestiges of baby fat, true looks coming to prominence. He looked like his father's son. Daddy’s little enforcer.

The world would be all aglow about Cristian. The arrogant, self-righteous, little prince who appeared out of nowhere to work alongside his father. His getaway and trips would be stuff of legends ranging from expensive to stupid. No one would ever be able to locate where the child came from.

---

Cristian’s mother was home alone, when she got the text from her ex-husband. She’d been waiting to hear from her son and know he made it okay.

“I really have to thank you Betty. You raised a good son. He couldn’t even make it one day. I mean, Christ even I took months to fall! But our boy was something special. I always knew it. But I needed to wait. Innocence wasn’t enough, the kinder and sweeter he was. The greater the new him could be."

“What the hell are you talking about, where’s Cristian!” Betty typed back. “I don’t care if you pay me, but if you’re saying you wasted his time.”

“On the contrary, I’m saying I have to pay you extra for the work you put in. I knew it was something only you could do ;)! Say ‘hello’ to our son.”

A picture came through of a young man, the mother didn't recognize.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the hungest one of all..."

Josiah walked into the locker room for probably the tenth time that day. He had no idea why one of the managers thought this stupid mirror inscription would be a good addition to the atmosphere at the gym. He could swear the extra cocky and dumb fuckboys walking around today were somehow summoned by the new inscription. Well, Josiah didn’t necessarily believe there was a direct correlation, but he did subscribe to the idea that you invite into your space the energy that you want.

That easygoing and positive demeanor made him one of the more popular trainers at the gym. Sure, he had a good physique, but it was because he cared for his body and health, and he thrived at the gym, teaching those guiding principles to others. On the other hand, staring at the latest patron’s use of the new mirror provoked his principles, reviving the reconsideration of his role in the toxifying workplace again.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the hungest one of all? It’s the epitome of envy and pride. Whoever wrote this has an ailing mind.”

Josiah turned to go, except…

He could swear the peripheral glance he’d caught in the mirror displayed a more noticeable bulge…

He turned back to alleviate the paranoia permeating his psyche… but it really did seem bigger. Josiah stepped closer, grabbing the protrusion in his shorts. He smiled as his hand groped the shaft beneath the fabric. He may not be the hungest—as the sign said—but he was definitely big. It’s the reason why he was popular at the gym—people thought he was all positive and zen, but he just looked good, and his dick was big enough that he never worried about jealousy. When you pack the member and muscle he had, it’s easy to keep envy at bay. Josiah’s training conduct centered on modeling the confidence a good body can get you. When you work hard and earn your ideal image, it’s not conceited to show off—it’s just the love you deserve to claim from yourself and your peers.

But Josiah knew as he looked in the mirror that as hard as his clients tried, they could never be him. He wasn’t just a model; he was a paragon. The clients who took him seriously—those bros could build muscle, grow broader, tone, and define and sculpt until they earn the bravado they’ve always had but never justified. But those same jocks could never pull the client base he had because they’d never had his gargantuan cock. Josiah was not at the gym to help improve lives; he was the main attraction. People paid money to be in his presence while he worked up a sweat to get a close-up look at his mythic bulge. Sometimes, in public, he’d catch a judging glance, or a “good Christian woman” would comment on his brashness, but even if he wanted to hide it, his shaft couldn’t be contained. No, instead, he was used to seeing the looks of envy, desire, lust, and hunger fall across the face of anyone he brushed past.

Josiah loved to pose and flex and flaunt in front of a mirror, but he had a gym floor to dominate. He turned around to go and lift.

Oh, he almost forgot—he was the hungest one of all; he can’t let that stay up. He erases the last word, leaving the fairytale phrase blank. Except all that flexing had left him aroused—a horse cock like his was insatiable. Maybe he can use the inscription for some solicitation. He fills in the blank and departs the locker room.

God, what the fuck happened to me? It was that guy… what was his name… the quarterback… Chad, was it? I can’t even remember, dude. I mean, not ‘dude’. Fuck. I don’t say that. I never say that, bro. God dammit. This is so frustrating!

I made a comment. One comment: “The football team are all kinda dumb meatheads, aren’t they?”. Chad overheard and clearly he didn’t take too kindly to it. He came over, smacked my ass and called me his “bro”. After he placed his big meaty paw on my ass, I blacked out and woke up LIKE THIS. Like some DUMB FUCKING JOCK!

I’m so big now. My fingers look like fat sausages… they’re not as fat as my cock though huhuhu. God, just thinking about my cock… i’m hard. It’s so much bigger than before. Like twice as big. At least 10 inches. And it’s fat… so fucking fat. God, i just wanna bury it inside some fat jiggling ass. Breed deep between some fertile cheeks. Mark them as my property.

Wait! Fuck what’s happening? My brain… it’s like changing bro. Getting all slow and shit. Fuckkkkk…. where are my thoughts man. It’s like… so empty in there huhuhu. It feels like my brain is getting emptier, but my balls are filling up. My sack is so big and round. Its still filling up with potent cum, forcing my legs apart. Gotta cum bro. Gotta unleash my load into some fuckable hole.

Wouldn’t it be funny if I impregnated one of the bros huhuhu. Dont be surprised if I do man. Chad has fuckable bouncy cheeks. I always smack them during training and call him my “big booty bro” huhuhu. Everything is so damn funny man.

I feel so fuckin smart for some reason today dude. The team tells me i’m just an empty headed fuck animal, but they’re wrong man… I just have… strong urges… My body just needs to spread its alpha seed. Ugh… i do love it when they call me an animal though. A fucking animal. Always gets my cock straining against my football uniform.

I’m so fucking horny bro. My alpha cock needs to cum now. It won’t go down. No matter how much i want it to. It needs to cum. I need to bury it deep inside some jiggling cheeks NOW.

Fuck. IM GONNA… IN GONNA CUM. IM GONNA CUM THINKING ABOUT CHAD’S BOUNCY ROUND FUCKABLE CUMDUMP ASS. I’M GONNA BE STUCK LIKE THIS FOREVER.

FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK BRO

The MFSA series starts here - part two here - part three here

Nick Bosa and his brother Joey stood side by side in the bright California sun, the camera on Joey’s phone capturing every inch of their transformed bodies. The red MFSA shirts clung to them like a second skin, stretched so tight over their newly enhanced physiques that the stitched white letters looked ready to burst at the seams.

Nick’s pecs had ballooned into thick, heavy slabs that jutted forward aggressively, his shoulders now capped with even thicker deltoids and traps that rose like mountains on either side of his thick neck. Joey’s arms had grown another layer of dense muscle, biceps peaking higher than ever and forearms veined and corded from the supernatural surge the shirts had poured into them. Both brothers looked less like NFL defensive ends and more like comic-book alphas, every movement making their quads and calves flex with raw power.

Nick flexed one arm toward the camera, the bicep exploding into a sharp, vascular peak. “Josh Allen is the man who started this,” he said, his voice a deep, commanding growl. “He led the NFL back into the realm of alpha men where it belongs. No more woke agenda poisoning our game. No more rainbow distractions and soft rules turning real football into some inclusive joke. We are wearing the red, we are growing stronger, and we are taking it back. If you are a real man in this league, order your shirt and join the movement. Make Football Straight Again.”

Joey stepped forward, his own massive chest swelling as he crossed his arms, making the red fabric strain even harder. “Exactly. Josh showed us the way,” he agreed. “Time to purge the betas and the liberals out of our sport. Football is for straight alphas. Period.”

They both grinned at the camera, the video ending with a double flex that made their shirts creak. Nick hit post, and within minutes the clip exploded across every social media platform in the league.

Hundreds of miles away in Houston, Harper sat glued to his laptop in his small apartment, stomach twisting as he watched the Bosa brothers’ video for the third time. The lifelong Texans fan had followed JJ Watt for years, idolizing the retired defensive star’s work ethic and charity. Harper was athletic himself, lean and defined from years of distance running, with a runner’s build that turned heads at the local track. He was openly gay and proudly liberal, the kind of guy who had cheered every time the NFL added pride nights or inclusion initiatives. 

But now the league was rotting from the inside. Josh Allen, Kirk Cousins, Harrison Butker, Matt Araiza, and now the Bosa brothers were openly pushing blatant homophobia under the MFSA banner. And the worst part? Not a single superstar, not even the retired legends Harper respected, had spoken out against it. JJ Watt had stayed completely silent.

Harper’s hands shook as he closed the laptop. He could not just sit here. Someone had to do something. He had studied enough occult texts in college to know a possession spell when he saw one described. The ritual he had found online was supposed to be temporary, a quick swap where he could slip into JJ’s body, post a strong condemnation of the MFSA movement from inside the legend’s own account, and then vacate before anyone noticed. JJ was too deep in the football world, too busy with family and business, to risk his reputation by speaking out. Harper would give him the outsider courage he needed. It was perfect. Temporary. Harmless.

He lit the candles, drew the circle with careful precision, and spoke the ancient words exactly as the spell required. It was the same dark incantation Alex Thompson had once uttered in a quiet Buffalo bedroom months earlier.

The world blurred violently around Harper. A sickening lurch tore through his core as his consciousness was ripped free from his lean runner’s body. For a split second everything went black. Then he slammed hard into a much larger, heavier frame. His new eyes snapped open and he gasped, the sound already deeper than anything he had ever produced before.

He was sitting on the edge of a large bed in an unfamiliar master bedroom. Harper looked down and his breath caught in his throat. Massive hands rested on thick, powerful thighs that were definitely not his own. Thick forearms corded with muscle led up to biceps that were already impressive even at rest. A chest that was already broad and developed had begun to swell noticeably, rising and falling with heavy breaths. He was inside JJ Watt’s body!

Before he could put the next stage of his plan into action though, a deep, pleasurable heat bloomed across his chest like liquid fire. Harper watched in stunned awe as JJ’s already impressive pectorals surged forward, expanding outward into dense, armor-like plates of muscle. The slabs of meat thickened and pushed aggressively against the thin tank top he was wearing, nipples hardening into sensitive points as the fibers multiplied and swelled. The pecs ballooned heavier and rounder by the second until they formed a massive, striated shelf that forced his new arms to rest at wider angles.

The heat raced upward. His shoulders broadened with a series of deep, rolling cracks, deltoids exploding into thick, rounded caps of power while his traps rose higher and higher up a rapidly thickening neck. His arms were next. The biceps ballooned dramatically, peaking higher than JJ had ever achieved in his playing days, splitting into sharp, vascular heads. Triceps swelled into powerful horseshoes beneath them as forearms thickened and veins snaked across the surface like rivers on a map. His hands grew larger, fingers becoming thick and strong.

JJ’s back widened into a dramatic V-taper, lats flaring out so wide they stretched the tank top to its absolute limit. His abs carved themselves deeper and deeper, transforming into a brutal, shredded eight-pack separated by deep, shadowed cuts. The waist stayed narrow and tight, giving him an exaggerated, almost cartoonish alpha silhouette.

