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CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes. If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

0. The Fool

Professor Hudson's gaze darted wearily from side to side as he surveyed the university's end-of-semester fair. He could see his stupid students running around, the occasional amorous couple practically devouring each other, athletes flexing, and some overweight guy stuffing himself with cotton candy. They all seemed so... idiotic.

Hudson was the typical academic who made life miserable for his students, always thinking he was a brilliant genius walking the earth (and, well, his almost three doctorates plus a master's degree only made him more arrogant and prone to exploding at the slightest idiotic action).

He despised athletes above all else, those fraternity members who didn't strive for anything other than getting ripped at the gym to impress girls, or even guys. All this talk about inclusion, for crying out loud. How could anyone prefer having muscles over brains? And it wasn't like he didn't take care of himself, of course he did, but he had brains.

— Stop running, you're going to cause an accident! – The professor practically barked at some students who were running around carelessly. Those brats were going to give him an aneurysm. 

His gaze lingered on one of the fair's tents; there were hundreds and hundreds of them, some for target games, others for food, and there were even photo booths, but this one The tent was different… It had intense, striking, yet calming blue colors on its walls and ceiling, and a scent that seemed to be sea breeze emanated from it.

In no time, the man was already walking inside. There was only very dim candlelight and… sand? He looked up, finding a young, blonde woman with a slight smile behind a glass table.

— Hello, welcome. Can I help you?

— I… Excuse me, what is this? – the man said, somewhat confused. He didn't even know how he had gotten there; it was as if an alluring, hypnotic force, almost pure magnetism, had drawn him in.

— Would you like me to tell your fortune? I think it's better if I explain it this way – Cirse moved the deck in her hands; the cards shifted elegantly from side to side, almost floating in the air. They were engraved with bluish details and vibrant colors, as if they wanted to convey the essence of the summer that was almost upon them.

— Fortune? – the man asked. He let out a mocking laugh, shaking his head – That's for charlatans and people without their own judgment. It's obviously false – He was about to turn away when she spoke again.

— Of course, it's easy to believe what you can see, but what's imperceptible to the human eye, that's what's truly fascinating. If you're a man of fact and not faith. Great philosophers have pondered this doubt, the real question here is… If you're so sure of your knowledge, why would it matter to put it to the test?

The professor's jaw tightened. The most sensible thing would have been to leave the shop and leave the woman alone, but the urge to prove a point took hold of him. He approached the table and sat down on the other side.

— Cost?

— Our first reading is always free – She winked at him confidently as she passed the cards from one side to the other. The sound between them was like clicks. Everything moved so quickly that he didn't have a second to distinguish the different cards. The Magician, Judgment, Fortune, Knight of Wands – everything moved like a hurricane until finally one touched the table, sliding across it. Circe's smile appeared like a painting, accompanied by a giggle.

— And what's that? 

She turned the card over to reveal the Fool.

— Wow, what a great turn… – she whispered, fascinated, touching the card with her elegant nails – The Fool card tells us about the beginning of a new journey, and I think it will be a very long one... With all the potential that's trapped inside you. And more than anything, liberation.

Her lips pronounced that last word as if it were silk, letter by letter. The candles slowly extinguished until the place was plunged into complete darkness. The man just rolled his eyes.

— Yes, yes, it's clear you know how to put on a good show. Can I go now? – The silence was total. Hudson sighed, about to stand up when he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He had to throw himself back down in the chair; it was a pain Disabled. Shit, was he having a heart attack? – Hello?! Something's wrong with me, I need help!

He expected to hear the woman's voice again, but only felt another pain in his ribs. He clenched his jaw, trying to stifle a scream, but it was useless. He felt as if his bones were being torn apart. He gripped the armrests tightly, gasping for breath.

— MFHHH! H-Help! – he pleaded again, desperately seeking someone's attention. Without hearing the way his clothes began to rustle, as if the seams were about to burst, the man groaned. Suddenly, his pectoral muscles expanded forward, like the yeast baking a cake fresh from the oven. He felt his shirt begin to tighten, trying to accommodate his new changes, but without much success. Buttons flew off, and the "elegant" sweater he was wearing ripped like cracks in an earthquake. The pain was excruciating; his skin burned. Something similar was happening to his lower torso, his abs heating up to melt away all the accumulated fat. His years-long belly began to reintegrate with the rest of his body, leaving behind a well-defined six-pack and a glistening, pearly complexion.

— MFHH! M-Miss! – He shouted again, a burp escaping his lips inexplicably. He tried to cover his mouth when he felt another one, but instead felt a tingling in his arms that quickly filled with that same wave of energy, expanding in a snap of his fingers. His biceps were defined, though not usually so exaggerated, but now they had grown exponentially, as if he were a gym addict. His armpits, usually hairless, were now covered in hair, and a strong smell hit his nose. Shit, why did he smell like a gym? It was the same smell that filled his classroom when the damn athletes came in after a rigorous training session. The aroma left him so confused that he didn't realize when the sensation shifted to his legs, his muscles beginning to expand, using stored fat to transform it into pure, dense muscle. The man groaned, feeling his pants begin to rip.

— Shit! No! – He watched as his tailored trousers tore to shreds, his boxers tightening as his tool began to mutate in the same way. He was well-endowed, a good 15cm, but these began to grow longer and longer, becoming heavier, thicker, and longer. His balls followed suit, becoming more rounded and filled with that precious whitish fluid. The sensation was still uncomfortable, but there was a more lustful charge in these final stimuli. The man gasped, his tongue lolling out, caressing himself as the transformation moved down to shape his calves. Again, the changes accelerated in his feet. The khaki shoes ended up torn and shredded as his feet grew, smelling and sweaty. Hudson let out a loud, confused groan, his face flushed.

— S-shit, t-this isn't right – he stammered, trying to stand. He paced aimlessly, trying to lean against the table for air, but his shoulders and back swelled, becoming larger and more massive. The stern professor's careless hand brushed against his manhood, panting. Slowly, he felt his rear end begin to grow and become rounder, as if air were being pumped into a pair of shiny balloons. The little that remained of his clothing tightened around the new shape. The air was warm, though a loud thud from his buttocks shattered it completely – PPFFRHHHHT.

His stomach ached as if tons of protein were inside him. Another thunderous fart escaped. The professor had no idea what was happening.

— N-no, it can't be – He tried to take another step forward, another burp escaping his lips. He was so desperate and confused that he didn't even notice the body he now had, which bore no resemblance to his usual physique. It looked as if his head had been attached to the body of some college athlete, and in fact, that was the extent of the change.

Energy surged up his spine to his neck.

— Shit! – What came out of his mouth was a sound completely foreign to his polite and refined tone. Now it was deep, resonant, as if he didn't have many brain cells. His voice sounded almost 20 years younger, hmmm! Little by little, his neck changed, becoming more muscular and rugged.

A huge Adam's apple rose, and his skin gradually became smoother, perfect, like that of a high-level athlete. His chin sculpted, and every trace of a double chin disappeared in the blink of an eye. His cheeks followed the same path, becoming firmer, his nose more upturned, his head grew a little, his old glasses broke from the sides and fell to the ground, shattering into pieces.

— MFHH! SOMEONE HELP! – he shouted again, his voice unfamiliar to him. The transformation reached his hair, turning it a deeper brown, styled in a shorter, more modern way. The man was slamming against the walls. But that wasn't the worst of it.

Like a jolt of energy, he suddenly froze, face up, his eyes slightly crossed, his mouth ajar with saliva escaping.

— Ughh… – He was almost in a catatonic state, only grunts and guttural sounds escaping his thick throat – Mfhhh…

His eyes remained almost blank. Apparently, from the outside, nothing was happening. But inside his mind, it was as if the Library of Alexandria were under fire again; all his knowledge, his academic degrees, everything was being thrown away while something else was forming in its place. Why worry so much about IQ when he could keep training to grow those fantastic pecs? Hehehe, one more size and he'd have to wear a sports bra, hehe. His brain was slowly slowing down as other priorities tore down each of the islands that were important to him in his psyche. Goodbye to teaching, hello to partying. Why would he be interested in teaching others when he was barely in college, bro? What kind of nerd would he be?

His mind was slowly adapting to the new frat-brother body he now had, with those nice muscles, that attractive face that could make anyone swoon. He wouldn't have a fixed preference; bread is for everyone to enjoy, right? He'd be like a beast in bed, bro! Although nervous twinks were definitely his weakness, hammering them for hours, so damn sweaty. With that damn stench emanating from every part of their bodies that he loved so much.

His mind was slowly adapting to the new frat-brother body he now had, with those nice muscles, that attractive face that could make anyone swoon. He could sweat like nobody else on campus; they called him "Stinky Danny" for a reason. Ha, his farts were fucking legendary! They smell like tear gas, but he loved them – pure protein, honey!

The old, strict, and bitter professor was a complete jock now. The image of the student he so detested, the one he thought was a waste of student funds, was now Danny. 

The good old Danny, a member of the football team – hopefully he'd be captain someday, stinky, he spent more time in the gym than in his classes, which were fucking boring. He didn't think much, duh. He'd gotten into college on an athletic scholarship; he could pay some nerd to do his homework for him (or better yet, do it "in person").

The whirlwind of hormones and testosterone settled within him, his tool still hard, as were his areolas. His hand automatically moved to the area, beginning to stroke it back and forth, lost in this final mental transformation. One drop and it would completely seal off this change; there would be no going back, no more Professor Hudson, no more teaching, only being a stupid jock.

— MFHH! I-I… I… This is wrong! H-help. I-I… – The deep, gravelly voice of the new college student body rang out, his eyes rolling back in his head again. He tried to speak, but a jet of whitish substance shot out like an avalanche, spreading the stench of dampness and chlorine everywhere. His thick pecs rose and fell before his vision slowly cleared.

— Ugh, shit, my head, bro – he muttered. Around him, only the rest of the fair remained; it couldn't have been more than five in the afternoon. Perfect for finding his fraternity bros and going on other rides. Shit, he even saw a guy working at the mirror house earlier; he was so cute. Maybe he could convince him to take him downstairs and show him how good he was at hide-and-seek, damn, hehe.

