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Local celebrity doesn’t begin to cover what the titan of industry has become, but it’s certainly where he started. Morris remembers him being the talk of their provincial Texan hometown, nothing exciting ever happened around here so why not discuss the now-billionaire who escaped.

No one ever expected for him to return to their suburban ghost town to set up shop. Apparently disaffected with the West Coast preoccupation with burning money in pursuit of LLM’s and other digital faux progress, he felt a dire need to take his money elsewhere. For he is concerned with the world material.

Staring up at a painting of the great man adorning the wall above an elegant single-cup coffee machine, Morris can hardly believe they’re from the same ZIP code. That they walked the same high school corridors. Thick silver-speckled beard hiding a jawline everyone knows is as sharp as his mind, Byron seems like a man from a different age. One to be found amongst the pages of Morris’ classic literature more so than as the chief executive of an R&D company HQ’d in bumfuck nowhere.

And to think, Morris is here to work under him. Far, far, far under him presumably. The email didn’t say who he was meeting with, or really what he was interviewing for, but it must be for a low level clerk position. At least he told himself this as he signed an ‘interview contract’ that he had barely read. 

Obviously said document could have held these answers and more but Morris was too excited at the opportunity to work for Byron Roman to even glance at the thing before signing. And now it’s almost as if it’s been washed from his mind. Perhaps that would be concerning if he were able to really recall it at all. But right now Morris has bigger fish to fry, sure of his intelligence at least, there is little else about himself he is confident about.

Too gaunt to be considered pudgy, too average to be dubbed attractive. Morris, like the CEO, seems to be pulled from the world of fiction, though one rather distinct from the epic Sir Byron Roman is cut from. No, Morris is more akin to a street urchin busking to sell matchsticks. Some Dickensian side-character that would be left on the chopping room floor.

Stealing another glance at the portrait wondering if he should hazard another cup of coffee, Morris can’t believe the sense of gravity he gets from the painting. It’s as if the man were standing her before him, asserting his masculinity through brushstrokes and painted posture alone. 

Coming to this exact realization as he awkwardly averts his eyes and starts brewing a cup, Morris jokes to himself, “Can oi interest you in a pape milord…”

Unbeknownst to the off-duty barista, the receptionist has yet to take his eyes off him. Watching as Morris taps away at a coffee machine that inexplicably has a screen, he scans with concentration more like a machine than a man.

Only when the nervous interviewee sheepishly looks over his shoulder at the otherwise empty room does the receptionist at last avert his eyes. Having apparently gathered everything he needs, when Morris sits down with his steaming to-go cup, the receptionist speaks up.

“Sir Byron will see you now. Please proceed through the door on my left before entering the third room on the right.”

Letting the man’s words hang in the air for a moment, Morris puffs his cheeks and squints as he realizes this is the second time the secretary has outright stated he’s going to be meeting with the CEO. 

The first time he had assumed it was a simple mistake, just a slip of the doorman’s hidden tongue. Having spent even a second longer with the mechanical man, Morris feels confident that he is not the type to speak in err. Nevertheless he opts to clarify.

“Hey! Hi there~ I don’t believe I got your name earlier, Mr..?” His question hangs in the air long enough that he gives up and continues. “Right. Well, I do believe there has been some sort of a misunderstanding? I-I’m here for a simply preliminary interview, surely Mr. Roman had better things to do than-“

“This organization is Byron Roman. If he allows some plain well-read fop to represent him in any regard, and that ungainly grunt makes an embarrassment of his name. Well.”

It’s the most animated Morris has seen the man since he walked in. Despite the cool collected tone he’d swear he saw the man’s eye twitch at the very idea of someone embarrassing the brand. Breezing past being called a grunt and clinging to being called well-read Morris tries to salvage the situation. Sure that if everything goes well that he’ll be working to some degree with the severe man before him, he beats down his nerves to perform.

“Of course! Of course~ I completely understand, sir. The squeaky wheel- err? Rather, a man is always judged by the company he keeps! I am simply surprised that a man as great as Byron Roman would make time in his busy day for an aspirant such as myself.” 

Unlike the previous hidden grin, at this the secretary’s eyes light up with a smile. Like a faithful hearing true testimony of their lord. 

“Well spoken Mr. Baker. Perhaps we’ll have a fruitful working relationship after all. Hold fast to that fervor. Now, if you don’t mind, please away to the next suite. Sir Byron will arrive to join when he is finished with his current business.” Once more gesturing to the door to his left, the secretary’s face resets to its emotionless steel as he awaits for Morris to obey. Coffee cup in his hands he is torn whether to leave it or bring it to the second location. The simple decision almost freezes him in place. 

He can’t help but overthink every single choice before him. Scoffing at himself as he clenches his jaw, in lieu of a decision he follows the path of least resistance and keeps the cup in hands. Still chiding himself for his perpetual lack of volition and his obsession with minutiae, he attempts to beat stoic surety into himself in preparation of meeting a CEO.

The process is interrupted as he crosses the threshold out of the lobby only to find an unremarkable hallway. Warm wooden flooring and vintage wallpaper give the place a homey vibe far more similar to a small-town doctor’s office than the working HQ of a tech company. Even seeing the large elevators at the end of the hallway in a building Morris knows is only the one story tall, he can’t help but be lulled by the place’s provincial decor. 

“It’s like my mom decorated this place…” 

Snooping just enough to check out the other few doors on the way to the promised third on the right, Morris finds only more beige doors. Their handles are covered with a thin layer of dust that his attention just glides past, much like it does regarding the gleaming elevator down the way.

Far less overactive minds would begin telling themselves horror stories and worst-case scenarios about wandering into the back office of a billionaire’s clearly shady studio. Taking a sip of his coffee and stealing one last glimpse of the empty hallway, Morris refuses to give way to anxiety. The rich light roast on his tongue grounds him, it perfectly reminds him why he’s come here today. 

He is not going to be a barista anymore. The lobby’s attendant flickers in his mind as he swallows. A job just like that, maybe one where he doesn’t need to be quite so dogmatic, is that too much to ask? 

Lost in thought as he enters the room. From the side of his eye Morris catches movement and spits up coffee as he flinches into the door in surprise. Instantly worried that Byron has been waiting on him and caught this jittery display, he tightens his posture and forces an awkward smile on his face to feign confidence.

His harried resolve immediately drops when he turns completely only to find a full-length mirror leaned against the wall. Sighing in relief Morris decides to use the opportunity to freshen up. Setting down his coffee he wanders closer to inspect his reflection. 

Hair as unfrizzled as he’s able to get it, there are more than a few curly fly-aways sticking out of his tight dirty-blonde bun. Looking down his baggy button-up there are thankfully no coffee stains on its placket. 

At least everywhere visible is stainfree if nothing else. The same can surely not be said regarding the sweat under his arms, but this is thankfully hidden by a neat cardigan and nigh-medical grade deodorant.

‘I’ll be fine’ He tells himself on loop, tugging his cardigan down to cover a wrinkle. Looking downwards his pants are simply too long and bag atop dress shoes he only pulls out for very special occasions. His belt still slightly limp even on its most extreme loop, Morris feels nerves prickle on the back of his neck. He absolutely won’t be fine, he looks like a fucking mess!

The barely positive mantra he’s been clinging to is succinctly batted away as the reality of the situation pelts away the hope he’d been foolish enough to trust. He hadn’t even applied for any position in particular, simply thrown his resume at the company’s inbox alongside a pathetic cover letter asking to be used however they see fit. 

As if their CEO would waste a second of his day besides to come down here and chastise him for wasting his important company’s time. The receptionist held more worth in a finger than could  be found in all of Morris put together, and he thought he’d be able to work a job like that!? He’d crumble under the slightest obstacle, some rich investor chews him out and he’d dissolve. Morris feels himself tearing up at the very idea.

Or perhaps he’s simply halfway to weeping for being a dumbass who thought things could be better. Always thinking. Too much thinking. He feels his fingers clench into his forehead before he even realizes he’s put his face in his hands. The pain of his fingernails scratching brings him back to his senses and after making sure he didn’t leave splotchy red marks on his hairline he takes a deep breath and turns away from his watery-eyed reflection.

Now’s not the time.

If this is real, and it must be. Then this is a massive opportunity he simply can’t waste because he got in his own head. He’s too smart for that. He’s smart, and Byron Roman himself has a position in mind for him. This is-

BING BONG DING DONG- DONG DING BONG BING

“Jesus christ…”

Nearly jumping out of his skin, it’s clear that despite telling himself to calm down he has remained well on edge. Looking up to find the villainous implement that startled him, Morris is shocked he didn’t notice the clock before now. Still recovering from the jumpscare he can hear a subtle tick-tock, grounding him in reality as he attempts to find calm.

Centering himself on the consistent clicking of gears nearby, Morris sits in a small chair and sets his bag down beside him. Time to lock in. Reaching down to paw through the couple of belongings he saw as necessary, Morris debates whether it’s best to read through his printed resume or to focus wholly on setting his mind at ease.

Obviously he’s not going to just scroll on his phone. At worst he’ll stumble across something that’ll stress him out more. At best he’ll look like some screen-addicted zoomer right when Mr. Roman walks in.

Fingers glaze the worn cover of his trusty bible. Melville’s masterpiece. Moby Dick. Thinking of the tome and the vastness of the sea within, the classicist feels the constriction in his chest just melt away. Focused on the sound of North Atlantic gulls in his mind, buoyed by the persistent ticking of the newfound clock, how could Morris ever  notice the slightest hissing now emanating from the nearby overhead vent. 

Book in hands, he turns it over a few times before opening it to some choice section on whales and their constituent parts. Morris at last relaxes back into his chair. Despite doing everything right, as  he reads his pulse continues to rise. First putting his hand on his chest to feel its racing beat, Morris shakes his head and pointedly ignores how it suddenly feels warmer in the room to read the passage before him.

Fanning out his button-up he frowns and tells himself the discomfort is all in his head. Shifting in his seat he feels the pooling sweat in pits and resolves to ignore it. Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, he squints at the text and begins to whisper it aloud to himself.

‘Gnawed within and scorched without, with the infixed unrelenting.. Uh?’ Hearing something bump in the hallway he turns to hopefully see his interviewer interrupting him only to find it’s presumably in his head. Scratching at the side of his chest, carefully not shoving his hand deep in his pits, Morris purses his lips and looks back to the book, unknowingly skipping a few lines.

‘Or, if for any reason thought to be corpo- uhhh? Corporately, no. Corpor-really? Corporeally? Jeeez, god… I must be more stressed than I even thought.” And he certainly thought he was plenty stressed. 

Leaning back against his chair, Morris closes his eyes and simply tries to find peace in the darkness. His foot anxiously taps on the floor, at first matching the ticking before rapidly outpacing it. And then it falls heavier. His shoes were tight from the get-go having rarely been worn, but suddenly it’s almost like they’ve gotten tighter in the last few minutes. 

Every muscle in his body tensed, he uses his anxious tension to jump up with a start and pace the otherwise empty office. This does nothing to abate the discomfort in his shoes, but as he does so he begins to find that it is not only his feet that are suddenly acting up. Crossing his arms tightly as he patrols the small suite, his cardigan tugs against his shoulders like it never has before.

With a scowl he looks down at his wrists exposed from both his sweater and shirt. Imagining the surely pristine suit his town’s idol is sure to arrive in he easily works himself up anew about his foolish daydreams. Even worse than before, as if every already extreme emotion had heightened. As if they were still heightening. 

Throwing his arms down and swinging them to simply remove them from his sight, he refuses to acknowledge how the twigs twitch with every sway. Muscle fibers that have been inactive save to froth milk and open novels suddenly twinge and burn with a need Morris doesn’t understand. 

Struggling to make sense of the strange sensation, with pursed lips his fists cramp and at last it becomes perfectly clear. Aggression. Morris is filled with the all-too unfamiliar need to punch something. His consistent pacing back and forth immediately stops as the urge takes pride of place in his mind. Staring as his dainty hands curling into fists, Morris watches mouth agog as the veins on their backs throb. 

The sound of his knuckles cracking larger with the force of his clenching is absolutely clear. Wispy blond strands that have long decorated his wrists seem suddenly darker in this office light, to say nothing of the fact that it seems like there are altogether more of them.

Hidden by his cardigan sleeves, Morris suddenly feels his forearms filled with force. Not knowing what a flexor or extensor even is, Morris is dumbstruck as he feels muscles reflexively constrict. Higher up his arm, and far more eye-catching, he is stunned as he sees his sweater catch on biceps like he’s never seen. Muscle like he’d never even been able to imagine on his unimpressive form.

Everything else is washed from his mind as he sees his arms continue to bloat. The shock from his sudden violent streak and even the slight pain still pinging from his shoes pinching more and more, everything fades away as a grin overtakes his shaky face. Panting almost as he lowers and raises an invisible dumbbell, Morris watches as with every lift his sleeves are strained further. And his arms continue to grow. 

Hands stretch further from the end of his sleeves as the scratchy, darker curls spreading up his forearm continue to thicken. Doing everything short of drooling at his biceps bulging thicker, when it starts to strain against the dress shirt beneath, his vacant expression twitches into one of frustration. 

Nose flaring in irritation, he unintentionally takes a deeper breath and gasps as he suddenly notices a pervasive stink has begun to fill the room. Sure that it simply can’t be coming from himself he raises his heavy right arm to look underneath and can hardly believe the sight. Sweating through both the dress shirt and the thick, once baggy cardigan, Morris can’t take his eyes off the dark, spreading stain in his armpits.

Stunned, his face burns bright red and then feels starkly itchy itself. The urge to scratch is waylaid by the far more powerful need to shove his head into his pit and inhale deeply. Get some of that sweat on his face… Maybe it’d stay there, stick on his upper lip and he’d get a deep whiff of his musky male odor with every single breath.

“Nnno… That- I cann’tuhh…” Words dissolve from his mouth and mind as his lips simply fall open.

Tongue almost lolling, his neck that had been surreptitiously thickening itself begins to lean towards his waiting pit. Converted to the cause, his barely cognizant rational self, tries to make sense of his need. How is he to fix the issue without truly understanding it. He has half a mind to unbutton his shirt and let his pits breath to the open air.

Mind wont to picture the bushy tangle of pit hair that must be hidden beneath these restrictive layers, he does just that. Thicker than his pubes and almost as scratchy, he imagines the chalky deodorant he threw on this morning simply melting away. Absolutely overwhelmed by the prodigious musk his pits produce, proof of his own prodigious manhood.

Lost in a daydream, one hand slowly reaches over to scratch the armpit he imagines and finds it just as hairy as he imagines. Stomach quivering as higher thought continues to vacate. Buried beneath two tops, even still his fingertips can still feel the deep scratchy strands that have begun to stretch well beyond their underarm stomping ground.

Lips twitching into a grin, Morris moans quietly to himself as blush returns to his pale cheeks as its skin tightens and grows rougher. Standing limply in the center of the room as he continues to fill out his clothes, there are a couple inches of straining dress socks showing from the pants that were ever too long. 

On the opposite end of the garment, his growth is far more drastic. Never much of a shower or a grower, Morris’ petit package has more than filled his lucky pair of briefs. While one hand remains preoccupied with his pits, the other enthusiastically goes to cup a cock slowly twitching larger.

Quickly struggling to remove a belt now constricting his widening waist before it snaps, at the very same moment it clinks against the floor he hears his swelling cock strain his briefs. When it at last breaks free from his underwear and begins throbbing down the side of his pant leg, obviously visible, Morris’ hips twitch forward and he is brought back to the unmistakable reality of his situation.

“OHHHhhh GOddd~” Panting as he tries to make sense of this must-be nightmare, Morris stumbles over to the mirror to try and free himself from this manic hellscape. Thicker lips drooping open surrounded by stubble darkening from its blonde peachfuzz into a real man’s beard, he forces his face into his hands and tries to convince himself that these changes aren’t good. Cock throbbing in response it’s not looking good. 

Thick breath mists the mirror, hiding the vacant look in his eyes as they trail up and down the reflection of his body’s new almost pornographic proportions. So focussed on the meaty arms hanging at his side, he had yet to notice how a forming chest suddenly strains the buttons on his shirt. Nipples encircled by lancing curls are absolutely visible through the sweat-stained top. 