The transformation stormed downward. His quads detonated outward in thick, sweeping waves of striated muscle, the vastus lateralis and medialis pushing aggressively against the fabric of his shorts until the seams began to tear. Hamstrings tightened into dense, powerful cords while his calves diamonded into rock-hard sculpted shapes. His glutes firmed and rounded into two powerful, striated slabs that lifted him slightly on the bed. Even his feet grew larger to support the massive new frame.

A final heavy throb hit him between the legs. Harper groaned deeply as his cock thickened and lengthened rapidly inside the loose shorts, growing heavier, longer, and far more sensitive. The surge of raw alpha energy made it pulse with power, filling out into a thick, heavy tool worthy of the godlike body it now belonged to.

For several long moments he simply sat there, flexing and feeling the new power coursing through him. This was only supposed to be temporary. He forced himself to stand up on shaky, tree-trunk legs and made his way to JJ’s computer, fingers trembling as he sat down at the desk. He had a job to do. He had to post the statement condemning the MFSA movement before the spell ended…

But the dark magic was already digging its hooks much deeper.

The body felt too good. Too strong. Too overwhelmingly right. Every flex sent waves of pleasure through him that made his old, lean runner’s frame feel like a pathetic joke in comparison. Why on earth would he ever want to leave this? The liberal ideals that had driven him here began to crack and warp under the relentless assault of pure masculine power. Tolerance felt weak. Inclusivity felt soft. The very causes he had passionately believed in suddenly seemed disgusting and naive.

Harper raised one arm and flexed hard, watching the bicep peak into a mountain of muscle, veins pulsing across the surface. A low, involuntary groan of pure pleasure escaped his new throat. The thought of returning to his slim, unremarkable body filled him with sudden revulsion. No. He belonged here now. Inside this godlike, dominant frame. This was his body. Forever.

A knock at the door pulled him from his trance. Harper stood on thick, powerful legs that still felt almost too good to be real, the new mass making every step feel commanding and dominant as he crossed the room. He signed for the small parcel with a hand that dwarfed the delivery man’s, then closed the door and carried the box back to the mirror. The return address was Buffalo. Josh Allen.

He tore open the packaging with eager fingers and pulled out a bright red shirt. The white stitching across the chest read MAKE FOOTBALL STRAIGHT AGAIN. His stomach turned in disgust, an instinct left over from his former self, but he couldn’t help himself from picking up the garment. The moment his skin made contact with the fabric, a supernatural warmth bloomed across his palms and traveled up his thick forearms like liquid electricity. 

It was not just cloth. It felt alive, pulsing faintly, as though the shirt itself carried dark magic. A soft whisper brushed the edges of his mind, low and insistent: Wear it. Become it. Harper blinked hard, trying to shake the intrusive thought away. This was not part of the plan. He had only meant to borrow the body long enough to post one statement. Nothing more.

He felt the compulsion settle in like a gentle but unbreakable tide, guiding his fingers as they stripped off the old tank top JJ had been wearing and let it drop to the floor. The red shirt unfolded in his grip, the fabric almost humming against his calloused palms. Harper’s liberal mind screamed at him to stop, to drop it, to fight. But the warmth was spreading up his arms now, sinking into the heavy slabs of his new pectorals, and it felt so incredibly right. Just one wear, he told himself. Just to see. Then he would take it off and finish what he came here to do.

He slid the shirt over his head. The red cotton settled against his swollen torso like a second skin, stretching tight over the massive curves of his enhanced chest and shoulders. The moment the hem dropped into place, the final wave began, slow and insidious, nothing like the explosive physical growth he had already endured.

At first it was only a gentle heat radiating outward from the center of his chest, where the stitched letters pressed directly over his heart. Harper sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, trying to focus. He still had work to do. He still believed in inclusion, in pride nights, in letting gay players live openly without fear. Those values were his. They had always been his. Yet as the shirt’s supernatural energy seeped deeper, tiny cracks began to form in those convictions.

Why did the league need all those rainbow logos anyway? The thought floated up uninvited, soft and reasonable at first. It was distracting. It took focus away from the game. Harper shook his head, but the shirt pulsed again, warmer now, and the doubt lingered. He pictured the locker room filled with men who just wanted to hit hard and win, and the image of pride stickers on helmets suddenly felt… silly. Weak, even. The warmth traveled lower, wrapping around his abs, and another whisper slipped into his thoughts: Real men do not need special nights. Real men just play.

He flexed one arm experimentally, watching the bicep peak sharply under the red sleeve. A low groan escaped him. The body felt even better with the shirt on, as if the fabric was feeding power straight into his veins. His old runner’s life flashed in his mind, the protests he had attended, the causes he had championed. They seemed smaller now. Distant. Almost pathetic. 

Why had he wasted so much energy on things that made the sport softer? Women belonged in the stands cheering, not in the front office making decisions. The thought arrived fully formed and felt strangely natural. He pictured them on their knees or bent over for men like him, existing only for pleasure, and a dark thrill shot through his cock. He tried to push the image away, but the shirt pulsed again, hotter, and the thrill returned stronger.

The gays… He caught himself mid-thought, horrified. No. He was gay. Or at least Harper had been. He wasn’t Harper anymore though, no. That word - gay - now tasted wrong in his new mouth; an abomination trying to ruin a man’s sport. The corruption was moving faster, sliding into the deeper parts of his mind like oil over water. 

He fought it for one final moment, clinging to the memory of his old self, but the shirt’s supernatural grip tightened. Every liberal ideal burned away slowly, deliciously, replaced by hard, unapologetic conservatism that felt like truth finally settling into place. Tolerance was nothing but weakness. Inclusivity was a betrayal of good old American values. Football needed to be straight again, raw and brutal and unapologetic.

Harper stood up and turned to the full-length mirror. The red MFSA shirt strained gloriously over his enhanced pecs and shoulders, the letters bold and proud across the massive shelf of his chest. He flexed both arms, watching the muscle explode under the fabric, and a wide, toxic grin spread across his face. The last traces of the old Harper vanished completely. He was JJ Watt now, the real JJ Watt: bigger, stronger, and finally free of any weakness.

He grabbed his phone, thick fingers flying across the screen, and fired off a text to Josh Allen: “Shirts received and worn. Feeling like a new man. Send two more to my brothers TJ and Derek. They are ready to join the movement. Let’s make football straight again.”

Josh’s reply came back almost instantly, a grinning emoji followed by a single word: Welcome brother.

“Fuck yea!”, Johnny roared over the noise of the crowd as he struck a double bicep pose. Life was good. The sun was shining, the beats were blasting, and the chicks were banging. And to top it all off he was one fucking hot alpha stud with a cocktail of drugs and testosterone pumping through his veins, and a massive donkey dick swinging in his shorts. He stood head and shoulders above the beta losers around him as girls took turns swinging off his thick biceps. Who would have thought that this would be the life that old bean pole would come to live.

Johnny had been a short, skinny kid growing up. During middle school, athletic kids like Kyle always used to tease him for his smaller size and lack of athletic ability. Things changed in the summer before high school when Johnny had a massive growth spurt. He was now taller than all of his classmates by at least half a foot, a statistic that he would go on to maintain throughout high school. But despite his towering height, Johnny was still as skinny as a reed, earning him the nickname Beanpole from Kyle.

Even with his high school jock physique, Kyle was envious of how Johnny towered over all the other students. This envy manifested in acts of aggression to assert his dominance. He would shove Johnny in the hallway, made sure to tackle him extra hard in gym class, and scare off any students that would dare try and make friends with poor Beanpole.

Most of all, Kyle liked to play practical jokes on Johnny. Things came to a head towards the end of senior year. Johnny was making his way across the quad when Kyle snuck up behind him and pulled down the taller boy's pants in front of half of the student body. Kyle began congratulating himself on another well-executed prank when he realised everyone was watching on in stunned silence.

Kyle looked down to see that Johnny was sporting the biggest cock and balls that he had ever seen. “What the fuck, you freak?” Kyle stammered as he tried to process what he was seeing, turning his back on Johnny. Something primal came over Johnny. A strange feeling of dominance turned his vision red. In one swift motion, Johnny reached down and tugged down Kyle’s shorts. The whole quad burst out laughing as they saw that Kyle was packing a thin stub of a cock. In reality, Kyle was only slightly below average, but in comparison to the monster that Kyle was sporting, he looked like a little boy.

From that day, the dynamic changed. Johnny found himself being invited to all the popular kid's parties. At one of these parties, he found himself hooking up with a cheerleader. One thing led to another, and soon half the party was listening to the cheerleader moan at the top of her lungs as she rode his monster cock. From that day forward, he was no longer Beanpole, he was Big Red. It wasn’t long before he had worked his way through all the hottest chicks in the student body. Everyone wanted a ride on Big Red.

With his newfound self-esteem and social standing, Johnny began to make changes in other parts of his life. He began working out and looking after his diet. By the time he was off to college, he had put on a reasonable amount of muscle onto his tall frame. He loved all the comments he was getting about his size, so he doubled down on his gym routine and began experimenting with a cocktail of hormones during his freshman year of college.

By the summer of his sophomore year, Johnny had grown to 230 pounds of solid muscle, and his ego had grown to match. He had numerous endorsements with supplement brands and was showered in free gym gear from the hottest labels. He had quickly worked his way through all the hottest chicks in his year and had even started on the senior class. At 6’5 he towered over all the other dudes at his college, and he constantly made sure to let them know he was the superior male specimen. If Johnny hadn’t been so self-centered, he may have noticed his attitude has morphed into that of his high school bully’s.

Kyle’s life had changed after that fateful day as well. Word quickly spread of his less than impressive package and it wasn’t long before someone came up with the nickname JellyBean. He instantly dropped to the bottom of the food chain. At the last party he was invited to, he saw Johnny leading his ex-girlfriend away into one of the bedrooms where she proceeded to scream his name for the next hour.

His confidence shattered, Kyle messed up his trial for a football scholarship and he had to get a dead-end job at a factory after he graduated. The work was hard and draining so he came home sore and exhausted. Lacking the motivation to work out, his physique softened and his body grew thick with fat.

One day a picture of Johnny came up on Kyle's Instagram feed. Kyle was consumed with envy as he scrolled through the hunks profile, seeing the incredible life he led. From that night onward, Kyle furiously masturbated to his former classmate, fantasising about how his life could have been different.

One night while browsing the web, he found an old post about astral projection. That night Kyle found himself floating above his body. He panicked as his brain tried to process what was happening. He had somehow managed to astral project. The next few weeks were spent honing his newfound skill until he was eventually able to travel long distances with ease.

Late one night, he managed to get all the way to Johnny’s campus. He floated through the dorm rooms until he found his former classmate's dorm room. And there Johnny was, in all of his naked glory. His frame was so large, that his feet were poking out the bottom of his simple dorm room bed. His muscles were glistening with sweat, and his cock oozed cum as he held a busty brunette against his muscular frame.