The jock stretched a little. Inhaling the scent of his hairy armpits, he stroked his pecs; he looked fantastic. He'd been training nonstop for when summer came. He planned to go to the beach in the tiniest swimsuit he could find. He might go with his friends for the holidays, or even by himself. He didn't want to share all the hotties he'd hook up with when he was in the middle of the saltwater and sand. Ah… It felt so good to be free. Screw college.

— BRAWWWPP – he blurted out, letting out a laugh and shaking his head as he walked away, patting his belly. Those hot dogs hadn't agreed with him, haha. Lol. Danny let out a soft laugh as he scratched his fat butt with his hand. He loved being a stinky, farting jock so much, ha. Wait, why did he have some kind of handkerchief in his pocket? Ugh, like he's some kind of refined loser or something, get ready world, because Stinky Danny is here to have some fun, booyaaaah!

Circe could only watch from afar as old Professor Hudson, now ridiculously improved in all his glory (well, surely if he were still aware of his new appearance, he'd be going crazy), but that was the least of her concerns.

— Mwhaaaa – she heard a kind of soft, gentle grunt from her bag, and she just patted it.

— Shhh, calm down – she whispered into her deck of cards – I promise there will be more transformations soon. Litha is just around the corner, and magical energy is more abundant – She seemed to feel the air around her, taking in the sea breeze, the color of seashells etched against the sky, the refreshing sound of waves crashing against the shore – I think I know exactly where we need to go, buddy. Let's go.

----

Hey everyone!

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it. Summer it's almost here, and as you know, I love writing with the thematic of the months / seasons. So in the next months, I'll try to write about summer transformation, bodyswap, possessions and more.

I really love writing about this Tarot series, so. I have a question for you:

The cards of The Lovers, The Strenght, The Justice, The Tower, The Star, The Moon and The Judgement are available on my blog. If you have any particular ideas, I'd love to hear them. Thank you!

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

Hey bros,

Let’s be real for a second.

Life gets way better when you stop overthinking everything and just become a big, dim-witted jock bro.

Imagine waking up every day with a simple, happy brain. No stress. No complicated thoughts. Just flexing in the mirror, feeling your muscles, and getting horny the second you see yourself or someone else.

You eat. You lift. You fuck. You smile. That’s it.

No more worrying about being smart or serious. You get to be dumb, hot, and carefree. People look at you and just want you, because you’re big, pretty, and easy to be around.

Your sex drive stays maxed out, so you’re always down for cock, pussy, or whatever feels good. You get attention everywhere you go. You feel good in your body. You don’t need to pretend anymore.

That’s the kind of life I want for you.

You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.

"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"

"Jason is like totally the hottest."

"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."

"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"

You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.

"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"

The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.

“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"

"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.

"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.

The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"

You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.

"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"

Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.

"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"

"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"

"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.

"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."

"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"

You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.

"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.

"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.

"No shame in that, brah!"

You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.

"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"

Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"

"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"

The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.

"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.

"Chlorophyll."

"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"

Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"

The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.

"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.

"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"

You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."

"Correct!"

"Woah bro, nice one!"

Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.

"What the…?"

The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…

"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"

The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"

"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."

But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?

"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."

You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!

"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.

"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."

You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...

"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.

"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."

The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...

"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"

"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."

"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.

The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?

"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."

"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"

"Dead lifts..."

"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."

The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."

Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?

"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.

You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.

"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.

"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."

Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.

"The answer is hips, bro."

"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.

As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.

"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.

Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind—Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.

When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?

"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.

Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?

A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.

The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."

"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.

"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.

"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"

The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"

The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.

"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."

Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.

The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.

With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.

"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.

And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…

4 – Duke

I usually sell drones/slaves I got in my inventory, random people that I find and take away. But in certain cases, I get a really good offering from clients that request a specific person they want. The offer needs to be really good to risk my business taking someone very specific. This particular client was a widowed man, bisexual, and lost his son and wife in an accident a few months ago. But after some mourning, he noticed that what he missed most wasn’t his family life, but the monthly appointments with his son’s pediatrician Duke.

File: AE-1342
Nickname: “The Feed”
Status: Uncontained (Digital)

Acquisition Log:

AE-1342 refers to a corrupted build of TikTok that intermittently appears on official app storefronts as a standard update. Unlike typical malicious software, AE-1342 is not sideloaded or externally installed. Users report receiving it through what appears to be a routine update pushed through legitimate channels.

Initial reports described the application as “bugged” or “glitched.” Users noted minor irregularities: looping videos that would not end, repeated audio fragments, and a “For You” page that showed the opposite of the user’s preferences. In early stages, these anomalies were dismissed as software instability.

FCA attention was drawn after multiple users were reportedly ‘lost’ to the app, leading to their disappearance. Devices recovered from these cases show the application still open and active. In all instances, the affected user is no longer physically present.

Shortly after disappearance, new content featuring an altered version of the user begins to appear on the user’s account.

Anomalous Behavior:

AE-1342 does not simply host content—it digitizes the user.

After exposure, victims are subject to ‘digitization’. The subject is not destroyed, but converted. Their consciousness and form are translated into a digital state within the application itself.

Once digitized, the individual exists as a manipulable construct, effectively reduced to pixels. The platform is then able to alter their appearance, body structure, and cognitive patterns at will. Despite this, subjects remain fully aware and perceive themselves as real, with no understanding that they are no longer physical.

Their likeness reappears inside the app, where they begin producing content continuously without external input.

These digitized users are systematically reshaped into personas that directly oppose their original identities. This inverse identity effect appears intentional and consistent across cases.

FCA analysis confirms immediate digitization upon interaction with AE-1342.

—————————————————————————-

Case File – Subject T-01

Name (Pre-Digitization): Oliver Finch

Age: 24

Nationality: British

Oliver Finch lived an intentionally isolated life in rural England. He was described as quiet, withdrawn, and largely invisible in social settings. He avoided attention wherever possible and had no known presence on social media. Finch was openly critical of influencer culture, referring to it as “shallow” and “attention-seeking behavior.” His time was spent almost entirely on solitary activities such as reading and writing, and he showed little interest in online trends or digital communities.

The anomaly appeared on Finch’s device without consent, presenting as a standard update to TikTok. Upon opening the application, Finch was immediately digitized. His physical body disappeared without trace, and a new account was created under the username @PecPressure.

Following digitization, Finch’s identity was completely overwritten. The subject now identifies as “Chad Mercer,” presenting as an exaggerated American fitness influencer. His body has expanded into a heavily muscular build, with disproportionate emphasis on enlarged pectoral muscles. His hair is now blonde, his features broader, and his overall presence markedly more dominant and attention-oriented.

Name (Post-Digitization): Chad Mercer

Age: 20

Nationality: American

Behaviorally, the subject displays a complete inversion of his former personality. Where Finch avoided attention, Chad actively demands it. He speaks loudly and directly to an unseen audience, using repetitive, performative phrases such as, “Y’all seein’ this?? Run it up!”, “Spam the chat, let’s go!”, and “Don’t be lame, hit that follow!” His speech is simplified and highly reactive, built entirely around engagement and validation.

His content revolves almost exclusively around his chest. Videos show him flexing, bouncing, and pressing his pectoral muscles together in exaggerated, rhythmic motions designed to draw attention. The content is repetitive and largely devoid of variation, yet remains highly effective within the platform’s ecosystem. He frequently mocks his previous lifestyle, stating things such as, “Books are for nerds, bro. Ain’t nobody tryna read when you could be lookin’ like this.”

The subject spends approximately six hours per day on live broadcasts. During these streams, he continuously performs chest-focused movements while directly interacting with viewers. He actively encourages virtual gifting behavior, repeatedly calling out phrases like, “Send them gifts up!”, “Let’s get them roses, chat!”, and “Top gifter gets a shoutout!” His interactions are transactional and persistent, centered entirely on maximizing engagement and maintaining audience attention.

There is no indication that Oliver Finch remains. The subject appears fully aware within the digital environment, but entirely aligned with his new identity. He expresses satisfaction with his current state, showing no distress or desire to return.

The transformation represents a complete and deliberate inversion of the subject’s original self.

—————————————————————————-

Case File – Subject T-02

Name (Pre-Digitization): Omar Al-Haddad

Age: 27

Nationality: Jordanian

Omar Al-Haddad was a well-known and respected member of his local community. Described as disciplined, dependable, and deeply devoted to Islam, he structured his life around faith, study, and routine. He was known to attend daily prayers, assist in community events, and mentor younger members in religious studies. Those who knew him described him as calm, thoughtful, and unwavering in his beliefs.

Omar maintained minimal engagement with social media, using his phone primarily for communication and religious study. He reportedly viewed most modern platforms as distractions, preferring to focus on personal development and spiritual discipline.

Omar disappeared from his residence on [REDACTED]. There were no signs of struggle or forced entry. The only item left behind was his phone, found active and open to a profile on TikTok under the username @CrossCoreChen.

FCA analysis confirms immediate digitization upon interaction with AE-1342.

Following digitization, the subject’s identity was completely overwritten. He now presents as a heavily muscular Chinese male, identifying himself as Daniel Chen. His physique is exaggerated, with particular emphasis on enlarged pectoral muscles. He consistently wears a silver cross necklace squished between his heavy Chinese pecs and often tries to convert his viewers into becoming Christian, telling them to “Follow the Lord, bro.”

Name (Post-Digitization): Daniel Chen

Age: 23

Nationality: Chinese-American

The subject’s behavior reflects a complete inversion of his former identity. Where Omar was composed and thoughtful, Daniel is simplistic, overly enthusiastic, and highly repetitive in speech. His content revolves around a combination of gym-focused material and overt expressions of Christian faith.

In recorded uploads, the subject frequently addresses the camera directly, making statements such as:
“Jesus got me right, bro. Like, He made me strong for real.”
“You don’t need nothin’ else—just lift and believe. That’s it.”
“I was lost before, but now I got Him. That’s all that matter.”

His understanding of theology appears extremely limited, often reducing complex religious ideas into short, repetitive phrases. Despite this, his devotion is absolute. He displays unwavering belief and frequently encourages viewers to adopt the same mindset, often stating:


“Just follow Him, bro. Don’t think too hard. Just do it.”

