Buck's

The day reaches its midpoint.

Ryker's stomach starts to growl.

Luckily for him, amidst the chaos of the Pride celebrations—surrounded by countless stalls selling fetish gear, leather, and toys to spice things up—Ryker catches the unmistakable scent of well-cooked meat.

It doesn't take him long to track down the source.

Leather & Flame.

A food truck serving up greasy, meat-heavy food that gives off a mouthwatering aroma, decorated in the bold colors of the Leather Pride flag. The long line of hungry people waiting to be served makes it clear the place is a hit.

Ryker smirks.

He recognizes the truck immediately. It’s been a while, but you could say Ryker played a big part in the owner selling greasy meat out of a truck today, rather than pursuing his old line of work.

But something is off.

Time ticks by, yet the line doesn't move an inch. People are starting to get restless. Ryker realizes it's as if no one is actually working inside, and when he steps up to take a quick peek, he confirms that's exactly the case.

Then, he catches the sound of a heated argument coming from behind the vehicle. Puffing on his cigar, Ryker decides to go check it out.

"Haven't you heard a fucking word I said?!" The older man roars. "I told you to pay for the damage, you asshole, or we’re going to have a massive problem!"

"No fucking way, old man!" The younger guy spits back. "You’d better dial back that attitude. Lay a finger on me, and I’ll make sure you never sell your shitty meat in this city again."

Ryker recognized the first man instantly. He’s dressed almost entirely in leather, save for a tight, stained white T-shirt. Everyone used to call him Mr. Burton, followed by some high-sounding surname, but ever since his path crossed with Ryker's, everyone just knows him as Food-Truck Burt.

The second guy is about fifteen or twenty years younger, built like an athlete, and wearing a tight soccer kit decked out in Pride flag colors with the number 69 plastered across his chest. He looks like a complete, arrogant prick.

"What's the issue here?" Ryker asks, stepping into the alley.

Both men snap their heads toward him.

"Who's this guy? Your fucking pimp?" The soccer player sneers with a cocky, sarcastic smirk.

"Ryker!" Food-Truck Burt stammers, completely caught off guard. "What are you…?"

"We can catch up later, Burt," Ryker cuts in smoothly, taking a drag from his cigar. "Now… tell me what's going on."

"The thing is, this asshole tried to cut the entire line to order food for himself and his buddies," Burt growls. "When I told him to hit the back of the line, he threw a tantrum—started kicking the truck and knocked over several boxes of prime meat… and now he refuses to pay for the damn damage."

"You better watch your—"

"Pipe down, punk. The grown-ups are talking," Ryker cuts him off coldly, barely giving him a glance. "And tell me, Burt… why haven't you beaten him to a pulp yet? I personally made sure you were built tough enough to handle trash like this yourself."

Food-Truck Burt blushes slightly, shifting his weight.

"Because… because he's the son of the main organizer of the Pride celebrations in this city, Ryker, and…"

"Everyone calls me Slick, old man," the kid interrupts, grinning from ear to ear as he relishes Burt’s obvious frustration. Though his grin quickly fades into a uneasy silence under Ryker’s heavy, stern glare.

"He struts around all the stalls and businesses, demanding freebies and discounts in exchange for not telling his daddy to revoke our operating permits!" Burt continues, his fists clenched. "And then—"

"Okay. I’ve heard enough," Ryker says, silencing Burt with a calm, commanding gesture. Taking a slow drag from his cigar, Ryker steps forward, positioning his massive frame directly in front of Slick.

"So, you think this whole city is your own personal playground."

"Pretty much, yeah," Slick smirks, puffing out his chest.

"And you think you can do whatever the hell you want."

"That's how it's been so far."

"All because your daddy is someone important."

"For a slow-witted old man, you catch on pretty quick."

Upon hearing that, Ryker lets out a genuine chuckle around his cigar. He finds the kid's sheer stupidity amusing. Slick clearly has no fucking clue what he just stepped into—but he’s about to find out real fast.

Taking a deep, long drag on his cigar, Ryker exhales a thick cloud of smoke straight into Slick's face with such terrifying precision that the vapor seems almost alive.

"What the…?! Dude!! Gross!"

Slick coughs, frantically waving his hands to push the smoke away. But no matter how hard he tries, the dense mist clings to his face, creeping into his lungs and making his eyes water.

Within seconds, his frantic swatting slows down. His arms grow heavy and weak until he can barely lift them, while the hypnotic smoke continues to swirl around his head. The coughing stops. The irritation fades. It’s as if the smoke no longer bothers him at all… as if he’s completely surrendering to its heavy, intoxicating scent…

Ryker steps in close, cupping Slick's face with both hands, his heavy grip locking the kid in place.

"You rely way too much on an identity you didn't do a damn thing to earn, you little punk," Ryker rumbles against his lips. "Let's see how tough you are once I strip it all away."

As Ryker speaks, thick streams of cigar smoke flow directly from his mouth into Slick’s open lips, penetrating deep into his lungs, his mind, and his very being. Slick’s eyes roll back, completely entranced.

Suddenly, dense vapor begins to billow from every single pore of Slick’s body, wrapping him in elegant, suffocating swirls of cigar smoke. His colorful soccer kit slowly bleeds its vibrant shades, warping and hardening into deep, gleaming black leather.

The transformation is over in seconds, though to Slick’s melting mind, it feels like an eternity. When the surge finally subsides, Slick’s knees give out, crashing hard against the asphalt as the surrounding smoke begins to clear.

The flashy sports gear has vanished completely. In its place, he wears only tight black leather shorts, crew socks, and his athletic shoes—the sole remaining trace of who he was just a minute ago.

Completing his new look are heavy leather cuffs around his wrists, a thick leather collar strapped tight around his neck, and the bold emblem of a locked padlock emblazoned right across his crotch.

Where arrogance once stood, now lies pure, unadulterated submission.

"Wh… what the hell did you do to him?" Food-Truck Burt stammers, eyes wide.

"I’ve erased his identity, Burt," Ryker explains casually, slipping the cigar back between his teeth. "He’s a nobody now. Neither his father nor his friends would recognize him if they walked past him. Hell, they wouldn't even register him as a human being like you or me. To anyone who looks at him, he’s just a slave."

"A… a slave?"

"Exactly. But not the kind who gets a thrill out of submitting to a dominant man—no…" Ryker pauses, taking a slow, deep drag. "He doesn't crave it, but he doesn't hate it either. Slave is simply what he is now, and he couldn't stop being one even if he tried."

"And… whose slave is he?"

"Yours, Burt. Obviously," Ryker smirks.

"What?! No! No way! I don't want this asshole anywhere near me!"

"So you think you actually get a say in this… cute."

Without another word, Ryker takes one last drag from his cigar and closes the distance toward Food-Truck Burt. Grasping Burt’s head in a firm, unyielding grip, he pulls him in and forces a deep, smoke-filled kiss upon him.

The dense smoke instantly hits Burt’s lungs and invades his mind, escaping in light wisps through his eyes as they turn a dull, clouded gray. In seconds, his thoughts are restructured, rewriting his consciousness to align perfectly with Ryker’s will.

Suddenly, clarity washes over Food-Truck Burt.

He understands now. That creature kneeling in the leather shorts is his slave. He doesn't love him, he doesn't value him, and he certainly doesn't care about his feelings—he is simply his property. A free pair of hands to haul heavy boxes, scrub the grills, and run his household.

That was the new, unshakeable reality for both of them.

And neither had any choice but to accept it.

"Can't you move any fucking faster, you useless idiot?!" Food-Truck Burt barks at his slave in full view of the crowd. The customers, however, don't seem to care in the slightest. "We're running way behind schedule because of you, so you'd better get a damn move on!"

Slick—whom his new owner now simply calls Sludge—doesn't complain. He instantly picks up the pace to obey, flipping burgers and hauling heavy trays under the sweltering heat. Following orders without a whisper of protest is all his broken mind can do.

Standing right there in the long line are several of his old friends, laughing and waiting for their food. Yet Sludge is utterly powerless to do a single thing to catch their attention. And even if he could, they wouldn't recognize him. To them, and to the rest of the world, he is no longer a human being.

He is nothing more than Food-Truck Burt's property.

Just another piece of equipment inside the truck.

A few paces down the street, Ryker melts back into the bustling Pride crowd, completely unbothered by the chaos he just left behind.

He takes a massive, savory bite of the juicy burger in his hands, letting the grease run over his fingers. It was a good trade. He eliminated an arrogant brat from the world, gave Burt a permanent piece of free labor, and, most importantly… he got a damn good lunch out of it.

Read the previous part here

As Tyson entered the hotel lobby, he cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He knew that he was being paranoid but couldn’t risk his secret getting out. While riding up in the elevator to the 10th floor, his phone started to buzz. He pulled it out of his pocket to see it was a call from his friend Matthew.

“Hey, Matt.”

Matthew’s voice was staticky and distorted - the elevator didn’t have great cell service. “Tyson, hey! I know it’s a little last minute, but we are having a study group for the midterm later tonight. I know you’re probably working, but still wanted to extend the invite.”

Tyson grinned. Matthew was right, he was working that night - but that was the benefit of there being two of him. It made it easier to divide and conquer. “Actually, that sounds great. I’ll text you when I’m on campus?”

“Oh, great! Looking forward to seeing you, buddy.” Matthew sounded surprised, which made sense - this was probably only the second or third study session Tyson had actually been able to attend since the beginning of the semester.

The elevator doors opened and Tyson stepped out into the hallway, making his way to room 1028. He pulled the hotel card out of his pocket and swiped through the reader, then pushed the door open once it turned green.

