Change Your Instinct

Relaxing in my refrigerated room.

Felt round, but not big… one day.

Your boyfriend claimed that your love handles had disappeared. He wasn't wrong. Instead they had become a part of your growing midsection that now resembled a giant ball of dough. You felt it in every step you took, your stomach shaking suspended halfway in the air and pulling at your chest. You felt it get in the way when he hugged you, his arms only able to reach around under your shoulders.

It was most noticeable in pictures. Instead of seeing a soft ring of fat above your beltline, your new shape took up your whole shirt. What looked like a giant globe sitting in the middle of your body was clearly visible pressing into the fabric, assuming your midriff wasn't hanging out from under the seams of the old shirts you thought still fit.

Food had become your comfort. Whenever your boyfriend noticed you worry, he treated you to ice cream or donuts. Any sweet instantly distracted you now, your giant stomach growing hungry at just the thought. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself eating from the palm of his hand. You'd end up in bed, shirtless, looking down at the growing horizon of skin that sat just below your chest.

Even better were the girls who stayed at his hotels. Two were already in the elevator when it arrived. Stepping in, Darrel couldn't keep his eyes away from their bodies. Drool was practically falling from his mouth as one stood in front of him, massive tits squeezed into a bikini. He was too intoxicated to keep from saying something.

"Just had lunch, but I could definitely eat something else right now," He stated, the innuendo dripping like slime in the air. The two girls glanced at each other nervously, giving a quiet laugh before turning their attention back to the numbers in hopes the digits could go faster. Their lack of response got on Darrel's nerves. The elevator dinged, opening on the ground floor. As the girls started to walk out, Darrel had to open his mouth once more in attempt to continue the nonexistent conversation. "Wish I had your tits!" He nearly shouted.

Darrel grinned when he saw the girls pause and stop walking, only to turn around. In his mind he won. He stayed patiently, waiting for the girl to respond.

The sweetest voice came from ones mouth, eyes sparkling with magic. "Why don't you sit your ass down by the beach, and I'll make sure you get them"

Darrel's brain short circuited as her response overwhelmed his mind, the idea taking complete precedence over his thoughts. Yes, it made perfect sense to go down to the beach and wait for her there. Darrel nearly tripped over his feet quickly heading out to the sand, grabbing a towel and making his way to settle into one of the many provided folding chairs.

Hours had passed after Darrel found a spot, and his mind was unable to tell him something was wrong. He'd been sitting for the entire time, all clothes removed save for the black speedo he used to show off his muscles. Reflective sunglasses adorned his face to protect his eyes, preventing others from seeing where he was looking as well.

Darrel would have spent his time differently if he could have. Where he would have taken walks up and down the beach or gotten in the water to show off his body, he didn't want to move. He'd been told to wait, and so he did, instead having his ass stuck in the seat, body settled like a heavy cushion. His mind had gone numb, slipping through the minutes, oblivious to the changes his physique had started to progress through.

It started with his thighs, their form thickening wrapping themselves with meaty padding. His legs bulged with muscle before, but now looked like two giant sausages, their ends pressed out of the black briefs like ground meat being shoved into thin lining.

A crease formed at his waist where his stomach grew, a growing tide of fat slowly making its way down over his groin. The skin of his gut eventually connected with his exposed lap, two vanilla horizons pressed together. His knees became forced apart by his giant expanding bumper, not that there was much room between them in the first place from how much fat had accumulated around his rear.

Darrel's arms blew up to resemble swim floaties, losing all the definition that the weeks of training to gain huge biceps had been for. Instead, his shoulders combined with his two limbs, a curve forming like a waterfall of fat that led down to his elbows, accompanied by a light dusting of hair that adorned his skin. His face dropped similarly, weight sinking his cheeks and lowering his defined jawline and beard into what resembled mutton chops.

Darrel's chest was the last to change. Where two thick pectorals stuffed with muscle had been, the lean meat had gradually filled with soft breast tissue instead, fat filling the space. They would have sagged downward if not for the giant plush globe consuming his entire midsection, a bag of lard that formed a crease by pushing itself out from under his ribs. The excess mass provided a shelf that forced his growing tits forward, their soft forms spreading out like pads of melting butter on top of a giant bun of bread.