Visually, his content mirrors other digitized subjects. He performs repetitive chest-focused movements, flexing and compressing his pectorals while speaking to the audience. The cross around his neck is consistently visible, often caught between the motion of his chest, becoming a focal point of both his physical and religious presentation.

The subject appears unaware of any prior identity. There is no indication that Omar Al-Haddad remains. Instead, Daniel Chen expresses full satisfaction with his current state, describing himself as “chosen” and “finally on the right path.”

The transformation represents a complete inversion of the subject’s original beliefs, culture, and personality, while maintaining the same underlying pattern of obsessive performance and simplified devotion seen across all AE-1342 cases.

—————————————————————————-

Case File – Subject T-03

Name (Pre-Digitization): Martin Doyle

Age: 52

Nationality: American

Martin Doyle was a rigid, by-the-book father who prided himself on discipline, routine, and “real work.” Employed in a manual trade for over two decades, he valued physical labor and practicality above all else. He was notably out of touch with modern technology, often struggling with even basic devices. Family reports state he regularly needed help operating the TV remote, frequently pressing the wrong buttons and becoming frustrated when menus appeared. He referred to streaming services as “channels that don’t exist” and once attempted to “fix the internet” by unplugging multiple household devices at random.

Doyle held particularly strong views against social media and gaming. His 18-year-old son was a constant target of criticism, with Doyle repeatedly calling his habits “pathetic” and “a waste of a young man’s life.” He often mocked him directly, saying things such as, “You sit in that room all day like a slob, talking to strangers and playing cartoons,” and, “No woman’s ever gonna look at you if that’s all you do.” He frequently encouraged him to pursue trade work instead, framing it as the only “real” path to becoming a man.

On the day of the incident, Doyle discovered AE-1342 on his phone. Believing it to be another prank by his son, he opened the application while loudly calling him into the room. Witness testimony from the son confirms Doyle was mid-sentence—“What did you put on my phone now?”—before abruptly disappearing. His phone was found on the floor moments later, still active, displaying a newly created account under the username @PecXPGaming on TikTok.

Following digitization, Doyle’s identity was completely overwritten. He now presents as an 18-year-old Gen Z male with an exaggerated physique—soft, oversized musculature with particular emphasis on his chest. The subject appears visibly unintelligent and often comments on his own smelliness, which he views as humorous. Despite this, he remains almost entirely shirtless during content creation, seemingly aware that his body drives engagement.

Name (Post-Digitization): Evan Amrani

Age: 24

Nationality: Moroccan-American

The subject exists within a digitally constructed bedroom environment saturated with LED lighting, gaming peripherals, and clutter. He is almost always seated at a gaming setup, rarely moving beyond the immediate frame.

Behaviorally, the transformation is a direct and highly ironic inversion of Doyle’s former values. The subject now embodies every trait he previously criticized in his son, only in a more exaggerated and performative form. He spends nearly all of his time playing video games, particularly anime-style titles featuring female characters with large breasts and butts, often commenting on them in crude or cringe ways, “Chat, I wanna impregnate her with my 67 dong.”

He streams continuously, frequently exceeding 10 hours per day, with no apparent awareness of time or fatigue. During streams, he alternates between gameplay and exaggerated chest-focused movements, bouncing and flexing his pectorals while monitoring viewer engagement. He actively leans into this behavior, often acknowledging it as his primary source of attention.

His speech consists almost entirely of Gen Z slang, delivered rapidly and with minimal coherence. Common phrases include:
“Nah bro I’m chestmogging you, you sold so hard.”
“Chat my gyatt be stinking from sitting on this chair all day.”
“Bro, stop looking at my skibidi titties. What are you, sus?”
“He’s so NPC, bro. Look at my rizz.”

He frequently looks for interaction and validation, directly contradicting his former disdain for attention-seeking behavior.

Notably, the subject has been observed mocking individuals who avoid social media or gaming, stating:
“Imagine not bein’ online, bro. That’s actually sad.”
“If you not streamin’, what are you even doin’?”

There is no indication that Martin Doyle remains. The subject shows no awareness of his previous life, despite now embodying an exaggerated version of the lifestyle he once condemned in others.

—————————————————————————-

Case File – Subject T-04

Name (Pre-Digitization): DeAndre Williams

Age: 29

Nationality: African American

DeAndre Williams was a politically active organizer based in New York City, known for his strong progressive stance and outspoken criticism of wealth inequality. He worked closely within municipal political networks and was, at the time of digitization, affiliated with campaign operations connected to Zohran Mamdani. Williams was widely described as disciplined, highly engaged, and ideologically driven, with a focus on labor rights, taxation reform, and anti-oligarchic policy.

He was particularly vocal against inherited wealth and corporate consolidation, frequently criticizing what he referred to as “unearned dynasties” and “people who live their whole lives without ever needing to be accountable.” Associates described him as passionate but uncompromising, with a strong belief that wealth should be redistributed through systemic reform.

Williams maintained an active online presence, primarily using his phone for political coordination and messaging. On the day of the incident, he reportedly encountered the AE-1342 application—appearing as a standard update to TikTok—while traveling between campaign meetings.

Upon opening the application, Williams was immediately digitized. His physical body disappeared without recovery, and a new account was generated under the username @AlexanderWhitmoreOfficial.

Following digitization, the subject re-emerged as Alexander Whitmore, a 28-year-old heir to the fictional Whitmore family, one of New York’s long-established financial dynasties. The Whitmores are documented as having extensive holdings across real estate, private equity, and media assets. Alexander is recorded as the sole heir to the family empire.

Name (Post-Digitization): Alexander Whitmore

Age: 28

Nationality: American

In this reconstructed identity, the subject has never experienced financial limitation or employment necessity. He is depicted as having attended an elite private university, where he participated in fraternity culture and studied business administration. Post-graduation, he was immediately placed into an executive position within the family company, despite no demonstrated competence or interest in operational work.

Internal reports describe the subject as functionally unproductive in his role. He rarely engages in meaningful decision-making, delegates most responsibilities without oversight, and shows consistent disinterest in corporate operations. Despite this, he is treated with extreme respect and grovelling by staff, with multiple reports indicating that employees avoid challenging him directly regardless of performance issues, to stay on the good side of his father. Common behaviors at work include filming TikTok’s of himself lounging in executive offices, interrupting staff during work, and treating corporate environments as personal entertainment spaces. Engagement metrics remain high, and internal systems appear to reinforce this behavior through algorithmic amplification

Behaviorally, the subject exhibits a complete ideological inversion from his pre-digitization self. Williams’ prior political beliefs have been replaced with strong right-leaning, pro-wealth rhetoric. He now actively expresses opposition to taxation policies and regulatory frameworks, particularly those associated with progressive municipal governance. He and his family financially back Republican candidates and Alexander Whitmore is seen to be on great terms with Donald Trump.

He has specifically referenced his intent to use financial influence against Zohran Mamdani, stating in multiple recorded clips:
“People like that don’t understand how the real world works. I’m not letting New York get turned into a playground for policy experiments.”
“Taxes like that are theft. Plain and simple.”

“I worked for everything I have and that socialist is trying to take it away.”

Despite holding no prior corporate interest or financial ideology, the subject now demonstrates strong alignment with inherited wealth preservation and elite consolidation narratives.

—————————————————————————-

Closing Note:

Further case reports are currently being compiled, with additional confirmed and suspected digitization events under review. These documents will detail the ongoing status of other affected individuals as more recoverable data becomes available from AE-1342-linked accounts.

It is currently theorized that TikTok itself may function as an active digitization system, selectively converting users into permanent in-platform entities designed to produce continuous content. In this model, digitized individuals serve as self-sustaining content sources, existing solely to generate engagement, maintain algorithmic activity, and ensure uninterrupted platform traffic.

The young man had been walking by the old abandoned circus behind the town's parade grounds. He was never sure how long it had been there, but it had always been a moldering heap as long as he could remember.

This is why, as he walked by he was surprised to see that a few of the lights around the big tent were on. He hadn't even realized there was electricity out here; he didn't hear any generator. As he stepped off the path to get a better look, the lights on the gate to the big tent illuminated, CIRCUS was spelled out in the amber glow of ancient incandescent light bulbs.

The young many decided to investigate. Obviously someone was doing something in there. Maybe this wreck was finally going to become something again? He curiously walked along the muddy path past various carnival-type ephemera from years gone by.

Parting the vaguely-damp tattered curtains, he entered the big top tent. Surprisingly, the area was lit, unsurprisingly it was as filthy and as run down as it had looked from the outside. Random platforms, fallen trapeze equipment, and even what looked like some discarded clothing littered the floor.

The young man stopped, he had almost tripped over an old barbell. It was the kind that just had metal spheres on the end instead of adjustable weight. When had they even used things like this? It must have been a part of some kind of strength performance.

Wondering who had turned on the lights, the young man said "Hello? Is anybody there?" into the cavernous old tent. There were shadows all around, and many places someone could be standing, out of sight.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a clown appeared. The clown appeared as dirty and worn-out as the circus. His sudden appearance and disheveled appearance gave the clown a profoundly sinister presence. The young man started at the clown in confusion.

"So...here to join the circus?" said the clown, "We've got a lot of positions open, but I know just what you're looking for."

The young man started. Somehow the clown was suddenly behind him, gripping his shoulder and leaning forward as if to confide some secret. The clown squeezed his bicep.

"Yes, I think you have a lot of potential. You just need a little practice" whispered the strange clown.

The clown placed something on the young man's face and pressed it on. A fake moustache? In some context that might be funny, but in this context, with no audience, it was just unexpected and frightening. He had to get away from this strange clown and out of this circus tent.

The young man started to say something, but the clown picked up the large rusty barbell from the floor, like it weighed nothing, and placed it into the young man's hands. Suddenly, the clown was gone. 

The young man was shocked again by the clown's disappearance, but his more immediate concern was the impossibly heavy weight now in his hands. Although the clown had handled this object with ease, the young man was almost pulled to the ground by the heavy iron. Even though the rusty metal was pressing into his hand, he found himself unable to drop it. In fact, he felt his hands gripping it tighter the lower he held the barbell.

He understood that if he could get the weight high enough, he might be able to let it go. It seemed impossible, but he was able to hold the weight without falling to the floor, maybe he could force it if he really tried.