The hotel room was clean but basic - it had a queen sized bed, a small television, a desk and not much else. His clone was lounging on the bed, wearing a pair of white boxers as he flipped through the TV channels. The other Tyson turned off the TV as Tyson entered the hotel room, smiling at him. “How was practice?”

Tyson slung his gym bag to the floor, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside his twin. He was getting used to having another Tyson around, but it was still a bit strange. “Practice was great. Exhausting, but in a good way. Coach said he was really impressed with my performance today.”

Roughly two weeks had passed since Tyson had converted Travis into his clone. The two Tysons had started to get into a rhythm of splitting up their workload - it was a lot easier to fit in fitness, a job and school now that there were two of him. There had been some rumours going around campus about the sudden disappearance of Travis, but the general consensus was that he’d unexpectedly dropped out. Some of his friends had voiced their concerns about his sudden departure, but luckily Tyson had thought to swipe Travis’ phone after assimilating him. Tyson had sent a few texts out to Travis’ contacts, explaining that the pressure was too much for him and he needed a clean break from everything. That had seemed to clear up most of the suspicion surrounding Travis, so Tyson had ditched Travis’ phone at a subway station so it couldn’t be traced back to him - just in case.

“How was your day?” Tyson asked himself.

“Good,” the other Tyson replied, stifling a yawn. “I slept in, which was fantastic - I needed it after yesterday’s shift from hell. Oh, I also found a nice rental apartment for us to look at - I booked a viewing for tomorrow afternoon.” With there now being two of him, Tyson couldn’t keep living with his roommate Kyle, so they were currently living out of a hotel room. That was financially unsustainable and they were desperate to find an affordable long term rental as soon as possible.

“Good job, babe.” The word had slipped out before Tyson could stop himself, and a wave of embarrassment washed over him.

“What did you just call me?” His clone asked, a bemused expression on his face.

The two Tysons had been quick to jump into a sexual relationship with one another - the opportunity to fuck himself had unearthed a vanity Tyson never knew he possessed. The Tysons had tried everything over the past few weeks - 69ing, taking and receiving from each other, mutual masturbation, even kinky stuff like blindfolds and handcuffs. But until that point, their relationship had been strictly sexual - they hadn’t referred to each other using affectionate terms.

It felt wrong to be falling in love with himself. He knew it was messed up to be infatuated with his clone this way, but he couldn’t help how he felt - the other Tyson brought so much happiness and light to his life. It felt like more than just a sexual connection - there was something real and genuine between them. Tyson was pretty sure his clone felt the same way - they were the same person, after all - but it had been too awkward to try to bring it up. And now his Freudian slip was exposing his true feelings.

“I…uh…” Tyson stammered, at a loss for words. How did he express his love for himself without sounding like an unhinged narcissist?

“It’s cool, dude,” Tyson-2 reassured him, sitting up in the bed and wrapping an arm around Tyson’s shoulder. “You don’t have to explain yourself - we literally share a brain. I know how you feel, because I feel it, too.”

Tyson’s heart was hammering in his chest. He’d had boyfriends before, but never anything serious - he liked to keep his relationships casual. This was his first time having feelings for a guy, and it just so happened that he’d fallen for himself - not exactly the first love he’d been expecting.

“So, are we like…dating?” Tyson laughed nervously. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so nervous.

“Why not?” His clone shrugged. “Might be a little fucked up, but I like you and you like me. Why shouldn’t we make each other happy?”

Tyson pushed his clone down on the bed, crawling on top of him. The declaration of their feelings for each other was turning him on, so he was sure the other Tyson would be feeling horny, too. That was the other great thing about having himself as a partner - they liked all of the same things and so knew exactly how to please each other. Tyson wasted no time in pulling off his clone’s boxers, taking the other man’s hardening cock into his mouth. He was palming himself through his gym shorts while sucking the other Tyson off - it was still so hot to be able to taste hus own dick. Tyson-2 was panting heavily, gripping the back of Tyson’s head and pushing him down further onto his cock.

“Fuck, babe,” His clone moaned. Hearing the other Tyson call him babe got Tyson even more amped up. He reached his arms up the torso of his double, tweaking the man’s erect nipples. Tyson could taste the salty pre as he licked the tip of his duplicate’s thick hard member, continuing to suck on the cock as it pulsed in his mouth.

“Oh, yeah!” Tyson’s clone growled as he erupted, his cum spraying all over Tyson’s face and into his mouth. “You’re so fucking good at that, Ty.”

Tyson grinned up at his double, happy to have satisfied his boyfriend. “I guess I know what we like,” he chuckled.

“Want me to get you off?” The other Tyson offered, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Raincheck. I’m still gross from football practice,” Tyson replied, reluctantly rising from the bed. He reached down and adjusted the erection tenting his shorts.

“I like you sweaty,” his twin winked.

“There’s time for fun and games later - we need to start getting ready. One of us needs to get ready for our shift and the other one needs to go meet Matthew at campus to study for our midterm. Do you want me to work tonight since you covered yesterday’s shift?” Tyson offered. They tried to split up their daily tasks as fairly as possible so neither one of them was forced doing all the undesirable work. After they slept each night, their memories synced so they would have full recollections of each other’s days. Since they had identical memories, it was hard to know which one was actually the original Tyson and who had previously been Travis - Tyson felt like he was the original, but maybe the other Tyson felt the same way.

“No, that’s okay - I can work tonight. That sounds better than studying, honestly. Besides, I think Leon has a crush on us and I like flirting with him. Maybe I’ll give him a taste of us if he plays his cards right.”

Tyson felt a pang of jealousy on hearing his double talk about Leon, but he pushed the feeling down. He wasn’t going to start feeling insecure - his clone was free to flirt and fuck whoever he wanted. Besides, his twin was right - Leon was cute. Not as cute as Tyson was, but he did have a rebellious charm to him.

“Sounds good, I can attend the study group. Who knows - maybe Matthew will even want to hang out afterwards.” Tyson watched his clone’s reaction closely to see if mentioning Matthew brought up any jealousy, but if he felt anything he hid it well.

Frowning, Tyson headed into the small hotel bathroom to shower. He tried to be happy as he stripped down and stepped into the steaming hot water, but something felt off. He should be - he was dating the man of his dreams (who just happened to be himself), he had lots more free time and he was pulling his grades up. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the way the other Tyson had spoken about Leon with such obvious affection.

It was far too early on in their relationship to get jealous about every guy they spent time with. He and his clone were the same person - he knew exactly how they felt about each other. Even if the other Tyson did hook up with Leon, it would be a meaningless fling - he had nothing to worry about.

A light elbow to the chest woke Tyson from his sleep. He quickly opened his eyes, looking around at his surroundings in alarm until he realized that he was in lecture hall. He must have fallen asleep in class again. He glanced over at his friend Matthew, who gave him a little smirk.

“How long was I asleep for?” Tyson muttered under his breath.

“Only a couple of minutes. I would’ve woken you sooner, but you look so cute when you sleep,” Matthew replied with a wink.

Lecture had just ended, and both Tyson and Matthew rose from their seats and packed their bags.

“Tyson? Can I have a word with you?” Professor Duncan called from the front of the lecture hall.

“I’ll wait for you outside. Good luck,” Matthew whispered, heading towards the exit with the other students.

Tyson let out a sigh as he approached Professor Duncan. The man was in his early fifties, with short gray hair and a well weathered face that indicated he had been through much in his life. He looked on at Tyson disapprovingly with his steely gaze, packing his own supplies into his satchel as he did so.

“Did you have a good rest?” Duncan asked snidely with no trace of amusement.

“Professor, I -” Tyson started.

“I’m sure you have a good excuse, just as you did the last half a dozen times I caught you sleeping in my class. I am not interested in your personal issues. What I am interested in is why you choose to take up a spot in my class when there is a waitlist of students that actually want to learn what I am teaching,” Duncan lectured, sliding off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

“It’s just-” Tyson tried again.

“Every single person in this class has personal issues going on, Tyson. The difference between them and you is that they find a way to manage their problems so they can contribute meaningfully to this class, not sleep through it. At this point, you are going to need to ace the midterm next week just to scrape by with a passing grade, and based on your academic history, I find that highly doubtful,” Duncan slung his satchel up his arm and started heading for the lecture exit, walking past Tyson as he did so.

“Are you saying you’re kicking me out of the class?” Tyson asked in shock.

Duncan glanced over his shoulder at Tyson, a trace of pity in his dark blue eyes. “I’m saying that you need to get your priorities in check. Must I remind you that failing my class means you will get cut from all extracurricular activities?” Before Tyson could respond, Professor Duncan swiftly exited out into the hallway, leaving him along with his thoughts.

“So how bad did that go?” Matthew asked once Tyson emerged from the classroom. Matthew was the same age as Tyson, and the two had been good friends since meeting as freshmen in college. While Tyson was the athletic type, Matthew was more academic oriented. Despite being heavily dedicated to his studies, Matthew was in good physique, with his daily morning runs allowing him to maintain a slim frame. He had curly blonde hair and bright green eyes with a charming smile that gave him the perfect boy-next-door appearance.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tyson replied sullenly, falling in step with Matthew as they made their way through the campus towards the parking lot.

“Not great then,” Matthew surmised.

“He’s saying I’m going to fail the course. And if I fail the course, that means I’m off the team,” Tyson explained through gritted teeth, clenching his fists.

“It sounds like you could really use study group then. I’m meeting some friends in the library to prep for next week’s midterm; you should come,” Matthew offered.

“Nothing would make me happier, but I’ve got to get to work,” Tyson declined reluctantly. He could really use the extra help studying, but there was no way he could afford not to go into work. He was barely keeping up with his tuition payments and Kyle kept bothering him about getting caught up in his rent.