Derrick called it 'Beef Mode'. The rule was simple: eat anything and everything. As long as he ate surplus, his body would get the nutrition it needed. What he failed to see was where the extra calories would go. Soon all he felt was the hunger from his consistently filled and bloated stomach, an expanded tank now constantly demanding food. He didn't care what went in his mouth, fast food, dessert, empty calories. As long as he saw progress he would be happy.

Derrick believed his curse had been broken when the new size began to appear. He saw his arms thicken at the sides of his body, his chest pressing into them filled with weight. He felt the skin between his thighs chafing with each stride, his walk forced to be a semi-waddle with his ass shaking from each step. He watched his neck thicken like a power lifter's, his jawline lowering and disappearing into his chest and shoulders. He felt ecstatic seeing his body round out into a form that he associated with raw power.

At least, until it became the end of every day. Then simply for making it to lunch. Mario couldn't stop himself from getting one every chance he could, sick of the stagnant desk life. He wanted to feel like he was part of something more, building his body bigger and stronger the only way he knew how. The shakes became routine, thick and heavy like the body he once had, something he felt calmed him after rough tiresome days behind a screen

What Jose didn't see was how much jiggle rippled through his body from his stride. He couldn't see the globe of fat attached to his midsection that bounced as he moved, his shirts fitting around his stomach like a glove and often showing his midriff. He didn't think about his thighs chafing together, never considered that the vibrations of his ass could be anything but muscle from when he squatted.

Bristles of hair began sprouting around your mouth, turning your upper lip into a thick brush. You felt the fuzz melt down your cheeks and spread under your chin, a light dusting appearing on your chest before you felt the next changes begin.

Your flat stomach was the first thing to go. Your middle dropped over the front of your fitted bathing suit, a soft fleshy bulge jiggling right under your nose. Soft round love handles quickly wrapped your sides, attaching to your new overhang almost as if to prevent it from dropping any further. You didn't mind the changes to your arms, soft muscle wrapping their entire length, the slightest bit of tone visible in the smooth jelly like weight they swam in.

Then came the largest change. You felt the drawstring at your waist sinch tighter, your rear forcing itself into the seat of your swimtrunks pulling the waistband into your skin. The bottom couldn't fit on its own anymore, the back lowering itself just an inch unable to fit the new size of your asset. There was little room left to breathe.

Secretly, he was.

You were his gym buddy, his ride, the friend he called in the middle of the night when he needed to be picked up from wherever he was. He barely returned a thanks, never available if you needed the same favor. Your friends laughed when you mentioned it, leaving you feeling stuck with nothing else to do but suck it up.

At least, until you got an idea from a magic show with a mind mentalist.

You began using the same tricks whenever you were with him in the gym or your car. You expected it to take at least some form of effect from how much time he spent with you, but was surprised to learn just how suggestible he was.

One week of conversations about famous skin heads Brian Shaw or Terry Crews, and he couldn't have shaved his head any faster to match. One week of mentioning underwear and support, and soon he could only ever be touting about the lockerroom in a jockstrap. He was too unaware to even consider the stares or weird glances from the other men in the gym, so mentally weak when that gave you another idea.

You added subliminal messaging to your soundtrack, layered voices under the music in your car. Your friend could never notice. You started saying "oh boy" whenever he was about to do something, training him to respond to it. Conditioning him.

You let him train for a month, finding that you couldn't be happier to learn just how effective it was. You were out eating with friends when you decided to drop the trigger, responding "oh boy" to something that was said. His reaction couldn't have been more immediate, your friend bumping the table as he got up to excuse himself before mindlessly wandering to the rear of the restaurant.

You waited a moment before also saying that you needed to go yourself, and tried not to dash back to the same room.

You walked into the best sight you'd ever seen of your friend. His hands were planted above the urinal, pants lowered revealing his powerlifting ass wrapped in a white jockstrap. His back was arched, pushing his rear out and allowing for easier entry.

Kurt's metabolism crashed almost instantly. Of course, completely forgetting to go to the gym helped too. His evenings were spent guzzling beer, and the day after spent filling up the recently vacated space of his bloated stomach with food. He didn't care that his chest had lost all definition, slowly fattening on top of his balloon of a stomach expanding further and further with his growing appetite.