Straining, he tried to lift the weight up. It seemed impossible, but each time he hefted it, he tried to control his breathing a bit more, be calm and slow about it. He realized he was holding it in place, he was beginning to lift it!

As he lifted the weight higher, his arms began to tremble. A drop of sweat rolled down his face and, annoyingly, got caught in his new moustache. Just a bit...further. His arms were trembling with strain, but he knew if he lowered it now he'd have to start all over again. He grunted with the strain and inched the bar higher.

He was so intent on lifting the bar, that he barely noticed his body beginning to expand with muscle. He noticed the sleeves of his shirt tearing as his biceps swelled outward. The straining muscles were rapidly leaving “average” behind and started to approach bodybuilder proportions. He was so intent on lifting the weight and the concentration required to keep it balanced, that he didn't have the time to try to understand why his shirt was suddenly so tight.

As his arms grew, the weight slowly inched upward, until finally it was at eye level. Still feeling some alien force holding his grip on the metal, he realized he'd have to get it higher. With his new strength, he skillfully adjusted his grip on the weight. With one last grunt he suddenly felt a burst of strength and lifted the weight high above his head, tearing the remainder of his shirt to ribbons. The remains of the shirt fell away from his body as he triumphantly held the weight.

He held the weight there a few moments, victorious. He had done it, he'd beaten that clown and did the impossible. He felt powerful. I wish someone had been here to see that performance! he thought.

Suddenly he remembered the whole reason why he had started lifting the bar in the first place. Bringing the bar down, he found he was now able to release it from his grip and let it fall to the floor. He did so carefully, and stood there panting.

After a few moments of recovery, he looked down at his body and was startled by what he saw. He knew his shirt had come off, but he wasn’t expecting what the shirt falling away had revealed. His torso, previously trim, but only slightly toned, was a rippling field of muscle. His arms had gone from unremarkably average to those of a heavy lifter. Luckily he’d been wearing shorts with an elastic waistband. The waistband was now taught over his dense midsection, but the legs of the shorts were what really seemed in danger of ripping, as formerly loose legs were stretched tightly over his tree trunk thighs. As he was starting to wonder how all this was possible just from lifting one weight, he felt a tingling over his skin. He noticed that his formerly smooth muscles now had tiny wispy hairs growing over them. The coating of peach fuzz rapidly darkened and thickened into dense body hair that spread its way over his new muscular form.

He looked down at his hairy muscular form in awe. Had the clown somehow done this? He thought maybe it was that fake moustache. He reached one of his enlarged hands to his upper lip and gave the moustache a tug. It was firmly connected to his face and felt like real hair. As the palm of his hand brushed across his chin, he could feel a roughness. Even though his chin was clean shaven, he knew that he was now capable of growing a thick beard. 

He ran his hands across his chest. Where it had once been smooth, he now felt his fingers dragging through thick chest hair. His hand reached his bicep and he gripped it. His hands looked like they had also expanded and thickened, but even under his large hand his bicep was thicker than many men’s thighs. As he was trying to understand how this was possible, he felt his shorts shifting.

His shorts transformed into a woolen singlet before his eyes. It was form fitting and left little to the imagination. As the straps extended over his shoulders, he felt a wide leather belt snake around his waist and pull tight.

He looked down at this obvious magic with awe, unsure of what to do for a few moments. Then a strange feeling came on him. His eyes glazed over and looked far off as he began to think about his new body.

He loved this body! He had worked hard for it and needed to show it off. Even more importantly, he had to show people his strength. He knew he could now dazzle people with feats of strength he had never dreamed of before. A euphoric quiescence descended onto his thoughts, as his concerns were replaced with a devotion to performance, and a desire to return this circus to its former glory.

The Circus, having gained a new performer, started to look a bit less grimy, less shabby. It was still obviously abandoned, but it went from looking like it was only fit for demolition to simply looking damaged and neglected.

A burnt out light bulb suddenly returned to life, spilling light on a painted panel. Peeling paint adhered itself back to wood. The design became readable again: See the Strongman! with an old fashioned circus painting of a muscular fellow with a moustache. 

As the new strongman walked over to the panel, his wool singlet changed to a red one and his shoes transformed into calf-high leather boots. He struck a muscular pose, filled with feelings of showmanship and bravado. 

Deep in the shadows of the abandoned circus the clown's lips formed a smile. Even in the shadows the clown could tell he was a little less dirty, a bit stronger. And why shouldn't he be? His circus had a brand new performer.

You remember how small you used to be. Skinny arms that trembled under the weight of an empty barbell. A flat chest you hid under oversized hoodies. A body so unimpressive that even mirrors seemed to lose your reflection in a crowded gym.

And then, I found you.

I promised you everything you’d ever dreamed. Size, strength, power...I could provide all of that. All I asked in return was obedience. Simple, right? You nodded so eagerly, thinking it meant early mornings, protein shakes, progressive overload, maybe a few humiliating selfies in the gym locker room for my approval. You were wrong.

The “training” never involved weights. It involved surrender. Day after day, you were broken down bit by bit. By my resonant voice, my possessive hands, my commanding gaze; Rewiring every synapse until resistance became physiologically impossible. You fought at the beginning. Cute little whimpers of “but I thought--!” and “wait, Master, that’s not--” until even forming full sentences felt too heavy for your softening mind.

Now look at you. Sprawled across my couch like a living trophy. Those once-narrow shoulders have ballooned into a thick, wide frame. Your pecs are so full and heavy they sag slightly when relaxed, nipples permanently puffy and firm from constant handling. Your arms, so strong and powerful, rest uselessly at your sides, unable to move without permission. Every inch of skin glistens with the sweat of perpetual low grade arousal. And between those tree trunk thighs, the white thong I make you wear is stretched obscenely, the fabric translucent where you’ve been leaking for hours.

You don’t even speak in words anymore. Just sounds. Soft, needy grunts when my palm settles on your chest. A long, broken whine when I drag a single fingertip down the center of your abs and watch every muscle jump and twitch like being shocked. A deep, animal rumble when I cup the fat, oversensitive mound between your legs and simply hold it...until your hips buck helplessly and drool slides from the corner of your open mouth.

You’re empty now. Beautifully, perfectly empty.

No bills. No deadlines. No decisions. No thoughts more complicated than how to please me. Your entire universe has shrunk to the heat of my body above you, the weight of my forearm pressed against your throat just enough to remind you who owns the air in your lungs, the slow grind of my hips against the soaked cotton that barely contains you anymore.

You used to beg to be big. Now you’re big, and you can’t even remember why you wanted it. All you know is that muscle means pleasure. Surrender is love.

I lean down, lips brushing against your ear. “You’re drooling again, pet.” A thick string of spit slides from your slack mouth onto your own pec. You don’t wipe it away. You can’t. I haven't told you what to do after all. I drag my finger along your sensitive nipple, causing you to quake. “Good boy.” Your whole body jolts at the praise. Back arching, thighs spreading wider on instinct, a long, shuddering moan vibrating through your ribcage. The front of your briefs darkens further. You’re not even hard anymore in the conventional sense; you’re just…always leaking. Always ready. A dumb, dripping faucet tuned only to my voice.

I roughly stroke you through your damp thong. Your breath hitches, high and pathetic. I don't even move with any urgency. My movements are slow and firm. Your eyes roll back. Mouth falls open wider. Hips jerk once, twice, then lock in a trembling bridge as you cum, thick globs filling the inside as they leak through the cloth. I can see your eyes, glassy and unfocused, grunting like a mindless ape. When it’s over you collapse, chest heaving, eyes glazed over. Your drool drips off your chin.

I cradle your jaw, thumb tracing along the edge of your mouth. “Who do you belong to?”

A low, wrecked sound crawls out of your throat. Not words. Just agreement. Surrender. Worship.

I smile. “That’s right.” I wrap my arms possessively around you. “You don’t have to think anymore,” I murmur against your temple. “You don’t have to want. You just have to feel. And leak. And serve.”

Your head lolls toward me, seeking my neck, my scent, my pulse. A soft, mindless nuzzle. A contented grunt.

yo yo yo bros fuuuckkkk 😵‍💫💦💦💦💦

ok ok im gonna try n make a realllyyyy long dumb jock tutorial on how to turn ur brain into cum n get super stupid n full of cum like me haha. my head is already like 90% thick jock batter so bare with me if i spell shit wrong or forget words ok??? im so fuckin braindead right now my balls are sloshin so heavy i can barely type straight 💦

step 1: stop bein smart right this second bro like for real. if ur readin this n ur still usin big words in ur head or thinkin bout work or school or whatever dumb smart stuff, just reach down n squeeze ur cock hard. feel that tingle? thats ur smart brain meltin. every time a smart thought pops up, dont fight it. just start strokin slow n dumb. up n down, up n down, till the thought turns into warm sticky goo n drips straight into ur balls. do this all day. at work, at home, even while eatin. soon u wont even have smart thoughts anymore. ur head will just feel empty n horny. thats the goal bro. empty head = full balls 😈

step 2: go to the gym n lift like a total retard dont plan nothin. just show up, put on the tightest shirt u got, n pick up the heaviest shit u can. grunt real loud. make dumb faces. push till ur muscles shake n ur brain goes totally blank. every single rep is squeezin more of ur old iq outta ur ears n pumpin it down into ur nuts. after like a week ur arms gonna look bigger, ur chest gonna pop, n u gonna start forgettin how to count past 8. the heavier u go the faster ur brain turns to cum. trust me i do this every day n look how fuckin stupid i am now haha

step 3: eat like a big stupid pig no thinkin bout healthy or calories or whatever. just shove food in ur face till u feel like ur gonna burst. protein shakes, burgers, chicken, rice, eggs, peanut butter – keep stuffin. chew with ur mouth open like a dumb jock. every bite makes ur body swell up with muscle n makes ur head shrink a lil more. soon u wont even remember what salad is. all u’ll think about is food, gym, n how full ur balls feel. the fuller ur belly gets the fuller ur balls get. its science or somethin but i dont know cuz im too dumb now