Kyle felt compelled to touch the sleeping giant as he reached one of his spectral hands towards the mans hulking chest. His hand glowed as it made contact with the muscle before it began to sink into the bigger man's flesh. Kyle was ecstatic, it was just like in the movies. He would be able to take Johnny’s life for his own. “NO!”, roared a foreign presence in Kyle's mind. He found himself forced out of Johnny’s body and flung back into his own where he awoke with a start.

After reading up online, Kyle realised that Johnny’s will was just too dominating to lose control over his body. Kyle resigned himself to watching Johnny each night, living the life he could have almost had.

That was until the festival. Johnny had stumbled towards a bank of porta-potties to take a slash. All of them were full so he decided to find an out-of-the-way spot where he could take care of business. Due to the cocktail of drugs and alcohol, combined with the scorching heat of the desert sun, Johnny soon found himself losing his balance. The large man slumped against a wall to stop the world from spinning and promptly passed out.

Kyle has just so happened to be watching this scene take place. He floated down to Johnny and inspected his slumbering form. Johnny’s choice of festival attire left little to the imagination. His impressive arms were on show, having turned a light shade of red in the sweltering sun. His muscle singlet had torn slightly around the neck as it couldn’t contain the sheer bulk of his chest. His thick quads burst out of his colourful shorts, the imprint of his monster cock clearly visible beneath the thin fabric. Huge calves worked in tandem with his massive feet to support his huge frame. And it was all his for the taking.

Kyle pushed his spectral hand into Johnny’s chest. A familiar force tried to push him out. But this time the force was weaker. “No,” the voice in his head said feebly. Kyle smirked to himself and proceeded to force the rest of the way inside.

Johnny heard the voice again “No stop!”, the voice said, this time in a more panicked tone. Seizing his advantage, Kyle willed his spirit to develop Johnny’s presence. The two clashed in a battle of will, but Johnny in his weakened state was fighting a losing battle. Kyle began to strip parts of Johnny’s spirit. His dominance, his masculinity, his drive, until nothing was left except a defenseless shell. “Please, don’t do this,” Johnny pleaded as Kyle willed his spirit to devour what was left of Johnny’s will.

Kyle opened his eyes and looked down to find a huge set of pecs blocking his vision. It has worked. He was now Johnny. He hauled himself to his feet, momentarily experiencing vertigo as he got used to seeing the world from so high up. He wasted no time exploring his new body, his large calloused hands exploring the sheer volume of each of his pecs and the deep groves of his abs.

Eventually his hands wandered into his overstuffed briefs. He moaned as he squeezed his bull nuts and massaged his colossal cock. “Looks like you need a hand with that,” a voice said. Kyle opened his eyes to find a smoking hot chick had wandered around the back of the building. Kyle smirked to himself. Less than a minute after taking over Johnny’s body and chicks were already throwing themselves at him.

The new Johnny peeled off his singlet, before scooping the girl up in his big arms, and going in for a deep kiss. The girl kissed back as she draped her hands over his huge traps, her thighs resting on either side of his ripped torso. One of her hands pushed its way into his overstuffed shorts, her eyes going wide momentarily as she realised what she was dealing with before she composed herself.

“Think you can take it?” Johnny whispered in her ear as her hands explored the length of his thick shaft, her dainty hand not even close to getting around its incredible girth. Johnny spun the girl around, and pulled down his shorts releasing his python from it’s fabric cage. He paused momentarily, taking in the gravity of the situation. Everything was finally right in the world. The sun, the music, the chicks, the body. He was back to being the alpha he always should have been. He let out a deep rumbling moan as he lowered the chick onto his waiting cock.

In celebration of reaching 500 subscribers, I thought I'd do a bit of a longer story, even though they don't get as much attention. This was a draft I did last year that kind of got out of hand but I think it ended up turning out pretty well. Thanks again and I hope you enjoy :)

Thanks for the muscles mum! Jordi said as he bent down and kissed his mother Beth on the cheek. Jordi had just won his first bodybuilding competition and was feeling on top of the world. He had blown the competition out of the water with his superior size, symmetry, and conditioning.

But Jordi wasn’t always like this. Growing up he was just like most other boys, with cute, boyish features that mothers like Beth find so adorable. But as other boys his age hit puberty and began to grow into men, Jordi stayed as he was. As he moved through high school, Jordi found himself increasingly socially isolated from his peers and eventually the subject of ridicule and bullying. By the time he had turned 18 during his senior year, he had developed a meek, and submissive personality, not wanting to draw attention to himself for fear of further upsetting his aggressors.

When Jordi started arriving home with bruises on his face, Beth decided enough was enough. She waited until her son was asleep before she crept up to the attic. She crawled over all the piles of junk and boxes of family memorabilia until she found an old wooden box. The box was locked, but the moment she touched it, the heavy metal lock clicked open, revealing an ancient leather-bound book that pulsed with a strange energy. Beth came from a long line of witches, and even though the practice had waned over the years, she was still known to cast the odd spell here and there. The case in point being the love spell she had placed on Jordie's father - although she must have done something wrong in that spell because he left her not long after Jordie’s birth.

The words in the book seemed to shimmer and dance as Beth flicked through the pages. There were spells that would make Jordi grow in height, spells to change his personality, and spells to make him incredibly handsome. But that wasn’t what Beth was after. She still wanted him to be her sweat littleJordi. She just wanted him to be able to stick up for himself a bit more and be comfortable in his own skin. 

Beth continued to flick through the pages until a spell caught her eye. Her understanding of the ancient language of the book was rusty, but the spell appeared to reference boosting one’s inner confidence. She glanced through the complicated spell, and after getting the gist of it, she snuck downstairs. Standing over her son’s sleeping form, she muttered the incantation before sprinkling a small amount of ash in the boy's hair. A slight breeze blew through the room - a sign to Beth that the spell must have worked. She creeped out of the room leaving her boy to his dreams.

The next day at school started as a typical day for Jordi. He spent the day going from class to class, barely talking to anyone and eating his lunch in an inconspicuous place to avoid drawing attention to himself. Eventually, he came to the part of his day he was both dreading and looking forward to - gym class. Thanks to his timetable, his gym class was mostly made out of jocks from the football team. If there was one thing that would ruin your confidence, it was having to watch these paragons of athleticism compete to see who was the top dog. Today was open weights. The jocks spent their time trying to outlift each other, throwing around huge amounts of iron while Jordi quietly did some bodyweight exercises in the corner.

The showers after class were usually a nightmare of taunts and jeers from the jocks, so Jordi had learned to hide away in a toilet cubicle. Eventually, the commotion outside the stall calmed down and the locker room became still. Jordi cracked open the door of the cubical just as he heard the sound of running water begin once again. He peered through the haze of steam into the shower block to see a lone figure against the back wall. Jordi watched from afar, taking in every inch of the figure's colossal physique. Trent was the star linebacker of the football team. While puberty had passed Jordi by, it had hit Trent like a freight train. His massive 6 foot 5 frame easily made him the tallest member on the team by a few inches, causing the coach to request a special higher shower nozzle to be installed just for him. 

The warm water cascaded over his powerful physique. It didn’t seem possible that an 18-year-old could have such mature musculature. His back and lats flared as he reached to soap his solid glutes. Trent turned towards Jordi, his big beefy pecs bouncing as he soaped them, his swollen arms bending and flexing with the gentle movements. While his core lacked the insane definition that some jocks had, it was solid and powerful. Jordi’s gaze dropped down to Trent’s monster cock. Even now in its flaccid state, it had to be at least 8 inches long and as thick as Jordi's wrist.

“I see the little mouse is back again,” a deep baritone voice growled, snapping Jordi back to attention. Trent was staring directly at Jordi with a wide grin on his face. “Well come on then, you know the drill,” he said as he pumped his shaft a few times with one of his large sinewy hands. Jordi wasted no time shucking his gym gear as he entered the showers. As he approached the larger man, Trent’s strokes began to get longer and more sensual as his member began to approach full mast. As a shower rather than a grower, his cock only grew around an inch or so in length but it became impossibly thicker and girthier. 

Jordi reached his hands towards the monster cock in front of him, before he found himself being pushed away. “Beg for it little mouse”, Trent growled as he pushed Jordi to one knee. “Please let me suck your cock”, Jordi pleaded, his eyes locked on the dick in front of him. Smack, Jordi winced as Trent slapped his meaty cock against Jordi’s cheek. “Not good enough little mouse”, Trent berated. Jordi looked up into Trent’s eyes, “Please sir, let me worship your cock”, Jordi said, tears in his eyes as his hand rubbed the stinging red patch on his cheek where the dick had hit him. He looked truly pathetic. Trent smiled and placed his hands on the back of Jordi’s head, guiding the smaller boy towards his waiting cock.

As Jordi’s mouth wrapped its way around his throbbing cock, Trent threw his head back in ecstasy. The little dude was normally a good cock sucker with his tight mouth and soft lips but this time was truly wild. Jordi devoured the cock in front of him, forcing as much of the meat stick into his mouth as he could as it rammed the back of his throat. As he choked and spluttered, he felt a strange feeling grow inside of him. A feeling of confidence. Newly emboldened, he did something he'd never done before. He began to fondle his significantly smaller cock with one of his hands as he pleasured the beast that was towering over him. 

Little did the two men know, the spell was going haywire. The sheer magnitude of the emasculation that Jordi was experiencing, combined with Jordi’s willingness to be dominated in such a fashion was stretching the magic to its limits. If it had been cast by a more experienced witch, it may have held, but the unstable magic eventually burst from the confines that Beth had placed on it. 

The primal force had the single drive - to boost Jordi’s confidence to balance out this perceived humiliation. But as it was only intended to provide a small boost, the spell didn’t have the energy to perform its directive. It rushed through the room looking for a source of energy before it settled on a bountiful source - Trent. The magic flowed through Trent, analysing the very core of his being before it found what it was searching for. The source of Trent’s confidence was his superior masculinity. This was the potent source that the spell needed to complete its mission.

The spell settled in Trent’s balls where it began to strip Trent of his bountiful virility. The mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through his veins was too much for Trent. He let loose a deep growl as he began to cum the biggest load of his life. Jordi choked and gagged as a massive volley of cum shot out of the huge cock inside his mouth. As Trent’s cock continued to spew cum, his balls began to shrink and shrivel. 

As Jordi took volley after volley of Trent's seed, the spell ensured that he also drained Trent of the raw masculinity that made him the titan that he was today. Jordi’s small testicles began to swell in size, sending a cocktail of hormones throughout his body. An inherent sense of confidence began to build inside him as he began to suck the rest of the potent liquid out of Trent’s cock. 