Returning to college only made it worse. Kurt played beer pong every night, winning simply from the sheer amount of liquid he could consume. The college cafeteria next to his dorm was always open, allowing for his body to fill up and expand further. His stomach was on full display in every fitted athletic shirt he'd ever owned. He couldn't face returning to tryouts, opting instead to sit his ass on his couch wearing his old gear that no longer covered his midriff or rear.

The most prominent change in Kurt's life was his libido. The weight gain sure wouldn't have helped him land anyone, that is if he were even trying. The fatter he got, the less concerned with sex he became. He only wanted to fill his stomach further. It was all he need.

At least, until the layoffs. Jake got his wish to spend all day at the gym, ignoring that he no longer had a source of income. That's when things started to go downhill. He started selling his things to make rent, only to fall short and end up kicked out. He could still live in his car, his gym membership providing showers. Even then, his wardrobe was reduced to dirty gym clothes, yellowed shoes, stuff he never found time to wash.

Jake told his story to anyone who would listen. It was how people learned to avoid him during their own workouts, which was hard with Jake there all day.

Then Jake met Rich. Rich had intentionally gone up to Jake, asking for help, for coaching. Jake couldn't have been happier, hoping to maybe make some money on the side. At the end of the session, Jake started his sob story. Rich listened, seeming to understand. By the end, Rich wanted to help. He offered Jake a place to stay to help get on his feet. Jake took the offer immediately.

They drove to Rich's address. Jake wound through a well-off neighborhood, ending up on a long driveway leading to the kind of mansion Jake had always wanted to live in. Rich was there to greet him with a smile, letting Jake in to see the mable floors, giant windows, and bring Jake to his room.

That was when Rich shared the next requirement for living there. Rich was a psychotherapist, whatever that meant, and Rich wanted to help Jake out of his situation. All Jake needed to do was sit and listen, which was fine by him. Jake watched Rich's hands before him, his gaze setting into a deadpan stare as his mind began to shut itself off from boredom. He wasn't paying attention to what was being said, only responding to the simple orders. Look down. Left. Up. Right. Sleep.

Jake woke with his skin pressed against cold hard tile, all clothing removed aside from two articles- his yellowed shoes and a jockstrap he'd never seen before. His ape-like body was on fully display, arms as thick as his calves holding up his massive shoulders, his rear wrapped in elastic with his ass pointing out. His entire lower-half was shaved, maybe even waxed with not a hair visible. His hole felt slippery for some reason. His lower body felt rubbery as he walked, his two ass cheeks moving like clean soap bars rubbing against eachother.

Walking meant moving on all-fours, right? Jake couldn't recall it ever being any different, the weight on his knuckles naturally arching his back.

"Who's a good boy?" Jake heard from the corner of the room, his head turning to see his owner.

Jake was certain he had known this man's name before. Despite this, the only words that came to describe him were 'master', 'handler', 'sir'.

The man walked over to Jake, naked, bone in direct line of sight.

"Who wants a treat?"

He took you back to his place where you finally got a glimpse of his shaft. It hung halfway down his leg semi-hard, struggling to get up all the way. He helped you out of the rest of your clothes, laying you in his bed so he could finally use your drooling mouth.

The spongey tip slid under your front teeth, the thick member filling your wide maw. He used your tongue as a slide, his shaft making it to the back your throat dragging his precum across your tastebuds. Another sensation became present too, a dull buzzing numbness that seemed to envelop your whole mouth. You let out a slight moan, your face relaxing and head pressing back into the fabric beneath you.

The feeling was slightly euphoric, your mouth unable move as he impaled your head. The scent of his wood filled your sinuses while you struggled to breathe. That was when you looked in the mirror at the foot of his bed.

You were unsure of what you were seeing at first. His body was above what you assumed was yours, but something was different. Instead of the full head of hair you expected, you saw a growing dome of skin, hair turning white. Your gaze connected with the eyes in the mirror, and that's when you recognized your own stare.