Hunger and need fill the spot left by intelligence in his eyes, he forces a hand to his mouth to stop a loud moan as his chest cracks wider, at last tearing the pitiful dress shirt. Strange new strength filling him more with every moment, he is again felt with the impatient urge to make use of it. To fight, to ff- fuck. Forcing his fist into his mouth he bites down to feel anything but the oppressive sensation pulsing from his cock at the idea.

Desperately willing himself to settle down and figure out how to wake up from this hallucination, Morris slams the fist not cupping his cock into the wall as he bites down hard on his lip to try and force himself back to his senses. “FUCK!” 

Clutching his injured mouth he stomps a foot in pain as the taste of iron fills his mouth. This marks the end of his dress shoes as the seams on its front burst open to reveal long toes almost completely visible beneath the sparse threads of a sock barely hanging in there. The sound of leather tearing continues as his freed foot continues expanding and tears the tattered shoe in two. 

Apathetic to the small trail of red dripping into the thickening stubble on his chin, he looks down at his mismatched feet. One with a shoe hanging on its ankle, still widening beyond the pale. The other barely hangs in there, shining leather filled to the brim with the mass of a foot simply far too large.

Gasping in pain at the feeling of his left foot trying desperately to match its pair’s growth while still confined, there’s an ice cold pit in his stomach as he at last realizes he can’t be dreaming. It just feels too much, too good. And then the other shoe bursts open, sending fabric and laces flying, the slightly humid air of the office a balm to the sole. 

Somewhere increasingly buried in his mind, he struggles to understand. If he’s not dreaming, then this is real. His back cracks as he adjusts to stand slightly taller. This is impossible. 

Staring at the remains of the most expensive piece of his outfit now hanging from both ankles, Morris tries to understand. It’s what he’s best at, making sense of something. Thinking. He has a degree. He was in debate and wrote for his university’s paper. At least he’s pretty sure he did? 

Furrowing his brows as they begin to thicken from their patchy blonde, Morris finds it suddenly difficult to recall. Concern at his situation rapidly gives way to frustration which gives way to apathy. He’ll just wait for Byron to come in and explain everything. Surely he’ll know what’s going on.

As it begins to become more and more difficult to recall his higher education, his thoughts begin to drift increasingly to Byron. Picturing the great man does no favors to his libido, his trigger happy crotch is eager to twitch with fervor as Morris struggles to control himself. 

No matter what he’s not going to be caught masturbating when the mysterious executive walks in. Despite wanting nothing more in the world to do so, he moves to sit down and struggles to tuck the massive cock in between his thighs before doing his best to cross the thick trunks. 

Vaguely recalling he brought some book with him, Morris looks at the novel tossed aside and picks it up. There’s a flicker of recognition as he knows it’s a book he really likes. But as he reads the title he has to stifle a laugh as in lieu of that ingrained peace, he simply reads the words ‘Moby Dick’ “Pffff WAH HAh ah- Hrm.” Clearing his throat as his voice cracks lower, shifting to one which yearns to guffaw rather than giggle.

Steeling himself, as much as he’s able. Morris recovers slightly and sternly tells himself he likes this book. That he’s a big reader, he’s got a degree in books. This is his favorite book. But even as he flails to remember what exactly a B.A. stands for, the memories of going to university feel less true. 

Surely he’d be smarter then…

When that thought flits to his mind the pride he holds in his intelligence returns. Determined to prove it by reading a book thicker than he can clearly remember reading, he opens it to a random page once more: Chapter 94. A Squeeze of the Hand.

Eyes glazed over, the language is far too advanced for his simplifying mind to even begin to comprehend. Still, they drift over the lines enough for him to pretend he’s grasping anything before at last they catch on something: ‘Squeeze! squeeze! Squeeze!’ Exclamation points calling to him, Morris continues to read Ishmael’s account of processing spermaceti. And unsurprisingly, he begins to laugh.

While earlier he was reading to focus on the text, now he almost needs to sound out the words for them to sink in. Following the lines with his fatter finger “All the morn-ing long; I squeezed that- hehheh, Sperm till I myself almost melted into it HAH HAhah- Huh… Sperm… Squeeze…”

Biting the lip that has miraculously healed already, if only he could recall the injury, Morris’ now sperm focussed and squeeze happy mind can only do what the written page suggests. Dropping the tome as he manspreads in an office chair that now creaks beneath his heavier load, he swallows the drool pooling in his mouth. Looking to pants now decorated with small tears, the once-academic stares at the too squeezable cock stretching halfway down his meaty thigh.

Pants so tight he can see the thick veins through the tearing fabric, Morris’ mouth falls open as he drools outright, beginning to rub his own whale through pants seconds away from tearing apart altogether. Feeling it scratch against his curl covered thighs and the cheap satin of his dress pants, he can scarcely recall that he’s in this room let alone the reason why. 

Pool of pre rapidly pulsing through the vicelike pants, Morris’ moans echo as he can recall no reason at all to quiet himself. As he can recall nothing but the pleasure emanating from his wanting cock. Louder than the clock, completely covering the ever-present hiss of the vent that has been steadily increasing; not that Morris ever stood a chance at noticing. His twitchy hips rut as he spits up over himself from excitement at release that is soon to come. 

Every aspect of self and every stray neuron firing is focused on the rising pressure in his crotch. Morris can feel his balls pull up as his free hand clenches the chair about to break underneath his weight. Legs extend as every muscle flexes, and just as that sweet release is on the precipice of freeing him from the grand weight of his worries- the door knob turns. 

Clad in a tailored three-piece suit more expensive than Morris’ apartment enters the prodigal chief himself, Byron Roman. Morris veins run cold at being seen in such a compromised position by that most influential man that has ever stepped foot in their podunk shared home town. Bolting up like a bullet, the horny man’s spine is straight as a ramrod.

So too is his cock as it finally wins the war against his cheap dress pants. Sending a small stream of pre flying as it bursts free from confinement, Morris can’t help but cross his eyes as it bounces in the air. Hazarding a glimpse, he can hardly believe just how impressive his dick is. Almost twice its previous size and veinier than his arms after the best pump he’s ever had, Morris would have cum at the very sight were he not wholly stunned from being in the presence of Byron.

Closing the door behind him as he enters outright, there is no surprise on the executives face as he inspects the goods. Striding to meet the man, he holds his hands behind his back as he inspects every inch of the man standing firmly at attention. Expressionless as he takes in every detail of Morris.

Zeroing in on whatever bodypart of Morris’ strikes his fancy, as he stares Morris continues to grow. Accelerating from the attention of the great man before him, as if every muscle and mindless body part were trying to make him proud.

Starting from behind, Byron takes an interest in the man’s ass. Morris twitches as his glutes expand, what remains of his briefs fall irrevocably into their crack as his hairy cheeks hang larger in the open air, stretchmarks painted across their prodigious mass like the work of art it is. 

Eyes trailing upward, Morris' waist fills out to give his silhouette the most powerful shape one can imagine. Connecting his heavy chest with wide hips and heavy thighs, there is no way someone could look at the drooling man and imagine anything but strength lying within him.

Finishing a slow lap around his aspirant, Byron stands in front of Morris and does one last look down and up. Landing on his face, Morris feels his jaw sharpen underneath the perpetual stubble that coats it. His chin juts out like a superhero’s while his cheekbones and brow ridge grow just as prominent. There’s a small crack in the air as Morris feels his nose reshape into something either aquiline or one that has simply broken and rehealed.

Still frozen in place, Morris’ stunted mind only just realizes that he’s at eye-level with Byron Morris. It’s so unbelievable that it almost breaks him free from whatever trance he’s in. Feeling the sweat drip down his exposed midriff as a breeze in the room sails through the treasure trail etching itself up his puffy abs mostly hidden by his strong gut, a needy grunt ekes out of his throat.

Finally, Byron gives any real indication that he’s anything more than a passive observer. Waiting for his guest’s glazed eyes to look back at him, the CEO smiles. “So. What is it that brings you in today?” His voice is like an upright bass alone in an orchestra hall, tightly controlled, smooth, and completely attention grabbing.

Unable to string two thoughts together he grunts and tries to explain himself, “I- I, uhh… J- Job- s ssir…” Struggling to swallow drool still spilling from his overactive glands, he tries to stand even straighter to hide the obvious mess he’s in. Taking a deep breath to recover from the strain of speaking, he inhales a hearty dose of his musk and struggles against the handful of twitches his body enacts in response. 

“I hope you don’t mind the subterfuge, from your letter I did gather you were quite desperate. So much so you were quite lax reading the fine print of- Well, I imagine you can’t recall anyway so what is the point, right old- Er? What was your name again?” For the first time Byron reaches out to touch Morris, brushing some shred of torn cardigan stuck to his sweaty skin as he asks the question

“I’m Mo- Mo…” Finally thickening enough to be the caterpillar-like brows he’s always admired on other men as his brow ridge bulges lower, his eyebrows furrow as he tries to recall the simplest of answers. Waiting patiently, Byron starts to massage his bicep, distracting him all the more. It’s his name. It should be engrained within his mind, within his self more than anything else. 

Byron’s hand travels up his shoulder before shifting over to cup his heavy pecs, prodding them as if he’s inspecting livestock with a grin. “Come now boy, you must know your name! I read your very brief resume- or I briefly read it, rather. Hm, I suppose you couldn’t mind such a dig at this point ah ha ha!” With each laugh he presses firmer into the man’s chest, delighting as he quivers with need. 

“I’mmm Mmmnhh”

Byron reaches up to grasp the man’s jaw with his free hand while he travels down the whole of his torso with the other. Batting away the shirt as he easily sails down sweaty abs and haphazardly detangles scratchy body hair, Byron smiles as he forces the man to look directly in his eyes. “You wouldn’t mind if we just gave you a new one? After all, what could you want more than a fresh start under my wing.”

Needily nodding, the now nameless man melts as Byron at last graces his cock with attention. Lightly grazing its veiny surface with his manicured nails, the executive gives one small tug on the meaty cock’s head and watches as pre that has been trickling down his shaft drips onto the floor. 

Eyes darting to the book lying on the floor, Byron smirks as he brings his hand to his mouth to sample the sticky ichor glazing his hand. “Moby, hm? Isn’t that swell.” 

Tongue hanging limp from his mouth as he pants like a dog, he must agree the name feels fitting. It feels like him. Or he would if there was a single thought in his mind. At the moment any higher consciousness, much like his blood, was rushing to that most turgid of organs. He was just waiting for Byron’s permission to finally become. 

As Byron’s hand reaches to grasp what little of Moby’s cock it’s able, the new hire feels the peace he was always longing for. Mind simplifying with each small tug and twist of the fingers, he feels all he is and was drain into his balls as they pull upward.

Eyes rolling back as his supernaturally rigid posture twitches and almost collapses under the touch of his boss. There’s a blank grin on Moby’s face as he prepares to release the heavy weight of understanding. And with a few simple flicks of Roman’s wrist, Moby does just that.

Erupting like a geyser, everything that made Morris what he was is launched from him in pearly strings. His application and the contract he thoughtlessly signed, his few long years as a barista, his poorly received thesis and the best years of his life precipitating it; all converted to a messy cum splatter on the floor of this corporate office.

 Moby pants as he falls back amongst the pools of his scattered past self. Bleary smirk on his face, the toll of almost doubling in size leaves him drained as his eyelids begin to waver. Pulling up a chair and lighting a cigar that had been hidden in his jacket, Byron Roman watches him overtaken by sleep.

He doesn’t remember too much about the man smoking above him. He doesn’t remember too much at all. But he knows the man is everything to him. And when he wakes up well, he’s going to do his best to make him proud.

Byron Roman never really saw the point in a grunt. His many underlings all served their purposes, true. But a body man, one always at his beck and call, one always by his side. He always imagined it would be suffocating. 

Never has he been more pleased to be proven wrong. Moby has performed every duty even better than expected. Given their steamy first meeting it’s not long before their relationship grows beyond that of boss and muscled-up assistant.

His scientists always pushed one of their own to be the lab rat, but Byron has always preferred the humanities. While mechanical intelligence may have sufficed, Moby’s tortured classical passions gave his final form far more flavor.

Reclined at his desk, incense burning slowly as he stares at Moby standing over watch outside his office, Byron decides it’s time to call it a day. To that end, he calls his grunt over for their now daily ritual. Calling him over, Byron’s mouth curls into a grin as watches Moby’s tight uniform contort and stretch over his muscle with every labored movement.

“You rang boss?”

“Moby be a dear, lock the door and close the blinds.”

Blush burns underneath Moby’s permanent five o’clock shadow as his mouth reflexively falls open. Sprinting to the door to do just that, he bounds back to his boss to do exactly what’s made for.

Undoing his tie, Byron’s already well-excited himself, zipper creaking as this becomes indisputable. Something about their sessions always leaves him feeling rejuvenated himself. When he looks in the mirror after he’d swear his beard is always a touch darker, the neck it hides thicker. Perhaps he’d worry, but fucking and being fucked by the titan simply has a way of softening his many worries. 

That focus was disrupted by a chime on his phone, indicating that he was coming up to the address listed in the ad for The Toolshed. But at a first glance, he was puzzled by the building in front of him. It was bigger and nicer than Luke expected, with the exterior made of chrome and looking new - a far cry from the burnt-out gentlemen’s clubs Luke would sometimes see neon signs for when driving down the highway. And aside from the logo of a muscular man and a stray pride flag fluttering on the side of the building, there was little indication that the place was even a strip club at all. 

It was early in the evening, so there were plenty of parking spots. And even better, there was no doorman yet to block him from walking in. As he passed the entrance, Luke wondered if male strip clubs even had doormen. After all, if the dancers were all as buff as Colton was, they could just double as doormen, let the crowd in, and then take their clothes off for them. Luke chortled at the thought, as well as the idea of Colton being a tough guy, despite his big steroid muscles. With the way New Colton acted, even if someone in the crowd was brandishing a knife, he would probably still fist-bump them and call them his bro. Then again, if he’d had plastic surgery, maybe he’d be the first to run because he wouldn’t want to risk ruining the work done on his pretty face. Why was Colton’s face suddenly so pretty anyway…?

Shaking his head, Luke stuffed the questions down and tried to saunter in casually. He’d never been good at sauntering. He wasn’t cool, and he’d stopped trying to be in undergrad. He was too in his own head to be cool anyway – an overthinker, everyone always said. But he didn’t overthink everything. At this stage of his degree, he often had to dress to make a good impression – whether it was at his accounting internship or attending another job fair. So when left to his own devices, he didn’t put much thought into his appearance, and truth be told did not really want to. But despite himself, he was now starting to wish he had. 

The crowd at The Toolshed was far more put together than he expected, wearing an eclectic combination of trendy tees, clear skin, and hip haircuts in varying hues. It was in sharp contrast to Luke’s baggy gray henley, well-worn jeans and untamed mop of brown curls. Catching sight of himself in the mirror behind the bar, he grimaced at his patchy whiskers that hadn’t gotten the memo that he was now in his twenties. And as an abdominally-gifted twink swished up to the bar in a half-tee and short shorts combo, Luke recalled all the junk food binges he’d relied on for managing his late-night studies. Maybe before he tried breaking whatever spell Colton was under, he could get some tips from his friend on how to get rid of his stomach flab.

Trying to blend in while feeling so out of place was difficult, but Luke did his best. He got some water from the hydration station at the end of the bar and walked around to familiarize himself with his surroundings.

In an instant, Luke realized that the subtlety of The Toolshed’s exterior was nowhere to be found on the inside. The door handles and lighting fixtures were unmistakably phallic in shape. TVs hung along the walls constantly played footage from 1980s bodybuilding contests and workout videos, featuring no shortage of sweaty men in neon-colored thongs thrusting their pelvises straight at the camera. And above each of the VIP booths - furnished with black leather seating, of course - hung giant framed prints of impossibly buff, well-endowed men in flagrante: sailors, cops, bikers, and lumberjacks flirting, fucking, and loving every second of it. 