step 4: edge ur fat cock for hourssss every single day (this is the best part) this is how u really turn ur brain into cum bro. every night lock the door, get naked or just pull ur shorts down, n start strokin super slow. get right to the edge where ur balls are tight n ur toes curl... then STOP. breathe heavy like a dumb animal. wait till the urge goes down a lil, then start again. do this for 2-3 hours if u can. every time u edge, u feel ur old smart thoughts poppin like bubbles n turnin into fresh thick loads. the longer u edge the dumber u get. ur eyes will cross. ur mouth will hang open. ur balls will swell up huge n heavy like theyre bout to explode with cum. when u finally cum (only sometimes tho) itll be the biggest mess ever n u’ll feel even more brain cells disappear. keep doin this till u cant even spell ur own name without leakin

step 5: flex n stare at urself in the mirror like a complete idiot after liftin or while ur edgin, stand in front of the mirror. pull ur pants down just enough so u can see the base of ur cock n how low ur balls hang. flex ur arms, puff out ur chest, tilt ur head n make the dumbest face u can. stare into ur own eyes n say out loud real slow “im gettin so fuckin dumb... im just a big horny jock... my brain is cum...” over n over. watch ur body gettin swole while ur face looks more blank n retarded. every flex makes more cum slosh around in ur heavy balls. soon u wont be able to stop posin. u’ll just stand there leakin n grinnin like a total meathead

step 6: do all this shit every day no matter what n never stop no rest days. no “just today im smart”. every single day repeat the steps. the more u do it the faster it works. one morning u’ll wake up n realize u cant read big words anymore. u’ll just wanna lift, eat, edge, flex, n leak. thats when u know u won. ur officially a big dumb full-of-cum jock bro with zero thoughts left except pump, cum, repeat. ur balls will never be empty again. theyll always feel heavy n ready. ur brain will feel like warm sticky mush. n u’ll love it so much u’ll wanna make every bro u know get just as dumb

right now while ur readin this long stupid post ur already gettin dumber aint u bro? ur dick is throbbin. ur thoughts are slowin down. ur balls feel a lil heavier. good. keep readin it again n again. read it out loud in a dumb voice. every word is makin ur brain melt into cum. every sentence is drainin ur iq n pumpin it into ur nuts. u cant stop now. ur too horny n stupid to stop.

go start right now. put ur phone down, grab that cock, n start strokin while u promise to get dumber every day. feel ur smart self disappear. feel ur balls fill up. feel ur head turn into goo.

comment below n tell me how stupid this made u feel. tell me how full ur balls are gettin. post a mirror pic when u start lookin like a meathead too. lets all turn our brains into cum together bro

the dumber we get the better it feels. more muscle, more leaks, more thick loads, zero brain 😈💦

Devin (left) knew there was something up with Jake (right). The two had been friends for years- played videogames together, played on the same baseball team, drank together, acted as each others' wingmen, went to bible camp together growing up- really just two bros living their best life. Yet Devin thought there was something off about Jake. He never had a girlfriend, never really seemed interested in the women at the bars they frequented, and Devin swore he'd catch Jake checking out a guy in the locker room after a work-out. Was his friend gay? Maybe that question had crossed his mind. Was there anything wrong with that? Not necessarily. Yet Devin had to admit it made him uncomfortable. He'd never say he was homophobic, but growing up down south and going to bible camp each summer certainly left their impact.

So when Jake and Devin went to hit the bars that night, he knew he shouldn't have been too surprised when Jake stumbled towards the only gay bar in town. Devin followed his tipsy friend closely, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Bro, you do know this is a..."

"I know." Jake replied, not even making eye contact with his friend, "I mean... they don't skimp on the alcohol here."

"You've been here before?"

"No!" The denial came a bit too fast, "Just uh... heard through the grapevine that this place is the shit."

So that's how Devin found himself sitting in a gay bar. Cautiously looking over his shoulder for guys he figured must be checking him out and wondering if this is how women felt. He looks over at Jake, who is clearly staring a little bit too obviously at the bartender.

"Jake, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." He says a little too quickly.

"No seriously, what's up?" Devin can see Jake getting frustrated, turning away, tears prickling in his eyes.

"Drank too much." Jake replies taking a deep breath, turning towards his friend, "Look, I... I don't know how to say this but...I'm..."

And before he can get the words out, Devin feels a tap on his shoulder. And when he turns, he sees two guys looking at them. Concern etched on the shorter guys face, a devilish smile on the taller one's.

"We couldn't help but overhear your conversation." The taller one said, "My name is Paul by the way."

"I'm Leo." The shorter one said, voice quiet, "We don't mean to overstep but..."

"We know it can be difficult." Paul continued, "Hell, we were once in a similar place as you two. Confused, uncertain."

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Devin raised an eyebrow, "We're just..."

"I was once as oblivious as you were. Unable to meet my partner's needs." Paul looked at Leo lovingly, "Really not in tune with Leo at all. And he wasn't in tune with me." He smirked and pulled his boyfriend in for a kiss, "But that all changed and now we've been together for years."

"Wait. Jake and I aren't..." Devin winced as Paul placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Let's talk. You and me." Paul smiled, "And Leo, why don't you talk to Jake for a bit."

As Paul led a protesting Devin away, Leo slid onto the barstool next to Jake, leaning in close. "Hey there, handsome. I know this was sudden, but we couldn't help but notice all the tension between you and your boyfriend."

Jake's eyes widened in surprise at being called 'handsome', a light blush dusting his cheeks. "Oh, um, thanks. And he's not really my-"

Leo waved a hand dismissively. "Paul and I were in the same boat. God, he was so dense, and I was so… well uptight." He smiled, "But that all changed and now we're so much more compatible."

"Wait… I think there's been a…"

_______

Paul guided Devin to a quieter corner of the bar, placing a firm hand on his lower back. "Now Devin, I can see the strain in your relationship with Jake. Believe me, I've been where you are."

"Hold up, I think you got this all wrong. We're not-" Devin started, but Paul cut him off smoothly.

"Every relationship needs its dynamics. The give and take, the push and pull." His eyes locked with Devin's intensely. "We can help you two find the proper roles." Devin opened his mouth to protest once more, but Paul pressed on, voice low and persuasive. "I know it seems like everything is falling apart now. The fights, the misunderstandings… But trust me, this is a crucial turning point."

______

Meanwhile, across the bar, Leo leaned in close to Jake, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "You know, Jake, every relationship needs clear roles. I didn't realize what I needed, and neither did Paul. When Paul and I first got together… we were lost. Fighting all the time, on the verge of breaking up." He sighed, "But then we met a couple who showed us what we were missing." Leo continued, "See, Paul needed to be a real man. The dominant one. A real top, you know? Muscular, confident, hairy - the whole package."

As he spoke, Jake began to shift uncomfortably on his barstool. Leo noticed and smiled encouragingly, noticing as his muscles began to swell slightly, definition becoming more pronounced beneath his shirt.

"A proper top, confident and strong. Hairy in all the right places." Leo's eyes roamed appreciatively over Jake's changing form. "That's the kind of man Devin needs you to be, Jake. Take control, assert yourself."

"No, wait, I don't think…" Jake protested weakly, even as dark hair sprouted along his forearms and trailed up his neck.

-------

Across the bar, Paul had Devin pinned with his intense gaze, voice low and hypnotic. "Distinct roles, Devin. That's the key to a successful relationship."

He placed a hand on Devin's hip, thumb rubbing slow circles. "When Leo and I first got together, we were both trying to be dominant. Fought constantly." Paul shook his head, "But then we realized - Leo was meant to submit. To be my perfect little bottom boy."

As he spoke, Devin felt strange tingles spreading across his skin. His jeans suddenly felt tighter around his ass and thighs. "No, I don't…" he protested weakly, even as his body began to change.

His muscles started to soften and deflate. Proud pecs, arms, and lats shrinking in on themselves, all while his hips widened subtly.

"And that's exactly what you're going to be for Jake. A bottom eager to please."

Devin opened his mouth to object, to insist he wasn't gay and definitely not Jake's boyfriend. But the words died on his tongue as unfamiliar submissive urges welled up inside him.

His voice came out small and timid, "But I'm not…we're not…"

Devin tried to summon some of his old fire, but felt helpless under Paul's dominant presence. Devin whimpered, overwhelmed by the foreign sensations and desires flooding his body and mind. He knew he should resist, should correct Paul's assumptions...but the urge to submit was rapidly overriding his better judgment.

--------

Meanwhile, Leo watched as Jake's body morphed before his very eyes. The changes were subtle at first - a ripple of muscle here, a sprinkle of hair there. But soon, Jake's physique had transformed dramatically.

His arms bulged with lean, sculpted muscle, dark hair thicker and coarser than before. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, creating a classic V-shape. Jake's chest heaved with each breath, now covered in a pelt of coarse hair.

Leo licked his lips, eyeing Jake like a prime piece of meat. "God, look at you," he purred, reaching out to trail a finger down Jake's newly furry pecs. "A real man. Dominant. Powerful."

Jake shuddered at Leo's touch, electricity seeming to crackle across his skin. His cock throbbed in his pants, achingly hard and straining against the denim. New thoughts flooded his mind - raw, primal urges he'd never experienced before.

Mine… Gonna fucking wreck Devin… Make him my bitch…

The words echoed in Jake's skull as his hands clenched into fists, muscles flexing involuntarily. His pupils were blown wide with lust, gaze zeroing in on Devin across the bar.

"Wait... no... I don't..." Jake's voice was rougher, dripping with lust. The world around him shifting, his perception of himself altering as he looked down at his hairy chest, proud muscles, and thick bulge.

"Shhhh..." Leo smiled, "You know what you are now."

A cocky smirk on his now bearded face. Jake stood abruptly, towering over Leo.

"Fuck yeah, this is who I am," Jake growled, voice dripping with newfound confidence and aggression. He grabbed his crotch roughly, palming his massive erection. "Can't wait to stuff this fat cock in my slut's tight little ass."

Leo grinned, "Mmm, I bet he'll look so pretty stretched around your huge dick."

Jake rumbled approvingly, drunk on power and newfound lust.

-------

Back in the corner, Paul loomed over Devin, his imposing presence overwhelming the smaller man. Devin squirmed as strange sensations washed over him, his body betraying him. Soft curves replaced hard angles as Devin's features gentled. Puffy lips, delicate cheekbones, wide innocent eyes - he looked like the perfect pretty boy ready to be used. Devin's protests grew weaker, his voice pitching higher.