Trent’s testicles continued shrinking to the size of small grapes. The ecstasy that Trent was feeling was too much and the jock blacked out and crashed to the floor. Riding his sudden wave of confidence, Jordi stood up and jacked his small dick a few times, before sending several thick loads of cum all over the unconscious jock. Jordi had never cummed before, and the sheer volume and viscosity of this load surprised him. He looked down at the jock drenched in his seed. “Pathetic”, Jordi said as he spat on the spent athlete before turning to leave the showers.

From that day, Jordi’s life began to change. Just as he finished high school, Jordi began to undergo a huge growth spurt that continued throughout the summer until he started college standing at just over 6’5. Throughout his first year, he packed on a serious amount of mass, his muscles growing thick and strong. Throughout his first year, he packed on a serious amount of mass, his muscles growing thick and strong. He thrived at every physical pursuit he put his mind to, even beating out the senior men.

He garnered a serious amount of attention from his classmates of both sexes, quickly becoming a popular member of the student body. He was invited to all the hottest parties where people clamored to hang out with him, in the vein hope that some of his majesty would rub off on them. He stood head and shoulders above the other guys in his classes, even his fellow jocks who looked up to him in reverence. As such he commanded absolute authority and he always got first dibs on which lucky girl he'd decide to take home. He was even know to bed the girlfriends of those in his crew, sometimes several at once, just to remind the smaller men who was the alpha. When he was done with them, they'd return to their boyfriends wishing that their pricks would stretch them the same way that Jordi's monster had.

In his final year of college, Jordi discovered bodybuilding. His body responded to the more intense workout routine and strict diet by packing on pound after pound of shredded muscle onto his also large frame. His hulking physique commanded attention as no one else in his college could. Those who were lucky enough to spend a night with Jordi recounted stories of animalistic sex drive and tales of limping home the next day after a night riding his legendary cock. 

Shortly after graduation, Jordi was ready to enter his first show. His conditioning and definition were both so insane that the judges practically gave him the win the moment he stepped foot on stage. A few of the other competitors wanted to give up once they saw his phenomenal form, but Jordi pressured them to stay on the stage as their comparatively small physiques further added to the majesty of his own.

Jordi was fizzing after winning the contest. He had kissed his mum goodbye at the contest venue and had climbed into his Jeep. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, savouring the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The rush he felt from dominating those other bodybuilders who were in the best conditioning of their lives was absolutely intoxicating. And in his hometown no less. His hand slipped into his shorts, massaging the kinks out of his engorged package. It had taken so much self-control to not get a raging hard-on right there on the stage as the lesser men had shied away posing next to his dominating form. He bit his lip and composed himself. A self-worship session would need to wait. 

He started his jeep and drove over to his hometown’s gym. He had never worked out there in his youth, being too weak and feeble to ever dream of setting foot in the door. But now that he was a god among men, he saw it as a personal victory to walk through the doors and let everyone witness the beast he had become.

‘Excuse me, sir, can I please see your membership card?’ a slender man called from behind the sign-in counter as Jordie confidently strode into the gym. Jordi shot a menacing glare at the man, causing him to shrink away as Jordi made his way over to the free weights. Jordi spent the next few hours working out his huge muscles until his body was swollen and drenched with glistening sweat. The other gym patrons had long since left, either to avoid the behemoth's loud grunts as he heaved double the weight they could ever dream of or to furiously masturbate in their cars as they pictured his impressive form. 

At the end of his workout, Jordi made his way into the locker room, where he proceeded to get undressed. His hulking torso seemed to swell even bigger as he peeled off his shirt, his bronzed form on full display like some sort of work of art. He dropped his shorts revealing his monstrous cock and balls as he made his way into the back of the showers, his heavy footsteps thudding on the damp floor and his oversized cock swinging between his bulging quads. 

Jordi turned on the faucet, and a hot stream of water began to pour over his hulking form. He smiled to himself, the facet came up to just below his chin. They really should install higher ones for towering individuals like himself. His calloused hands proceeded to roam his swollen muscles, cleaning the potent sweat and fake tan off his skin. 

Jordi heard someone clearing their throat behind him. “Excuse me, sir, gym facilities are for paying members only,” a high-pitched voice croaked. Jordi turned his head to find the slender employee from earlier. Jordi smiled to himself. He slowly turned the rest of his body towards the smaller man, his big beefy pecs bouncing as he continued to soap them, his swollen arms bending and flexing with the gentle movements. The water cascaded down his brick-like abs, flowing like rivers through each of the deep valleys and ridges that made up his powerful midsection. Jordi noticed the smaller man's gaze travel downwards as he became mesmerised by Jordie’s monster cock. Even now in its flaccid state, it had to be at least 8 inches long and as thick as his wrist.

“I guess you’re the little mouse now Trent,” Jordi rumbled in his deep baritone. Trent’s eyes went wide. It couldn’t be that kid from gym class. Ignoring the behemoth's hulking body, he took a long look at the handsome face of the man in front of him. The bodybuilder could have been the kid's older, hotter brother. The kid that used to make suck him off after practice. He had stronger, more masculine facial features but those dazzling brown eyes were unmistakable.

Trent’s mind went back to that day in the showers when he woke on the floor covered in cum, his nuts shrivelled and tiny. His life had changed that day. It was like his confidence had vanished overnight. The other changes started small. First, his girlfriend dumped him because he couldn't get it up in bed anymore, his normal insatiable sex drive fading. Then the coach said his killer instinct had gone, and he was unceremoniously dumped from the football team. 

Then the shrinking began. Each morning he woke up ever so slightly smaller. No one in his family believed him, instead, they just told him to work out more and lay off the junk food. The lingering magic clouded their memories so that they believed that he had always been at his current height.

By the end of senior year, Trent had lost a couple of inches in height and his hard muscle had become soft with fat. It even got worse when he started college. He ended up dropping out at the end of his first year after he had shrunk over a foot in height and his body was bulging with soft fat. Worst of all, his once legendary package has shrivelled down to a pencil-thin prick that matched his raisin-sized balls.

Eventually, after hitting rock bottom and returning to his hometown, he managed to salvage his life somewhat. He joined his local gym and managed to fight his genetics to lose most of his flab. There were still stubborn pockets of fat in his cheeks and butt that he couldn’t seem to shift and he never managed to put on any muscle, but it was a vast improvement over his time in college. He even managed to get a job at the gym as a weight loss coach. His life had improved, but gone was the titan that he was a few short years ago, and in his place was a twink of a man. And now, somehow he was staring up at the life he should have had. 

“Jordi?” the little man stammered. “In the flesh,” the big man said as he continued to massage his swollen muscles. Trent was mesmerised by the grace and tenderness of the brute's movements as he caressed his muscles in large, arching motions, his fingers dancing along the ridges and peaks of his bulging form. Jordi caught him staring. “Yeah, I changed a bit since you last saw me”, Jordi explained as he kneaded his heavy pecs, “most people can’t get enough of the new and improved me”. The titan began to trace his fingers down his rock-hard abs. “You know I won my pro-card today - and I’ve only been bodybuilding for about a year”. “It’s like my genetics are perfectly programmed for putting on pound after pound of clean muscle at an insane rate”. Jordi put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest, giving him an impressive v-taper. 

“But how? You were so small during gym class, how did you…” Trent paused mid-sentence as everything clicked in his mind. Jordi had somehow taken everything from him. His muscles. His height. His manhood. With tears in his eyes, Trent darted across the showers and started clawing at the larger man. “Give it back, give me back my body” Trent wailed with tears in his eyes, his small fists completely ineffective against the solid core of the mammoth in front of him. Jordi sniggered. His former bully couldn’t even reach past the bottom row of his abs. 

Trent felt something poke him in the chest. He looked down to see Jordi’s colossal cock was level with his chest. And it was fully erect. Trent was mesmerised by the sheer size of the monster appendage. 

Seeing the smaller man’s reaction to his fuck stick, Jordi reached down with one of his calloused hands and gently pulled back his foreskin exposing it’s thick mushroom head. The air was instantly filled with a pungent aroma of sweat and musk that seemed to pour out of his exposed glands. 

Trent found himself salivating. He opened his mouth and slowly moved his head towards the monstrous appendage in front of him. As his tongue was just about to make contact, Trent felt himself be pushed backwards as Jordi pressed him to the floor with one of his huge size 15 feet. “I want you to beg for it little mouse,” Jordi growled at the pathetic excuse for a man in front of him. Trent looked up at the titan towering above him, marvelling at how the water was cascading down the ridges and valleys of the man's musculature. “Please let me suck your cock!” he pleaded as he pulled himself to his knees. Smack! Trent’s cheek stung as Jordi’s meaty cock smacked him across his face. “Not good enough,” Jordi said, his deep voice laden with venom. 

Trent looked up at the man with wide eyes filled with tears and a thick red mark on his cheek. How the tables had turned. He mumbled something under his breath. “What was that runt?” Jordi roared, fire in his eyes. “I said, I’m glad you took my muscles!'' Trent squeaked, “ You took them from me and used them to become so much more. They were wasted on me. I would have never been able to get to the size you are. The definition you have. The god you are”. Tears were streaming down Trent's face as he kneaded Jordies colossal thighs with his small hands. “Please, let me worship you like the alpha you are,” Trent said, pleading to the large man. 

A low chuckle rumbled in Jordi's chest. “You see little mouse, that’s the difference between a true alpha like me, and the wanna-be’s like you used to be,” Jordi said as flexed his powerful forearms, watching the thick chords of dance underneath the surface of his paper-thin skin. “Pretenders let people worship them,” the larger man said, his gaze beering deep into Trent’s soul. Real alpha’s make them worship. With that, Jordi grabbed the back of Trent’s head with both hands and forced him down onto his cock. 

Trent’s small mouth was stretched to its limits to accommodate the sheer size of the mushroom head. Jordi began to force more of his shaft into Trent’s waiting mouth. The titan battered the smaller man’s mouth for what seemed like hours, as Trent's eyes became red and his face bruised from the battering. But throughout, Trent's tongue explored every nook and cranny of the cock that was being jackhammered into his mouth. One of Trent's hands massaged Jordi's oversized balls, while the other massaged any muscle it could get his hands on from Jordi's colossal quads to his diamond-cut abs. Eventually, he settled on using both hands to stimulate the sizable length of shaft that he simply couldn't fit into his mouth. Anything to better please the god in front of him. 

With a roar, Jordi forced the head of his cock down Jordi's throat and began to cum rope after rope of thick cum straight down his gullet. Trent greedily guzzled down as much as he could until the volume being released began to leak out of the sides of his mouth and he was practically drowning in Jordi’s potent seed.