“Sorry, I forgot. Well, if you get off early, we’ll likely be studying late tonight. Text me!” Matthew shouted as he hurried away, heading towards the campus library.

---

Tyson wiped a thick layer of grease off the deep fryers with a damp cloth, hard rock music pounding through his headphones. Luckily, it had been a slower night at work so far, and Leon had agreed to maintain the counter so that Tyson could focus on cleaning up the kitchen.

“Tyson!” Leon shouted so that Leon could hear him over the music blaring through his ears. Tyson looked up from the fryer and took out his headphones, turning to face Leon.

Leon was in his early thirties, with a dark black baseball cap covering his bright cotton candy pink hair. He also had on a long-sleeved black shirt to cover the sleeves of tattoos he had on both his arms. The only hint of his rebellious nature noticeable in his work attire was the metal spike running through his right eyebrow. Tyson and Leon had been flirting with each other since they had started working together months ago, but with Tyson’s busy schedule he didn’t have time to even think about pursuing relationships.

“I’m heading out for a smoke break. Can you watch the counter?” Leon asked. Tyson nodded in agreement, rising from his knees and taking off the grease-stained apron he was wearing before heading out front to the counter area.

The bell rung, and Tyson looked to see his teammate and rival Travis entering. Travis was wearing his varsity letterman’s jacket with a skin-tight V-neck shirt on underneath, showing off his pecs and abs. Tyson and Travis had briefly been friends when they joined the football team at the same time, but Travis quickly grew to resent Tyson after Tyson had been made starting quarterback by their coach.

“Oh hey, Tyson,” Travis laughed, giving Tyson a quick once over in his unflattering work uniform, “I forgot you worked at this shithole.” Travis ran his hand through his spiky jet-black hair, his dark brown eyes sparkling with joy at torturing Tyson.

“What do you want, Travis?” Tyson asked, rolling his eyes.

“Missed you at football practice tonight. Not really, because it gave me another chance to show coach how wrong he was to make you part of our starting line,” Travis continued.

“I had to work. Coach was okay with me missing practice,” Tyson explained, feeling the rage seething inside of him.

“Still,” Travis smirked, “You’ve been missing a lot of practices lately. How long do you think Coach realizes you’re dead weight and just drops you from the team completely?”

Tyson wanted to leap over the counter and punch Travis, but he knew that would do him no good. Instead he calmly steadied his breathing and maintained a stony expression while facing Travis. “Are you going to order something?”

“Nah, I think I’ve lost my appetite. The smell wafting off you is rancid,” Travis chuckled, turning to exit.

After their shift, Leon offered to take Tyson out for a drink, but Tyson had to politely decline. As much as he loved the idea of having some downtime, he needed to get some sleep to be ready for football practice tomorrow. After his run in with Travis, Tyson needed to be sure to bring his A game.

---

Tyson slowly crept into the small apartment he was renting out, trying not to awaken his roommate Kyle. It was well after midnight, and he didn’t want another noise complaint. As he was making a quick dinner before bed, he noticed a note left on the fridge.

'Tyson, I wanted to talk to you about this in person but you’re never home these days. You are still two months behind in rent. You know I like you and I don’t mind covering for you now and again, but this is getting out of hand. I can’t keep paying both your rent and mine. If you can’t get caught up by the end of the month, I’m going to have to start looking for another roommate. -Kyle’

Tyson shook his head in frustration, feeling completely overwhelmed and unsure of how to proceed. He just didn’t have enough time to do everything he needed to do; it was impossible to juggle a full-time job, college courses and varsity football. Some days he wished he could split himself in two; it felt like the only way he could ever get ahead in life.

Tyson’s cellphone chimed, and he pulled it out of his pocket to see that he’d just received an email. He opened his inbox to see that it was just another spam mail; he was about to delete it when the email heading caught his interest.

“Clone machine?” He read aloud, arching his eyebrows.

---

Tyson woke up early the next morning to the sound of the doorbell. Jumping out of bed, he quickly slipped on a pair of sweatpants and a muscle shirt and hurried towards the front door. Kyle was still asleep, as was to be expected; Kyle worked from home in the software industry and usually didn’t start his day until around 10.

Tyson unlocked the apartment door and pulled it open to find there was no one in the hallway. He leaned out and did a quick look both ways, but there was no sign of movement. Glancing downwards, Tyson noticed a small nondescript cardboard box sitting in front of the apartment doorway; he picked it up before closing and relocking the door.

After returning to his bedroom, Tyson tore open the box to find what looked like a smartwatch inside. It took him a moment to remember that he had clicked on the ad for the Clone Machine late last night; this must have been related to that.

“That was fast delivery,” He muttered to himself, slipping the device around his wrist and hitting the power button on the side. When he had read the advertisement for a Clone Machine, this had certainly not been what he’d been expecting. The screen lit up with text: ‘Scanning, please wait…’

A 3D model of Tyson’s body was projected from the device, showing him naked and erect. Tyson was surprised at the high quality; when he had ordered the device, he had been more or less confident that it was some kind of scam. Looking at the device’s detailed model of his body, Tyson started to feel like it might actually be legitimate.

‘Please confirm subject: Tyson Rogers. Yes/No’ Tyson selected yes on the screen, and the 3D model of himself vanished. ‘Please select target.’

---

After football practice, Coach called Tyson and Travis to his office. Tyson still had the device wrapped around his wrist; it had seemed like a great idea when he’d make the order last night, but now that he actually had the machine in his hands he was having second thoughts. Could he really overwrite somebody else’s life with his own? Making someone into his unwilling clone didn’t seem right, no matter how much easier his own life would be with the ability to split his burdens. He’d been lost in his thoughts all morning, struggling with the dilemma, and knew he hadn’t performed well during practice.

“So here’s the situation, boys,” Coach explained, gesturing for Tyson and Travis to take a seat across his desk from him, “You’re both good. Really good. And I know that it’s common for rivalries to form, but I don’t want that for you two; we’re all on the same team, with the same goal.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Coach,” Travis nodded, a sly smirk on his lips, “Which is why I think it’s so important for the team to show up to every practice. How are we supposed to work effectively if our starting quarterback only shows up half of the time?”

Tyson opened his mouth to object, but Coach but his hands up to silence both of them. “Tyson has already discussed his circumstances with me, Travis, and I don’t want to hear anymore on the matter. That’s not why I called you in here.”

“Why did you call us in here?” Tyson asked, a sense of dread rising in him.

“I have given it a lot of thought, and I have decided that you both should share the roll of leading the team. That means that both of you will be our starting quarterback, alternating games.”

Tyson felt the ground drop out from under him; it was just as Travis had predicted. Coach was punishing him with a demotion because he wasn’t able to commit 100% to practice.

“I think that’s a great idea, Coach,” Travis said, looking at Tyson with a smug sneer of triumph.

“Coach, I…” Tyson started.

“I realize this may seem unfair, Tyson, but it’s my job to do what’s best for the team. This is not up for discussion; Travis will be starting quarterback for the game on Friday, and then you will for the game next week,” Coach stood up from his desk, indicating that the conversation was over. “Now hit the showers.”

Still feeling shell-shocked, Tyson followed Travis into the locker room. Most of the team had already showered and headed out while they’d been in the meeting with Coach, leaving the changeroom practically empty.

“I tried to warn you,” Travis laughed, starting to slip off his football uniform, “It was only a matter of time before Coach realized I’m the better player.”

“Fuck off, Travis,” Tyson responded angrily, pulling his jersey and shoulder pads up over his head.

“Good comeback,” Travis chuckled. He slammed his fist into the locker, leaning in menacingly. “Enjoy the games you have left, because I’m coming for you.”

Travis pulled down his underwear and headed for the shower room, a towel slung over his shoulder. Without stopping to think about it, Tyson raised his wrist and pointed the device towards Travis, pressing the screen to select him as a target. ‘Scanning, please wait…’

A 3D model of Travis was projected from the device. ‘Please confirm target: Travis Smith. Yes/No.’ Tyson didn’t give himself the chance to hesitate, selecting yes as soon as the option was displayed.

‘Cloning in progress…0%’ __ After stripping down fully, Tyson grabbed a towel and headed into the showers. Travis was already at one of the showers, lathering himself up; Tyson went to the shower a few away from the other man.

Travis looked over at Tyson as he entered the shower and grinned. “Like what you see, faggot?”

Tyson blushed bright red as he looked down; he’d been so excited in using the Clone Machine he hadn’t noticed he’d grown a boner. Tyson looked back over at Travis and grinned.

“You’re one to talk,” Tyson mocked, gesturing down at Travis’ member. Travis had been soft when Tyson had entered the showers, but his dick was starting to fill with blood and harden. Travis quickly covered his erection with his hands and turned away from Tyson, clearly flustered.

As Tyson watched on, Travis was slowly starting to grow a bit shorter. Travis has been a few inches taller than Tyson, but he was rapidly losing his height advantage as his limbs shortened until the two men were eye level. Next, Travis’ frame started to broaden, his shoulders widening as he took on a stockier build. Tyson looked down at the device on his wrist. ‘Cloning in progress…30%’.

“Could you pass the soap?” Tyson called out to Travis, trying to get the other man to turn around so he could better watch the changes as they happened. He expected to get a snarky reply, but Travis wordlessly turned back towards Tyson and handed him the bar of soap.