Curious, Luke walked closer to one of the larger prints, which depicted two leather clad beefcakes standing face-to-face and bulge-to-bulge. In the bottom right corner, he was able to discern a simple signature in capital letters: TOM. “If he wants to get famous, he’ll need a more distinctive name than that,” Luke huffed. But he had to admit all the drawings were impeccably done. And they were certainly…detailed. 

Luke looked away from them, embarrassed. They weren’t what he was here for anyway. He anxiously chugged water and continued his sweep of the place, hunting for doors that looked like they might lead backstage. He spotted the bathrooms first, then a swinging door by the bar that looked like it led to the kitchen.

And then, he saw it. Or at least he was pretty sure he did. A black door, unmarked, set off to the left of the seating area, next to a DJ booth. It had to lead to at least a green room, if not the dressing rooms.

But he couldn’t go through it, at least not yet. Ironically, there weren’t enough people around. He needed more of a crowd milling about to block the view of the staff, then he’d slip in. If someone asked what he was doing, he could feign drunkenness and say he was looking for the toilet.

If pretending to be drunk was a possibility, then he’d need to drink something other than water to sell the act. He didn’t much care for drinking, and only did it in social settings where he’d feel conspicuous without a cocktail in his hand. At least here he was presumably in a place where he wouldn’t be judged for not drinking beer. The bartender behind the counter - a leanly muscled stud in a black t-shirt so tight his veins showed through it - certainly hadn’t been consuming many IPAs.

“‘Sup,” was all the bartender said, his biceps bulging as he popped the caps off of two Bud Lights.

“Hi, can I have a whiskey ginger?” Luke said, ordering his go-to.

“Sure thing.” The bartender turned and reached for a bottle of Jack Daniels, his lats unfolding like the wings of a dragon. Luke wondered if he doubled as a dancer, but decided not to ask. He didn’t want the guy to get too good of a look at him.

“Got a tab open?” the man asked as he set the drink on the bar in front of Luke.

Luke shook his head and slid over a $20 bill that he’d intended to use for laundry. He hadn’t budgeted for a drink. He made a mental note to update his spreadsheet once he got home.

The bartender left Luke and walked to the other end of the bar, where a tall Asian man in head-to-toe Adidas flagged him down. “Some liquid courage, bro?” the man asked, and the bartender poured two shots of vodka, which they took together. Based on the guy’s look - overly muscled with a tiny waist, spray-tanned skin, and bleached teeth, just like Colton - Luke guessed he was a stripper. His big pecs hovered over the bar, barely covered by a track jacket that was unzipped far enough to show that he was shirtless under it. The men milling around him regarded him with awe, their lusty glances overt enough for Luke to see from ten feet away.

The hunk high-fived the bartender and slung his gym bag over his shoulder, then strutted straight toward Luke. As he passed, he looked Luke in the eye and smirked. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Luke said, surprised he’d been noticed. But that was probably a stripper thing. Make the customers feel special, and they’ll tip you more.

The guy kept walking and went through the unmarked black door on the left of the stage. “Just as I thought,” Luke muttered into his drink before he sipped it. He walked away from the bar and positioned himself closer to the door, waiting for just the right moment to slip through. When he noticed he could be seen in the series of mirrors at the back of the stage, he moved further into the shadows. Then he killed time by sipping his drink, fiddling on his phone, and trying to look as casual as possible.

Ten minutes went by, then twenty. The seating area was starting to fill up. Luke finished his drink and set it on a nearby table, then realized there were no waiters around, the bartender was out of sight, and no one was looking at him. A surge of adrenaline shot him through the unmarked door before he had time to weigh the pros and cons.

He found himself in a small brick-lined hallway, and after ten seconds passed without anyone barging in after him demanding to know what the fuck he was doing, he was pretty sure he hadn’t been noticed. Feeling very much like a secret agent, he skulked down the hallway, passing an empty dressing room with a pull-up bar mounted in the doorframe. That was where he stopped once he heard voices.

They were nearby - around the corner - but not coming closer. Hesitantly, Luke stuck his head out to see if the coast was clear. It was, barely: some men were standing backstage waiting to start the show, but a black curtain shielded everything but their feet from view. A nearby table was overflowing with bottles of hairspray and - Luke squinted his eyes to read the labels - body oil.

Luke frowned and looked away, adjusting his glasses as he inched a bit closer to the black curtain. This place smelled like a locker room. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it brought back memories that were. Gym class was never the highlight of his school years.

The nearer he drew to the curtain, the clearer the voices from beyond became.

“...just don’t seem to get it, Kai,” a voice as deep as the Grand Canyon rumbled.

“Not everyone does. But that’s ‘cause they’re not hot,” came the reply, followed by dumb laughter. Luke was pretty sure he recognized that voice: the huge Asian man who noticed him at the bar.

“Like, I grabbed lunch with a buddy of mine and he seemed really, like, put off by me? Is that the right word?” the first man explained.

“Colt, my dude, I bet he was just jealous,” Kai hypothesized.

Luke’s heart skipped a beat. Thoughts piled into his head so quickly that they almost jumbled together. They were talking about him. When had Colton’s voice dropped so low?

“I mean, no shit, but like…it sorta kinda bothered me ’cause I like this dude.”

“Like, ‘like’ or like, ‘like like’?” Kai asked. Luke rolled his eyes at the juvenile phrasing.

“I’unno,” Colton muttered. Luke wanted to tell Colton to enunciate the words properly, but he held his tongue. “I still want him to be my bro ’n shit, but I felt like he was judgin’ me. It hurt my feelings.”

Luke blinked in surprise. Was he really being that bad? It couldn’t be so wrong to want his friend to not throw his future away…

Kai chortled. “If he’s a good bro, he’ll like you for who you are, y’know?” He blew out a breath, then paused – presumably in thought, though Luke didn’t really get the impression there was much going on up in Kai’s brain. Colt was- er, Colton was asking a lot of this beefcake.

Luke was so focused on waiting for the next part of the conversation that the sneeze snuck up on him. It was so forceful that the young academic fell back and ended up tangled in the black curtain. The bovine noises of shock from the strippers filled the air as Luke thrashed in the smothering fabric, trying to free himself. Finally, a strong grip from somewhere tore the curtain right off him. Luke spun forward, tripping over his own feet, and his glasses flopped free. He only took one step as he tried to balance himself - one step that was punctuated by a crunch.

Well, that was a $200 prescription he now needed to replace. Dazed and embarrassed, Luke stared up at the man who’d freed him from the curtain.

“Luke?” Colton asked, his voice divided between confusion and elation. “What’re you doin’ here, bro?”

“I, uh…” Luke stammered, trying to collect his thoughts. He couldn’t just blurt out his thoughts about strippers with Kai standing right there. “I wanted to talk to you,” he finally said.

Colton’s chiseled face brightened with a dazzling smile. “That’s awesome, bro! I’m so glad you’re here.” He threw his arm around Luke’s shoulders, and Luke hunched from the sheer weight of it. All that power. Colton’s massive bicep mashed into Luke’s neck like a vice. “This is the guy I was talkin’ about!” Colton said, turning to Kai.

“The one you like?” Kai asked, looking back and forth between Colton and Luke.

“BRO!” Colton’s body flushed with embarrassment. It was at that moment that Luke realized Colton was half naked. He’d been so distracted by his surroundings and the curtain incident that he hadn’t noticed Colton’s attire, or lack thereof: just black leather pants so tight they had to be cutting off circulation, slung low enough to show off his waxed pubic area - and thin black strings that were cresting out of the top.

He was wearing a fucking thong.

The pants were matched by black leather cuffs hugging his wrists and making his arm veins bulge, and a thin leather strap running diagonally over his torso, its entire purpose being to sink between his pecs and show their depth.

“How do you take those off?” Luke asked, looking at the pants. He could see the cuts of Colton’s quads rippling through them.

“It takes work, man!” Colton guffawed. “I don’t get outta these onstage. For the stripping numbers, I have other stuff that’s tearaway, it’s fuckin’ dope.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Like whuh?”

“Like you’re-” Luke caught himself before he said ‘dumb.’ “-a surfer or something. And your voice is so deep.”

Colton shrugged and gave Luke’s chest a pat. “This is just how I talk. Chill out bro! You’re, like, tense, man. This is gonna be fun.”

“What is?”

“Tonight!”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” Luke said, pulling Colton away from Kai, who was now taking selfies. “All of this-”

“Isn’t it fuckin’ awesome, bro?” Colton said, his smile blinding in its intensity. “Look at my fuckin’ muscles.” He raised his arms upward and posed, shoving a volleyball-sized bicep toward Luke. “Gets me so horny. FUCK, I love being a man!” Colton’s body went flush again, this time from exertion as he flexed. His torso undulated as he ran his hands over his pecs and abs. “Do you love being a man, bro?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess so.”

“Nah, you’d know if you did.” Colton draped his arm across Luke’s narrow shoulders again and pulled him in tight. “C’mere, lemme show you something.”

Luke sighed and shuffled along, knowing resistance was futile. Colton was as big as a house. Looking at him was daunting enough, but being held by him made Luke feel like a little kid. Not only could he feel Colton’s bicep squeezing against his neck like a snake, but Colton’s pecs were so big they wedged against Luke’s side. The muscles weren’t just for show - Colton was strong down to his fingertips.

“I’m so happy you came, bro,” Colton rumbled as they walked up three stairs into a dimly lit area. “I really wanted a buddy here.”

“What about that guy back there?”

“Kai? Great bro but it’s not the same.”

“The same was wha-” Luke started to ask, but suddenly there was a blinding spotlight on him, and beyond it, hushed voices - lots of them. “Is this…am I on stage?!”

“Yeah, bro, I want you to know what it’s like-”

Luke tried to jerk away but Colton was too strong. “Let me go! I don’t want people to see me-”

“It’s chill, man, just relax!”

“No! I shouldn’t be up here!” Luke finally wriggled free by crouching and spinning away. “This is embarrassing,” he said angrily, turning to leave.

“Stop, bro!” Colton lunged and grabbed Luke’s arm. “Just for a second-”

Luke turned back and tried to wrench away. “Let go, you big-”

It happened so fast that Luke didn’t realize what ‘it’ was at first. He felt something soft on his mouth, and the noise around him fell away, replaced by a low ringing in his ears. A kiss? He was being kissed…he hadn’t kissed anyone in years, not since high school, when he and Kaitlin Longworth had tried at a party but felt too awkward to really go for it. But this was a nice kiss…the plump lips interlocked with his tasted like honey and lavender.

…wait, was Colton kissing him…what the FUCK–

Luke stumbled back, sputtering. “What the hell was that?!”

“I had to kiss you before you get too popular!” Colton beamed.

Luke shook his head. “Too popular? What do you…what is this-” He pushed his bangs out of his eyes, annoyed. Why did he have bangs anyway? His hair was curly, meaning it grew OUT, not down. “What’s going on…look, I’m not gay, I didn’t know you were but it’s cool, I just need to-”

Luke turned to leave but tripped over his feet. He caught himself before he fell, placing one hand on the ground and pushing himself back up. That was how he noticed his henley sleeves were too short on his arms. And his jeans…didn’t cover his ankles…

He spun and looked at Colton. “Wh-what is all this-”

“It’s fine, bro. C’mere.” Colton pulled him in and kissed him again before Luke had time to think. Luke went limp in the big man’s arms, allowing Colton to maul his mouth with tender precision. When Colton broke free for air, he kept their mouths tantalizingly close, smiling gently at Luke as he held him close.

“You’re…what are you…are we…” Luke stammered, unable to piece together his thoughts, let alone a sentence. Everyone was staring, and something strange was happening - he couldn’t think straight - he needed to leave, but he didn’t want to. And his clothes didn’t fit. He was tall. He wasn’t supposed to be tall.

“Fuck, your face is already hotter. Gets me so boned up.” Colton pressed his crotch against Luke’s leg to prove his point.

Luke moaned at the feeling of his friend’s erection. “What’s happening?”

Colton turned Luke toward the row of mirrors lining the back of the stage. It took Luke a moment to realize his reflection was him. He didn’t look right. He was stretched out, nearly as tall as Colton. His face was his, yet different somehow. Like a more handsome twin brother. He couldn’t pinpoint what was different, but he just looked better. And his hair - what the fuck - his curls looked flatironed out, sticking out in tufts around his head.

Luke blinked sleepily, his expression the same as if he’d consumed ten beers. “What the fuck…” He looked at Colton through bleary eyes. “It’s like…a trick with the mirror…gotta be…”

Colton held Luke’s face in his big hands. “Fuck, bro,” was all he said before they kissed again. Harder. Deeper. Colton’s tongue explored Luke’s mouth while his hands stroked his hair, which felt so long and lustrous now. When the kiss broke, Luke’s soft moaning continued, his eyes shut as he swayed back and forth. “That’s it, bro, rock your hips like that,” Colton coached, moving his hands down to Luke’s waist. “Fuck, that’s so sexy. You’re so sexy.”

“Me? No, I’m not…I’m not,” Luke insisted even as he gyrated against Colton. “We’ve been up here for like two minutes, this isn’t real…it can’t be…”

“Yeah, but all those sandwiches at Pepperjacks were gettin’ you ready for this!”

“Pepperjacks?” Luke blinked, suddenly realizing he and Colton were the same height.

“Remember Murph, the owner? He owns this place too! Something in the stuff there gets, like, action…automatic…no, what’s that word? When you turn something on?”

“Activated?” Luke was staring at Colton’s face. He was so fucking beautiful. Luke didn’t know men could be beautiful, but there was no other word for Colton.

Colton snapped his fingers. “Activated! That’s it. Thanks, bro! Something you eat there gets activated if you get onstage here. That’s how he gets such hot guys to dance here. Isn’t that fuckin’ awesome?”

Luke shook his head. His long blond hair shook with it.

Why was his hair blond…

He was about to say he didn’t think it was awesome, when Colton leaned in and kissed him. Luke felt his body stretch. His chin throbbed. His clothes felt so tight. Something was happening to him, and he couldn’t explain it, which was frustrating. He could normally explain everything. But this was…magic. He couldn’t explain magic. Especially not with a foggy brain and a raging boner.

“He’s TALL!” someone in the audience shouted as Luke wobbled free of the kiss, unaccustomed to his long limbs. He’d forgotten they were being watched. The stage lights backlit the audience and made the room feel like a big black box.

And he was tall. He was taller than Colton. He looked like a scarecrow wearing a little kid’s clothes. His stomach was so flat - not because he’d lost any weight, but just because all the extra height pulled it tight. “M-m-my body,” he stuttered, patting his bare stomach. 

“It’s getting so hot, bro,” Colton purred.

Luke knew Colton didn’t mean the temperature, but that wasn’t wrong either. He was sweating. The lights were hot, and anxiety was spiking his body temperature. It’d be better if he took his clothes off…

He couldn’t take off his fucking clothes! He was in public!

…but he wanted to take them off so badly. Fuck, it was so hot…

His body temperature spiked further when he felt Colton’s muscles press against his back, and his big buddy’s arms wrap around him. One hand slid up under Luke’s shirt, the other went down over his jeans and massaged his crotch.

Luke made a noise he’d never heard himself make before; a high-pitched sigh that descended into an airy moan. His head rolled back as he felt Colton’s lips on his neck, and then he grunted and bucked his hips as Colton pinched his nipple. “Fuck!”

“You like that? Yeah, you like that,” Colton said between nibbles on Luke’s neck. “You’re so hard, bro.”

“What’s…can’t…” Luke was trying to say, but his mouth was dry and he couldn’t breathe. Words wouldn’t form. He was so confused, so aroused, every nerve on edge. Energy was coursing through him as he humped Colton’s hand, groaning like a bitch in heat. And everyone was watching - he didn’t know why that was turning him on even more, but it was. He’d always been on the shy side, content to stay in the shadows, but now he was front and center and he loved it. He turned to say something - anything - to Colton, but Colton just took Luke’s mouth in his own, his teeth and tongue consuming all Luke’s doubts.

“Shh, look,” Colton said, moving his hand out from beneath Luke’s shirt. Luke dipped his head and saw how tight his henley’s buttons were over his chest. His whole shirt seemed to strain, the seams tugging.

He took a breath.

POP!

“UNNNH!” Luke’s moan got a few men in the audience making the same noise. He stared in awe at his chest and its new shape pushing out against his thin shirt.