Jordi pulled his colossal member out of Trent’s mouth, causing the smaller man to cough and splutter as he tried to catch his breath. Some small part of Trent wanted him to look up and see Jordi passed out on the ground, as if he had somehow managed to suck his manhood back out of the titan’s cock. But as he slipped his hand into his cum soaked shorts, he found his all too familiar raisin-sized testicles. Instead, he looked up to see Trent still towering above him, a terrifying look of lust in his eyes, and his cock still rock hard as it oozed cum. As if in a trance, Trent turned away from the hulking man. He slowly pulled down his gym shorts, and bent over, offering his perky twink butt to the hulking titan.

Wild with lust, Jordi picked Trent up and lowered him down on his waiting cock. Trent wailed as the huge member pushed up against his virgin hole. Jordi grunted as he tried to push his way inside but he was just too huge. The remnants of the spell cast all of those years ago flared to life one last time, once again surging around the room. They flowed into Trent, changing him one last time. Jordi felt Trent’s hole relax ever so slightly. It was still an incredibly tight fit, but he managed to force his way inside. Jordi moaned as inch after inch of his cock forced it's way inside of Trent's perky bubble butt. It was so incredibly tight that it seemed like his ass was perfectly made to take his massive dick and provide him with as much pleasure as possible. 

Its mission fulfilled, the magic finally dissipated and faded, leaving only Trent’s high-pitched moans and Jordi’s deep rumbling grunts as Jordi bred his former tormentor like the pathetic little mouse he was. 

For today’s caption, due to many of y’all requesting that I write this particular kind of TF again, I will be using more photos than just the one that @mystrangetfs provided. You can view that image here!

Have you been keeping up with his stories? Here’s his latest caption! He’s going above and beyond, folks. This has been as much of a treat for me as it’s been for y’all. I hope you keep enjoying what we have to offer!

Stud Pride

Emily was a prodigy.

She was the valedictorian of her high school class, first chair flute, captain of the debate team, and a state-qualified cross country runner. The girl had a lot of skills under her belt — anything she set her mind to, it seemed like she could accomplish — but what she lacked was confidence.

For all of her brilliance, there was an insecure shyness, too. She found it difficult to share herself with people, not sure how to string together a compelling conversation outside of her many debate-required arguments.It was easier being a wallflower, watching the world pass her by and telling herself she’d catch up with it when she was ready to put herself out there.

But here she was on the first day of her college career, after months of telling herself that this would be the push she needed to finally break out of her cocoon. Nothing seemed all that different as she hugged one of her textbooks to her chest, dodging around the sea of unfamiliar students and coming to a halt by the campus fountain of Parkview University.

She stared at the stone horses, idolizing how majestic they were, scolding herself for being so meek and quiet and reserved. Here she was, a Parkview Stallion in her own right, but there was nothing free or strong about her. She should have went to a university with a more appropriate mascot, she considered with a small frown. Something like a mouse.

But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the galloping horses, pulling a penny from her pocket without even considering how childish it was. Wishing on coins and fountains was not logical in the slightest, but maybe that was her problem. Maybe Emily needed just a little bit of magic in her life. So she let the coin fly, watching it flip gracefully through the air before it collided with the water, and she made her wish.

“I wish I was worthy of this school. I want to live up to all the expectations of being a Stallion.”

It was simple enough, the tried and true ‘speak it into existence’ method, but nothing really changed or clicked for her. There were butterflies fluttering in her stomach, a swirling unease deep in the pit of her gut, but she was convinced that had been there the whole time. She sucked in a breath and went about her day.

The strange thing was how her fellow classmates began to interact with her. They didn’t say anything at first, just a series of nods and enthusiastic waves as Emily moved through the packed crowd. A few of the female students smirked at her in an oddly flirtatious manner, and many of the college jocks looked pumped to see the nerdy girl. She tried to play it off, blushing shyly.

But then she heard a low voice shout, “Bro, the legend is finally here! How you been, man?” It took her a moment to realize the beefy frat boy suddenly standing by her side was talking to her, let alone about her. He definitely wasn’t someone she knew, certainly not someone she went to high school with, and she was positive he didn’t have any interest in her. With a cautious sniff, she wasn’t sure he even had an interest in basic hygiene.

He was smiling such a goofy grin, though, and he looked so happy and excited to see her that it made her smile, too. Maybe someone had dared him to prank her? Maybe he was just getting too into the act? For just a moment, she felt confidence stir in her, and she let herself ponder the possibility that maybe he really was thrilled to see her. Maybe she had a reputation already. Maybe she didn’t have to question every little thing that happened.

“Yeah, uh, it’s me. I’ve been good.” Emily spread her legs a little wider, lowering the textbook she was clutching to her chest and letting it hang casually by her side. She needed to relax, or she was going to scare this guy off with how uptight she was. “How have you been?” She got the question out easily enough, but there was a slight pause as her tongue nearly pushed out the word ‘bro.’

That would have been pushing it a bit too far, she told herself, trying to find a balance between being chill enough to hang out with this dude and acting enough like herself that she wasn’t coming across as fake. The jock didn’t seem as lost in his head as Emily was, breaking out into a wider smile and moving into a double bicep flex without a second thought. “Bro, you see these gains? Summer was a fuckin’ pump fest. I’ve been great!”

Emily wasn’t sure how to respond to that, looking around the large campus and down at herself as she tried to come up with the right words  — wait, was she wearing this outfit the whole time? She could have sworn she had dressed more formal for the occasion, but at least she felt comfortable. That was really all that mattered. The workout shirt and elastic denim pants were large on her, but warm from years of use, so warm they calmed her down and slowed her thoughts.

“You’re a total beast, man. Keep it up.” And then she patted the jock on the shoulder, like it was the most natural thing, and he kept smiling and chuckling like there was nothing strange about them interacting like this. “I’ll catch up with ya later, bro.” Her vocal chords were stirring, shortening, and taking control. She didn’t realize what she had called the guy until he grabbed her hand in some sort of weird frat boy handshake and mock-saluted at her.

“See ya, bro.”

It ran through her mind that she needed to find her dorm as she watched the musky jock leave, shaking her head to break out of her daze. She didn’t feel her hair whipping around her face as she moved, but then she reached up and grazed her backwards cap, and that felt right. She had said she wanted to make a change, to not be so lost in her head, so she was sure to dress down on her first day. She was in college now. It didn’t matter what brand of clothes she wore, she was a fuckin’ athlete with a full ride scholarship. All that mattered was how much weight she could bench.

She stopped in her tracks, scratching at the back of her exposed neck and scrunching her thick eyebrows together. No, she was here on an academic scholarship — right? “Uh,” was all she could say, standing there like an idiot who couldn’t get her brain to function properly. The deep sound moved through her, down the length of her throat and causing an Adam’s apple to swell. She had been changing since she made her wish, and she should have noticed by now — definitely by now — but she couldn’t figure it out. Everything felt right.

All of a sudden she was so chill, and slow, strolling through campus like she had no better place to be. She started waving back at all the dudes and chicks who greeted her, feeling her legs burn as she started to stretch up and up until she was beginning to have to glance down at her new friends. Her worn out workout clothes were starting to become more than just warm, and she even lifted a pit to breathe in her rank stench. Something on the inside winced, and shouted out in displeasure, but all she expressed on the outside was a low, dumb chuckle.

They called him Stink Bomb for a reason.

Emily stopped again, this time pressing a meaty hand to her forehead and gasping from the sudden shocking memory. “No, bro. That’s not me.” She was so aware, for just a moment, hearing the stretch of fabric as she glanced down at the pecs ballooning against her shirt. Her thighs were becoming thick and straining the elastic of her pants, there were sweat stains all over her body, she was getting huge and smelly and losing every aspect of her former self.

She moaned in pleasure as something hot awakened between her legs, looking around her help, but all she saw were smiling faces and waving hands and a sea of strangers masquerading as her new friends. It was like the world had turned a blind eye to what was happening to her, just like she had, but now she was forced to watch as something thick and long snaked out from her crotch, pushing so tightly against her pants that she whimpered in pain and pleasure. “Bro, I’m too fucking big.”

And, fuck, he really was. Em couldn’t really think of anything else. He was so focused on his muscles as they continued to pump, he loved watching his pecs dance beneath his shirt, seeing his sleeves bunch up around his bowling ball biceps. He had thrown on the clothes he wore during yesterday’s workout, because he was fuckin’ late to his first day of college, but no one cared. They loved him. He was the big man on campus, the star freshman football team recruit. It was okay if he stank.

Em was here to stay, or was it Ev — an inward vice screamed, “Your name is Emily! Please don’t forget!” — but Evan’s new thoughts were so big and beefy and dumb that he squashed every last trace of the nerdy girl he had been. What kind of bro would go by Emily? He clearly wasn’t a fag. He smirked at all the babes checking him out, even being so crass as to rub the fat cock he was hiding in his boxers. He was gonna have so much fucking fun at the parties on campus, that was his priority beyond staying swole for sports. Yeah, he was going to flunk all his business classes, but Coach said he’d help him out. He scratched at his chin with a snicker, loving the feeling of his stylin’ stubble.

Pair that with the diamond studs in his ears? His shaven, tatted up body? God, he was such a pussy magnet. He didn’t have to do shit, just one flex and the panties went flying up into the air. He was such a smug, dumb douche, throwing up peace signs and duck lips like he didn’t know the meaning of growing up. Like this wasn’t a serious college. Evan was Peter Pan on steroids, frozen on an elementary school education with the rocking body of a prize stud horse.

And, hell, he fuckin’ was one now! PARKVIEW STALLIONS REPRESENT, BRO. His brain was wired to promote his university team, to live up to the mascot with every fiber of his being. He already had the horse cock down, and the full breeding balls. He squeezed out a silent but deadly fart as he strolled up to the fraternity he pledged to, and he chuckled even louder. He even had the stink down to an, uh… an S? Because stink starts with S?

He didn’t fuckin’ understand some shit, but who the fuck cared? He was loud, and brash, and popular. He felt his body pulse with energy one last time, moaning without a care in the world as his shoulders popped into place, his jaw squaring out, growing thicker and sexier and knowing he still had so much bigger to get. That’s why he pumped so hard. That’s why we was going to pump some more right now. When he saw the jock he had greeted that morning, he jogged over and slapped him hard on the back.

“Bro,” he almost slurred, grasping the boy’s shoulder tight and holding him in place as he let out a booming, sputtering fart. He was so fuckin’ proud of how he smelled. He was so gross, but the ladies couldn’t get enough of this stud. He couldn’t get enough of himself, either. He loved watching people choke on the mere scent of him.

“Show me where the gym is. Stink Bomb needs to get his pump on NOW.”

Evan was a Parkview Stallion, through and through.

Maybe he couldn’t do basic math anymore, or hold a flute in his big meaty hands, or win an argument without burping in the other person’s face, or do anything that involved too much cardio without exhausting his hulking body — but at least he was a confident son of a bitch now. He wasn’t shy about anything.

--- First time writing my own story ---

--- Please let me know what you think ---

Just before the second year of college rolled around I was met with the unfortunate news that my best bro, my roommate, would not be making it to the second year.