Panic flooded your brain. You tried to lift yourself up to get a better look, only to help shove his member down further into your body. The changes sped up. Your eyes widened seeing your hairline continue to recede, disappearing into sideburns that had begun to work down the side of your face. White sideburns. The precum soaked spit dripping from his shaft seemed accelerate it, coating your chin and drawing out longer hairs. A short white beard was spread out around your mouth, your skin slightly shriveled and losing its youth. Even the hair on your chest had lost its color.

Evan wasn't very political. All he was taught was blue bad, red good, and he shouldn't think any other way. The city was raving when the food charts got updated by the government- red meat, dairy, carbs, fat, all was ideal. If the president said so, it must be so. That was all Evan's meals consisted of now.

Evan was ecstatic to see his body begin to grow with the new diet, his belief in the president reinforced. He loved feeling more weight in his step. He loved how his shirts and pants grew tighter, how his clothes seemed to constantly shift and expose his skin as if he were a giant. Bigger was better, right?

Evan was too blind to see his body composition change. How all his growth was fat, his body growing plump and soft. He didn't think about how he was constantly out of breath, struggling to lug his new weight around. He didn't realize how his strength was less effective, a beast burdened by its own size. He became plush like a pillow, swollen skin against skin, a buttery chest growing over a dropping belly. All his definitions disappeared, his muscles sinking into a sea of lard.

The moment Tim could, he started working on the body he wanted. Soon after spending a significant time in the gym, the extra testosterone flooding through his system quickly changed him. His muscles formed curves in his skin, his shoulders widened, his face changed as hair began spreading across his cheeks. It wa fine that his head had trouble growing hair, there was enough spreading on his body anyway.

What no one had warned him about, however, was the smell. The first time he caught a whiff of it was headed home from the gym, his shirt drenched in sweat. It didn't smell bad- it was as if his hard work had been given an aura. It was his pits that emanated it the most, and whenever Tim smelled it, everything relaxed. His mind simplified, his body felt right. It was the best relief he could have asked for, hormones flooding his head and shutting off his thoughts.

Don't worry how none of your favorite shirts fit the way they used to, now they fit even better. You look just like a teddy bear with that soft middle filling the space around you. The fact that your love handles and hour-glass shape is visible in whatever you wear is only enticing. Yes, even with how your body noticeably ripples with each step. Don't worry about the soft breeze you feel on your exposed midriff, you'll stop noticing it soon enough when everyone else will.

Hank used to be jumpy, hardly able to stay still, not ideal for being a nude model. His roommate needed one for their class on body studies however. Hank was happy to be used as an emergency pick, but neeed to sit still for at least an hour. That would have been an issue if his roomate hadn't started providing "Planet Bars".

The supplement stuck to the inside of his mouth like peanut butter, gluing his mouth shut. The effect on his body couldn't have been more similar. Hank couldn't move. He didn't want to move. A warm fog settled over his mind. It was like a weighted blanket had been draped over him despite the air tickling his exposed skin. His muscles loosened. The world quieted.

The session flew by. Then the rest of the day did too. Hank didn't know where the time had gone, just that he wanted to stay inside, relaxed and curled up in bed. He couldn't have felt more complacent. When his roommate needed to make adjustments to the sketch, Hank was happy to provide, assuming he got another bar. The slow days became a habit, and gradually began to affect Hank's body too.

Every morning Hank felt more sluggish than the last, every night going to bed a little bigger and fuller than before. Each day his belly pushed further outward like rising dough. His chest grew rounder, his thighs wider, his whole frame sinking in softness that matched his mattress. Hank no longer had the energy to shave anymore, as shown by the growing fur on his face and covering the rest of his body. It matched the same fuzziness spreading through his thoughts.

Hank's whole persona succumbed to laziness. He hardly walked anywhere now since it was much easier to sit. He barely left the flat, used as a model for his roommate almost every day. Hank hadn't known life could have been this simple, his thoughts no longer racing through his head and feet no longer bouncing. Everything was slow and heavy.

Whenever Hank sat on the stool he couldn't stop staring at himself. Part of it was shock seeing how his body spilled out in front of him, his stomach jigglying with each breath while his sloped chest lay on top of it like melted butter. A forest of curls had spread over his expanse, the exhales from his nose rustling the hair on his chest while the cold air picked at the strands on his back. At the same time, he was content. Everything was soft and warm, the cool metal stool barely felt by the warm mass of his rear heating the seat.