Travis’ pecs seemed to be swelling larger with each breath he took. As they bulked up, the pecs lost a little definition, growing round and beefy. Travis’ six pack abs started to flatten, vanishing as his stomach bulged outwards into a hard muscle gut. Hairs started to grow in a line up Travis’ stomach towards his navel; the patch of hair around his crotch was also growing thicker, starting off as dark brown before lightening to a blonde. The hairs along Travis’ shins and forearms also lightened, growing longer. Curly blonde hairs sprouted from Travis’ chest surrounding his newly hardened nipples.

“I never noticed how hot your body was,” Travis commented, breaking the silence between the two men. Tyson noticed that Travis’ voice was a little less rough and gutteral than usual, sounding softer and more friendly. Travis had taken his own cock in hand, slowly stroking it as he gawked at Tyson’s wet body.

“I didn’t think you were into guys,” Tyson replied, still finding the changes he was seeing right before his eyes unbelievable. As Travis continued to jerk himself, his dick grew slightly shorter but thickened considerably, his balls expanding and hanging lower.

“I wasn’t…I’m not…I’m not sure,” Travis frowned, pausing midstroke to stare off into space and frown. His personality was obviously starting to change, and Travis seemed to be caught in between the new memories from Tyson of being gay and his original memories of being straight.

“You certainly seem to be into guys,” Tyson smirked confidently, taking a step toward Travis and running his hands down his now hairy chest. Travis moaned out as Tyson slid his hand around Travis’ dick, beginning to jerk him.

“Fuck, dude,” Travis panted, wrapping his arms around Tyson and pulling him in closer. Their mouths met for an extended kiss, massaging each other’s tongues. Tyson could feel the muscles in Travis’ arms expand around him as his upper body continued to bulk up.

The two men eventually broke their kiss, and Travis slowly lowered himself down to his knees, taking Tyson’s cock in his hand. Travis’ lean legs had bulked up into two thick, sculpted thighs, the blonde hairs from his shins spreading upwards to cover his entire lower body. Travis’ tight, flat ass was also bulking up, inflating into a round bubble butt as a thin dusting of hairs grew along it.

Tyson glanced down at the device on his wrist. ‘Cloning in progress…80%’. It now appeared that Tyson and Travis were pretty much identical from the neck down, except for a few small minor changes that were still taking place on Travis’ body. Travis licked his tongue along Tyson’s shaft, causing Tyson to moan out and lean against the shower wall. Travis slid the tip of Tyson’s cock into his mouth, flicking his tongue along the head of the cock. Travis slowly took a few more inches of Tyson’s cock into his mouth, sliding back and forth along the shaft. Tyson was running his hands through Travis’ wet black hair, which was growing lighter and slightly longer.

Tyson could feel his balls starting to tighten and knew he was close. Travis’ facial features were quickly readjusting into a facsimile of his own; his dark brown eyes lightened to a soft blue, his eyebrows and nose thickened. Travis had delicate, ‘pretty-boy’ like features, but those were quickly shifting into Tyson’s more masculine face. Travis’ jaw grew more square, as his thick, well groomed beared receded back into his face to leave a light stubble.

“Fuck dude, I’m going to cum.” Travis pulled Tyson’s dick out of his mouth to get a thick rope of cum right in his face.

He heard the device on his wrist beep, and he looked down at it. ‘Cloning process complete.’ He looked down at where Travis had been to find an exact replica of himself kneeling down, face covered in cum. He noticed that his new clone had also blown his load, having been jerking off during the blowjob.

“Travis?” Tyson asked apprehensively, reaching his arm down to help his clone back up to his feet.

“I still have some of Travis’ memories, but they’re quickly fading,” the new Tyson replied, dunking his head under the shower to rinse off his face. “It worked; I’m now you. Well, I’m me, who is also you.”

“Shit. So Travis is gone for good?” Tyson asked, feeling a small pang of guilt. Travis had been a jerk, but did he really deserve what Tyson had done to him?

“We did what we had to do,” The other Tyson replied reassuringly, “Travis was going to ruin everything for us.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I can’t believe that actually worked.” Tyson and his clone stood face to face; it was like looking in a mirror.

“One of us needs to get dressed and head to class soon. It’d be really bad if there’s two of us and we still miss our lecture,” The other Tyson suggested, grabbing a towel and starting to dry himself off.

“We still have some time. First…” Tyson said, grabbing his clone and pushing him up against the wall.

“First?” His clone grinned back at him, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“I’ve always wondered what I taste like,” Tyson smirked, sliding down to his knees.

Beach Boys…

(Previous part: link.)

The day wears on.

Finally the time arrives when the bars start serving alcohol.

"About fucking time." Ryker mutters to himself as he takes a swig of his ice-cold beer. The chill is a welcome contrast against his heated body. The bar, a place called The Barrel, isn't very crowded yet, maintaining a good, low-key atmosphere..

"Come on..." A voice with a pleading, wheedling tone interrupts Ryker's thoughts. "I know we planned to spend the day together, but… it’ll just be this time, and then I’ll spend the whole day with you. I promise."

It doesn't take Ryker long to find the source of that voice.

Two men are sitting at a table near the bar counter. One of them is large and appears to be about sixty years old, while the other is barely thirty. The younger man is the one who just spoke.

"But Jason, my boy." The older man says in a calm, subdued tone. "I even took the day off work to celebrate Pride with you today, and now you want to go hook up with a Grindr match?"

"Pleeeeease!" This fellow Jason exclaims in a childish tone, with a look of wide-eyed adoration, as he rubs his partner's belly. "If I go, I'll come back much more relaxed, and we can have fun together!"

"Ok, whatever. Go." The older man says in a resigned tone.

"Yaaaay! See ya!" Jason exclaims this as he rushes out, nearly colliding with the door because he is already texting his match at the same time. Apparently, he hasn't realized... or hasn't wanted to realize... that his partner is devastated by his sudden departure.

For several minutes, the man simply sits there, gazing at his beer in silence, resigned. Then he gets up dejectedly, probably to go home, alone.

"Hey, man! It's scorching hot out there! Why don't you have a beer with me before you head out?" Ryker calls out, with two ice-cold beers he has just ordered sitting on the bar, catching the man's attention.

"Hello, buddy. is that beer for me?" The man asks. Then, after Ryker nods with a smile, the man downs it in one gulp.

"Wow, dude! You really needed that!" Ryker chuckles.

"You bet." That man replies with a sigh.

"I am Ryker, by the way."

"Harold."

"What was that about?"

"Ah, you saw. You know how it is… young people these days." Harold pauses to take another long swig of beer. "He said he’d be back in a little while, but in all likelihood, I won’t see him again for a few days. So much for spending Pride with my boy, it seems. He always gets what he wants from me. Do you see this?" Harold asks, pointing to the text on his tank top, stretched over his belly.

"Yeah… what's the story behind that?"

"He made me buy it because he says I’m like his genie in a lamp... that he can get anything he asks for if he rubs my belly," Harold explains with a forced smile and sad eyes.

"You don't look like you're enjoying the joke."

"Well… you know… with a body like this, I only attract that kind of guy… I've learned to settle. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about my looks, but… it has its consequences…."

"No fucking way, man," Ryker growls, stepping deep into Harold's personal space. "You are built like a tank. You're really hot."

"Hah… thanks, Ryker…" Harold blushes, caught off guard by the sudden heat radiating from the younger, massive man.

"So… how does it work? Like this?" Ryker asks, locking eyes with Harold as his large hand begins to rub the man's belly. A nervous smile flits across Harold's face. He clearly still can’t believe a man like Ryker is paying him genuine attention.

"Oh! Hahaha… yeah… just like that…" Harold stammered, his voice thickening with sudden arousal. He is completely unaccustomed to anyone other than immature, needy boys taking an interest in him. "Do you… do you have a wish for the genie?"

"Maybe later," Ryker murmured, his tone dropping an octave. "Right now, I want to know… what's YOUR wish?"

"W... what do you mean?"

"Your wish, Harold. What is your deepest desire?"

Ryker keeps rubbing Harold's belly, his touch radiating a hypnotic, heavy warmth. Harold's eyes suddenly cloud over, turning a smoky gray as if falling into a deep trance.

"I… I wish…" Harold drones, the words slipping out involuntarily. "I wish to be with someone who actually loves me… who cares for me and worries about me just as much as I do for him. A… a relationship between equals… someone who truly wants me… I want everyone to stop treating me like a living fetish and see me for who I really am…"

Ryker stops rubbing his belly. The sudden break in contact causes Harold to snap out of his light trance, blinking hard.

"You know what…? Deal," Ryker says, a dangerous, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

"What do you...?"

But Ryker seals his lips with a kiss that Harold receives eagerly. Harold surrenders completely to the firmness of Ryker’s heavy hands framing his head. It is a sincere, authentic kiss… entirely unlike the manipulative touch of someone who just wants to take something from him…

When the kiss ends, they gaze at each other, both smiling.

"Your wish will be granted," Ryker says, a cocky, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "And at the same time, I’m going to set you free, Genie."

"Hahahaha, you’re funny. What if we head back to my...?" But Harold cuts himself off as a strange, electrifying sensation tears through his veins. "What… what is this…. oh… fuck… fuck yeah…" The sensation intensifies, rapidly mutating into pure, overwhelming pleasure. "YES!!!!"

With a raw cry of ecstasy worthy of a climax, the transformation begins.

Harold’s body begins to give off dense, heavy smoke as he continues to moan with pleasure. It's as if his entire being is shedding layer after layer of lifelong conditioning and resignation, watching them disintegrate into thick smoke that dissipates into nothingness.

Mind and body transform in perfect harmony...

To fulfill Harold's deepest wish.

More and more of his old self vanishes into the smoke.

Soon, the smoke begins to reveal a brand-new version of Harold.

Impeccably groomed… no longer disheveled…

No longer trapped in clothes meant to mock him.