“C’mon, bro, they gotta be huge, please,” Colton whispered into Luke’s ear. “You gotta get giant fuckin’ pecs like mine.”

“No, I-” Luke started to say, but another button burst off his shirt, and his words devolved into horny groans.

Colton’s voice was deep and excited. “Fuck yeah. Huge fuckin’ muscle tits.”

Luke shuddered with confused ecstasy. His chest widened and expanded, filling with air that pushed out his ribcage and reshaped his torso. Bigger…broader…

This couldn’t be fuckin’ real…

The last of his buttons exploded off.

“UNNNNGGHHHH…”

His shirt was straining, struggling, tearing under the arms and across the shoulders as more projection and breadth piled onto his chest. Luke could feel sweat trailing down the valley between his new pecs.

“I gotta…gotta see-” Luke gulped, forcing his and Colton’s weight around so he could look in one of the stage mirrors. 

What he saw made him moan even louder and sent pre-cum gushing into his boxers. The handsome twin brother look was gone. At best, he could pass for his own distant cousin. The same testosterone-laden magic that was warping his body was doing a number on his face, too; his brow ridge was now greatly pronounced, with new angles erupting out of his cheeks and jaw. And his hair - holy shit, his hair - blond as fuck and sticking straight up in the air like he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket. It was swirling and shaking like it was alive. Maybe it was. Luke stared at it in awe.

“Something’s happening to me, dude,” Luke said, as he watched his hair pile higher and higher on his head, before noticing his long, exaggerated lashes framing his blue eyes. Were his eyes bigger…?

“It’s fuckin’ awesome, bro,” Colton said. “We’re gonna have so much fun. Shouldn’t life be fun?”

Luke nodded slowly. “Yeah…”

“Y’know what’s really fun?”

Luke shook his head. “Whuh?”

“Having giant fuckin’ muscles.”

Luke’s plump pecs swelled further outward, busting fully out of his shirt and drawing moans from the crowd. He looked down in shock, his vision filled by the mass of his fantastic chest muscles. They crested out so far that he couldn’t see his nipples. “I bet, dude,” he moaned. “Big fuckin’ muscles…”

“Ripped as shit…”

“Yeah, fuckin’ ripped.” The remaining pudge melted off Luke’s stomach and left an 8-pack cut like diamonds, the pronounced ridges running like a highway down into his straining jeans. He grunted as his fingers explored the new ridges of his abdomen, then he held out his hands and inspected them too: veiny brawn with long, thick fingers. Strong hands. A man’s hands. Luke clenched them and watched giant veins shoot up through his forearms. He felt his biceps press against the weakening fabric of his sleeves. “Please…” he whined.

“Please?” Colton asked.

Luke didn’t know what he was begging for. He was just begging. More. He wanted more. Of everything.

His sleeves were splitting open along his biceps, which were already big as melons and still growing bigger. Colton gripped one with a “fuck yeah” and tore Luke’s sleeve right off, running his fingers across Luke’s growing arm like he was playing a piano. Colton licked the peak of Luke’s bicep and Luke responded with a full-body shudder and an arch of his back. 

“This has gotta come off,” Colton said, tugging on Luke’s ruined shirt. Luke nodded and moaned. The shirt was stuck to him because of all the sweat - he pulled and pulled, finally ripping the front further open, his huge left pec flopping out and drawing gasps from the crowd. Colton’s assistance finally freed him, and Luke emerged from the shirt like it was a cocoon, his new bodybuilder’s torso on full display. 

As the air drifted over his bare skin, Luke took in a big breath and grew his pecs even bigger, their mountainous size spreading up to his shoulders, which suddenly hurtled outward with remarkable speed. He suddenly had shoulders as broad as an Olympic swimmer’s, but they were getting thicker - rounder - huge rippling delts and elegant traps that held his neck upright like a ballet dancer, emphasizing the beauty of his face. A face that was twisted into an expression of agonized arousal, slack-jawed and breathless. Luke’s teeth grinded as a stab of pain shot through his most tender region, and he pawed frantically behind himself, but couldn’t reach because of the new mass of his arms.

“H-help-” he sputtered to Colton. “My ass-”

“Oh, fuck yeah bro,” Colton grunted from behind him. “Look at that.”

“Wh-what’s happening-” Luke sputtered, pulling on his jeans, twisting to and fro as he tried to relieve the tension.

“Getting big as fuck, that’s what,” Colton said, swatting Luke’s butt. 

“Look, he’s dancing now!” someone in the crowd shouted from out of the darkness.

A chill went through Luke. In his haste to remove his pants, he’d started to gyrate sensually, rocking his hips back and forth to tease the crowd. Like he was a fucking stripper. He forced himself to stand still as he watched his pant legs swell outward, his thighs pressing together - it took him a moment to realize it wasn’t air inside his pants, it was his body growing massive, his thighs distending into bloated tree trunks. With a gulp, he looked at his side view in the stage mirrors.

Holy fuck…

Holy fuck…

“M-my ASS-”

It was fucking enormous. Like two watermelons stuffed down the back of his jeans. His pants were so tight that he could see the cut muscles of his hamstrings running up to connect to the jaw-dropping mass of his butt. No wonder his pants hurt so badly…but maybe if he just flexed a little bit…nothing the crowd could see, of course…

One quick tense of his glutes kicked this plan into action, and that was all it took for Luke to realize he’d made a mistake. His jeans exploded off him like a pinata, two huge globes of solid muscle bursting out into the world. The expansive muscles shook up and down, a perfectly formed man ass sticking straight out from the small of his back. It was so round and inflated that it had torn his underwear right off.

And then, Luke saw, no it hadn’t. Lost between the two biggest ass cheeks he’d ever seen was a tiny strip of neon yellow peeking out from the top of the mountains.

A thong.

He was wearing a fucking thong. Just like Colton. 

For his part, Colton was still helping with Luke’s pants, tearing them away like wrapping paper. Every rip revealed more of the legs underneath, densely muscled pistons packed full of brawn - big, powerful thighs and diamond-shaped calves - every nervous twitch sending ripples down through their mass. Shredded denim rained down around his feet, mixing with something green that Luke couldn’t quite make out - it wasn’t until his vision cleared and improved itself to the 20/20 of his childhood that he realized he had a mound of cash in front of him. Ones, fives, even tens and twenties. And more was being thrown. 

A man had made his way to the edge of the stage, the only face in the crowd that Luke could see clearly. Just a normal middle-aged man, someone who could have a son Luke’s age. He threw a wad of cash at Luke’s feet and said hungrily: “Lemme suck your cock, please, sir, please…”

Luke stumbled back in shock, his new weight nearly toppling him were it not for Colton’s support. 

“I got you, bro. Fuck, you’re so sexy…these muscles…fuuucckkk…” Colton ran his big hands across the acreage of Luke’s back. He cupped his palms around Luke’s lats and admired their thickness and width. Luke moaned at the touch. Suddenly, everything turned him on. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, or with this place. Why wasn’t he running…why was he in this Mister Universe body…none of this was him…

“Looking good, stud,” Kai said, suddenly appearing next to Luke. “Fuck, look at your pecs, man. Fucking huge.” He knelt in front of Luke and looked up at him. “You’ve got the hottest nipples I’ve ever seen.” He gave one a pinch. 

Luke’s toes curled. He had to hold back a scream of joy.

“Yeah, you like that. Fuck yeah.” Kai shoved his face in between Luke’s mountainous pecs, his nose sliding all the way into the cleavage as he motorboated the giant muscles. Then, after a few more kisses, he opened his mouth and took Luke’s left nipple into it. It was the first time Luke had ever had his tit sucked, and he knew instantly it would not be the last. Kai’s teeth gently grazed on the softest skin on Luke’s body, each nibble sending a shockwave of pleasure through his muscles. Luke played gratefully with Kai’s beautiful black hair, rocking his head to the side to lean against Colton’s, who was back to kissing his neck.

The two most beautiful men he’d ever seen were worshiping him like he was a fuckin’ god. That had to mean he was beautiful too. But he had to see.

He gently pulled on Kai’s hair and looked into the man’s eyes as his nipple popped free. “I gotta see myself.”

“Yes,” Kai moaned. 

Luke turned, his movements labored from the two bodybuilders draped over him. “Oh fuck,” he breathed in shock.

He was unrecognizable. A new man. Atop the body of a god was a face to which no sculptor could do justice. Chiseled was an understatement. The masculine elegance of his high cheekbones reshaped his entire face. His thick eyebrows radiated dangerous sex appeal, which was needed to offset the dreaminess of his light blue eyes. Once-thin lips had blown up into a distended pout, their corners upturned in a permanent smirk. His jaw was a masterpiece of manliness, huge and square, like the guys in the…drawings…

Luke’s long lashes created a breeze as they fluttered in thought. He looked like the Tom drawings out there in the club…some kind of hyper-masculinized fetish idol, a fuckin’ queer wet dream…everything outsized and overstated, like he was more a fantasy than a real human…

He stared dopily at himself, watching in awe as whiskers stretched down the sides of his jaw and reshaped themselves into lightning bolts that hugged his protruding cheekbones to emphasize their sharpness. He turned his head one way and the other, inspecting the new retro sideburns he’d just grown…they looked so fucking sexy, and they matched his hair perfectly. 

His HAIR - oh FUCK - he had big fucking hair!

His hair seemed to rise higher as he looked at it, completing its transformation into a towering blond pompadour, shellacked with enough product to make it look plastic. It was a statement. It would attract attention. Thick wooly sideburns and a bigass pomp, like a blond Elvis. Or Danny Zuko. Or Johnny fucking Bravo.

Luke fucking loved it. His face spread into a big grin, and his teeth whitened and straightened until they, too, looked too perfect to be real.

“Fuck, bro, your hair…fuck, it’s so hot,” Colton slurred from over Luke’s shoulder. He touched Luke’s big stylized sideburn first, and Luke jerked away protectively - or as far away as he could, since he couldn’t move much without interrupting Kai sucking on his tits.

“Don’t touch my hair, dude!” He hated when people touched his pomp. The only time he was fine with it getting messed up was during sex, and even then, it was straight to the bathroom afterward to get it perfect again.

Sex…

He wanted sex so bad…

He thrust his hips forward and rutted against Kai’s buff frame at the same time he felt Colton’s clothed crotch shoving between his ass cheeks. The moan he made was coquettish, almost girly; his pillowy lips pursed together like he was Marilyn Monroe. 

As Luke ran his hands all over his sweaty body, fingers reading each muscular crevice and divot like Braille, he realized how smooth he was. Smooth pits, smooth chest…smooth everywhere, like a fucking doll. His skin gleamed like freshly buffed glass. He gently pushed Kai away so he could see if his crotch was hairless too. He had to bend over to get a look, his huge back rounding to compensate for the giant pillows hanging off his chest.

“They gotta see it, bro,” Kai said, moving to the side so that Luke’s crotch could be viewed by the audience.

“Yeah…yeah, they gotta see it,” Luke said, sensually swaying back and forth as he played with the tiny straps of his thong. “I want everybody to see!”

The tiny yellow pouch that held his manhood swelled with his growing erection, his cock stretching outward like a torpedo. Luke felt the fabric tightening around his genitals, his balls slapping against the silky confines. It felt so fucking good, and so fucking dirty…slutty…he knew nobody expected this huge, hung bodybuilder to love wearing trashy little panties, and that turned him on all the more. The flimsy triangle was no match for his big balls and long, thick cock - his manhood was spilling out in all directions, soaking the shiny thong with precum.

Cash littered the stage, and judging by the moans he was hearing from the darkness, many of the audience members were beating their meat to him already. That made Luke feel powerful, that he could get men creaming their pants just by how he looked.

Finally, the strain was too much, and Luke pushed his thong down so his hard dick could stand proudly on its own. His bull balls flopped over the pouch, but he left the thong on. He liked how the strip of silk felt between his cheeks, pressed up against his hole.

Fuck he was so nasty…and his cock was so long that he could see its big bulbous head poking out past the projection of his glorious tits…he touched his shaft and let out a high-pitched “ooooOOOOOHHH” before Kai moved back in front of him.

“Lemme help,” Kai said, playing with Luke’s cock for a few moments before taking the head in between his lips and sucking on it like a big lollipop.

He’d never gotten head before. He’d never been hot enough to get his dick sucked, and the girls he knew didn’t put out like that. But guys were whores. Guys lived to fuck, just like Luke did now. He didn’t even care that he was getting sucked off in front of a whole audience. In fact, he found it hot as hell.

“Oh fuck…oh FUCK-” Luke was grunting as he realized his own voice had changed to match the deep, dim bro tone of Colton’s. But his moans were an octave up, closer to his previous pitch, and rising higher as he lost more breath. His fingers gripped Kai’s skull and guided it back and forth on his shaft, and he felt his cock elongating down the man’s throat… “I need more,” Luke cooed, as Colton gripped his jaw and roughly kissed the butterfly-shaped traps bulging out beneath his neck.

Colton’s voice was low and sultry. “Want me inside you?”

“Yes…fuck…YES-” Luke nearly blew his load into Kai’s mouth at the very idea.

“You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, bro. Seeing you like this…fuck, bro, I gotta have you.”

“You can have me!” Luke grunted. “Take me right fuckin’ here, dude!”

“Fuck yeah,” Colton breathed into Luke’s ear. “This might hurt a little.”

“Good,” Luke sighed, so horny he could barely think. He bucked forward as he felt Colton’s cock press in between his ass cheeks. Then he felt something cold and wet - Colton’s hand covered in saliva - and he released a joyous moan as Colton’s fingers slid inside him.

Kai came up for air. “Fuck yeah, bro,” he said, looking up at Luke.

“Fuck yeah,” Luke repeated, eyes shut in hysterical ecstasy. His toes curled. He knew what was coming. He wanted it. He wanted it so bad - more than anything - and he didn’t know why, but he– 

“AAAUUGHGHNNNNNHGHHHHHHH…” The loud cry of pain and joy got the crowd going nuts. The temperature in the room seemed to spike twenty degrees as Colton thrust inside Luke and began to fuck him. Luke used Kai’s shoulders for stability and squeezed his eyes tighter, getting accustomed to having a man’s cock inside of him. He bent over more, kissing the top of Kai’s head as the Asian man went back to blowing him. Luke watched his own sweat drip down Kai’s back.

“Fuck, bro, fuck…fuuuckkk…” Colton was muttering behind him, gripping onto Luke’s tiny waist then moving up to his lats. Luke pushed back, his thick glutes swallowing up Colton’s dick. The whole room was ablaze with heat and lust, men masturbating between tosses of cash. The only spots past the stage that Luke could see were the big Tom prints on the walls. Those exaggerations of masculinity.

That was when it dawned on him…that was him. 

“Shit I’m fuckin’ HOT!” Luke grunted, his full lips curving into a wicked smile. 

“Fuck yeah you are…” Colton’s rod slammed against Luke’s prostate, and Luke’s dick twitched inside Kai’s mouth, leaking cum like a dripping tap. 

“I gotta…show ‘em…” Luke choked out. “I gotta…show ‘em…who I am now…”

Colton got the message and pulled out, beating frantically at his own rock hard dick. Kai also moved to the side, allowing Luke to strut to the front of the stage, flexing and preening as he stroked himself.

Then he began to dance. Rhythmic and sensual, each movement designed to show off his immense muscles and the power they held. He ran his hands over his smooth body and worshiped it, feeling it grow even bigger at his touch. Big fuckin’ horny-ass bodybuilder. The most virile man in existence, so overly manicured he looked like a plastic doll. A face that was all jutting angles and testosterone, pouting and posing like a model.

This was the New Luke.

This was the man he wanted to be. Perfect. A fucking fantasy.

His cock unleashed its load like a champagne bottle exploding. Cum sprayed out over the crowd like the fire sprinklers had just been set off. Men’s laps moistened with their own spunk. Luke smiled as he heard their moans, knowing he was the god in the room, the muscle king, the embodiment of all that was TOM.

Luke fell to his knees, still expelling pearly white cum as he leaned back onto the ground and rubbed cash all over himself, bouncing his huge ass against the stage. His ear-splitting smile never wavered. This was bliss. This was fucking heaven.