Turned out he'd been spending too much time partying, and too little studying. Not even the coach could save him anymore.

Sure, being on a sports scholarship meant studying isn't your main priority but you still had to maintain your grades somewhat if you want to make it to the next year.

To make things worse, my new roommate turned out be some nerd.

Jacob was your average nerd that would be holed up in his room most of the time.

He didn't really bother me. It's just... I had hoped to have a new bro to go to the gym with instead of some wimpy kid.

Color me surprised when the guy came out of his room out of nowhere to ask me to help him some project he was doing for some course.

Something about trying some "telepathy" gear he was working on he was working on for a biomed class.

To be honest it all sounded really like some science mumbo jumbo to me. I must admit I wasn't too excited so I thought I'd struck a deal instead: he'd tutor me for my calc class and I'd try his stupid gear thing.

He seemed happy with the proposal and told me it'd be ready for testing in a couple days.

--

As I stepped out of the bathroom after just taking a shower I was met by Jacob holding two comically large rings which almost looked like miniature hula hoops.

It had been a week since he'd asked me for the favor. To be honest, I'd already forgotten about our agreement.

Though I was a man of my word and did need some help with calc, not wanting to end up like my old buddy.

He signaled for me to sit on the couch as he started to explain all about his new gadget.

Supposedly, the pair of rings were some new technology he was working on. He explained that it allowed the wearers to communicate with each other as if the other person was simply a voice in their head.

I accepted one of the nearly metal rings, the only discernable difference being a smaller engraved letter T on the side indicating that I would be on the receiving end according to Jacob.

Not thinking much of it, I held it over my head as he instructed.

As I pressed the button on the side of the device it quickly shrank, tightly sealing itself on my head.

Jacob, doing the same, had grabbed a small little tablet whilst the ring sealed itself on his head.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's get this over with" I replied back.

A large shit-eating grin appeared on his face as he pressed a button on the ring.

"You jocks are real dumbasses, you know. Should've been more skep--" the nerd started saying before he suddenly stopped.

The twig had frozen right in his tracks. He looked as if his soul had left his body.

Testing if he was actually there, I waved my hand in front of his face.

Nothing.

Huh? What the fuck?

Okay, this is kinda weird.

I need to get rid of this ring.

It didn't budge. Not only that, this shitty thing just zapped me as well.

Hmm, think. The nerd mentioned something about telepathy, right?

Hey nerd, you hear me?

No response. Fuck.

I'm gonna look like some freak with this stupid headband there has to be something...

Maybe I should just try the telepathy again.

Hey Jacob, say something!

In an almost comical fashion what seemed like a corpse just uttered one word.

"something"

You've gotta be kidding me.

Uh, let's try something else.

Jacob, jump!

Without skipping a beat he jumped.

This is kinda awesome...

Jacob, explain what your plans were with these rings

"My intention was to use these rings to transform you into a nerd as well as do something other things..."

Explain what you mean with transform

"These rings are a technology I devloped that allows you to transform your target however you like by giving suggestions"

Heh. So, if I told him to grow a pair that would work?

As expected the nerd briefly twitched before a visible bulge started forming.

The Jacob's bulge wasn't the only thing growning larger in the room.

I noticed that my dick started to chub up as well, fueled by this new power I had just obtained.

I realized that with these rings I could do anything.

I could still get the roommate I wanted. And I could make him however I wanted.

--

Time to get to work.

Strip

The pudgy nerd took care of undressing, now showcasing his unimpressive body.

I could not help but feel pity for the guy.

He lacked any muscle definition. The only thing he had going for him was his now bull-sized nuts that looked mismatched compared to the rest of his body.

I should at least give him an appropriate cock to match.

Jacob, add a couple more inches to your cock

His average 5 incher started growing rapidly, reaching a monsterous size of what looked to be 8 inches.

I circled around him, proud of my work while I looked for the next area of improvement.

To be honest, there was a lot of work to be done. Maybe a rough approach would be better.

Adjust your body fat percentage to 7%

His already slim frame now became quite boney.

Add 40 lbs of muscle mass

The same arms that once lacked any muscle mass now had biceps that would rival an amateur body builder.

Veins also started bulging out, running from his large mitts upto his biceps.

The changes didn't stop there, however.

A pair of meat slabs started to form on his chest as well.

Unable to resist, I snuck up behind Jacob to fondle his newly formed pecs whilst also admiring his growing traps.

My hand went slipped down further, sliding into the deep crevasse formed by his 6-pack abs.

It seemed that Jacob hadn't missed leg day either. His legs now looked more like tree trunks that would be easily able to squash a watermelon.

To make the picture complete Jacob's feet had to match as well.

You've always worn a size 13

His feet grew large and veins appeared, much like what had happened to his previously tiny hands.

You've always prefered to keep your hair in a quiff

Jacob's unruly mop had started to style itself in a trendy quiff.

Now, flex for me

Jacob now struck a double bicep pose, his already large biceps forming sizeable peaks.

----

"You mentioned something about jocks and being a real dumbasses didn't you, Jacob?"

Ah, wait.

You will wake up

"Huh, what... Why do I feel heavy..." Jacob murmured before realizing it was caused by his new physique.

"Wait! No. You were supposed to get the receiver not the transmitter! How did I- argh" Jacob said fully grasping the situation now.

"I don't want to be some dumb brute!" Jacob told me, now reaching for the ring.

Don't move

Without missing a beat Jacob froze right in his tracks.

"What are you planning to do to me, you stupid jock?" he asked.

"Stupid jock, huh" I mocked.

"It's funny you say that because right now you look more like a jock than me." I told him.

"Perhaps you just don't think like one... yet" I snarked.

"I remember you said something before. Something about jocks being real dumbasses?"

"Wait no! Please-"

You've always been a dumb

"I- uh.. Hng.. What did I say again...?"

"A real jock wouldn't go by a nerdy name like Jacob, now would he?"

You have always been called Jake

"Bro, I don't know who the fuck you're talking about."

"Ah, nothing to worry about bro" I reassured him.

You only care about is lifting weights and partying. You never bothered with studying.

Oh, and you may move again

"So bro, what's up what are we doing here? We should go to the gym." He asked me, completely oblivious as what happened not even minutes earlier.

"You dumbass, we just got back from the gym." I told him.

"Oh, huhuh, sorry bro, I guess I forgot haha" he replied.

When I call you by the nickname brute, you will obey my instructions, no matter what I tell you

"Hey Brute, won't you help me with getting these rings off?" I ask.

"Of course, anything for you bro" he replied.

A bro is never afraid of a little bromance

A little fire in his eyes lit up.

"So bro, what do I need to do?" he asked.

"On the count on three, we both press the button on the side of the ring. I think that's the only way to get them off" I explained.

"Ready?" I asked.

3.. 2... 1..

I immediately felt relief as the tight ring was now removed from my head.

"Brute, give that ring to me. You never want to touch that ring again. You know big bro will handle it for you" I instruct Jake.

"Here you go, bro" he said handing the ring.

I put the rings on the nearby coffee table.

I was happy. I now got myself the perfect roommate. And, if I needed it I could give additional to my brute.

"Hey Jake, there's a party tonight. You wanna go?" I asked him.

"Of course bro, always down"

"Before that, I've got to ask something" I said, sitting back down on the couch.

"I need a little help with something" I smirked, turned on by all the effort put in transforming my roommate

My dick had become rock hard and was begging for attention.

"You think you can help a bro out?"

I hope you all had as much fun reading as I had writing it.

Greg's roommate Chris had just begun his 10 month stay in Japan as a part of a student exchange program. In the beginning Greg thought that maybe, just maybe, he would have their 2 bed dorm all to himself. Then he realized he would probably be living with a student from Japan. After all, Chris was taking part in a student exchange program.

But he didn't expect what actually happened. He was assigned a new roommate, who turned out to be Heath Richards, a jock from the football team. When Greg was informed of the administration's decision he just sighed. This was going to be a hard year.

From the moment Heath first entered Greg's room it was clear his new roommate was a textbook example of a college football bro. He was loud - screaming while watching TV, belching and burping, laughing with that dumb jock chuckle. His clothes were everywhere and he refused to pick them up no matter how often Greg would remind him. This also meant that his sweaty smell quickly filled the whole room and removing this stench seemed impossible.

Greg was stuck with a dumb football jock for a roommate and he hated every minute of it. But there was nothing he could do as there was no process to appeal the decision that put Heath in his room. He also didn't have the money to move out and rent a studio off campus. So he was stuck with Heath. And that musky, sweaty smell.

One day Greg woke up and while still groggy and half-asleep, he started looking for clothes to wear. He opened his drawer and took out the pair of boxer briefs from the top of the pile and put it on. He then moved to their small kitchen area to prepare himself some breakfast. As he mixed the oatmeal he felt as if Heath's smell was more noticeable than usual.

"broooooooo" He suddenly heard the jock's voice behind him "why you wearin' my Under Armour boxers dude?"

"What?" Greg looked down and he gasped as he realized that the underwear he was wearing was not his usual kind, but Heath's black Under Armour boxer briefs.

"Fuck, how the hell did these get into my drawer, dude?"

"dunno brah, just calm down bro" Heath just shrugged "ya can wear them dude if ya want, i don't care, i have like 20 more after signing that sweet deal" Greg was about to scream at the guy, demanding he finally take care of his clothes when a thought entered his mind. You enjoy wearing Under Armour. It was a foreign thought, almost as if someone else had planted it in Greg's mind. But it stayed there, and though he was still angry at Heath, the need to take off the boxers just disappeared.

"Ugh" he just groaned "you jocks are all the same" he muttered under his breath and finished making his oatmeal, which he then took back to his desk. He sat down and started eating. You enjoy the smell of sweat, especially after a workout. The feeling of disgust at Heath's stench disappeared instantly, replaced by a slight enjoyment of the salty smell.

Greg quickly ate his breakfast, then got ready for the day. He put on a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and a hoodie, his ass still covered by Heath's UA boxer briefs. He saw the jock sitting on the couch on the other side of the room, wearing only a jockstrap, with his legs spread wide apart, looking at something on his phone. Greg rolled his eyes as he took his bag in his hand and walked up to the door.

"I hope I won't find any more of your clothes in my drawer, Heath" he barked at his roommate as he opened the door.

"yeah, yeah, calm down bruh" Heath drawled in response, then scratched his bulge. Greg sighed and left the room, ready to get through all the classes he had to attend today.

Greg was sitting on his third lecture of the day, still not the last, taking notes diligently. The professor went on and on, his charisma barely perceptible and he seemed to be the only person in the room who was still following what the older man was saying. Then, as the prof was looking at the computer, trying to change his presentations, a thought was implanted into Greg's mind. You have an IQ of 80 and don't care about academics.