His mind is finally free from the shackles of his own insecurities and doubts.

Little by little, the smoke clears.

When the final wisps of smoke vanish, Harold blinks out of his ecstatic daze, slowly grasping what has just happened. Speechless, his hands roam over his chest and arms, exploring his newly forged self.

He feels entirely like himself, yet completely reborn.

He is exactly who he always wished he could be.

He whips around to face Ryker.

"Ryker! How? How did you…?"

But the spot is empty.

Ryker... and his ice-cold beer... are completely gone.

"Whoa, is someone smoking a cigar in here? Because that… OW!"

A sudden impact jolts Harold from his thoughts as a handsome guy bumps hard into him, spilling a fresh beer right down Harold’s pristine new shirt.

"Oh, gosh!" The man exclaims. "I am SO sorry! Are you okay?"

"Oh, shit…" Harold says, looking down at his stained shirt. "Well, don't worry about it. It was an accident."

"I'm so incredibly sorry! I was walking up to the bar and got completely distracted by this thick cloud of cigar smoke and… I just didn't see you there… and… and…" The man seems genuinely remorseful.

"Don't worry, really. It’s fine."

"How could I not worry? I’ve completely ruined your shirt! And I know it’s hot out, but, damn, that beer was ice-cold." The man continues to apologize while trying, unsuccessfully, to dab the stain away with a few napkins. "You know what? I live right around the corner, and one of my shirts would probably fit you perfectly. Why don't we head over to my place so I can lend you something clean?"

"Moving a bit fast, aren't you? Buy me a beer first… one you don't spill on me, preferably," Harold says with a mischievous grin.

"Oh! I… I… I didn't mean it like that… unless… well, unless…"

"Relax, man! I was just pulling your leg."

"Oh… hahahaha! Well, you definitely got me. My name is Tony."

"Har… Hal. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Hal. Now… if you still want that beer…"

"Sure… the shirt can wait."

"I don't know," Tony chuckles, eyes scanning Hal's chest. "That wet look actually suits you."

They sit at a table.

Two fresh, cold beers are ordered.

And from that moment on, everything flows.

Outside, Ryker walks away into the heat of the afternoon. He doesn't look back through the window... he doesn't care about the happy ending. He just smirks, his dick still heavy and half-hard from the sheer thrill of breaking Harold’s pathetic chains and molding him into something better.

The encounter with Tony was just a lucky twist of fate, but that’s the fun part of disintegrating a man's weakness... watching the chaos and the power you've just unleashed.

Pride season.

There's something in the air this month.

In some cities, even streets far removed from major events like the Pride parade, such as the one Ryker is walking in right now, are decorated to celebrate the occasion.

Ryker isn't stupid.

He knows that many people who decorate their shops or homes for Pride would feel uncomfortable next to a gay person any other month, but he doesn't want to get upset, so he prefers not to think about those things and just enjoy the atmosphere.

"Wow...!"

Ryker turns around to see whose voice he just heard.

On the steps of the back entrance of a small apartment building, Ryker sees a man in his fifties, sitting with his cell phone in his hands, staring at him in a daze. Apparently, that expression has been an involuntary reaction to seeing Ryker.

"Hey buddy, how's it going?" Ryker asks casually.

"Huh?! Er... All good, mate, thanks." He answers, surprised. "What... what about you?" It is clear that he didn't expect Ryker to pay attention to him.

"All good." Ryker responds with a cocky but also sincere smile. "What are you up to? Are you ready for this afternoon's parade and the crazy parties afterwards?"

"Who? Me? Hahaha. No, man, that's not for me."

The man seems more comfortable talking to Ryker now.

"Really? Why? Name is Ryker, by the way."

"Hans. Nice to meet you." Hans introduced himself, to which Ryker responded with a nod. "I've always found it a bit… fake to go to a Pride parade."

"How is that?" Ryker asks, curious.

"Don't get me wrong." Hans responds with his hands raised in a conciliatory gesture, so as not to offend anyone, and standing up before continuing. "I carry the Pride in my soul, but I can never celebrate it the way I want… or rather, the way I'd like to be. My true self."

"Interesting!" Ryker says this as he moves very close to Hans, leaning a hand against the wall behind him and completely invading his personal space. Although it's obvious Hans doesn't mind. "And your true self… what is it like…?" He asks in a deep, seductive voice.

"Ah... hahaha... you see..." Hans is obviously excited and enjoying Ryker's closeness. "Although it might not seem like it… I like being the strong one around others… the dominant one… the boss… having the upper hand…"

Hans' intense gaze shows that he really means it. Then his expression becomes less cheerful and more somber as he shifts his gaze from Ryker's eyes to his own body.

"When I look at my body… it doesn't match what I carry inside…"

"That's all? Ok." Ryker says with an optimistic tone." We're going to fix this. It's time to get you out of there." He adds casually, as if he were saying the most normal thing in the world, while tapping Hans's chest with his finger.

"What do you m...?"

But Hans's question is interrupted when Ryker claims his lips, catching the surprised man completely off guard. It's not an unpleasant surprise, of course... Hans has had a rock-hard boner almost since the moment he laid eyes on Ryker… he just hadn't expected it.

The kiss is gentle at first, but soon becomes intense…

Demanding...

And Hans gives in to passion.

It's not a kiss out of kindness or pity.

It is authentic and full of desire.

Hans hasn't felt like this in a long time, and he's giving it his all.

After a few amazing moments that felt like an hour, Ryker gently broke the kiss, staring intently into Hans' eyes, without abandoning his cocky grin.

"It's time, bro. Get out of there."

"Hah... what do you... WHAT THE...?!"

Suddenly, smoke begins to seep from Hans’s pores… literally. Billows of dense, musky cigar smoke curl around his forearm, not burning, but melting his old skin. It’s not painful, quite the opposite. It is an intense, pleasurable release... the exhilarating relief of shedding an excruciatingly tight suit.

As the smoke lifts, Hans gasps. His arm is still there, but remade. It’s thicker, harder, carved from dense, powerful muscle. The transformation is ruthless and electric. Everywhere the smoke passes, it consumes his former self and leaves behind this truer, dominant form.

Even his civilian clothes cannot resist. They don't fade, they transmute. The weak cotton of his white t-shirt and the coarse denim of his jeans surrender, dissolving into the air and hardening into polished, heavy-duty black leather. He is no longer Hans, he is a man wearing authority. Hans isn’t afraid, he’s not shouting… instead, he’s reveling in it, fully surrendered to the dominant power filling him.

As the smoke seeps into his mind, the mental shift takes hold. The mind must match the body. Gone are the doubts, gone is the shame of his hidden desires. Now, there is only raw strength, absolute authority, and unyielding passion... above all, passion.

He celebrates it with a guttural roar.

The transformation is complete.

He is the same man, yet an entirely different beast.

Hans is no more. Hammer is born.

"About time..." Ryker exclaims, satisfied with the results.

"Fuck! That was... intense!"

"Ready to celebrate or do you still feel like staying home?"

"Staying home?! Fuck, no! Lead the way!"

Deep down, Hammer knows he is still Hans. He is fully aware of the power that just rewrote him, but there is no horror, no rejection, and no regret. Instead, he embraces his new reality with a fierce, burning gratitude.

"Move it. The world is ours for the taking."

Through Ryker's absolute power and his own buried desires, everything has finally clicked into place. His mind doesn't fight the leather or the massive muscles, it claims them. This is what he always wanted to be… stripping away the weak exterior to let the dominant predator step forward.

"Perfect." He thinks as soon as he enters the gym and discovers that, just as he expected, it is deserted. He has the whole place to himself.

He has a name, but everyone calls him Soccerkitlad, or 'sir'.

The Iron Titan isn't the best gym in town, but it's the one that opens earliest. Soccerkitlad doesn't mind being the center of attention at a gym... in fact, it's one of his favorite haunts... but sometimes he just needs to focus on training to maintain that physique without anyone bothering him.

Early in the morning, the Iron Titan is empty, with only Soccerkitlad and the sleepy coach, who wonders how anyone could possibly want to train at that hour.

But when Soccerkitlad leaves the locker room ready to work out, he immediately notices that something has changed. The atmosphere of the gym is different, and he hears the familiar sound of weights being picked up and put back on the rack.

There's someone else at the gym.

He quickly dismisses it. One or two people aren't going to ruin his morning, especially if they don't bother him with nonsense or try to get him to take them to the showers or the bathroom.

And then he sees the newcomer.

"Fuck..."

What he sees leaves him speechless. A man he has never seen before. A man with an admirable physique who, obviously and unlike many, doesn't skip leg day, lifting heavy dumbbells with effort but without hesitation.

Grunting like a beast.

That man doesn't look up from his exercises to look at him, he's too focused. But Soccerkitlad realizes he's been staring for too long and, snapping out of his reverie, decides to get to work.

"Uhn...!"

After some cardio and warming up, Soccerkitlad moves on to the heavy weights. He's finding it harder than usual, but the reason is quite obvious…

"Damn, why did I have to put so much weight on it?" He thinks, regretting having exceeded his planned weight for the session, which was already quite a lot. Part of him wonders if he did it to try and impress the stranger, and as he does, he notices a boner starting to grow in his pants.

It also doesn't help that he's been noticing a strange scent in the gym for a while now. At first, he thought it was the stranger's deodorant, but then he realized it was more like the man's own body smell… a mixture of sweat, leather, pheromones, and something else he can't quite put him finger on. Whatever it is, it's driving him wild.

After a while he notices how the smell increases considerably, and he doesn't understand why until, when he opens his eyes after lifting the barbell with effort, he encounters a sight he did not expect.