—-----

“Dude…is sliced bread sexy or somethin’?”

“Whuh?” Colt looked over at Luke, who’d asked the question.

“This guy I was dancing for last night said I was the hottest thing since sliced bread.” Luke’s pretty face pouted in thought. “But I don’t think bread’s very hot. I mean, like, unless it’s toast.”

“I’unno,” Colt shrugged. “These are hot though.” He reached across the center console of his car and pinched Luke’s nipple.

“Mmm fuck…” Luke cooed, even as he continued to work on his pompadour in the sun visor’s mirror. His retro knit polo had all four of its buttons undone, allowing his huge pecs to bust out through the opening. He wore his polos a size down so that the effect would be extra dramatic. “I love my nipples.”

“They musta been distracting in class.”

“For me? Or for everyone else?” Luke grinned, turning his head left to right to check out his hair and admire the extreme angularity of his jaw.

“Both, bro.”

“Yeah, like, duh, everything was distracting. I’m horny all the time and I make everyone else horny too. I’unno who I was kidding going to class, I don’t understand any of that shit.” He flexed his bicep and squeezed it like a football. “But I don’t hafta,” he said proudly.

“You got that degree though!”

“Fuck yeah dude!” Luke’s giant chest puffed out. “Just had to fuck the right people!”

“That’s so fuckin’ hot, bro,” Colt sighed, massaging his hard cock through his shorts.

For several minutes, the two oversexed studs sat in Colt’s car edging themselves, tweaking their nipples and moaning. They only stopped when their thongs started getting sticky with pre-cum. Didn’t want to lose any horniness before a night of dancing.

They made for quite a sight strutting across the parking lot. Big muscular asses bouncing in their tight shorts. Massive Olympian chests spilling out of the flimsiest of shirts. Small waists rolling with each step, their strides sensual and confident.

“What’s up K-Dog!!” Luke bellowed as he barged into the club. He was a big fan of the bartender, Kellan. He remembered meeting Kellan the first night he worked at Toolshed, but found it funny that Kellan didn’t remember meeting him. Kellan insisted another bartender must’ve been working, because he wouldn’t have forgotten the hunk with the shoebox jaw and big pompadour, but Luke knew it was him. He’d never forget a buff, sexy stud like Kellan.

“Hey fellas!” Kellan greeted Luke and Colt. “Good to see you. And you brought the party balloons!”

“The party whuh…” Luke said, then he looked down at his giant hairless tits and got the joke. “Oh! Haha!”

“They even have the little knots on the end,” Kellan teased, reaching across the bar to give Luke’s protruding nipple a twist through his polo. He used the gesture to pull Luke in and French kiss him, then did the same to Colt. It was how all the guys greeted each other at Toolshed. Wet, sloppy tongue kisses, Luke’s favorite kind. Kissing a hot guy like Kellan got him so hard. He remembered a time when he dated women - or when he tried to date women but they mostly weren’t interested in him, which was weird because he was so hot - but it felt like a different life. He was gay as fuck. All he wanted to do was meet other hot guys and have sex with them. Top, bottom, Luke didn’t care as long as they were gorgeous.

“Can we get some liquid courage, bro?” Colt asked, and Kellan obliged by pouring three shots of vodka. 

Luke took his shot glass and balanced it on the tabletop projection of his upper pecs. “Heh, heh, check it out dudes,” he chortled. Then he bent his chin and wrapped his lips around the rim of the glass, taking the shot without using his hands.

As he set the shot glass back on the bar, Kellan was getting a long, narrow box out from beneath it. “This came for you bro. Gift from Murph.”

“Ooh, a gift?” Luke tore the box open like a kid on Christmas. He gasped excitedly when he saw what was inside. “Oh FUCK yeah, new costume for tonight!”

“Put it on, bro!” Colt said.

Luke pulled his shirt, boots, and shorts off without a second thought, standing in the middle of the bar in just his neon pink thong. He grabbed the pants from inside the box - they were shiny and black like leather, but made from a lighter material. They had stripes down the side that warped from the sheer mass of his thighs, and a built-in codpiece emphasizing his manhood. 

He tucked the pants into the top of calf-length leather boots - they smelled like heaven - and then put on the shirt. It was blue, some kind of silky material that got him primed to cum. The short sleeves barely covered his delts, and it was a miracle they didn’t rip open. He buttoned the gold buttons over his abs but left the shirt open over his chest, showcasing his pecs. Then he put on the hat, a small leather cap that angled over one eye, balanced carefully on his blond pomp.

The look was complete. In the middle of the bar stood a perfect Tom of Finland cop, hyper-sexualized and over-groomed. A 1950’s gay pin-up. His uniform was covered in cocks: gold phallus-shaped pins on the points of his sharp collar; penis buttons up the front; patches on his sleeves that said “Tom’s Men” over an insignia of a dick with angel wings; the same insignia in silver metal on the front of his peaked leather officer’s cap.

Luke had never felt sexier. The imprint of his straining codpiece was the final perfect touch to his outfit.

Colt and Kellan moaned with lust at the sight of Luke. As payment, Luke made them both roughly kiss him.

“You’re gonna make so much money wearing that,” Colt said.

Luke knew he was right. He was already rolling in cash just from being hot. His rent was paid with a single night of work each month and the rest was just fuck-you money. He was in the process of moving to a luxury apartment building and buying a brand new sports car. He could buy all the hair and skin products he wanted - they cost a lot, but it was worth it for his fuckin’ epic hair and sexy tan. He was getting rich, like…really rich. He’d found a nerdy guy from his old MBA program to do his accounting for him, and all Luke had to do in exchange was shoot a load down the guy’s throat once a month or so. Seemed like a fair deal. 

Luke licked his full lips and ran his hand over the expanse of his muscled rump. He grinned. “Hey Colt, buddy, did you know I got an MBA?”

“Yeah, we all fuckin’ know-”

“Master of BUFF ASS!” Luke thundered, shoving his beefy glutes toward Colt with a loud, dumb laugh.

“Fuck yeah, bro!” Colt hooted, slapping Luke’s butt.

Luke arched his back and relished the attention. “Fuck yeah, dude.”

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“How…how do you know my name?” Leonard asked gruffly, now in a state of confusion.

One of the other guys punched him playfully on the shoulder. The force was so strong that Leonard wondered if it would leave a bruise. Another muscular and bearded stud in a red speedo spoke up. “Don’t act like you don’t know us dude. We’re coworkers.” He raised his eyebrows smugly when saying the last word.

Coworkers? Leonard had been retired for a few years now. “Sorry gents, but I have no idea who any of you are.” It was such a weird feeling to have these three muscular models close enough to him.

The three men burst into laughter. Their massive pecs shook when they laughed, causing Leonard to feel even more intimidated. They were much taller than him, but they were equal in bodily width, only theirs was muscle and Leonard’s consisted of sagging fat. “You probably don’t remember,” the third guy said, his bulge shaking slightly in his yellow-colored speedo, as he chuckled alongside his friends.

“Hey, that was fucking offensive!” Leonard erupted. His eyes widened, leaving him surprised with his own anger and profanity. He hardly ever swore and he had never sworn at strangers. “I may be getting old, but I am not an amnesiac. You young kids oughta-”

“Whoa-hoa-hoa,” the guy in the red speedo replied, slapping Leonard on the shoulder. “That’s a pretty big word for you Leosard.”

The force sent Leosard’s glasses flying. Instinctively, he grabbed for them only to miss. “Shit,” he cussed. “What the hell?” he yelled. “I need those.” But right after he said that sentence, the strangest thing happened. His eyesight, plagued by cataracts, healed itself. In a matter of seconds, Leosard was able to make out so much more detail than he could before. He could read the signs in the distance, he could see the waves crashing on the shore, and any black spots in his vision were eliminated, allowing him to fully absorb the vibrant color of the beach. “Whoa...” was all he could muster.

“Mason, chill,” the guy in the blue speedo said to his friends. Facing the older man, he spoke in earnest.  “Leosard, you know Mason and Chase are just messing with you, right?” There was an eerie level of intimacy between them.

“Umm…yeah, yeah,” Leosard begrudgingly conceded. He was still getting used to his improved vision. However, in his old age, he was not as confrontational as he might’ve been a few decades ago. Besides, these men seemed harmless. Rude, but harmless, he justified. It was just so weird they were tantalizing him like they knew each other or something.

“Yeah, we’re just messing with you, bro,” Mason said, placing a lot of emphasis on the last word. For some inexplicable reason, the word rippled through Leosard’s mind, imbuing him with a surreal sense of familiarity after this whole ordeal.

“To-otally,” Leosard replied, his voice poorly mimicking the trio’s jock-like vocal cadences. “I gotcha du-.” He stopped himself before he said the word dude.

“Alright,” Chase said. “Will we see ya tonight for lifting, Leosard?” he inquired.

“Um, yeah sure,” Leosard replied nonchalantly. He just wanted this conversation to be over.

“Alright, later dude,” the guy in the blue speedo responded jovially.

“The nerve of some young people,” Leosard muttered to himself as he walked back to the bench. For some reason, the guy in the blue speedo felt the most familiar, but he couldn’t place his name. They had been making quite a lot of eye contact. Sitting back down on the bench, Leosard felt a pulse whirl through his midsection. His eyes darted down to the source of the ripple only to find that that he still looked as fat as ever. Looking closer, he realized that the fat stomach he was used to seeing was much firmer. As he touched his stomach through his shirt, he realized that it consisted of hardened muscle and not fat. Still in disbelief, he touched his marginally thinner belly through his shirt. He shuddered and could sense the presence of abs gradually forming beneath his polo. “No fuckin’ way,” he whispered to himself as he lifted up his shirt and his muscular abdomen. A memory of Leosard’s ex-wife telling him to get thinner constantly through their marriage permeated his mind. If only she could see what he saw now. Starting to fondle his own chest on the bench, he was surprised to hear yet another loud male voice to extirpate him from his self-adoration.

“Hey Leosar, how are you?” came the boisterous voice, which sounded much lower than the jocks’ voices.

“Ugh,” Leosar grumbled to himself. Begrudgingly, he turned to face the speaker only to be surprised when he was greeted by one short man and one tall man who looked to be in about their late thirties, both adorned in red and blue speedos respectively. Another wave of intimidation washed over Leosar. Not only was the pair of men older than the jocks prior, they were even more muscular. Their legs were like tree trunks and they both had chipper smiles on their faces.

The taller one spoke again. Leosar now detected his suave Colombian accent. “I haven’t seen you at the gyms in a while, where have you been?”

“Oh, I’ve just been….at the beach,” Leosar awkwardly replied. He noticed the men had matching wedding bands on their individual meaty hands.

“It sure looks like you’ve been here a lot from the looks of it,” the shorter man said. His facial hair shifting with his grin.

Upon hearing the man’s comment, the tingling feeling returned to Leosar, only it felt like every skin cell of his was getting tickled. As a ticklish person, he couldn’t help but start giggling a bit at the overwhelming feeling, however his quiet titters quickly shifted into heartier laughs that came out much goofier than he expected. While he chuckled vapidly, his sagging and pallid skin became tan and muscular. His response came out a little slower than usual. “Yeah, I...I always come...to this beach. Ever since...I was….younger.” Leosar said after his laughter subsided. Upon hearing his own voice, he realized it sounded smoother than usual and not as gravelly. It was as if his decades of smoking had been eliminated in an instant.

Both men burst into laughter.. “Entering your late-twenties is nothing,” the short one said, “Believe me honey, you are still in your prime.”

The taller one kept laughing and flexed his muscles. “I mean, look at me. I’m in my forties and I still have a killer bod that I know you respect.” He raised his eyebrows seductively.

Leosar didn’t even take note of the man’s comment. He was distracted from admiring the younger men’s bodies. Unlike the younger trio of surfer jocks, the men’s massive chests were coated with much more hair. As Leosar temporarily stared at their juicy and hairy pecs that bounced in rhythm with their resounding laughter, the hair follicles on his chest and back receded back into his body, leaving the largely-chested old man completely shaved. Even the hair which forested his extremities was absorbed back into his skin. He could feel the fabric of his clothing against his body better and it felt strangely pleasant. “You guys...look...very nice today,” he said, absent-mindedly trying to make conversation. His typical scowl shifted into a smile.

“You’re looking pretty sexy yourself there, stud,” the shorter man replied with a lustful expression.

Leosar was taken aback. He hadn’t been trying to hit on these fine-looking younger men. He only meant to pay an earnest compliment, like a bro does, or...like a true gentleman does. Not knowing what else to say, he promptly replied, “Thank you,” although it came out sounding much dopier than he had expected. Feeling uncomfortable on the bench, he decided to hoist himself up which required much less effort without a bulbous gut holding him down.

The taller man spoke, his gaze radiated the same lust as his counterpart. “You know, if you ever wanna come on by for a few drinks and a good time, you’re always invited.”

Leosar told himself he didn’t like men, but he found himself adoring the Hispanic stud’s sweet and sensuous manner of speaking. He looked like someone straight out of a romance movie his ex-wife would’ve loved. With the thought of romance, Leosar felt a stirring within his khaki shorts. “Yes, that sounds lovely.” He paused for a moment. “I’ll have to hit you guys up sometime.” Leosar winced at how out of character that last part sounded.

Like the jocks, Leosar found himself glancing at their bulges so much so that he had to remind himself to make eye contact. The shorter man sidled up alongside Leosar. “Give us a call soon, hun. We’d love to have you as a third again, Jeosar.” As they walked away, he slapped the old man on the ass, making him blush as red as a strawberry.

“Sure…” Jeosar replied quietly, more as an admission to himself. These men seemed so familiar to him, but he couldn’t place their names. He was flattered by their offer, but he could not see himself following through. However, the longer he reminisced, the more he could recall him and the two men spread naked across a bed. Jason was the name of the shorter and more flamboyant one and his husband’s name was Omar. It had felt so good to screw Omar’s tight and gigantic ass while Jason watched. The feeling was sensational.

No, not a real thought, Jeosar reminded himself. Grunting in disgust, he noticed that the boner he now donned within his tan khakis was very noticeable. Unbeknownst to him, his grey patchy beard receded into his cheeks, leaving him completely baby-faced. Additionally, the array of wrinkles around the man’s eyes, nose, lips, and neck were disappearing. His jawline became taut and sharp, creating a masculine and picturesque face. In an instant, his seventy-three-year old visage morphed into that of a man in his thirties.

“Feels…so….nice,” he mumbled to himself.

To accompany a changed face, Jeosar’s hairline pulled itself forward across his forehead before dyeing itself into a bleach blonde color. He felt so much younger yet he couldn’t recall what age he was. He was immediately given the gift of virility in the form of a rush of semen into the man’s boner as well as a radical increase of testosterone. Jeosar’s face became more square and he developed a voracious sex drive. He felt like he was on fire. And the only scenario that fueled his glory was the thought of sweaty and slopppy sex with Omar and Jason. He closed his eyes and touched himself through his khaki shorts, apathetic to any strangers around him, which luckily there weren’t many.

“God, my cock...my….dick feels...like...it’s on f...fire,” Jeosar whispered to himself, his large body now coated with a layer of sweat that became visible through his polo shirt. Promptly, he ripped off the shirt only to reveal his glistening pecs and abs. Jeosar grinned smugly and his shoulders expanded. His tanned body was breathtaking to look at, like it demanded attention, which was something that Jeosar craved. While he had been talking to Omar and Jason, his pecs had become enormous slabs of muscle, complimented by his tender and succulent nipples.

“Jeosar, what’s up?” came a familiar-sounding voice.

Looking up from his erection, he made eye contact with one of the jocks from before. He was the one in a blue speedo that accentuated that husky bulge. Jeosar couldn’t even be bothered to stare; his own shorts were tightly wound around his dick, causing an immense level of discomfort. “Oh, hey,” was all he could muster.

“You wanna head to the beach for the photoshoot?” the guy repeated.

“A photoshoot...” Jeosar repeated, his dopey-sounding vocal cadence now irradicable. Subconsciously, the growing stud began to flex his biceps, becoming hypnotized by their increasing mass as they started ripping his polo shirt. The changes flowed down into his fingers which promptly became finely manicured and thickened to the size of sausages. “Yeah...yeah sure,” he replied with a vacant expression. A huge tear formed across his polo shirt, revealing a part of Jeosar’s juicy pecs. Frayed fibers showered down at his feet as he just stood there in a daze.