He stopped taking notes and looked around. Fuck, how much longer was this lecture going to take? Greg shifted around in his seat, spreading his legs wider apart. The old dude leading the class resumed talking but he didn't really get what he was saying. It all sounded so boring.

An hour later, Greg was finally free of that old dude's ramblings. He looked at his phone and realized he still had one class left. Huhuh, nope, he was not going to suffer, not for one minute longer. And so he left the rest of his group and started walking towards the dorms. His brain needed time to relax after this mind numbing experience.

When he entered his dorm room, Heath was sitting on the couch, watching game tape on his laptop. Wait, how did he know it was game tape?

"ey dude, yer early bro" Heath commented, his eyes focused on the screen.

"Yeah..." Greg nodded, but then he didn't know what to say, he didn't have the words. You speak like a dumb jock.

"dude, lectures were so fuckin' boring bro, huhuhuh" Greg let out a dumb chuckle as he approached Heath and then sat down on the couch.

"duh bro, never got why ya bothered with all that academic bullshit bro, i see yer finally seeing how dumb all that shit is" Heath paused the video on his laptop and looked at Greg. "the only reason to stay in school is fuckin sports dude, ain't no other way to get to the NFL bro" He then furrowed his brow as he looked into Greg's eyes "you play ball dude?"

Greg was surprised by the question and as his brain was processing it, another thought appeared. You are a cornerback playing for the Atlanta Golden Eagles.

"yeah bruh huhuhuhuh, am a damn cornerback" Greg let out another dumb chuckle and Heath looked at him, suddenly very confused.

"shit, i gotta get ya to coach" He put the laptop away and stood up "follow me bruh"

Coach was not thrilled when he learned what happened to Greg. When Heath brought him to his office it took a while to get the necessary context out of the dumb jock, but eventually Coach was able to understand what had occured.

His supplements which turn all his players into strong and cocky football jocks had a weird quirk - it spread through his body and entered the jock's cum. And because Heath was one nasty jock, he got off into his boxers and didn't even wash them. so when Greg put on Heath's used boxers, some of the supplement got into his system and the his transformation began.

Coach was not thrilled, but he quickly , but he quickly decided to use this whole mishap to his advantage. He activated his connections, did some work himself and got himself a new player - cornerback Greg Geralt Evans. A few rounds of Coach's supplement and Geralt would be just as muscular as his best bro Heath, ready to get on the gridiron destroy any opposing team.

Ohh hey dude. As you can see I've changed a little bit. But I doubt you have a problem with that. You’re the one who inspired me to turn things around after all. What do I mean? Well after all of those years, I finally took your advice.

You always called me a runt, so I grew taller. I never knew 12 inches of height would make such a big difference in my life but it does. People just innately respect you when you’re this tall. Everyone literally has to look up to me. Even you. It’s such a power trip. Is this how you felt when you used to tower over me? 

With bated breath and blurry vision, Jeremy(?) stumbled over to the nearest mirror in the locker room. He looked at himself in the mirror while using the counter to hold himself up, and his jaw dropped when he saw his reflection.

“No, this wasn’t supposed to happen… Is that me?”

A couple of weeks ago, Jeremy Nguyen was just an average nerd with nothing particularly remarkable about him. He had a deep interest in all things fantasy-related. He graduated from college with relatively high marks and worked as a science teacher at his old high school. It wasn’t an exciting life by any means, but Jeremy was content with his simple, happy life. 

Aside from his usual nerdy hobbies, Jeremy had also started regularly hitting the gym ever since the new year rolled around. Sure he couldn’t lift more than 10 pounds and got tired after only about 8 minutes of light cardio, but it was the thought that counts. Not that it really mattered to Jeremy anyway. He wasn’t interested in becoming a full-blown gym rat or anything like that. Jeremy only started exercising so that his doctor wouldn’t give him yet another lecture about his health during his yearly physical. 

Jeremy pulled up to the gym one early afternoon. He normally went to the gym at night due to his busy work schedule as a teacher. However, thanks to an obscure local holiday, the schools were closed and he had the day off. Jeremy decided to switch up his usual routine and work out in the afternoon instead. He walked inside, did his warm-up stretching, and began his workout with some light hammer curls. The gym was surprisingly very packed that afternoon, especially compared to how empty it was at night. There were people everywhere! 

As Jeremy continued his workout, he noticed his gaze kept coming back to one particular man just across the free weights area from him. 

The guy was absolutely jacked from head to toe! Standing at 6’2” tall, he made a lot of other people in the gym look tiny by comparison. Jeremy watched with great awe as the muscular Adonis hit shoulders with dumbbells he could only ever dream of lifting off the ground, let alone work out with! 

However, despite the man’s amazing physique, Jeremy wasn’t attracted to him. He never liked the muscular look in men. Wasn’t really his type at all. Yet at the same time, Jeremy couldn’t stop looking at him for some reason. The man looked vaguely familiar. Jeremy racked his brain but couldn’t place his finger on it. It was weird. He tried ignoring him and just focusing on his workout, but then the man did something that made him remember exactly who he was. Near them was an overweight man who was struggling to get through a rep with just the barbell. The man watched him from afar and sneered like it was the funniest thing in the world. It was that cocky smirk that made bad old memories come flooding back in. 

The man’s name was Jared Taylor. 

That name and the arrogant smile that came with it haunted Jeremy for most of his teen years. To put it shortly, they had the stereotypical high school jock bully/scrawny nerd relationship you see in movies and TV. Jared loved teasing and making fun of others. Especially quiet nerds like Jeremy who played Pokémon in class after already finishing their work. Needless to say, Jeremy hated Jared with a passion. He was thrilled to finally be rid of the bastard when they graduated and went their separate ways. Jeremy went to study chemistry while Jared continued playing for some college football team. 

Jeremy never would’ve expected to see his former high school bully back in town. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like Jared recognized him (you would think he would after tormenting him for 4 years…) Plus, Jeremy always went to the gym during the nighttime anyway. He wouldn’t have to worry about seeing Jared Taylor ever again! 

Or so he thought. 

Much to Jeremy’s dismay, he kept seeing Jared every time he went to the gym. It didn’t matter if he went late at night or early in the morning before work, Jared was there— working out with some of the heaviest dumbbells the gym had to offer. 

Jeremy tried shrugging it off as mere coincidence, but his patience grew dangerously thin with every passing day he saw him. Jared’s cocky smile. His dominating presence. His haughty laugh just screamed, “I’m bigger, stronger, and just overall better than you!” Jared was already bad enough in high school, but he had only seen to have gotten worse with age! 

Then, on a random Saturday, Jeremy decided he had finally had enough. It was time someone stepped up and knocked the arrogant asshole down a peg or two. And who better to do it than the nerd he loved bullying every day? 

And so, Jeremy devised a plan to rid Jared of the one thing he loved more than trolling: his muscles.  Jeremy scoured through his massive collection of fantasy books and trinkets, searching for the magic he would need to pull off his plan. There were plenty of naysayers who didn't believe in magical powers, but Jeremy was never one of those muggles. He believed in magic ever since he was a kid and never stopped, even as he grew up. 

After extensive searching, Jeremy finally found a very old book of spells from back when he used to play D&D. The book puffed out a cloud of dust as Jeremy opened it for the first time in forever. An eerie smile emerged on Jeremy’s face as he read up on a spell designed to reverse a character’s stats and build. It was exactly what he needed to get revenge on Jared. 

Once he memorized how to perform the spell, Jeremy left for the gym that same night. Just as expected, Jared was there too. 

Luckily for Jeremy, the gym was empty that Saturday night, save for about a dozen people. The fewer potential witnesses, the better. 

Jared was busy hitting shoulders in the free weights area. Jeremy positioned himself so that he was just across from him in the cardio section. He had a clear shot of him. Once he was sure there was absolutely nobody watching, Jeremy set his plan into action. He used his fingernail to scratch the tip of his pointer finger until he bled out a couple of drops, then smeared it with his thumb and forefinger. Once that was done, Jeremy focused on his target and recited the spell. 

aketay awayyay isthay ansmay onfidencecay ybay urningtay imhay intoyay ethay ingthay ehay ateshay ethay ostmay

Jeremy’s finger shined a brilliant red as he finished casting the spell. A beam of light shot out of him as soon as he recited the last syllable, heading directly towards Jared. Jeremy smiled maniacally, knowing he was finally going to get his revenge after years of torment, though unfortunately, his pleasure was only short-lived. His smile faded as he watched Jared bend over to pick up a dumbbell, causing the spell to miss its intended target. Instead, the light hit the mirror, ricocheted, and hit Jeremy square in the chest, knocking him off the treadmill. 

God-DAMN IT!! How could I mess up such an easy shot!?

Jeremy writhed in agony. He couldn’t believe his plan failed just because of a little timing slip-up. Red with embarrassment, Jeremy forced himself to get up despite the great pain he was in. As he rushed over to the guy’s locker room to hide himself, the spell activated. 

Jeremy held his arms to his stomach as an intense wave of nausea washed over him. A strange warmth was radiating from his torso. His walking speed slowed as Jeremy found himself suddenly struggling to breathe. Low groans and growls escaped his mouth as his chicken legs exploded with body mass growth. It felt like his legs were on fire! The muscle fibers in his legs broke down and grew back rapidly until he had legs as strong and thick as a horse. Confused at what was going on, Jeremy looked down and audibly gasped when he saw his upper body transforming right before his very eyes. 

His chest puffed out as his pectorals grew and grew until he had a nice, firm set of daddy milkers. His shoulder span nearly doubled in length as the muscles in his back rapidly tore and regrew back within a matter of minutes. His arms thickened and hardened with muscle mass too. His once pencil-thin arms had become absolute cannons with biceps the size of melons and veins throbbing with strength. With a set of washboard abs to boot, Jeremy had become an insanely ripped bodybuilder— completely unrecognizable from his former skinny and weak nerd self. 

“Nnnn… What’s happening to me…!?” Jeremy huffed out a moan as forced himself to keep moving. He powered through the transformation pain and made it to the locker room where he could be alone. With bated breath and blurry vision, Jeremy stumbled over to the nearest mirror in the locker room. He looked at himself in the mirror while using the counter to hold himself up, and his jaw dropped when he saw his reflection.

“No, this wasn’t supposed to happen… Is that me? And since when did I become so… Jacked?”

Jeremy’s shocked expression morphed into a grin as he inspected his new body. Although he was never a fan of the muscular jock look, his tone quickly changed now that he was the buff one admiring himself in the mirror. He was practically purring with delight as he ran his hands over his arms, savoring the feeling of new, firm muscle on his body. Jeremy's original nerdy personality began fading away with every flex of his new muscles, leaving space for his new cocky gym bro attitude.

Then, wanting to get an even better look at his body, Jeremy stripped down to just his underwear. 

“Heheheh… Just LOOK AT MY MUSCLES BRO! I’M A GREEK GOD NOW!”