"Uh ..."

The first thing he sees is the man's prominent bulge, just inches from his face. The smell now fills his nostrils, he can almost taste it… and he loves it.

"You've got some heavy weights there, bud." The newcomer says. Upon hearing his voice, Soccerkitlad finally takes his eyes off the bulge and looks at the newcomer's face, who in turn looks at him with interest and his hands on his waist. "Do you need a spot?"

"A spot?" He thinks, feeling offended. With muscles like his, it's been more years than he can remember since he's needed a spot. And yet… yet...

"Sure, thanks." He says.

The newcomer smiles, and Soccerkitlad feels like melting.

A couple of hours later, both men are in the locker room.

They've spent all that time working out, sharing tips, and getting to know each other a little. The newcomer, whose name is Ryker, is already in the showers, while Soccerkitlad keeps replaying that morning's workout, with a boner in his pants.

Then he smells that intense scent again. But it's not coming from the shower, no… it's coming from Ryker's gym bag, lying on one of the benches.

Soccerkitlad can't resist and carefully opens the bag, receiving an intense dose of the smell… the source? Ryker's sweaty underwear. The smell is too much… it's like it turns on all the parts of his brain related to pleasure… he can't help it and…

He presses Ryker's shorts against his nose and mouth, breathing deeply… losing himself in the pleasure it gives him… enjoying every second… so much so that, before he knows it, Ryker has finished the shower, even though he hasn't even undressed yet.

He puts the shorts in his own bag and gets out of the gym.

A few days later, Soccerkitlad returns to the Iron Titan.

His mind keeps racing, wondering if Ryker will be there. He's eager to see him again, but he's also afraid Ryker might have noticed him stealing his underwear.

He won't take long to find out the answer.

"About time we meet again, dude."

Soccerkitlad is speechless to see that, on this occasion, Ryker is wearing a tank top that leaves his armpits exposed… and accessible. The logo on the shirt fits him like a glove. He is a beast... and Soccerkitlad feels like a prey... a willing one.

"Hey..."

"Where are they?"

"What... what do you...?"

"Came on, dude, don't play dumb. I know you have my shorts. We were alone at the gym that day. Fuck, I'm sure you even brought them… and that you're having trouble parting with them."

"S... sorry... I..."

"Oh, don't feel bad, man. You gave me a great idea." He said in a conciliatory tone. "Put them on."

"What...?"

"My shorts, put them on." Ryker repeats. "Come on, on top of stealing them, you're not going to give me the pleasure of seeing you put them on?"

"But... here?"

"Yes. Here. Now."

Ryker's voice is obviously more of an order than a request.

Soccerkitlad, without really knowing why, obeys.

Under Ryker's piercing eyes, who clutches his own bulge throughout the process, Soccerkitlad removes the clothes he still had on, and slowly puts Ryker's deliciously scented underwear over his own glorious boner. For some reason, he does it slowly and without haste, as if he wanted Ryker to enjoy it.

Sadly, the show ends too soon.

Soccerkitlad didn't expect to enjoy wearing Ryker's underwear so much. The shorts fit him quite well. Although they smell strongly of Ryker's scent, after several days the sweat has dried.

Then he look directly at Ryker.

"There. Happy now?"

"Not yet." Ryker replies.

"What?"

"Now these." Ryker says after opening his gym bag and taking out some pants and a t-shirt… the same ones he was wearing the day he met Soccerkitlad.

"But, those are..."

"Exactly. And just like my shorts, nobody washed them."

"What do you..."

"Put on my clothes, go to the weight room, and start lifting like you've never lifted before. You can be sure that I'll be watching you every second."

"Ok..."

"It is 'yes sir'." Ryker corrects.

"Yes, sir."

And so he does.

And with each exercise and each repetition, Ryker's scent, present in the air and on the clothes he wears, becomes more and more ingrained in his mind, becoming his whole world.

Ryker's scent and the need to lift weights.

When he finishes the entire series of exercises planned for that morning, Soccerkitlad looks at Ryker, who nods towards the locker rooms.

Without needing further explanation, he obeys.

When Ryker follows him a few minutes later, he finds Soccerkitlad standing in the locker room, doing nothing, staring blankly, with his clothes soaked in sweat.

He takes a few seconds to look up and down his new toy.

"Fuck. You smell soooo good now." Ryker says, moving closer to smell Soccerkitlad's neck, who in turn raises his head to give Ryker more room.

Ryker inhales deeply.

"You smell like me… and I bet you fucking love it."

"U... yeah... yes, sir..."

"Good boy... Why don't you take an extra dose?"

Ryker grabs Soccerkitlad's head by the nape of his neck and guides it towards his sweaty chest. Without thinking too much, Soccerkitlad inhales deeply as he strokes the muscular man's torso, which makes Ryker smile with satisfaction.

"Yeah... just like that... you are doing great... now... take off the shirt and show me how MUCH you love flexing those muscles for me, muscle-boy." Ryker whispers in his toy's ear.

It is both an order and a fact at the same time. Soccerkitlad is overwhelmed by the need to flex his muscles for Ryker's enjoyment. Suddenly, it's as if nothing else matters to him.

"Yes, sir..."

And he obeys.

"Fucking perfect..." Ryker murmurs. "I knew you'd be my perfect trophy muscular man."

His words fill Soccerkitlad with satisfaction and pleasure.

"Seeing you flex those muscles makes me happy, and nothing gives you more pleasure than making me happy."

Again, Ryker's words are not a question or a suggestion, or even an order, but something more… an absolute truth that is etched into the mind of his trophy man.

"Uhn... Happy..."

"Hush now... trophy men do not talk when they are flexing..."

"..."

"Good... fucking good. Let's go to my place. There you can keep flexing and pleasing my eyes, trophy man… and I have the perfect uniform for you."

A short time later, Soccerkitlad is in Ryker's apartment, dressed in his new uniform… a butler jockstrap and a matching collar and bow tie. The perfect trophy muscular man.

So still he looks like a statue.

Ryker's orders, he changes pose every so often,

So perfect. So happy.

All his mind can think about is flexing, posing and pleasing Ryker.

When Ryker comes out of his room and gazes at his new toy with interest, the trophy man doesn't speak, doesn't even look at him… his job is just to pose and flex his body, but when Ryker smiles at the sight, the pleasure he feels is indescribable.

Ryker mutters something about whether his trophy man's ass can flex that much, and how he plans to test it later in his bedroom. His toy can barely register his words, but if it involves flexing and posing, he knows he'll give it his all to please Ryker.

The perfect trophy muscular man.

Ryker sits down next to his toy and leisurely lights a cigar.

The cigar smoke reaches Soccerkitlad, and if he were still in control of his own thoughts, he would deduce that this was the ingredient in Ryker's scent that he hadn't been able to identify in the gym.

But now all she cares about is posing and flexing.

He is Ryker's perfect trophy muscular man.

Now a regular occurrence, the strange phenomenon continues to spontaneously change people…

The moment the cap hit his head Ricky wasn’t so little anymore! He’d doubled in mass and age and loved the way he looked with the cigar clenched in his teeth. Watch out world, Dick is coming out of the closet tonight!

Eric stood in his clean white sneakers and blue shirt in a yard of full of weeds in the middle of nowhere.

“You sure this is it?” he asked his friend, Greg.

“Of course it is, there is no other place around,” Greg smartly replied. Greg was always dragging Eric to god knows where. Greg was a schemer and was always looking for ways to make “easy money” without working a real job.

Greg and Eric, both 20, had been friends for a long time but they were very different. Eric was a clean cut guy, never partied or did drugs. Greg, on the other hand, was always getting into trouble.

“How much did you say this guy was paying us?” Eric asked, annoyed.

“300 bucks, cash,” Greg grinned. Eric debated whether the amount of yard work was worth it. “Come on, let’s knock on the door,” Greg added.

The house was a little ran down, but it had potential. Greg knocked and a large, beefy man opened the door. He had a shaved head, full greying beard and was equal parts fat with muscle. He had a large cigar protruding from his mouth. When he had opened the door, a haze of smoke emerged with him.

“You must be Greg,” he said in a deep voice.

“Yup, that’s me,” Greg confirmed, “This here is my friend, Eric. He’s helping too.”

The man stared at Eric then reached out his hand and said, “Butch.”

“Umm,” Eric hesitantly reached for his hand and shook it, “Nice to meet you.”

Butch looked back at Greg, “I’m still only paying you $500. Extra help don’t mean more pay.”

Eric shot a piercing glance at his friend and Greg sheepishly agreed, “Yes, of course.”

“Well, you better get to it,” Butch suggested.

Greg and Eric starting pulling weeds in that early morning. There was an awkward silence between them.

It was about two hours in when Butch emerged from his house and offered the guys some water bottles. He still had a large cigar in his mouth.

“Thanks, Mr. - ummm…Butch,” Eric said as he took a water. Greg just grabbed the water without saying anything.

“I need to head to town for a couple of hours. You boys alright?” Butch asked as he got into his parked truck.

“Should be,” Eric responded.

“House is unlocked if you need to use the bathroom. All I ask is you don’t touch anything. Specifically my gars,” Butch grinned as he held up his lit cigar that was resting between his fingers.

“Of course, we won’t,” Eric assured.

“Good boy,” Butch said as he turned the engine on before driving off down the dirt road.

A few minutes passed and Eric finally spoke up, “You know Greg, I can’t believe you were going to short me.”

“What do you mean?” Eric defensively asked back.

“You know what I mean. He was going to pay you 500 bucks. You told me three,” Greg snapped.

“Chillax, I got it mixed up. I’ll split it evenly with ya still,” Greg assured him. Truth was, Greg was originally going to short him and was now backtracking.