“Alright, come on dude, let’s go today,” pleaded the other man.

“Ok, I’m up,” Jeosar said, jumping up from the bench in one swift motion.​​ The sudden movement must’ve given him another headrush because he could’ve sworn he was a little bit taller than the other man, and maybe a little wider even. Jeosar’s jawbone clenched as he felt a swirling sensation emanating from his lower body. Glancing down, he noticed that his shorts more closely resembled a pair of boxer shorts due to how skin-tight that were around his loins. He decided to pull on the waistband to try and loosen them but to no avail. The other guy had already started walking down the sidewalk so Jeosar decided to follow suit. His pace was much faster than it used to be as he quickly caught up to the man.

“What’s with the neon, Josar?” the guy asked.

“I’m not even wearing neon, Colton,” Josar retorted before wincing. How had he suddenly known the other man’s name?

“Uh-huh, sure, Josar,” Colton said while staring at his midsection than back to his eyes. “You’re lucky you’ve got your looks.”

Josar looked down and was shocked to see that while he had been walking, his khaki shorts had been reduced to tatters. A new neon green speedo cradled his growing loins just beneath the disintegrating fabric. Instinctively stopping to give his ass a little shake, Josa watched his khakis fall to the ground, leaving his lower body completely clad in the swimwear. He stared in wonder as his bulge filled out the pouch and he reveled in the sensation of his butt expanding behind him. Subconsciously, he could feel others’ eyes on him. After all, he was a tall, buff, and skimpily-clothed man; how could he not draw stares? Although, there was a piece of him was telling he was someone different, someone more reclusive and someone older. But what kind of old person had a ripped physique that glistened in the sunlight like his did?

Reaching the beach, Josar was greeted by the sight of the other two jocks. He wasn’t gay, but he had to admit they looked even better standing on the shore, their near-naked bodies casting broad shadows into the waves. Adjusting his hard dick, Josar raised an eyebrow upon touching his speedo. His dick wasn’t even hard. Laughing quietly to himself, he remembered that it was seven inches long. If there was one thing Josar never forgot, it was his dick size. He was so grateful to be surrounded by beautiful men. He felt even more grateful to realize he was officially the tallest and broadest one. Measuring in at 6’4 and weighing in at s hefty two hundred and eighty pounds, he was quite the hulking model.

A familiar sounding voice cut through the air, causing the men to turn their heads in unison. “Hello, hello men. It is so good to see all of you today,” he said. “We will begin shooting shortly.” He walked up to Josar and squeezed his left pec, “I’m very glad to see you, Josa.”

Josa was aghast when he realized that the man was the agent who had tried to recruit him for Breaker Beach Modeling. His scowl returned, now looking out of place on his breathtaking body. He stomped his new pair of flip-flops in the sand as he headed over to the agent who was in the process of setting up the equipment with the camera crew.

“Hey bro,” Josa said before remembering the man’s name. “Hey Weston Adams! What did you do to me?”

“What?” the modeling agent asked with a puzzled look on his face. Josa was bewildered that the man didn’t recognize him. Without his plastic smile, the agent certainly looked rather intimidating with his broad body. He couldn’t let himself be deterred though. After all, the man was about as tall as he was, but Josa was broader. “You did this to me, I...I...want…want...I want…. to tell…you...” He trailed off. He caught a glimpse of his muscular arm in his peripheral vision and instinctively began flexing. Upon doing so, the synapses in his brain began to decelerate. His stern expression softened into a more imperceptive one and his frown returned back to a blissful and conceited smile. Not only was Josa the biggest man at the photoshoot, he was the dullest, and his ignorant bliss was unparalleled. “Huh-huh-huh,” he chuckled vacuously to himself. Part of his brain was telling him he wasn’t this tanned, beach-bodied himbo jock, but he could not ignore the evidence that staring at his beautiful perfect body provided. With this realization, every muscle in his body widened just a tiny bit more, leaving the twenty-five-year old man with a breathtaking body that caught the glances of all who walked past, especially in his tight neon speedo. “I want you to get...ridiculousss shots of my body...okay?” he asked while continuously flexing in various positions.

“Riiiight. Sure thing,” the agent replied apathetically, upon seeing Josa’s rage dissolve into a dim-witted pride. Wordlessly, he turned back around and continued to help his assistants assemble their equipment, leaving Josa adrift in his own sea of confusion. He was content though, as he saturated his brain with the idea of how much of a hulking and masculine hunk he was. He was feeling a tad drowsy though, maybe going in the water would help wake him up. Taking his shoes off, he waded into the ocean and savored the feeling of the warm water pooled around his calves. Wading deeper, he went up to his thighs, leaving his loins hovering just above the surface.

The sound of other people entering the water broke his rumination. Turning to face the noise, Josa’s bulge swayed with his momentum. Greeting his eyes was an immaculate sight of the other three models slowly entering the water, the bright fabric of their speedos reflecting in the water. Josa’s cock started to tent in his speedo when he saw the muscular men, their shiny pecs and thin clothing always aroused him. He began to panic. Having a boner during the shoot would be so embarrassing. However, any fear he had about immediately evaporated until the thought never even crossed his mind. Josa was a horny bastard and didn’t have the foresight to care about his flagrant obscenity. However, judging from the looks on the other models’ faces, they either didn’t care, didn’t notice, or were used to immodesty.

Colton came closest to Josa and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. The touch of his arm and the sensation of his muscular body next to Josa’s caused Josa’s entire body to widen by two whole inches. The remaining vestiges of his former fat were pulled taut and converted into thick muscle. His bright neon speedo pulled even tighter around his loins, causing him to gasp uncontrollably. Colton didn’t even notice. “You’re lookin’ real fine today, hot stuff,” he said in a hushed tone, causing Josa to get goosebumps. Either the sun was beating heavier on his body or he was sweltering at the sensation of Colton’s touch.

“Th..thanks….” Josa replied nervously, his voice wavering a bit. A deluge of memories flooded his subconscious. Mostly recollections of him and Colton in deep sexual pursuits, sometimes together, sometimes with other masculine partners. Both certainly weren’t afraid to experiment with other men, sometimes alone, sometimes together. The hedonistic idea would’ve repulsed Josa, or at least the older version of himself that seemed so distant. The immense and commanding man had an immense sex drive to match and he sure loved to experiment. Josa tensed his muscles with enjoyment at the thought. Two different timelines were intersecting in his mind: one where he was a boring divorced old man and another that contained a multitude of pleasures he had never experienced before. It was all so much to bear and he groaned in discomfort as he felt his intelligence slipping even more.

“Hey Josh!” Weston Adams barked. “I need a shot of you in front of this bed of rocks over here.”

Upon hearing that name, Josh’s fearful expression disappeared completely as a carefree and goofy smile returned to his face. Any prior knowledge of accounting or marriage or old age left his brain and in its place came knowledge of posing and an obsession with his own gigantic and muscular figure. “Alright, coming dude,” he said jovially, eager to show off his body. He couldn’t remember what this shoot was for, probably a mens’ calender or something. He had done so many that he lost track at this point.

The bulge in his speedo caught his eyes as he walked. For some reason, he expected to see a boner, but he was completely flaccid, although his member was still on full display beneath his skimpy suit. Josh loved it though: the impressed side-glances and lustful glimpses from women and from men. As he realized some of his “bros” were watching him walk out of the water, his butt cheeks grew to an even wider proportion, stretching the speedo to its limit. Nestled by his thighs, his bulge and ass were quite the spectacle. He was truly a larger-than-life Narcissus who never got tired of being the focal point of any gathering.

“This look good?” he asked the photographer as he flexed his arms. With his square face and sharp jawline, he certainly looked as intimidating as the other models when he didn’t smile. He ran a meaty hand through his blonde hair as his biceps and tríceps expanded one more time, becoming a final half-inch larger.

The photographer gave a thumbs up. “Now let’s do a few with a smile.”

The house emerged from the trees like a ghost from their childhood. A large, two-story Victorian-style lakeside retreat with dark timber framing, wide verandas, and tall windows that once let in endless summer light. Now the paint was faded and peeling, the shutters on the upper floor hung at odd angles, and moss clung to the roof tiles. The garden had gone wild tall grass swaying in the breeze, rose bushes grown into chaotic thickets, and the old wooden dock stretching out over the dark water of the lake like a skeletal finger.

They parked and stepped out. The evening air was cool, carrying the gentle lapping of water against the shore. Crickets had already begun their nightly chorus.

“Still standing, at least,” Joey muttered, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder. “Your mum never sold it?”

“Couldn’t bring herself to. It’s been in the family since my great-grandfather built it. After Uncle Richard disappeared… she just locked the doors and paid someone to check on it once a year.”

They climbed the creaky porch steps. Duncan pulled out an old key that still somehow worked. The heavy oak door groaned open, releasing a rush of stale, dusty air that smelled of aged wood, old books, and faint traces of pipe tobacco that somehow never fully faded.

Inside, time had frozen. The furniture was still draped in white sheets like ghosts. Duncan pulled one off the big leather sofa in the living room, sending a cloud of dust dancing in the golden evening light filtering through the windows.

“Jesus,” Joey laughed softly, running his fingers along the carved mantelpiece. “Look at this. We used to race Matchbox cars right here. You always cheated.”

“I did not,” Duncan protested with a grin. “You just sucked at it.”

They spent the next hour exploring the ground floor together, beers in hand. Every room triggered another memory. The kitchen where they’d made disastrous pancake experiments. The hallway where they’d slid down the banister until Duncan’s mother caught them. The study lined with dark oak shelves still filled with Uncle Richard’s old travel books, maps, and strange artifacts from every corner of the world.

Eventually they made their way upstairs, footsteps echoing on the worn hardwood. The door to the attic was at the end of the corridor, half-hidden behind a tall cabinet. Duncan hesitated for a moment before opening it. Narrow stairs led up into darkness. He flicked on the old light switch. A single bare bulb hummed to life, casting long shadows across the vast, cluttered space.

The attic was exactly as they remembered it low rafters, trunks stacked high, old furniture covered in sheets, and shelves upon shelves of Uncle Richard’s souvenirs. Brass instruments, carved wooden masks, colorful textiles, strange coins, and glass bottles from distant lands.

They sat on an old Persian rug in the middle of the floor, legs stretched out, cracking open fresh beers.

“God, we were so sure we’d end up like him,” Joey said quietly, gesturing at the collection around them. “Traveling the world. No ties. Pure freedom.”

Duncan took a long sip. “Yeah. Remember how we’d play explorers up here? You’d put on that old turban and declare yourself Sultan Joey the Magnificent. I was always your loyal adventurer sidekick.”

Joey chuckled. “We swore we’d never settle down. No mortgages, no office jobs, no responsibilities. Just passports full of stamps and stories worth telling.”

A comfortable silence fell for a moment before Duncan’s voice grew heavier. “Instead, I’m turning thirty in two days with a wedding planned, a promotion that feels more like a cage, and a spare tire I can’t get rid of no matter how many times I join a gym. Kelly’s great, but… sometimes I wonder what the hell happened to us.”

Joey stared at the floor. “Tell me about it. Cynthia’s seven months pregnant. I love her. I really do. But I’m still pouring pints at The Crown six nights a week. No degree, no prospects, just scraping by. We were supposed to be different, Duncan. We had stars in our eyes.”

They talked for a long time about the girls, the jobs, the quiet disappointment that had crept into their lives like fog over the lake. The conversation eventually drifted back to Uncle Richard.

“You know… I still think about him,” Duncan said, voice low. “Mum never talks about it. The official story was that he just… vanished. Packed a bag one night in late August and was gone. No note. No body. The police investigated for months but found nothing. Some people thought he ran off with a woman. Others said suicide. But we both know that wasn’t him.”

Joey nodded slowly. “He was the happiest person I’ve ever met. Always laughing, always planning the next trip. Remember that scar on his arm he said came from a camel bite in Morocco? Or the way he’d tell stories about getting lost in the souks of Marrakech? Who would have thought this would be his last trip…”

Duncan stood up and walked over to a particular shelf. He picked up a small, ornate oil lamp made of aged brass with intricate oriental patterns sitting on a dusty box. It looked remarkably clean compared to everything else in the attic.

"This was his favorite piece,” Duncan murmured. “He told us once that it was special. Said it had… history.” He turned it over in his hands. “Funny. After he disappeared, Mum wanted everything cleared out, but she couldn’t touch this room. Said it felt like he was still here.”

What Duncan didn’t know what no one in the family had ever known was the truth. Uncle Richard had indeed found this lamp years earlier during one of his travels. He had become its master. He had made his wishes. And when the Genie had finished granting them in his own cruel, creative way, Richard had been transformed and rewritten into a new life far from this one. The Genie had neatly erased him from this world, leaving only mystery and grief behind. The lamp had returned here, waiting patiently for the next pair of dreamers.

Joey stood up and joined him, taking the lamp gently. “Crazy to think we used to rub this thing as kids, hoping a genie would pop out and take us on adventures.” He rubbed his thumb across the surface absentmindedly while continuing to speak. “Imagine if it actually worked. We could fix everything. Get our old bodies back. Have the careers we should have had. Live the life we always talked about.”

He tossed the lamp lightly to Duncan. “Your turn to make a wish, birthday boy.”

Duncan caught it with a laugh and rubbed it as well, playing along. “Yeah, sure. Three wishes to turn our boring lives into something legendary.”

The moment his fingers completed the second rub, the lamp began to vibrate.

At first it was subtle a faint tremor. Then it grew stronger. Duncan frowned. “Joey… it’s getting warm.”

Joey stepped closer. “What do you mean warm? Let me see…”

Suddenly the brass grew scalding hot. Duncan cried out in shock and pain. “Fuck! It’s burning me!” He tried to drop it, but for a terrifying second his fingers seemed stuck to the metal. Joey grabbed at it instinctively to help, and searing pain shot through both their palms.

They finally managed to fling the lamp to the floor. It clattered loudly against the wooden boards. Both men staggered back, clutching their hands. Their palms were bright red, already blistering, the skin looking raw and angry. The pain was intense, throbbing in time with their racing heartbeats.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell was that?!” Joey gasped; teeth gritted. Tears of pain pricked at the corners of his eyes. “It felt like molten iron!”

Duncan was breathing hard, staring at the lamp on the floor. Thick purple smoke had begun to leak from its spout, swirling unnaturally, rising and twisting in deliberate patterns. The air in the attic grew heavy, charged, as if the temperature itself had shifted.

The smoke thickened, coalescing, taking shape.

A tall, powerfully muscled figure began to form bronzed skin, bare chest, sheer blue silk pants. The Genie’s eyes opened, glowing faintly, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face.

The two friends stood frozen, pain and terror mixing as they stared at the impossible being now standing before them in the dusty attic.

The Genie tilted his head slightly, regarding their burned hands with mock sympathy. He raised one finger as if to say “wait,” and the purple smoke around him stirred again.

Then, very slowly, he began to move toward them.

The Genie stood before them in the dimly lit attic, towering and impossibly real. He was easily six and a half feet tall, with broad, powerfully sculpted shoulders and a chest that looked carved from warm bronze. His skin glowed with a healthy, sun-kissed tone. The only clothing, he wore was a pair of sheer blue silk pants that hung low on his narrow hips, the fabric so thin it revealed the heavy outline of his cock and balls with every subtle shift of his body. A faint, exotic scent of sandalwood, spice, and something electric filled the air.

Joey and Duncan pressed back against an old trunk, hearts hammering. Their burned hands throbbed with fierce pain.

“This isn’t real,” Joey whispered, voice shaking. “This can’t be real. Duncan, tell me this is some kind of fucked-up hallucination.”

Duncan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the being. “If it is, we’re both having it.”

The Genie’s lips curved into a slow, amused smile. His eyes a deep, piercing amber studied them with predatory interest. “Fear not, Masters. I mean you no immediate harm.” His voice was rich, cultured, with a faint accent that seemed to shift between languages. “You rubbed the lamp together. You freed me together. Therefore, you share three wishes. No more. No less.”

He took one graceful step forward. Joey flinched.