His voice boomed with newfound confidence as he spent well over half an hour just checking himself out. As he struck the double bicep pose, a sudden head pain brought Jeremy back down to reality. 

“Huh? What the hell am I doing?” Jeremy thought to himself. He massaged his forehead as he thought about the answer to his own question. However, the more he thought about it, the more questions about who he was began to pop up. 

“Who am I? What’s my name? What do I like? What do I dislike?”

He thought long and hard, but couldn’t find anything. It was like his own brain had been enshrouded in a deep fog. He kept thinking and thinking until for a brief moment, he had a glimpse of what seemed like an old memory. He was… Jeremy Nguyen? And he liked… video games, anime, and fantasy books— 

He shook his head. There was no way that description was right. He wasn’t a fucking nerd. Far from it. He took a deep breath and tried remembering his identity again. This time, the correct info came flowing in like water. 

His name was Isaac Nguyen and to him, working out wasn’t just a hobby but a lifestyle and a passion. He played football both in high school and in college, then dedicated his time and energy to bodybuilding once he graduated. His body was like a golden medal to him. It was his pride and joy, and he loved nothing more than getting a good pump and flexing in the mirror whenever he had the chance. 

With his new identity securely established in his mind and spirit, Isaac stepped out of the locker room to finish his upper body workout for the day. As he made his way to the free weights area, he noticed some scrawny dude with glasses struggling to curl a 10-pound dumbbell. Isaac had to stifle a laugh as he walked past him. 

“Heh, can’t even lift the beginner weight, what a fucking loser… Bet he spends all his time playing video games with his other dork friends. God, I can’t stand these kinds of dudes…”

As Isaac finished that thought, he ran into an old friend he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Oh shit, Jared! Where ya been, bro!?”

“Long time no see, man! Looking swole as always, big guy!!” Jared responded. 

The two men pulled each other in for a bro hug. As they pulled away, Isaac felt himself hating the man he just shook hands with. It was weird. Like he had some sort of deep-rooted resentment against Jared. But that couldn’t possibly be right. Isaac and Jared were best bros since they joined the football team together back in freshman year of high school. They were basically the kings of the school back in the day! 

Yes, that’s right… Isaac was a jock, just like Jared. He had always been one. Never a nerd. 

Never.

Holy moly......look at that arm.....that's as big or even bigger than most people's quads, and it's not even fully flexed! This preview is nuts and if this shit's legit, I don't think I can process it right away!

I strut out from the locker room through this mini courtyard with direct access to fresh air......and entered the gym as soon as I finished typing all the settings and clicked OK to finalize it.

Hmmmm........is this lack of reaction normal? I mean, here I am a fucking 240 pounds hulking mass of a man entering this boutique gym and no one bat an eye? Or maybe.......well, duh, I've always been a 6'3", 240 pounds motherfucker, of course no one bat an eye, I'm a regular here! Smirking that everything seems aligned and worked perfectly as intended, I randomly grabbed any available machine and as expected, memories of me conquering them appeared out of thin air as if I've been doing it for ages! Shit, this really is fucking easy! I wonder how many of these so-called fitness influencer actually put it in the work and not tinker around with apps like Chronivac here

I looked at everyone that passed me by, and as expected, I recognized all of them as if we've been friends for ages. This app is mental, man. There's no way that magic doesn't exist in any part of this whole app because what kind of science that enabled every single person memorized all these false memories about me as if it's all real? Anyway, what's real for now is that I've been working out for the past 55 minutes and I think it's time for me to show-off my hella real pump (in case you didn't notice, no I haven't worked out at all, it's once again, the Chronivac)

Both hands full of groceries, Bradley clumsily swung the door to his dorm room open and, with very little grace and a loud grunt, hoisted the hefty bags onto the kitchen counter. He looked like he’d just run a marathon, shoulders slumped forward, all sweaty and out of breath. It was truly embarrassing how much a carton of milk and a loaf of bread could make him sweat. With his scrawny limbs and short stature, buying groceries was, shamefully, a serious workout. He eyed the celery sticks poking out of one of the bags and noted with chagrin how, in appearance, he wasn’t much unlike the pale leggy plants. They say you are what you eat, and yet, no matter how much prime beef Bradley consumed, he remained a stalky vegetable.

Man, would he kill to have arms like those jocks on campus. Now those guys were prime beef. Thick and meaty. Bet they never even broke a sweat, he thought. Oh yeah, he could see them now, carrying their grocery bags full of chicken breast and broccoli, strutting down the street, lifting them like weights to pass the time, leaping over obstacles, looking all sexy. Pillowy pecs bouncing, bulbous biceps crunching. And there he was, winded and clammy. Drooling over muscles he didn’t have. With a boner. But hey, at least there wasn’t much food to unpack - just a few things and he could kick back in front of his laptop and fantasise all he wanted.

Milk, check. Bread, check. Ramen, check. Protein bar, check. Wait - protein bar? He didn’t remember buying a protein bar. He blinked a few times, thinking maybe it would turn into a chocolate bar when he wasn’t looking. Nope. Still there. He read the label: ’Beefcake’. Huh. He didn’t recognise the brand - but then, he wasn’t buying protein bars. Ah, fuck it. He could use the extra boost. With a shrug of his narrow shoulders, Bradley peeled the plastic open and popped it into his mouth, chewing it strenuously, swallowing it quickly. God, even his jaw muscles were weak. He winced a little in preparation for the bad taste he associated with health foods - but it was actually quite a treat. In fact, it tasted like what it was called: cake. He might just add it to the shopping list. But just as Bradley went to put away those celery sticks, he suddenly felt… a strange rumbling in his stomach. Not to mention, very lightheaded. Almost as if he was about to faint.

And then he did.

———

Bradley woke up on the kitchen floor, the ceiling slowly coming into focus. Shit, had he fainted? And god, why was he so hot? His entire body was coated in sweat. He was practically marinating in it. And those damn kitchen lights were so bright.

He held up an arm to shade his face — except it wasn’t his arm. Even with blurry vision, he could see that this one was thick with muscles and had a deep tan, not the usual pale celery stick. He must have a concussion. But when he told his brain to move his arm, the juiced-up imposter responded. Holy shit. It was like someone had loaded a thin skewer with thickly cut kebab meat. Bradley sat up on his elbows and, sure enough, there was another, equally muscled and delicious looking arm at the ready. He almost started drooling. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening -  but he knew he liked it. Wait. The protein bar. The Beefcake protein bar. That must be why his arms looked like this. He flexed them both, watching the juicy muscles ball up, thick and hot. Fuck. A deep groan escaped his lips — several octaves deeper than before! A meaty hand clutched his tree trunk neck, titillated by the healthy adams apple that now bounced up and down as he groaned again in a testosterone-oozing baritone. He lowered his gaze and the groan became a moan; every part of his body had been re-designed. No more celery stick. He was prime beef. He was a beefcake. Laying out in front of him was a pair of thick, porterhouse thighs, the kind that made it impossible to walk without rubbing them together. And they were long. Bradley gripped the counter and pulled himself up… and up, and up, and UP. He clenched his eyes closed in a guttural growl as the muscles in his body flexed and relaxed, as if he was stretching out after a good nights sleep. He was fucking huge.

He stumbled back, not used to the high altitude he now stood at, and something on his chest bounced. His eyes dropped to the main course, the plat principal: his pecs, which had ballooned out into two ginormous, rounded slabs of pure beef, his deep gasps causing them to bounce up and down in time with his breath. No way. No fucking way. He moaned in-between gasps as he brought his hands up to grope and jiggle them, digging his fingers eagerly into the mountains of pec meat protruding from his chest. They were equally as hard as they were soft. Bounce, bounce, bounce. This was hot as fuck! Jolts of pure sexual electricity shot through him as he brushed his hands over his new, extra sensitive nipples, craning his thick neck forward to see the two tanned, salami sized culprits hardened to attention, just begging to be sucked and squeezed. He was about to flick them when he noticed how big and meaty his hands had gotten, thick sausage fingers connected to palms that would have engulfed his old ones, and yet somehow still weren’t big enough to fully cup either of his pecs.

Suddenly he had an idea he couldn’t resist. Giggling, he took a big meaty finger, stuck it between his big meaty pecs, and started fucking them with it. He was fucking his pecs! He moaned out his own name, laughing as he did, getting faster and faster, groping his ass with his other giant paw of a hand. Fuck, was that his ass? He craned his neck around to get a look at what felt like two ginormous globes of pure butt - and that was a pretty apt description. If his muscles were the beef, this was definitely the cake. And god, did he desperately want a hot stud to put some icing on it. He was so caught up in his muscled ass that he barely noticed the nine inch bratwurst sausage between his legs thicken up, fat and hard. Everything was so big. Fuck, he was sexed-up. Even his sweat was sexier. The pearly droplets simmered on his muscled-up skin like oil in a hot skillet - like he was a tenderloin being cooked by his own immense body heat. It felt incredible. It was as if now instead of sweat, every pore on his body produced fat drops of hot precum, rolling down and lubing up every new bulging inch of him. His jus. Was there anything that little bar of Beefcake hadn’t changed? He wiped the sweat away from his face, and something felt different. Actually, his whole face felt different. Fuck. He had to see this. Bradley took off with huge, lumbering strides towards the bathroom mirror.

Woah. He was blonde. And his eyes had crystallised into two glittering, chalcedony gemstones, framed by a pair of seductive eyebrows that gave him a permanent look of seduction. He traced a thick finger down his newly squared and angular jawline, all the way to his superhero chin. Oh, shit. His mouth. His medium-rare lips were huge, and his long, thick, meaty tongue felt like it barely fit in his mouth. He opened wide and it spilled out with a meaty slap, hanging just below his chin. Oh god, his tongue must be bigger than his dick used to be. He had a fuck-machine in his mouth! A deep moan quivered out of his throat as he slid it over his pillowy lips, his giant knees threatening to buckle. They tasted good; juicy, tender and salty with sweat. Cooked to perfection. There must have been a crumb of Beefcake still on his big lips, because they suddenly tingled and puffed up even bigger - he almost went cross-eyed at the sensation.  He gave his best lets-go-back-to-my-place smirk to the mirror, followed by a fuck-me-harder face that made him wanna fuck himself. Screw eye candy. Bradley was a full course meal. An eye buffet. Except, he wasn’t Bradley anymore. He was Brad.

And Brad… Well, Brad was hot, sweaty, pumped and hard. He had two thoughts: lift and fuck. Brad needed to try out his new body - find a big jock with an ass as fat as his to pump his beefcake load into. And that meant he was headed to the gym. He bounced his pecs, gave his hungry dick a hefty grab, and winked at the mirror. Before he left, though, there was one thing he needed to do.

Brad swaggered into the kitchen and grabbed those thin celery sticks with his goliath hands, crushing a few just from his grip, and tossed them straight into the garbage. With that out of the way, it was time for a taste test.