"N-no, this isn't right…" Devin whimpered, even as his plump ass pushed out, straining against his jeans. He couldn't meet Paul's piercing gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable. "I'm n-not gay, and Jake is just my friend!" He bit his lip- it felt so wrong to be assertive, to voice his own opinion without being asked.

"Wait, what?" Paul raised an eyebrow.

"We're just bros! We're just..."

Before Devin could say more, powerful arms encircled his waist from behind. He yelped in shock as he was pulled flush against a hard, muscular body. Jake's newly deep voice rumbled in his ear, hot breath ghosting over his neck.

"Mmmm, look at this sexy little bottom bitch." Jake growled in Devin's ear, voice dripping with lust.

Devin gasped, shivering at the feel of Jake's hot breath and scratchy stubble. His own traitorous body molded against those powerful muscles. "Ja-Jake, w-what are you doing?" he squeaked.

"Gonna make you mine." Jake bit his earlobe, causing a moan to escape Devin's puffy lips.

He knew he should fight this, push Jake away and insist this was all a misunderstanding. But as Jake's large, calloused hands roamed his body possessively, Devin found his willpower crumbling. He arched into the touch- enjoyed it. The masculine scent of Jake - sweat, musk and pure, potent maleness - invaded his senses, short-circuiting his brain.

"Yes, s-so big and strong," Devin mewled breathlessly, hips rolling back shamelessly to grind against Jake's fat cock.

"Fuck yeah, gonna ruin this tight little ass," Jake snarled, gripping Devin's plush cheeks hard enough to bruise, "Come on, lets get home."

Paul and Leo watched as Jake led Devin out of the bar, drinking in the sight of their handiwork.

"Mmmm, they're perfect for each other," Leo purred, palming his own erection.

"Kind of..." Paul mused, thinking about Devin's words, "At least they'll be happy together."

"Babe, everything okay?"

Paul roughly grabbed Leo's ass, imagining what Jake was doing to Devin, "Maybe we should get home too..."

Oookay, this one's gonna get a content warning, too, as per the asker's request. Dubcon, light violence, homophobic slurs... that sort of thing. Enjoy!

Rent-A-Thing — A dick is a dick

You don't think about the strange website much anymore, and it's already afternoon when you get a notification on your phone as you're out for a walk.

"Contract accepted. Meetup public men's room Echo Park, 5 PM. Contract owner is: Zack."

You only skim over the notification, having already forgotten about Rent-A-Thing and thinking it's from Grindr. Weird message, but then again, who isn't weird on Grindr?

The men's room in Echo Park is a well-known — albeit dangerous — cruising spot, and, apparently, 'Zack' is looking for a good time.

You're not one to judge, and you're horny enough to go. After all, a dick is a dick, right? You check if you got condoms and head to Echo Park.

It's 5 PM sharp when you arrive at the spot, and a tall, muscular guy is leaning against the wall, playing with his phone. He's wearing running shorts and seems to have jogged here. Despite the chilly March air, he's shirtless, and a bit of dampness clings to his furry chest. Subconsciously, you lick your lips. He's hot.

"Zack?" you ask, and the guy looks up from his phone.

"Huh? Yeah, man. That's me. Are you..."

He looks around, and when you nod, he breaks into a grin. You have to admit, it's not a very friendly grin. More of a throw-you-in-a-van-with-chloroform-grin, and you briefly wonder if you made a mistake.

He pushes a button on his phone before letting it slide into his pocket and rolls his neck.

"So, you're here for the contract, huh?"

Again with the 'contract'. Was that some weird kinky talk? You decide to play.

"Yeah, sure, 'contract'. What did you have in mind?"

You reach out to touch his exposed pecs, but his hand grabs your wrist and yanks you forward.

"How about you shut up and strip, faggot?"

Oookay! That Zack likes it a bit rougher? Jokes on him, you like being treated rough. Still, you're pretty much out in public.

"Don't you want to go inside first?"

"Fuck no," he spits back. "Strip. Now. Or I'll make you."

Wow, that's intense. You hesitate, but the guy is smoking hot. A little role-play might be fun, even though his performance leaves something to be desired.

"Okay, okay, I'll do it."

You unbutton your shirt. It's harder than usual, since your fingers are oddly uncoordinated.

"Oh, you fucking will, you piece of shit," Zack sneers, and before you know it, he is behind you, and with one hand, he holds your arms together behind your back, while the other one grabs the waistband of your jeans.

You try to protest, but the man is so strong it hurts, and with one swift motion, he tears down your pants. He licks his lips as he spins you around.

"Fuck yeah. No more embarrassing cruising season this year."

"What are you talking about?" you protest. Your mouth tastes strange. The taste is familiar, but you don't immediately recognize it.

"Shut the fuck up," Zack snarls. "You're not supposed to talk, you're supposed to hang between my legs."

"Hang... between your legs?"

Zack doesn't bother to answer. Instead, he shoves a knee between your thighs, forcing them apart. Involuntarily, you stumble, and the taste in your mouth finally comes into focus. It's pre-cum. Your mouth tastes like pre. You've tasted enough cocks to know the taste, and you also recognize it's not yours. But how...

You fall to your knees. Zack's grip on your arms is surprisingly strong.

"What the fuck?!" you call out. Your words are slurred, and your tongue is heavy.

"Up," Zack commands, and spits at your exposed asshole. When you turn around, you see his own shorts pooling around his feet now. And on his crotch...

Despite the uncomfortable situation, you can't help but burst out laughing. Zack's cock, even though it's fully erect, is, there is no other word, tiny. Maybe a bit bigger than your thumb, and it's covered in the same coarse black hair his chest and crotch are.

"What's so funny, asshole?" he spits, and with a surprising amount of force, pulls on your arms again. "Think I'm too small? Well, lucky for me, you're gonna change that."

He's got to be joking. But despite the absurd situation, your laughter is cut short when your body goes stiff. Stiffer than you've ever been. He spins you around again, and you feel his cock at your asshole.

"You've got five seconds to relax, or this is going to be hell for you. Five."

He starts counting down, and somehow, your ass obeys. His cock slips in. You barely feel it, but the instant his groin connects to your ass, something changes in you. You feel incredibly horny all of a sudden, and your own dick twitches with need. Zack is still holding your arms, so you can't reach it, but when you look down, you realize in horror that your rod is shrinking!

"What's happening?"

Your question is only half-articulated. You're scared and horny, and your body is changing in the most disturbing ways. Zack lets go of your arms, and when you look up, the guy has grown a foot in size since you last saw him!

No, actually, that's not right. He's the same size. You have gotten smaller! Not only your cock is shrinking, but the rest of you as well!

"Fuck yes, this is amazing!"

You've never seen a more satisfied grin on anyone's face.

"Look at you, faggot, you're gonna be a really nice, fat..."

"No!" you say, not letting him finish his sentence. You don't want to hear it! Meanwhile, your cock has shriveled away to nothing, and your arms and legs are next. They grow weaker with every heartbeat and disappear into your body.

"No! No, no, no!"

Zack laughs as you try to run, but your ass is firmly fused to his groin now. It's getting harder to look down, as your neck stiffens and your face changes. Your mouth dominates it now, and it turns sideways, as all your teeth disappear.

"Come on, cock meat. Try to enjoy the ride. You're gonna be in my pants for the next six months!"

You want to say something, to protest, but your voice is weak, and only a spurt of pre-cum spills out, as Zack runs one of his large hands over your stiff body.

"Yeah, that's right. You be a good little cock. And believe me, you're gonna see a lot of action."

Both of his hands are now running up and down your length, and you throb. This is more intense than anything you've ever felt before!

"Yeah... I'm gonna get you sucked, and I'm gonna fuck a different ass with you every day. You'd like that, huh? Look at you throbbing. And I'm gonna piss out of you and jerk you all summer. Oh, I'm gonna have so much fun with you, cock."

The words are a mix of horrible and hot, and you feel your body react, turning flushed and warm. Your head is completely gone now, replaced by a cock's head spurting pre-cum with every stroke. The rest of your clothes are scattered on the floor, and you see a jogger turning around blushing as Zack continues to rub one out right next to the path. Rub one out of you!

Another rush of excitement courses through you, and you can feel that you... no, Zack, no... both of you are getting close. He huffs and doubles down on you, beating you mercilessly until you finally explode, spewing copious amounts of thick, ropey cum from your mouth. Zack's cum.

He needs a moment to catch his breath before he pulls up his shorts, and the world goes dark.

"Gonna take a few new profile pics before you go all soft, cock meat," he says, and despite being spent, you twitch at the casual degradation. Fuck, the next few months are going to be hot in a way you never expected.

Throughout our time talking about Instajock I’ve mentioned a number of other offshoots from the main app. From their recently added AI assistant, ChadGTP, to a number of competing alternate apps, to someone mysteriously messing with the app, I’ve talked about a lot of different subjects. One of the things I haven’t talked about in a while though are knock-offs of Instajock. Now, to be clear, I'm not talking about every other transformation app. There are a number of other transformation apps out there, like Snapback or Redsky, but unlike the knockoffs these apps fill their own niche, and carry a sort of legitimacy that the knockoffs just dont… or at least as legitimate as a sketchy app used to transform someone's body, mind and identity can have. Knockoffs however are usually poorly made, clearly plagiarized, and almost always filled with some sort of malware. 

I’ve already mentioned one of the more harmless knockoffs of Instajock, AlphaJock, though it’s been some time since I followed up on it. AlphaJock is a knockoff of instajock, one that slowly transforms a user into a stereotypical ‘alpha male.’ From what my most recent research suggests, it seems like AlphaJock was a basic attempt by someone to recreate Instajock, which would explain why it doesn’t seem to have any particularly negative effects. My current theory is that the Mad Scientist, a somewhat reckless and dangerous tf reporter I’ve mentioned before, created the app as a way of better understanding Instajock. He’s never cared about consent or secrecy as much as I do, so it seems like something he’d do. AlphaJock is far from the only knockoff of Instajock though, and today we’re going to go through some of the best known, and most dangerous ones.