“Whatever,” Eric said as he continued to work. He knew his friend and didn’t believe him.

Greg tossed his rake down on the ground. “I need to take a piss,” he shortly said as he stomped off.

Inside, the house was nicer than the outside. When he first answered the Facebook marketplace ad for yard work help, Butch mentioned that he recently bought the house was doing remodeling work. Greg had no idea though. This place was both masculine and fancy, and must have cost a bunch to get done.

After finding the bathroom, he looked around and saw the living room. It had wooden walls, oak furniture and leather seating. There was a deer head mounted above the fire place mantle. He saw a large cedar box resting there.

Being the rebel he was, he opened the box and saw several large cigars sitting inside. An idea popped in his head. He grabbed two cigars and a lighter that was sitting next to the humidor.

He had seen his uncle smoke cigars before and knew you had to cut them. He picked up a cigar cutter that was sitting on the mantle and cut each cigar poorly. He tossed the cut pieces into the fire place and quickly hurried outside.

“Look, I feel bad about almost cheating you, so I got you a present,” Greg called out as he walked back into the yard. He held up the two cigars.

“Are you fucking serious? You heard Butch,” Eric said, annoyed.

“The guy’s weird and off. He won’t notice two missing,” Greg said as he placed the cigar in his mouth. He flicked the lighter, brought it to the end and puffed on the cigar. Smoke poured from his mouth before inhaling, causing him to cough. Greg had dabbled with smoking cigarettes and other substances in the past, so he had an idea to what he was doing. He then held out the unlit cigar and lighter to Eric, “Don’t be a baby. Smoke it. Tastes expensive.”

“Like you would even know,” Eric said as he took the cigar from his friend. Eric never smoked anything before. He just stared at it.

“Come on. Don’t be a wuss like always. Smoke it and I’ll give you 250 instead 150,” Greg smirked.

“Fine,” Eric conceded, “I’ll smoke it.” Eric placed the cigar in his mouth. It tasted rich, which is not what he expected. He brought the flame to the cigar, over burning it and puffed. The smoke tasted of caramel and wood; it was actually pleasant.

“Now be a man and inhale it!” Greg demanded, not knowing you don’t normally inhale cigars.

Eric did and it caused him to cough aggressively. Greg just laughed. Eric thought he wasn’t going to do that again.

The two friends were more talkative from that point on as their cigars were an icebreaker for them. Eric was surprised at how much he was enjoying his cigar and the taste it had. He even thought about buying some on his own. Greg was also enjoying his cigar, but differently from Eric. He enjoyed the harsh smoke in his lungs and the quick buzz it gave.

A half hour went by as the two of them worked and smoked.

“Dude, I don’t feel so good,” Greg spoke up.

“You’re inhaling too much,” Eric informed him as he continued to pull weeds.

“No, it’s not that. It’s my stomach. It feels funny. And my face is itchy,” Greg said as he put his rake down.

Eric looked at him and was shocked at what he saw. Greg had a full beard. “Greg, your face! You have a beard!” Eric exclaimed as a thick cloud of smoke blew from his mouth.

“What are you talking about?” Greg asked confused. his voice even sounded a little deeper. Greg touched his face and felt fuzzy hair. He was startled. He had never been able to grow facial hair.

Greg ran to the house and Eric followed. Once inside, Greg hurried to the bathroom while Eric stayed in the living room, still smoking his cigar. He didn’t want to put it down.

Greg saw his reflection of the bathroom mirror and sure enough, a beard was quickly growing. He looked different and barely recognized himself with the beard and cigar in his jaw. Much like Eric, he didn’t want to stop.

He then noticed his hair falling out, all over the sink under him. It fell until all that was left was short hairs. It looked like he had just given himself a buzzcut.

His stomach still felt off. He looked down and saw that it appeared bloated. He left the bathroom to find Eric still smoking his cigar, but he was also now sporting a short stubble beard.

The beard was not the only thing different. It looked as if Eric had been a dedicated gym goer and weightlifter.

“Dude, you’re ripped!” Greg said even in a deeper voice.

“I am?” Eric asked as he flexed his bicep and admired it. His voice was also getting lower. “I look good!

Greg even had to admit to himself that Eric was looking good.

The two of them stood in the living room, confused with these sudden changes. They continued smoking their cigars as it was the only constant they had right now. It seemed to calm their nerves.

The two friends didn’t know what to do. All they did was keep smoking their cigars.

“What’s happening to us?” Eric asked.

“I don’t know. Why are you getting jacked while I’m getting fat?” Greg asked back.

Eric looked at Greg. His belly was getting rounder and his face was filling out. Eric thought his friend looked good as a bigger guy.

“I don’t know, but my cigar is almost done and I want another,” Eric said as he snubbed his cigar out on an ashtray that sat on the coffee table. Greg did the same and the two friends grabbed another from the humidor.

They both lit them up as if they were regular cigar smokers now.

Both Greg and Eric’s beards were getting fuller and longer. Eric’s hair was also starting to fall out, but only on sides, leaving him with a short Mohawk.

Greg let out a belch. His belly had became massive, compared to what it once was. Eric couldn’t stop flexing his new muscles. His arms were huge.

Greg watched his friend as he rubbed his belly. He liked his belly; it made him feel manly. He also liked his friend’s new muscles.

“Dude, take off your shirt! Let’s see how ripped you are!” Greg enthusiastically suggested.

“Only if you do too!” Eric exclaimed.

“Deal!” Greg agreed.

The two men took off their tight shirts. Greg had a fuzzy belly and Eric had a hairy chest.

“Dude, you look hot…erm…I mean great!” Greg said to Eric.

“Thanks man, you look hot…umm…great as well!” Eric complimented back.

The two men looked at each other, admiring, as they puffed away fiercely on their cigars.

Eric had never been attracted to guys, but Greg was looking very sexy. He felt his dick twitching as he imagined riding him.

Greg never saw his friend in this light, but he wanted to touch Eric all over and please him.

As the men got harder, they smoked their cigars harder. Then suddenly and fiercely, the two men held their cigars in their hands, approached each other and started passionately making out. Eric grabbed Greg’s ass as he started grinding his crotch against his friends. Greg moaned in pleasure.

It all came to a stop when they heard Butch say, “Looks like we got a couple of rule breakers.”

The two men stepped away from each other, speechless and shocked. Butch was watching them as he hauled hard on his cigar.

“Butch, what is happening to us?” Eric asked in a deep voice.

“You smoked my cigars and became cigar cubs. I told you not to,” Butch said as he moved in closer.

“Cigar cub?” Eric asked, confused but still horny, “What’s that?”

“Take a look at yourselves and each other. That’s a cigar cub, son,” Butch answered as he drew on his cigar, “My cigar cubs.”

“Yours?” Eric asked.

“You smoked my special cigars. That means you’re my cubs and I’m your Cigar Bear, son,” Butch answered somberly.

“But you can change us back. Right Dad…I mean, Butch?” Greg asked as he rubbed his cock.

“Sure I can, since you both haven’t shot your load yet. That is what seals the transformation in forever. But look at you son. Been hard since you lit up. Do you really want to change back?” Butch replied with a grin, already knowing the answer.

Greg looked at Eric, who looked back. They both felt great. They deep down liked who they became, and what their friend became. They couldn’t imagine not feeling this type of pleasure ever again.

“No, Dad,” Greg said.

“No, Dad,” Eric also said.

“Just as I thought,” Butch said as he took off his shirt, “Now, why don’t you cubs come sit on the couch with your Daddy Bear before we make this permanent.”

“Yes, Dad,” the two cigar cubs chimed together, looking forward to sealing their smokey fates forever.

Bradley had just returned home alone after having a few drinks out with some friends, on a whim and still being a little drunk, he decided to peruse the profiles on a hookup apps. To his surprise, he received a message from one of those faceless muscle profiles. 

“jacked_muscle4nerd: hey handsome”

“HardcoverLover86: Hello.”

“jacked_muscle4nerd: you look like you would be so hot!! you wanna meet up?”

“HardcoverLover86: I’m a little surprised, as I didn’t think I would be your type.”

“jacked_muscle4nerd: nah bro! you are exactly what i lookin for. So can come over and fuck your brains out?”

Dominic knew it was a bad idea, taking a random black rubber mask that he found in the middle of the street but it was Halloween and he had no costume to wear to the party. He hesitated putting it on as it had a musky smell to it, but that was what enticed him even more to wear it so he did it. Placing the mask on sealed his fate as black rubbery goo spread all over Dominic's body completely covering in this stretchy substance.

Muscle becoming huge and defined, pecs expanding outwards and a noticeable bulge poking out of the suit. This was no ordinary mask, this was transforming him into someone else. Something else. Something sexy. At first, Dominic panicked as he struggled to take the mask off, trying to resist the temptation of the musky headgear. But as his body became bigger he no longer resisted, he embraced it. The final piece to Dominic's transformation was the leather leash, now wrapped around his neck as well as around his wrists, giving him some pleasurable pain that made him moan internally.

Once the transformation is complete he gazed at himself in the mirror, saying nothing due to having no face, just shiny rubber that now covered his entire body. Even though you probably couldn't tell, Dominic loved it. He loved his new costume or should I say body as the rubber fused into him, becoming his new skin. He flexed his right bicep in the mirror admiring his new sexy physique as well as touching all his new features including his pecs and bulge. As he was rubbing his body slowly and tenderly his mentality was warping. Not only did he enjoy his new body, but he was also becoming a rubber sex drone. Built for pleasure and pain. As D0M (formally Dominic) was massaging his groin he was imagining everyone at the party, thinking about their lame costumes when they could be just like him. Muscled, shiny, strong, powerful, and of course horny.