“Stay back!” Duncan shouted, cradling his blistered right hand against his chest. The pain was excruciating, like someone had pressed a hot iron into his palm. Blisters were already forming. Joey’s hand looked just as bad.

The Genie tilted his head, clearly enjoying their terror. “Such small injuries… and yet you tremble. How fragile humans are.” He raised his right hand slowly, deliberately, fingers spread. Purple smoke began to drift lazily from his fingertips. “Allow me to demonstrate my sincerity.”

Joey’s breathing quickened. “Don’t touch us! We don’t want anything from you!”

But the Genie ignored him. The smoke drifted toward them like living tendrils. Duncan tried to scramble backward but hit the trunk. The smoke gently coiled around both men’s injured hands without touching their skin. A strange warmth not burning this time, but soothing, almost silky enveloped their palms.

“Oh God…” Duncan breathed.

At first, nothing visible happened. The pain remained sharp. Then, very slowly, the Genie closed his eyes as if concentrating. The smoke pulsed. A tingling sensation spread across Duncan’s palm, like thousands of tiny needles dancing just beneath the surface. The redness began to fade from the edges inward. Blisters that had started to rise flattened gradually. The raw, angry skin lightened from crimson to pink, then to healthy flesh. The deep throbbing eased into a gentle itch, then disappeared entirely.

Duncan stared, wide-eyed, as he flexed his fingers. No pain. No mark. Nothing.

Joey’s healing was even slower, more theatrical. The Genie clearly wanted them to feel every second. Joey watched in horrified fascination as the blisters on his hand shrank, popped without fluid, and the skin knitted itself back together. The process took nearly a full minute. When it was done, both men’s hands looked completely untouched, as if the burns had never happened.

The Genie lowered his hand. The purple smoke dissolved. “Better?” he asked, voice dripping with mock politeness.

Duncan examined his palm under the attic bulb, turning it over and over. “How… how did you do that?”

“I am a Genie. Healing is among the simplest of arts.” He smiled again, but the expression never reached his eyes. Those eyes held centuries of cruel entertainment. “Now. You have three wishes. I suggest you use them thoughtfully. Many before you have regretted hasty words.”

Joey swallowed hard. His mind was racing. Part of him still screamed that this was impossible a prank, a dream, gas leak, anything. But the healed hands were undeniable. The being in front of them was undeniable.

He looked at Duncan. “We should just leave. Run. This thing is dangerous.”

Duncan hesitated, breathing heavily. “And if it’s real? If we actually have three wishes?” His voice dropped. “Joey… we’ve been talking all night about how we fucked up our lives. This could be our only chance.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Fear and desperate hope warred on both their faces.

“Fine,” Joey said finally, voice hoarse. “But we think carefully. No rushing. We discuss every wish.”

The Genie crossed his powerful arms over his broad chest and waited, clearly entertained by their mortal panic.

Duncan spoke first, choosing his words with care. “Before we wish anything… what are the limits? Can we wish for anything?”

“Almost anything,” the Genie replied smoothly. “I cannot raise the dead in their original form. I cannot force genuine love where none exists. And I cannot undo wishes already granted. Everything else…” He spread his hands. “Is negotiable.”

Joey ran a hand through his hair, thinking hard. “Okay. Okay. We need to be smart.”

They sat down again on the old Persian rug, keeping distance from the Genie. For nearly twenty minutes they talked in low, urgent voices, weighing possibilities while the Genie watched silently, his smirk never fading.

Duncan went deep into his regrets. “I’ve put on nearly thirty pounds since university. I feel old. Slow. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a guy who gave up. If I could just have my twenty-year-old body back lean, strong, full of energy that alone would change everything. I could actually enjoy life again instead of feeling like I’m already declining at twenty-nine.”

Joey nodded slowly. “I get it. For me… it’s the wasted potential. I dropped out after first year. If I’d stuck with it, gotten my degree in finance like I planned… I could’ve given Cynthia and the baby a real future. Instead, I’m pouring beers and worrying about rent. I wish I had actually succeeded. That I’d become someone.”

They kept talking, circling the same fears. What if the wishes backfired? What if the Genie twisted them? They tried to add safeguards, but every condition they imagined felt clumsy.

Eventually Duncan stood up, lamp in hand. His voice was steady despite the fear in his eyes.

“I wish I had the body I had at twenty.”

The Genie’s amber eyes flashed with dark delight. He bowed his head slightly.

“As you wish.”

A faint pulse of energy passed through the attic, but no visible change occurred yet. Duncan exhaled shakily. “It… it didn’t do anything.”

“It will,” the Genie said softly. “When all three wishes are spoken.”

Joey took the lamp next. His hands were trembling. He thought of Cynthia, of the baby on the way, of all the nights he lay awake wondering how he’d provide. His voice cracked slightly.

“I wish I had gotten my degree and made something of myself.”

“As you wish,” the Genie repeated, the same hungry smile playing on his lips.

Another subtle pulse. Joey felt a strange flutter in his chest but pushed it down. He handed the lamp back to Duncan.

They stood shoulder to shoulder now, holding the lamp together. The weight of the moment pressed down on them. This was their last wish the one that had to count.

Duncan spoke carefully. “We’ve spent our whole lives dreaming about this. Travel. Adventure. Real excitement. No more boring routines. No more feeling like we settled.”

Joey finished the thought, voice firm despite his fear. “We wish for the exciting life full of travel and adventure we were always meant to have.”

The Genie was silent for several heartbeats. His smile slowly widened into something predatory and ancient. For the first time, both men felt a chill run down their spines, as if they had just stepped off a cliff.

“As you wish,” the Genie finally purred, each word dripping with satisfaction.

He raised his hand dramatically.

The air in the attic grew thick with purple smoke and electric tension. A low humming filled their ears. Both Joey and Duncan felt a strange warmth bloom in the center of their chests pleasant at first, then rapidly intensifying.

They looked at each other, eyes wide with a mixture of apprehension and exhilarating hope. For a short moment, they felt like they were on the edge of the greatest adventure of their lives. They had found the long-lost spark that animated their hearts and days.

In front of them, the genie was standing straight, a malicious smile covered his tanned cheeks and with a sweet movement of his wrist and fingers, he snaped.

Purple smoke exploded outward like a living storm, choking them in thick, electric heat. Joey gasped in surprise first shortly followed by an intense sensation of discomfort followed by pain as the agony ripped into his legs. “AHHHHHHH THE FUCK IS THAT!!! IT HURTS! MAKE IT STOP!” His thighs and calves shattered and swelled violently, bones lengthening with wet cracking sounds while powerful new muscle tore through his flesh. He collapsed to his knees as his feet followed, toes breaking and stretching, arches rising painfully as his shoes split apart. Joey tried to look around with the hope to see his friend ready to help him or the genie about to snap his fingers again to cancel this clearly bad outcome of their wishes but he saw nothing, only purple glittery smoke bocking everything from his view. “HELP ME!” He screamed one more time with the hope of finding help but he only heard a villainous laugh back in return echoing through the smoke and mist and coming back to his ears. What has been granted cannot be taken back, master… Duncan roared in terror as well. In the blink of an eye, the attic was gone and now all he could see was purple smoke all around him. He could still feel the wooden floor under his shoes but he couldn’t even see it. “Joey! Joey, are you alright? Where are you?! JOEY!!” he creamed for his friend feeling the anxiety skyrocketing through his veins. “JOE… AAAAHHHHHH!!” his sentence was cut short as he felt a rush of heat followed by pain of breaking bones crashing through his legs. Joey could feel his legs ballooned next, muscles exploding with brutal force far beyond anything from his youth.

The Genie hovered closer, smiling with dark amusement. “Begging already? How precious. This is only the beginning, Masters…” his voice echoing to both of them through the smoke.

The burning surged upward. Both men gasped and screamed as their chests expanded with sickening pops. Ribs widened, pectorals ballooning into thick, heavy slabs of muscle that stretched their skin painfully tight. “It’s breaking me apart!” Duncan howled. “Please… make it stop!”

Coarse dark hair erupted in their armpits as fresh sweat glands activated, flooding the attic with a thick, pungent masculine musk, heavy testosterone and raw male sweat. A dense treasure trail raced up from their groins, spreading across their newly carved abs and fanning over their swollen pecs.

Joey whimpered brokenly, “I can’t… I can’t breathe… please…” as he was feeling his overheating body starting to shut down and his vision blurring darkly because of his restarting nervous system and rearranging organs.

Duncan was crying and screaming in pain as he could feel his limbs starting to spasm on their own, muscles activating by forced electric signal sent by his brain drowning in a cocktail of hormones. He could feel his heart beat in each of his cells and could hear the sound of his pumping heart. Duncan was starting to dissociate when he heard the genie snap his fingers one more time. Out of nowhere, he felt his senses coming back to him as he heard the genie talk directly in his brain. “We don’t want you to miss the best part of the show, do we?” Out of nowhere, Duncan felt blood coursing through his body in one central position as he could feel his cock straining his jeans and getting trapped against his muscled and hairy thighs.  

His cock surged forward with vicious intensity, thickening and lengthening into a massive uncut cock and with one more spasm from his un-controlling body and pumping heart, his cock contracted and torn apart his fly as he felt it slap hard against his hard rock forming abs. in the blink of an eye, it started to feel active and soon he could feel precum pumping out of his urethra and slushing all around his hairy abs.

Joey could feel changes happening to him as well. He was screaming in pain and fear as he could feel his cock straining against what was left of his Calvin Klein underwear. He could feel his heart beat in his hardening cock head as he could feel his foreskin starting to tighten around it because of the pression caused by his blood system. He could feel his nuts pulling lower and lower as sperm started to be product in huge proportions. His cock head was starting to look downward because of its weight and now was permanently bent down and slightly on the left side because of his left ball which were bigger than the right one.

“Please…. Stop, thi… iis” Joey said as he could feel his throat starting to heat up shortly followed by his chin and whole face.  His features twisted in agony as his jaw sharpened, cheekbones rose, and his eyes tilted. “HHAAAAaaAaaAaaaAAaaa… UUUHHHHhhhhHHHhH “screamed Joey as his voice cracked and shattered mid-scream, shifting into a younger, melodic tone thick with a heavy Arabic accent. “MAkE iT stoP!!” Joey screamed one more time as his voice settled for a younger one.

Duncan’s own face hardened into something rugged and commanding, heavy stubble exploding across his jaw while a thick mustache appeared above his upper lip. “What is happening?!” he screamed as his voice dropped into a deep, authoritative baritone.

“You two already sound way more in character!” said the genie to himself as he could see the possibilities opening for both of his masters in front of his eyes, appearing and disappearing in the purple mist.

Joey was still crying in fear and pain, his knees still on the ground when he felt the heat coming back. “GOD NO, NOT AGAIN… PLEASE!!” the heat continued to climb and hike all around his tightened skin, leaving behind a rich golden-bronze hue, turning his skin into smooth coffee-toned perfection while Duncan’s deepened into a reddish sun-bronzed, powerful athletic glow. Joey was crying as he could see his transformed and tanned hands in front of him, no sound coming out of his mouth because even the sound of his voice was terrifying to him now. Creeping behind him, he heard the low baritone voice of the genie once again and felt chills running up his elongated spine. “Something is missing… I don’t see your character fully… But what is it…” the genie continued as Joey turned around trying to face him and thinking that maybe if he did, he would be able to beg him face to face to turn him back but when he did, he saw nothing except the purple void. “Found it!” he heard once again coming in front of him. Joey’s eyes opened wide as he saw the genie materialized in front of him and with the flick of his wrists, he felt his torn clothes disintegrate into glitter that swirled in the mist.

Joey was hoping to see the kind face he saw when the genie first appeared to them but all he saw was the manly face wearing a vicious smile. The genie opened his hands and Joey could feel pressure building in his dick. “What are you doing?” He asked shaking in fear of what was about to happen. “Please tell me, what are you do… AAAAHHHHHHH” The genie reached down and roughly seized Joey’s foreskin still covering the head of his enlarged new cock. Joey’s eyes widened in pure panic.

“No! No no no… IT’S GONNA BREAK, STOOOOO!!!” he screamed.

Duncan stared in horror and fear as he could hear the deep accented voice of someone echoing back to him, slightly muted by the mist hugging his modified body. He could feel his body continuing to spasm on its own without him having any control on it. He could feel his dick exhaling drops of precum with every heart beat, smashed against his hairy abs and leaking along his muscled thighs. The Genie turned his back to Joey and smiled as he saw Duncan was still lost in the haze of his hormones and sensations while continuing to tear on Joey’s foreskin. “I’m begging you… Please… Stop teari…”

SCRATCH With one flick of his wrist, the genie torn out the foreskin as it detached in a snapping motion, releasing Joey’s cock that flopped back down against his legs, pointing downwards. His cock head now fully uncovered and extremely sensitive as he could feel the particles of purple dust touching his extremely sensitive skin. Joey was crying in fear as he realized the pain was completely gone.in fact, in a couple of second, all sensations were gone. It felt like his nerves had been numbed by years of frictions and movements against his now hardened cock head. He looked down and realize a neatly crafted scar was circling the base of his cock head. He tilted his head back up to the genie as he watched the genie looking with a smile at the palm of his hand. “Why have you done that… What have you done to me…” Joey continued to ask in a febrile voice. The genie didn’t even look at him. He just continued to smile as he grabbed back his thick veiny cock in the palm of his left hand.

The Genie held the twitching piece of foreskin in his palm, exhaled a stream of purple smoke over it. The piece of foreskin started to levitate and rotate faster and faster in the palm of the genie. Joey could start to feel like his cock head was getting jerked off even though no one was touching it. The faster the foreskin went, the more he felt he was on the edge of cumming. Joey tilted his head back up with almost out of breath as he could feel the orgasm rushing to him and his mouth barely open to let his breathing flow out. The genie was looking at him and with a quick movement, he closes his hand on the foreskin. Joey could feel pressure building in his groin as it felt like he was getting jerked off faster and faster. Then as he was about to cum, his eyes starting to revolve inside his skull, the genie opened his hand again and all the sensations were gone, leaving Joey out of breath on the edge of orgasm. In the palm of his hand, the foreskin was gone, reformed as a shiny golden loop earing with a blue sapphire on it. Joey didn’t understand any of what happened, his brain still trying to function properly as it still was lacking oxygen from the forced edging session. “What was that… what have you… done… Where is it…” Joey asked out of breath but the genie never answered, he just snapped his fingers and suddenly the golden foreskin earing disappeared in shimmer. Instantly, Joey felt a pressure building on his left lobe as he could feel it heating up with a pinching sensation. joey was left flabbergasted, not understanding any of what just happened and what happened to his foreskin. He tried to look around, maybe catching his reflection in a shiny surface or something, but he didn’t see any of it. All he could feel was the cold wind on his numb cock head and the sensation of something dangling from his ear.

The Genie laughed softly, stroking his own massive erection. “I knew something was missing, master… now you look exactly like you should have, ready for your next big adventure.” The genie took a step back and snapped his fingers one more time. Both Duncan and Joey felt like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders and like they could breathe again for the first time since the mist invaded their lungs.

As the two men collapsed, gasping and twitching in their new bodies, their old clothes finished to dissolve away. They stood there naked and, on the ground, as they could see the mist starting to fall to the ground and with them changing the dusty attic into a new room. Something with white industrial lights handing from the rooves. Then tiles started to appear on the walls soon followed by the ancient wooden cabinets turned into metallic lockers covered with stickers and grim. as the mist finally reach their heads, new clothes started to shimmer into existence around their transformed bodies. A tight pair of black sport shorts for Duncan and a fitted V collar T-shirt with a black baseball hat. Then a pair of well used white trainers and high sport socks appeared on his bigger feet. On Joey, a white jockstrap appeared on his body, forcing his cock to look downwards again, now fully entrapped inside the cotton prison and almost nudging against his own ass hole. The pouch being extremely prominent. Then a pair of tight-fitting black soccer shoes appeared on his tanned musky feet as socks finished to materialized against his legs climbing up to his knees.

The Genie kept lazily stroking his enormous, throbbing cock, veins pulsing under his bronze fingers as he watched the two broken men on the floor. His smile widened with sadistic pleasure.