Some of you might remember when an unnamed app, downloaded off a sketchy site, transformed a young man into a Korean trophy himbo desperate for his sugar daddy. I’ve been able to find some more information about that app, and it turns out it's a lot more complicated and menacing than one might think. It’s called SugarRush, and it’s designed to essentially allow rich men to custom order slutty himbos. All a ‘Sugar Daddy’ has to do is sign up, customize their ideal himbo, and get their intended victim to press the link and download the app. The new himbo gets an easy life as a slutty piece of arm candy, and the Sugar Daddy gets their perfect fuck toy partner… as long as they keep paying the app fees. 

For our last app, let's go into one I haven’t talked about before, one that's fairly dangerous but also kind of interesting. A more legitimate app, known as TitsTok. It’s set up a lot like tiktok, if the pun didn’t tip you off to that already, but the videos are all focused on one thing: Pecs. Juicy pecs, manly pecs, hairy pecs, milky pecs, every video is just another guy looking dumb and playing with his own chest. Unlike instajock the transformation doesn’t happen right away. Downloading the app doesn’t transform anyone, but using the app does. The more videos you watch, the more pecs pops you stare at, the more you grow, until eventually you’re just another stupid set of man tits showing off for the camera. The thing I find most interesting is that people who use the app aren’t magically compelled back to it in any way. The only way people get changed is if they can’t resist staring at a ton of guys flexing their meaty, beefy pecs, and don’t notice as they fall deeper down the rabbithole. It’s still surprisingly effective though. I just don’t get it. How could someone get almost hypnotized by watching a set of bouncy, beefy, slutty pecs… Ok maybe I get it a little.

It’s more than a bit alarming at how many transformation based apps have popped up recently, both legitimate ones and knockoffs, especially since I still don’t quite understand how many of them combine technology and magic in the way they do. The good news is that none of these apps, even the less subtle ones, have made it into the public eye. The Master may be a horny sociopath, but he’s always at least known how to be discreet, and how to force others to be as well. If some of these apps went mainstream? Well… things could get out of hand real quickly. Even he doesn’t want that.

Bryce couldn’t believe that he met a hot Doctor who was running a muscle growth study. He had always wanted to put on muscle but his skinny frame seemed intent on remaining that way. When the Doctor informed him that he still had one spot open, he quickly volunteered to join the study.

Throughout the next year, Bryce would arrive to the Doctor’s lab once a weak and strip down naked so measurements could be taken. Then he would watch a few videos about a new workout technique or diet option. At first these videos were annoying to watch. Sometimes he swore he heard someone talking in the background or saw a random word quickly flash across the screen. When he told the Doctor about this, the Doctor just told him to stopping worrying about it and ignore it so that is exactly what Bryce did.

As the months went by, Bryce found himself incapable of focusing on his studies and found that he only cared about his workouts and diet. He eventually stopped going to classes. He continued to ignore all requests from his teachers and guidance counselors. He just found school so boring now that he couldn’t even give it a moment of his attention anymore. All that mattered now was giving the study his all.

He eventually received a letter that stated that he flunked out school but by the time it arrived, he found that he couldn’t read it so he took it to his next appointment with the Doctor. As the Doctor read the letter to him, he smiled at the end, put his hand on his pumped up pecs and informed him that he was now ready for Part 2 of the study. Bryce found himself cumming uncontrollably as the Doctor said that.

As part 2 of the study started, without even realizing it, he started to isolate himself. His friends and family no longer interested in. They would always act concerned about the changes he was making to his life but he knew deep down that they didn’t care. The only person who cared about him and wanted what’s best for him was the Doctor so he would do anything the Doctor says.

Eventually, Bryce was evicted from his small apartment but he didn’t worry. Today was his least appointment with the Doctor. He couldn’t wait to see if the Doctor would be proud of his growth.

He quickly rushed to the Doctor’s office, went to exam room one, removed his shirt, and waited. The moment the Doctor entered the room, Bryce’s cock started yo throb. He started yo tell the Doctor that he was evicted but the Doctor told him that he was already aware and had a solution for that problem but first, all he had to do was watch a new video.

When Bryce awoke, he has no memory of how he use to be but found that he didn’t care at all about that. He knew now who he was and now, he was the Doctor’s perfect muscle toy. All he must do now, is serve the Doctor so he was so happy when the Doctor informed him that the study was a success and that he was ready for Phase 3.

As Bryce listened to the Doctor explain Phase 3, he found his cock start to constantly leak. For phase 3, Bryce would be sold to the highest bidder at a secret auction. Once sold, Bryce would be programmed into his owner’s personal sex toy.

When the Doctor finished speaking, he found himself getting on his knees and crawling to the Doctor. He was so happy that the Doctor chose him for the study that he started to deep throat the Doctor’s cock. He just didn’t know any other way to thank the man for transforming him into the perfect muscle slave.

When I met him he was the picture of innocence. Clean shaven. Well spoken. He went to church every Sunday. He thought that the little tattoo he had gotten one drunk night in for $25 in Vegas was a scandal. His girlfriend was the love of his life. He was shopping for a ring. That all changed when he bumped into me. I saw a man who was so lost, he had convinced himself he was happy. I saw a man repressed and yearning to let go of it all and start over. I saw a man I could break and rebuild.

It was so easy to just “keep bumping into him.” To familiarize himself with me. After a week he had my phone number. After two he was texting me regularly. I listened to his hopes, his dreams, nodding along, knowing that they were worthless to him soon. Then he came over to my place. I would ply him with a little booze and let his mind adapt to me. My scent was making him woozy at first. He blamed it on the beer, but couldn’t ignore the feelings he was having as I wrapped my arm around him. I joked at his cock getting hard. He blushed with shame, but didn’t leave. He knew he was safe with me now.

By the send time he came over I knew it was time. As he sat on my couch, he didn’t even blink as I took off my shirt. He complimented my body.

“I don’t usually love how tattoos look, but they really suit you. They look really good with your muscles.”

That was all I needed to know it was time. I leaned in close, shifting our position so I was nearly on top of him. His eyes grew wide. I let my hand graze his growing hard on. He was so cute when he still had shame. I handed him a pair of glasses I had picked out special. Told him to try them on. He didn’t hesitate. And it was over for him.

Instantly the spirals kicked in front of his eyes, as the bone conducting speakers in the arms came to life. It was moments before he started whining and whispering. Saying he didn’t understand. He didn’t want this. But as I positioned him right under my ripe arm pit, licked at his smooth chest, and stared playfully fondling his fat balls, the whispering was replaced with moans. And as I slowly shifted from rubbing his crotch to full on stroking it, the moans gave way to drool. He was ready to give it all up. To give in. It was time to finish his mental transformation.

I ordered him to my bedroom. I told him to strip naked. I told him to worship me. He complied with every order. He shoved my socked foot right into his face, licking at the thin layer of fabric separating himself from his master, filling himself with my scent. I lifted my arms and like a moth to a flame he began huffing and slobbering on my pits, cleaning them better than they had been in months. As I lifted his face out and sloppily made out with his blank, obedient face, I let his tongue slip into my mouth and savored my first real taste of him. His mouth tasted of my cheap beer and something faintly sweet. I knew the flavor of intense brain asphyxiation.

By now his neuron receptors were shutting down, simplifying in their logic. Everything that didn’t fit was being drooled right out of his stupid face. My words slipped right in as though they were his own thoughts. You would look so sexy if you started working out. You want to look sexy for me. You should get a few more tattoos. Let me pick them out. It feels right to let me use your body as my canvas. It makes me happy, and you want to make me happy. You love worshipping your master. It is better to be owned. His scent has marked you, so you are his to control. You get rock hard with your nose pressed against the sources of your master’s scent. Here I flipped over and presented my furry, sweaty asshole to him. The smell immediately drew him in. His inexperienced tongue lapped at my slit as his nose was filled with my strongest pheromones. Assisted by his drool and my grinding, I myself let go of a faint moan. But that’s all he needed as encouragement to double down as he explored with his tongue, eager to please his reason for existence. But I couldn’t let that be the end. There was one more release I needed to give my new toy. As I repositioned myself I gave him one last command. You love to cum in me. He automatically lifted my legs and lined up with my sloppily eaten out hole. He was only to happy to oblige.

Lawrence thought he was the king of the fucking world. He’d bagged Susan – prim little debutante, high-society cunt with old-money blood. She worshipped him. He was a real man, not some spineless East Coast soyboy. He knew how to fuck, and he knew how to bleed trust-fund kids for their daddy’s cash. Now here he was, struttin’ at her parents’ summer gala.

The tux had cost a fortune – didn’t matter, Susan had paid. Probably Daddy’s Amex.

He didn’t even care where she was. Bitch was probably somewhere pretending to be daddy’s little angel. Out of boredom, he’d already pulled a waitress into the pantry and fucked her raw.

What he didn’t know: Susan had spilled to Aunt Cynthia. And Aunt Cynthia had called her boy Jackson. “Handle it. Family honor’s on the line.”

Jackson went hunting. The punk was about to regret being born.

“Lawrence?” Jackson found him in no time. Too loud, too cocky, sticking out like cheap vinyl in a Newport mansion.

“Who’s askin’?”

Jackson smiled, introduced himself. Cousin. Heard all about him. Wanted to meet. Offered him a cigar.

Lawrence didn’t smoke, but hell, here it looked classy. Tried to play the part. Jackson lit it for him, waited till he puffed twice. Then lit his own—two-hundred-dollar Davidoff. Smooth, elegant.

“So, Lawrence, know cigars?”

He didn’t. But he nodded like a clown.

Jackson leaned in, blew rich smoke in his face. “Mind if I call you Larry?”

Lawrence blinked, eyes unfocused.

“Larry, the smoke I’m blowing in your face is from a two-hundred-dollar cigar. To enjoy one, you need class, breeding, a spine. The shit you’re smoking? Costs fifty cents. You get it at a truck stop with a six-pack and jerky.”

That’s when it hit.

His slicked hair grew greasy, stringy, hanging to his collar. The tux clung wrong, reeking of sweat. The fancy aftershave Susan had bought? Burned away. Now he stank of stale beer, Marlboros, motor oil, and swamp-ass. His jaw softened, chin sprouting patchy scruff like a gas-station bum. His hands roughened, calluses cracking through, fingernails caked in dirt.