One was particularly bad, permanently ingraining you with the need to drain a man once you saw their cock. He'd invited all his friends over once the conditioning was set, each one pulling their tool out after the next. You couldn't stop yourself from spearing your head on each man, your new instinct taking complete control without the ability to stop. After the programming was made, it could only be removed by the master, and there was no chance he was ever going to do that.

You moved on since then, taking greater care in selecting your partners. You thought you were safe until one day you walked in on your roommate sleeping naked on the couch. He'd been fit at the time, toned muscles wrapping around his body. He had a built chest, arms, and ass from working out every day. Despite this, he never seemed to get any action.

Once your eyes locked on his limp member it was too late. You couldn't look away. You couldn't stop yourself from stepping forward, kneeling down between his muscled legs, your mouth quickly drawing saliva.

Your roommate jolted awake when you brushed against the inside of his thighs.

"What the fuck?" He asked, frozen in shock.

You opened your mouth to respond, only to end up allowing a flood of spit to escape from your lips. It dribbled down your chin only to drip onto his tool. He flinched at the cold sensation, but his soft cock jumped, stirring up to stiffen.

It didn't need to be hard for you to start working. Your roommates shaky breath hid the hint of his moan as you started sucking.

"No" was your last clear thought as a blanket of numbness took your head. Your mind entered a trance. You could only pay attention to the cock in your mouth as it swelled, stretching past your tongue and hitting the back of your throat. Your mind blocked any gag reflex, prioritizing swallowing and milking his shaft over your own breath. The brief inhales through your nose took in his scent, emphasizing the taste of his precum spread across your tongue.

Your jaw was locked open as your head moved back and forth, his thick meat dragged through the cavity of your skull. Spit dripped down the length as you thoughtlessly worked needing to do nothing but please. Your body was encouraged by the moans your roommate couldn't hold back, his body gasping as you drew the cum from his balls. He let loose the pent up load he'd been storing for days with a grunt, a torrent of white cream racing down your throat. You needed every last drop, your mouth forced to work until all that was left was your saliva on his tool.

Since then, your roommate stopped trying to stay in shape. He had a bitch at home for whenever he felt. You'd walk in to find him laying naked on the couch, waiting for you semi-hard. Your programming would take over.

Jack had been dying to put on size since he'd started at the gym. Tall with little mass, he had to put in extra work for the slightest bit of muscle to show. He was definitely toned, but almost none of it showed in his wardrobe.

"Simply eat, simply grow," The tagline read. Jack thought nothing of it, opening the bar to eat on his way home.

The flavor exploded in Jack's mouth from the first taste. He didn't know how to put it- it was definitely protein-based, but something else he couldn't comprehend. Something his mind couldn't identify, something he wanted more of. He didn't realize it was the feeling of his mind dimming, softening at the edges, simplifying. It was euphoric.

The bar was all Jack could think about until the next time he went to the gym. His partner seemed happy to supply several boxes, Jack already opening one in the middle of their session.

The changes came fast. Jack was definitely bulking up, his shirt hem quickly growing higher while his shorts squeezed around thickening thighs. Jack had never been super hairy, but waves of curls began spreading from his barrel of a chest, wrapping around the pecs like a cover. A beard quickly followed as dusting made its way down his arms and legs.

Jack couldn't see his other growth, however. He couldn't see his stomach widening, his chest softening and hanging to the sides. His arms grew heavy with weight, almost as if burdened with the same slowness his mind now carried. He couldn't comprehend the fur wrapping his shoulders, couldn't see the way people looked at him in disgust when he walked around the locker room shirtless, body shaking with each step.

The food couldn't have tasted better. Everything was made fresh, a trip to the market part of their daily routine after a morning of pastries. James couldn't help himself. He ignored the extra pounds that had grown on his body and the way his clothes fit tighter. He didn't even consider going to the gym, using his entire day of walking as an excuse for his widening rear and chafing legs.

He used beach days to excuse his shrinking wardrobe. While unbuttoned shirts gave his stomach room to breathe, he'd often go out topless claiming he was heading to the beach. After all, he'd never see these people again, so why should he care how they saw the overhang of his stomach slowly spilling over his pants?