As D0M made his way to the party he walked silently through alleyways, his muscles matching the dark shadows. He could no longer think straight (literally) He was on a mission now, he had to be obedient and restrain himself from distractions (which were mainly men) He could only think of a list, a list of objectives to help him with his desire.

He now could only think of 9 5 things:

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

TASKS:

- SEARCH_FOR_MEN

- JERK_OFF_RIGHT_NOW

- INFECT

- FUCK_THE_FIRST_MAN_I_SEE

- SPREAD

- START_A_RUBBER_ORGY

- BREED

- RESIST

- MAKE_THEM_ALL_LIKE_ME

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

MAIN OBJECTIVE:

MAKE_THIS_HALLOWEEN_UNFORGETTABLE

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

:>

Damn, Boston knows how to throw a party. St. Patrick’s Day hits different here. Whole city turns green, bagpipes wail like they’re trying to wake the dead, and the streets smell like spilled Guinness, fried dough, and a thousand dudes who think Axe body spray counts as cologne. Me? I’m cutting through the crowd like a goddamn shark, golden sneakers flashing under the sun, gold cargo pants slung low enough to show the waistband of my black compression shorts hugging my thick quads. Up top I’ve got the green stringer—tight, armholes cut so deep you can see half my lats and the full bush of dark pit hair every time I raise an arm.

Fresh from legs-and-shoulders this morning, no shower, no deodorant. Just pure, ripe Alton musk rolling off me in heavy waves. I can feel eyes sticking to me like glue.

Every few steps some bro yells “legend!” or whistles. I just smirk, flex a pec on purpose so the stringer rides up higher, let ‘em see the deep cut between my abs, the treasure trail disappearing into my pants. I live for this shit—the stares, the double-takes, the way noses twitch when I pass close. My scent hits ‘em hard: salty gym sweat, warm skin, that heavy, masculine tang that makes certain guys go stupid. Today it’s dialed to eleven with the heat and the crowd.

I snag a green beer from a vendor who practically throws it at me while staring at my arms. “Appreciate it, man,” I say, winking. He blushes like a virgin. Cute.

That’s when I clock him.

He’s posted up near the barricade on Boylston, directing foot traffic, but mostly just looking bored—until I walk into his field of view. Then his whole posture changes.

Cop. Irish as fuck. Late twenties, built like he lives in the gym when he’s not on duty. Dark auburn hair under the cap, short on the sides, little longer on top. Freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, strong jaw, lips full enough to make you think dirty thoughts. Uniform shirt sleeves rolled to mid-bicep, showing thick forearms roped with veins and that reddish hair that drives me wild. His chest stretches the buttons, thighs fill out the navy pants like they were painted on.

And yeah—I catch him looking. Not subtle. Eyes drag down my body, linger on the way my stringer clings to my sweaty pecs, then flick up to my pits when I casually lift an arm to wipe my brow.

His throat works. Hard. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

I drain the beer, crush the plastic cup one-handed just to make my forearm pop, then start walking straight toward him. Crowd parts without me asking. His eyes widen a fraction—he knows I’m coming for him.

I stop right in front of him, close enough he can’t pretend he doesn’t smell me. The musk rolls off me like steam.

“Hey, officer,” I drawl, voice low, cocky. “You know the rule, right? No green on St. Paddy’s…” I pause, grin slow and filthy. “…means I get to pinch ya.”

He looks me over—slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing every inch for later. When his gaze hits my crotch, then climbs back to my face, there’s fire there.

“Depends,” he says, thick Boston accent, voice rough like he’s been shouting orders all day. “Where you planning on pinching me, big man?”

Fuck. He’s in.

I step closer. “Wherever you’ll let me, officer.” I drop my voice. “But I’m thinking somewhere you’ll really feel it.”

His lips twitch—half smile, half challenge. “That right?”

“Yeah.” I bounce my pecs once, slow, make the stringer stretch tight across my nipples. “That right.”

We’re locked in now. Parade noise fades. I can see his pulse hammering in his neck, see the way his breathing shifts, deeper, hungrier. His eyes keep drifting to my pits. Every time I shift my weight, lift an arm a little, he stares like a man dying of thirst.

Time to push.

“You like the view, don’t you?” I say, not even pretending. I raise one arm slow, pretend I’m stretching, but really I’m just feeding him that open, hairy pit—glistening, rank, pure post-gym jock stink. “Go ahead. Take a hit. I know you want to.”

His nostrils flare. Pupils blow. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” I lean in closer. “Question is… you a good boy, officer?”

The words hit him like electricity. His mouth parts, then curves into this slow, filthy grin. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m a good fuckin’ boy.”

My dick twitches hard in my cargos.

“Good.” I let my voice go deep, commanding—the tone I use when I want them weak-kneed. “Then you know what good boys do for me.”

He shakes his head—just a tiny no—but his eyes are glued to mine. Waiting. Desperate.

“Good boys flex.” I nod at his arms. “So be a good boy. Flex for me. Right now. Double bi. Let me see what you’re working with.”

Zero hesitation.

He uncrosses his arms, rolls his shoulders back, plants his feet wide, and pops a textbook double biceps. Shirt sleeves strain, peaks rise high and hard, veins popping across the surface like road maps. Forearms thick, wrists hairy, badge glinting on his chest as he pushes it forward.

“Goddamn,” I breathe, actually impressed. “Hold it.”

He does. Doesn’t drop an inch. Just holds the pose while I stare, drinking in every detail—the way his biceps tremble slightly from the effort, the flush creeping up his freckled neck.

“Don’t you fuckin’ stop,” I tell him. “Not till I say. Understand?”

“Yes… sir,” he rasps, voice wrecked.

Sir. Fuck yes.

I reach out, fingers tracing the hard curve of his right bicep. Hot skin, muscle like marble under my palm. I squeeze—hard. He groans low, almost inaudible over the crowd.

“Keep flexing. Good boy,” I murmur. “Show me how bad you want this.”

He switches—side chest, then back to double bi, breathing heavier. Sweat beads on his forehead, starts trickling down his temple under the cap. The front of his pants is starting to look… interested.

I lift my arm again—slow—bringing that ripe pit right up near his face. Not touching. Just close. Every breath he takes is loaded with me.

His eyes flutter half-shut. “Christ…”

“You like that musk, huh?” I whisper. “Like sniffing a real man after he’s destroyed the gym? All that sweat, all that stink… just for you.”

He nods—tiny, frantic jerks.

I lean right in, lips brushing his ear. Voice barely above a breath.

“Flex harder. Good boy. Flex until you leak for me.”

His whole body jerks. I see it—the twitch in his pants, then another. A small, dark spot blooms right at the head of his cock, soaking through the navy fabric. Precum. Leaking because I ordered him to flex. Because he’s my good boy.

“Fuuuck,” I growl softly. “Look at that mess. Already dripping for me and I haven’t even touched your dick.”

He whimpers—soft, needy sound that goes straight to my balls.

I pull back just enough to see his face: pupils shot, cheeks flushed red under the freckles, lips wet and parted. Completely fucking wrecked.

“You want your reward, don’t you?” I ask.

He nods fast—almost violently.

“Use your words, officer.”

“I...” His voice cracks. “I want… I want my face in your pit, sir. Please. Want to bury my nose in there… breathe you… taste the sweat…”

“Yeah?” I smirk, slow and mean. “You wanna shove your pretty freckled face right in my hairy, sweaty pit? Lick it clean while you keep flexing for me like a desperate little muscle slut?”

“God... yes... fuck... please...”

“Good boys get rewarded,” I purr. “And you’ve been so fucking good.”

I reach down, fish my phone out of my cargo pocket. “Hand me yours.”

His hands shake as he pulls it from his belt clip, still holding the double bi with his left arm like the obedient boy he is. He passes it over.

I type my number in, save the contact as Alton – call after shift, then press it back into his palm.

“When you get off duty,” I say, locking eyes, “you call me. No games. No bullshit. You call.”

He nods, frantic. “Yes, sir. I will. Promise.”

I lean in one last time, lips right against his ear, voice dark velvet.

“Keep leaking for me the rest of your shift, good boy. Every time you smell someone else’s sweat, think of mine. Every time your cock throbs in that uniform, remember who owns it right now.”

I pull back, flash him one last cocky, shit-eating grin.

Then I turn and walk away—golden sneakers flashing, ass flexing under the cargos, pits still open and airing out for anyone lucky enough to catch the breeze.

I don’t look back.

But I feel his eyes burning holes in me the whole way. And I know, deep in my jock bones, he’s gonna call the second he’s off the clock.

He’s too fucked up on my scent, my muscles, my control not to.

Good boy.

---

Happy St. Paddy’s, bros!

---

Next to the city news, local tycoon Midas, a formidable figure in the industry known for his volatile temperament and relentless greed, has long been dubbed with the mythical ability to turn stone into gold—squeezing profit from the bare minimum. Yet, curiously, his managers remain fiercely loyal to him.

Recently, a major strike at one of his factories ended abruptly after its organizers, one after another, joined Midas’s company. Left without leadership, the strike dissolved following several violent incidents.

While some speculate Midas privately bought off these leaders, our reporters spoke exclusively with one of them, who claimed to have been won over by Midas’s charisma, admitting he had misjudged the magnate in the past.

Everyone's lost their minds! Where did all these jacked dudes come from? There's shouting and groaning everywhere—what should I do?

Damn it, someone found me! I gotta run! I gotta call the cops! I gotta...

I gotta...

I gotta...

Ugh... Ah…Em…Ha…(sloppy sounds)