“Look at you both… already so pretty in your new skins.” He then grabbed Joey by his thick, dark hair and yanked his head forward. “Open up, stud. Time to taste your new reality.”

Joey tried to pull away, eyes wide with terror. “No! Please don’… I’m not… I won’t…!” But the Genie’s grip was iron. He slapped his heavy, leaking cock against Joey’s plump new lips, smearing sticky precum across them.

“That’s it… fight me. I love when masters start to realize I am the one holding the cards.” The Genie laughed, low and cruel, then forced the thick head past Joey’s resisting lips and deep into his mouth. Joey gagged violently, eyes watering as the massive shaft stretched his throat. The Genie held his head in place and began thrusting with slow, deliberate strokes, fucking his face with relish.

“Mmmph! Mmmghh!” Joey’s muffled screams vibrated around the Genie’s cock. Tears streamed down his bronzed cheeks as he choked and drooled.

The Genie groaned in pleasure and taunted him between thrusts. “Yes… just like that. Suck it, stud. This is what your exciting new life tastes like. Keep crying… I love how your throat squeezes when you panic.” He laughed again, deep and mocking, pushing even deeper until Joey’s nose pressed against his hairy musky shimmering pubes.

After several long, brutal minutes of face-fucking, the Genie’s balls tightened. “Here it comes, boy. Drink every drop like the good little whore you’ve always been.”

With a loud, satisfied roar, the Genie came hard. Thick, glowing ropes of purple-tinged cum flooded Joey’s mouth and throat. Joey thrashed, desperately trying to pull back, but the Genie held him firm while laughing in pure pleasure. “Swallow it all. That’s it… good boy.” Joey continued to resist, gasping for air as he could feel cum rushing directly in his stomach. A weird feeling invading his throat and mouth as it felt like his tongue was numbing a bit. After a couple of minutes frozen like that, the Genie slowly pull his still rock-hard cock free with a wet pop. Joey immediately tried to scream for help and gasping for air.

“Air, I need air…. Huuuuuuuuuu. I couldn’t breathe…” But the words that came out were completely different: “هواء، أحتاج إلى هواء... هووووو ...!” His eyes widened in pure panic. He clutched his throat, trying again. “What the fuck?! Why can’t I speak English?! WHAT THE FUCK!!” Only fluent, desperate Arabic poured out: “يا إلهي! لماذا لا أستطيع التحدث بالإنجليزية؟! يا إلهي!”.

No matter how hard he tried, English was completely gone. He kept repeating frantic Arabic pleas, voice cracking with rising hysteria.

“أرجوك… أعدوني! أنا لا أريد هذا!” (Please… change me back! I don’t want this!)

Duncan stared in the distance, his head still spinning and still feeling dizzy from the smoke leaving his older lungs, taking more time to regain his senses. “Joey? Are you ok? Where are you, where are we?! What happened to us...”

The Genie turned away from Joey’s sobbing of incomprehension. He took a look at Duncan and with a happy smile of work well done, he snapped his fingers.

Duncan suddenly gasped, clutching his head as memories began flashing violently before his eyes. Kelly smiling at him on their first date suddenly appeared clearly in front of his eyes, he felt like reliving this moment in the smallest detail but as his lips left her, he opened his eyes only to realize Kelly was now burning from his memories as in her place stood a very muscled Latino athlete looking at him with eyes full of admiration and hungriness. He couldn’t understand what happened or why that happened, suddenly he blinked and he was no longer on a bench in the park but instead in his living room with his computer on his laps, Kelly hugging him as they were planning their honeymoon, the house they wanted to buy, lazy Sunday mornings together… One by one they ignited and disintegrated. In their place, new memories flooded in with brutal clarity: the thrill of sneaking young athletes into hotel rooms during tournaments, the wet sound of tight asses stretching around his thick cock, the addictive taste of sweat and submission, the roar of stadium crowds mixed with moans in locker room showers.

“No… no, stop!” Duncan screamed, voice breaking.

“Kelly! Stop that please… KELLY!! I … I… Get out of my head! That’s not me… I’m not… I want to marry her… I love her… I… love her? Fuck… I love… her tight… No that’s not me, STOP IT!!! I love… his… ass? I LOVE FUCKING ASS!! NO Please… don’t…. do this…. Kelly… I love…” He fell to his knees as more of his old life was ripped away. The memory of proposing to Kelly burned to nothing and was replaced by the image of him balls-deep in a muscular exchange student after a late training session. Every time he tried to cling to who he was, another piece turned to ash. His personality was shifting, getting confidence, dominance, and an insatiable hunger for male bodies overwriting his old shy, settled nature.

“Please… I don’t want this… I’m Duncan, I’m not…” His resistance grew weaker as the new identity took root. Suddenly a new memory appeared in flashing color in front of his eyes, a new name appeared and engraved itself in his brain. Noah. He is Noah, he has always been and always will be. He is the coach, Noah. The traveler. The predator who lived for the next tight hole and the next victory.

The Genie watched with dark delight, lazily stroking himself again. “Welcome in your new life, master Duncan.”

The man who used to be Duncan, now fully Noah, stepped up as his manly hands caressed his hairy pecs, a dominant smile appearing on his cheeks as he took his first step into his new life, his cock rock hard and pressing against the front of his shorts, leaving nothing to imagination. He took another step and suddenly Joey heard the Snap echoing again. Suddenly, he felt his body starting to levitate from the wet musky tiled floor to the seat of a wooden bench that had seen thousands of athletic asses through the years. Joey tried to resist but his body was completely immobilizing by the purple magic controlling and positioning him, his legs then were positioned up, giving free access to his tight hole. Joey tried once again to scream for help but was still in incapacity to talk anything else then Arabic. He heard the genie laugh as he saw Duncan getting closer and closer to him, positioning himself between Joey’s forcibly spread legs.

His thick, veiny uncut cock throbbed angrily, already drooling precum onto the boy’s smooth, tight hole. Joey’s heart hammered in terror.

“Duncan, please don’t do this. We are friend, remember about Kelly. No don’t please, DON’T!!” he begged in fluent Arabic, voice shaking.

“أرجوك... هذا ليس أنت! أنا جوي! توقف!!!” (Please… this isn’t you! It's me, I’m Joey! Stop!).

Noah didn’t understand a word. He just grinned, spat on his cock, and pressed the fat, leaking head against Joey’s virgin entrance. With one brutal thrust, he forced half his massive length inside. Joey screamed, back arching off the bench as his hole was violently stretched open.

“AAAAAH! ألم! أرجوك توقف! إنه يؤلمني!” (It hurts! Please stop! It hurts so much!). Noah groaned in pleasure and kept pushing deeper, inch by thick inch, until his heavy balls rested against Joey’s ass. “Fuck… so goddamn tight. This Moroccan bitch was made for cock.”

Joey’s eyes rolled back as Noah started fucking him with long, powerful strokes, each one slamming harder than the last. The wet, obscene sound of skin slapping skin filled the locker room. Joey’s heavy circumcised cock bounced uselessly against his abs, leaking despite his horror.

Suddenly, Joey noticed movement above them. The Genie hovered near the ceiling, lazily stroking his own enormous cock and watching with cruel delight. Their eyes met. The Genie smirked, raised his hand, and snapped his fingers.

In that instant, the Genie’s form disappeared in shimmer. Then Joey saw from the corner of his eyes the air near the lockers next to the door starting to move and agitate. He then saw the genie’s silhouette appear and stated to melt and shrink, transforming into a tall, muscular young athlete with short black hair and a cocky grin. At the same moment, the locker room door swung open.

Captain Josh and four of his teammates walked in, already half-hard in their shorts thanks to the very intensive training and the overdose of testosterone and horniness running through their veins.

The newly-transformed Genie simply stepped forward and joined them, laughing with them all like he had always been a part of the group. No one else noticed anything strange and then even started to laugh back and talk like they truly know each other from years of practices and friendship.

“Coach! you already started without us?” Josh laughed loudly. “Look at Ahmed. Little slut can’t even wait.”

The players quickly stripped, tossing their clothes aside. Thick, hard cocks sprang free. Joey tried to plead with them, eyes wide with panic.

“أرجوكم، أتوسل إليكم، يجب أن تساعدوني. أنا لست أحمد، أنا جوي، لدي حبيبة وسأرزق بطفل قريبًا. أريد العودة إلى بيتي، ساعدوني، أرجوكم!!” (Please I’m begging you, you have to help me. I am not this Ahmed, I am Joey, I have a girlfriend and soon a baby boy. I want to go back home, Help me, please!!!).

The players just chuckled, not understanding a single word that came out of Joey’s mouth. One of them then took a step forward, his thick veiny cock in hand as he lazily jerked off. Joey opened tilted his head only to realize it was the genie now in the jock’s body. “أرجوك لا تفعل ذلك، لا أريد هذه الحياة، لم أتمنَّ ذلك... مممم ...” (Please don’t do that, I don’t want this life, I didn’t wish for that… mmMMMmmGGgMGgggGG) Joey couldn’t even finish his words as the genie grabbed Joey by the hair and shoved his thick cock straight into the boy’s pleading mouth, cutting off his words. “Shut the fuck up with that Arabic shit,” he laughed. “Good little cumdump doesn’t need to talk.”

Everyone roared with laughter as they surrounded him. “Let’s go guys, we have a tanned bitch to fuck!” Josh mocked while lining up his cock at Joey’s already-stuffed hole alongside Noah’s.

“Maybe you’ll start to pick some words up after taking so much American cream!”.

They descended on him without mercy. Noah and Josh double-penetrated his ass, stretching him brutally wide while two others took turns fucking his throat once the genie was done with him. Hands roamed over his sweat-slicked bronze body, slapping his ass, pinching his nipples, and constantly tugging on the golden earring. Every pull sent humiliating jolts of forced pleasure through his cock.

“Fucking perfect exchange student,” one player grunted as he hammered into Joey’s throat. “Came all the way from Morocco just to be our team bitch.”

“Bet his family would be so proud seeing him like this,” another laughed. “He truly lives his American dream!”

Joey could only sob and gag around the cocks in his mouth, tears streaming down his face. “مممغhhh— أرجوكم… أنا لست مثل هذا… أريد Cynthia… أريد طفلي…” (Please… I’m not like this… I want Cynthia… I want my baby…). None of them could understand him and they didn’t care. They just kept using him harder, rotating positions, filling every hole, painting his bronzed skin with sweat and spit.

After what felt like an eternity of relentless pounding, the Genie still wearing the jock identity saw that Joey was on the edge of losing himself, his cock played with like a joystick by the one currently fucking him. He felt like he was on the edge but never close enough so he could be forced to cum. The genie then grabbed the athlete that was hard fucking Joey by the shoulders and tapped his scapula as he asked for him to give him the space so he could finish inside the bitch. The athlete laughs and then took his cock out of Joey’s opened ass. “أرجوك... لا أستطيع فعل ذلك بعد الآن... أرجوك...” (Please… I can’t do …that, anymore… Please…). Once again, Joey was cut short as the genie got his mouth closer to his ear and murmured. “I hope you’ll enjoy your new life, Master!” Suddenly, he grabbed the earing between his calloused fingers and Joey felt like someone was directly playing with his cockhead and whole length. It felt like he was getting jerked off by the most delicate hand ever, it felt like he was getting sucked by the warmest mouth. His breath started to path faster and faster as he we slowly losing his sight, invaded by a pure feeling of pleasure. In front of his blurring vision, the genie smiled as he started to fuck him faster and faster, enjoying the view of Joey slowly losing his grip on reality and falling into dissociation. With one more thrust of his cock deep against Joey’s prostate and a pinch of the hearing, the genie came hard and deep inside Joey’s welcoming hole, and as he did, Joey felt the orgasm finally rushing past the point of no return as he could feel his length starting to contract and in an instant, starting to release the only trace of his Britannic DNA.

A devastating orgasm ripped through him. His circumcised cock exploded hands-free, shooting thick ropes of cum across his own chest and abs while every muscle in his body spasmed around the cocks buried inside him.

In that exact moment, his mind shattered and reformed.

Memories burned away in purple fire: the old house at Blackthorn Lake… the summers with Duncan… proposing to Cynthia… the ultrasound pictures of their unborn baby boy… nights at the bar dreaming of travel… all of it turned to ash. New memories flooded in to replace them, a sun-drenched childhood in Morocco, arriving in Huston at 21 as an exchange student, struggling with English, quickly discovering he was gay and addicted to getting fucked and used like the sextoy he truly was. The endless locker room sessions, the hotel rooms during away games, the thrill of being passed around by the team. He was Ahmed now. A 21-year-old power bottom who lived for cock, especially Coach Noah’s and his teammates’. English was hard for him, but his body spoke fluently.

When the orgasm finally faded, Ahmed blinked slowly, a slutty, satisfied grin spreading across his cum-covered face.

“Coach Noah…” he moaned in heavily accented English; voice hoarse but eager. “المزيد... مارس الجنس معي بقوة أكبر، من فضلك...”.

The players laughed and kept going, knowing their favorite cumdump was ready for another round.

Coach Noah was waiting behind them, his arms crossed as he felt his cock jump in anticipation knowing he would require a private session with Ahmed later on in his office. Only Ahmed and him.

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In the months that followed, Noah and Ahmed lived the exciting life full of travel and adventure they had wished for so desperately in that dusty attic.

They flew from city to city, country to country, following the demanding schedule of international university tournaments. New hotels every week. New locker rooms. New opponents, and new teammates, eager to celebrate victories deep into the night.

Noah’s powerful 6’3” body, thick with muscle and commanding presence, was everything Duncan had once dreamed of and more. He thrived as the dominant, respected coach who lived for the game… and for bending young athletes over whenever the mood struck him.

Ahmed, the 21-year-old Moroccan exchange student, had become the star attacking midfielder everyone wanted. He had gotten his degree in the form of a sports scholarship and was well on his way to making something of himself and his life, at least on the pitch and in the bedroom. His bronzed, athletic body and eager, talented hole made him the team’s favorite power bottom. He barely spoke English, but he didn’t need to. His body communicated perfectly.

Every night after training or matches, Ahmed found himself exactly where he now belonged: legs spread wide, moaning sluttily in Arabic and broken English as Coach Noah and the boys took turns wrecking him. The golden earring made from his former foreskin remained his most sensitive spot, one playful tug and he would cum hands-free, shaking and begging for more like the perfect cumdump he had become.

All that remained were sun-soaked memories of Morocco, the thrill of arriving in Huston, and the addictive rush of being passed around by his coach and teammates. He was happier than he had ever been, a gay, cock-hungry 21-year-old who lived for the next load and the next victory.

The wishes had been granted and they would finally live the lives they craved for.

They no longer remembered Cynthia and Kelly. They no longer remembered the baby and their bored lives. They no longer remembered Duncan, Joey, the attic, or the terrified man they used to be.

High above, safely tucked away in the ornate brass lamp that now rested on Coach Noah’s office desk, the Genie leaned back in his lamp with a contented sigh. Once known as Uncle Richard many decades ago, he had learned this lesson the hard way himself after wishing for a life full of magical adventures and being able to help people while having a long and joyful life full of pleasure and happy moments. Now he made sure others learned it too, slowly, thoroughly, and without mercy, one wish at the time.

Some dreams are better to be left in the past.

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Hello everyone!!

I hope you’re having an amazing day! This is the story you guys voted for, with a little twist from my side. I had a blast writing it, and I think this one might be one of my all-time favorites to this day.

Thank you so much to everybody who voted in the poll, and thank you so much to @bremenmask for sending me this ask. I really appreciated it, and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

This story officially marks my first step into my thirties, and I hope they’ll be just as good as the previous decade. I want to thank all the friends I’ve made along this journey, and I can’t wait to meet new ones.

To everybody who has sent me kind messages, please know that even if I don’t reply to all of you, I read everything, and I love interacting with you as much as possible. So please continue to send me messages if you want to talk about ideas or simply if you feel lonely :)

A huge thank you as well to @mystrangetfs for his very useful help in brainstorming and putting this story together, especially for helping me create and find the pictures.

I can’t wait to hear your feedback, and I hope you’ll appreciate this story as much as I do.

Here’s to our 30s and to the rest of our lives.