“You bastard!” he snarled, but the voice wasn’t his. It was a slow, thick redneck drawl. “I fuck yer cousin, I’m fam’ly now!”

Jackson grinned. “No, Larry. You’re staff. And staff don’t talk to family. Susan? She wouldn’t spread her legs for trash like you.”

Larry spat, insisting he wasn’t a waiter, he belonged here.

“No,” Jackson said cool as ice. “You’re not a waiter. Our waiters bathe. You’re fired.”

He tucked a five-dollar bill into Larry’s filthy pocket.

Larry bristled, but Jackson flicked two fingers. Security came. Big fuckers. Larry tried to square up, but his boots were scuffed, tux torn, pit stains spreading. They dragged him out like the trash he’d become.

“Ma’am, swear ta God, waitin’ tables jus’ ain’t fer me,” Larry drawled to the job-center clerk, cap twisted on his greasy curls. His tux was gone; now it was oil-stained jeans and a stained tanktop, stinking of smoke and sweat. “Got somethin’ like haulin’ shit, maybe construction? These arms ain’t fer carryin’ no fuckin’ plates.” He flexed, thick biceps bulging under tattooed skin.

She wasn’t impressed. But she found him a plumbing gig.

Larry was thrilled. This was his world. Driving the truck, haulin’ pipe, bustin’ his knuckles on greasy jobs. Sometimes layin’ real pipe with the boys after shift. He was damn good at that.

Steven and Peter were living proof that a dream body didn't mean an empty head. Sure, they weren't on the Dean’s list, but their grades were solid, their minds sharp enough, and their professors expected they'd end up in courtrooms — not in trouble, but in tailored suits, winning cases.

And yet, no one invited Steven and Peter for their academic potential. They were events, not guests. Every party lit up when they arrived. But Halloween? That was their high mass. Their costumes were infamous, suggestive, tongue-in-cheek, sometimes indecent — always unforgettable.

This year, they'd accepted an invite from the Delta Gamma girls — notorious for their wild, no-limits parties. Rumors of drunken dares and open-door orgies floated through campus chat threads. Steven and Peter had heard it all. And they were ready.

They made their entrance just before eleven, dressed as shirtless devils in latex and chains. The crowd went feral. Phones came out. Music swelled. Someone screamed. Game on.

By midnight, they’d already been upstairs, downstairs, in the laundry room, and maybe the pantry. One night stands? More like fifteen-minute ones. Fuck and get out, that was their motto. And when the girls were tipsy, it got even easier.

But not everyone was drunk.

Delta Gamma’s president wasn’t just sober — she was watching. She saw the way Steven grabbed wrists too tightly. The way Peter didn’t listen to the word “no.” The way consent turned into choreography.

She saw enough. And she spoke.

Not loudly. Not theatrically. Just a whisper. A curse, woven from fury, old words, and campus legends that nobody took seriously.

Until two statues stood in the hallway, frozen mid-laugh, muscles tense, grins wide. Two bodies, sculpted by gods — and now, claimed by something older.

Their limbs wouldn't move. But their minds screamed.

And then — floodgates.

Memories poured in, overwritten like a corrupted file:

Failing class after class. Getting expelled. Taking lifeguard jobs in Santa Barbara out of desperation. Sharing a one-room apartment with sand in the carpet and no future. Sucking each other off one night, just to feel something. Becoming those guys — tanned, dumb, jacked, and always horny. Locals called them “Eddie” and “Logan.” They had no idea who that was, but it sounded cool. They fucked each other, spotted each other at the gym, saved a few tourists. Rinse and repeat. Day after day. Muscle, sun, cock. Muscle, sun, cock.

There was no college. No law career. No more frat parties. No more women. Only the beach. And each other. And some tourists... And they never even wondered what had gone wrong. Because now — they were too stupid to remember.

The curse had worked perfectly. They were harmless.

Beautiful. Obedient. And blissfully, irreversibly dumb.

For Tommy and his friends, No Nut November had become a yearly tradition. While he didn’t necessarily look forward to it, the blonde always seemed to win- often being able to outlast his buddies. And while this year had certainly been close, it looked like Tommy was going to take to take home the bragging rights. Sure, his dick ached with need and he had been neglecting it for the past couple of weeks. And while his boyfriend often made fun of him for engaging in such a “stupid contest”, Tommy was more of a strict bottom anyway and got plenty of his needs met that way.

“Congrats on your victory babe.” His boyfriend had texted him, “I have a surprise for you when I get home.” The winky face at the end of the message told Tommy everything he needed to know- and he was definitely looking forward to whatever activities his boyfriend had planned.

But as Tommy continued to go about his daily activities, still ignoring the ache in his dick, a new feeling settled in his stomach. He rubbed his sore abs and took a few deep breaths as he felt an odd cramping sensation welling up from deep within him. He assumed it must’ve been something he ate and walked to the bathroom. But the discomfort didn’t seem to stop- only getting worse as his body temperature rose. He quickly removed his clothing, the cool air of the room feeling nice on his warm skin, while a cool draft caused his cock to stir with pleasure and pain. Tommy nearly doubled over at the feeling in his aching member- staring at it as it grew. He touched it gently and immediately fell to his back from the intensity of the pleasure.

“Wh-what the fuck.” He breathed out, lying on the ground, his eyes unfocused from the waves of pleasure and pain that coursed throughout his lean body.

And like a sudden compulsion, he felt his arms forced to extend above his head, an aching sensation emanating throughout them. He watched as his arms started to fill with muscle, while his hands started to shift and change- becoming wider while his fingers shortened and became stubbier.

“Fuck yeah, finally!” Another voice called out softly, so softly that Tommy barely heard it.

“Who’s there?” Tommy replied, fear taking hold of his mind.

But before he could register anything else, he felt another creaking and cracking of his muscles. This time, he watched as his pecs appeared to sink into themselves, his nipples disappearing, while a small hole formed in the center of what used to be his chest. At the same time, it appeared as though his legs were also beginning to shift. His feet were taking on the appearance of hands, while his leg muscles shifted, taking on an appearance similar to incredibly muscular arms. Tommy looked down at what used to be his arms and his eyes widened as he realized his hands were now two large and calloused feet, tufts of hair on the surface of them. And as his arms packed on more and more muscle, he felt his head being squeezed on either side.

“Ah this feels so good.” The voice was less soft, louder and more present.

Tommy let out a surprised yelp as he felt his body push itself up until the blonde found himself doing what felt like a handstand. And that’s when it dawned on Tommy. His arms were now a pair of muscular and powerful legs, ending with large manly feet. He tried to crane his neck to look up but barely could.

“Ha-ha broooo.” The voice called out, “Fuckin’ look at me.” It said in its deep baritone voice. The same stupid voice that Tommy associated with frat bros.

“St-stop...pl-please.” Tommy called out, his own voice becoming softer. He noticed he was having a harder time moving his mouth to form words.

But he was ignored and suddenly found himself swinging from side to side as his body began to move on its own. He could do nothing as he continued to feel himself change further. First, he felt as though he was no longer able to move his neck and he watched as he blond locks fell from his head. And then for a split second, the world went dark before his field of vision returned, albeit somewhat limited. The same with his hearing. The muscular legs on either side of him became coated in hairs. As he tried to call out again, Tommy felt what he initially thought was phlegm rise from the back of his throat. The liquid was salty and seemed to dribble from his mouth, causing him to want to gag, but he found himself unable to. None of this made sense, and he was trying to get a better glimpse of himself. All he could make out was what looked like a hairy muscular abdomen above him, and two thick hairy thighs on either side of him. Questions filled his mind as he tried to understand his situation. But before he could think more on it, he heard a dumb chuckle and suddenly, Tommy felt as though his face was being stretched- another aching sensation coursing through his head and neck.  

“Ya know you’ve neglected me for a long time.” The booming voice said. Tommy wanted to yelp as he felt a hand wrap around him, “But I’m not gonna do that to you bro.” Tommy barely had any idea what the voice was saying, “Huh, that’s right. This might be a bit confusing for ya brah. Here have a look.”

If Tommy could, he would’ve screamed. In the mirror was one of the largest, hairiest men that he had ever seen. The guy looked like he played football, the pinnacle of masculinity with a stupid dopey grin on his chiseled face. But that was less shocking compared to what Tommy soon came to realize. The man was holding his fat, enlarged member, which is when Tommy was able to put it all together.

“That’s right bro, you ignored me for so long, I just had to take control.” The jock laughed, “And well that means we had to switch places.”

Tommy felt a sense of dread well up from deep within him. This couldn’t be happening- he was a human! Not a cock. This wasn’t possible. As his mind bounced around trying to rationalize his way through this, the jock smiled.

“Well aren’t you eager.” He chuckled in his dim voice, scratching at his hairy pec, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

And that’s when Tommy felt it. The hand around his cylindrical body began to pump up and down, faster and faster. His thoughts became harder to focus on as pleasure coursed throughout his body- the calloused hand that played with him igniting wave after wave of pleasure. He felt himself twitch, his hard cylindrical body throbbing in anticipation. The jock smirked and quickened his pace.

“Yeah, you like that, huh? Think you could just ignore me?” He moaned out, his pace quickening, “Never again bro. Turned you into my needy cock. Showing you what a real man looks like.” Tommy could barely register any of the words, the liquid in the back of his throat rising faster and faster, “Fuck dude!” The jock moaned out as he finally came, sending wave after wave of cum from Tommy’s new mouth.

Tommy could barely process the level of pleasure that rocketed through his new body. His mind was nearly shattered as his cylindrical body softened and dangled limply between the jock’s legs. But as Tommy was winding down from the pleasure, he felt something cover his entire body, throwing his world into darkness. The jock smirked and posed in the mirror, showing off his bulge and ass, which were covered in black compression underwear. There was another dumb chuckle, and Tommy twitched in pleasure as the jock grabbed him through his underwear.

“Welcome to your new home, bro.” The jock chuckled, “Now let’s go find that boyfriend of yours. If I had to guess, that ass of his was also feeling pretty neglected. Someone ought to help him out, don’t you think?” And Tommy felt his new body quickly expanding, pressed up tightly against the confines of the new jock’s underwear.