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Jim or as his mother would call him little Jimmy was begrudgingly AVERAGE at anything and everything and at the age of twenty five it was starting to get on his nerves. Not because it was causing him problems directly or that it was mentally taxing. It was bothering him because at this point all of his peers from high school and college had already moved out, moved on from the small town life. Whereas he was stuck with a simple office job, no relationship and a hell of a lot of self esteem issues. Not to mention living at home with his mom who insisted it was all fine, hell even encouraged it.  With no one to push Jim out the nest, of course he would never try or learn to fly.  He just moped about what it could have been, stashing back some money here and there just in case though.

(Jim)

He had just gotten home from work! Another droll day at the office, where he accomplished nothing but busy work and kept doing the same routine. He couldn’t even explain it to you if he tried what he did, he needed adventure, something, anything to change but he didn’t want to be the one to do it. He wanted someone to do it for him.

That's just what was getting ready to happen, it was late, he had to stay longer to organize some different files. His mom was out for some wine and book club and he had a microwave dinner calling to him. His clothes, disheveled and slightly unbuttoned, belt taken off and he was ready for the rest of it to be gone but food called his name. Just as finished starting the microwave he heard a loud knock on the door. Firm, sturdy, and from what he heard sounded like authority, it was enough to make him jump. 

“Coming, who's there?" It was late but Jim was still a white man, he had no understanding or concept of fear beyond the sudden noise. No one would be coming to do untoward harm or with malicious intent. Not here, not to him, why would they? He walked to the door, not even waiting for them to reply or answer him. He didn’t even look through their peephole. As the door swung open a man spoke.

“Hey, Its Marshall, town sheriff, was doin neighbor check ins, you were on our list to hit tonight!” His voice was deep, southern. Not stupid but definitely slow. Sheriff Marshall was a silver fox daddy. A built body held back by a tan uniform that begged for release. A beard that would put any man's head of hair to shame with how full it was. His voice, his eyes were all deep with authority, holding attention until you were dismissed in some manner. There was also this scent, this smell, this MUSK that started to slowly waft, piercing any barriers, and every sense inside and out of Jimmy.

It was heavy, earthy, drawing the office worker in, making him more susceptible to the upcoming plans of the Sheriff. He couldn’t stop himself from taking another deep whiff, his face scrunching up, because it was almost foul with how overpowering it was, sweat from a hard day's work mixed with natural BO, but the more he breathed in, the more addictive it got. The more agreeable, and open he became, saturating his mind, his body. Becoming a plaything for someone else…. The Officer.

“Oh sheriff, please come in? What has got you goin door to door checking in on us? Something happen?” The way he spoke sounded slightly cautious, maybe Jim actually was nervous, or more likely, he wanted to seem innocent even though he had no crime other than jaywalking that he had committed. 

“Suspicious activity, something about strangers being spotted lurking around peoples houses, just coming by, asking what everyone has seen or heard. If they have seen or heard anything?” he walks in, moving right into the living room. He looks out the windows, pulling the blinds apart like he's looking for something, or someone. Jim is offset by all of this, maybe he should be more cautious, maybe he should be worried about something. Why would the sheriff be looking around like that? 

The Sheriff quickly scratched the back of his neck, exposing his underarm, releasing a quick, strong blast of his musk discombobulating Jim. His mind is unable to focus, still nervous. He would just put that energy elsewhere, ramble, yes he would ramble!

“Not able to say much, I mean I feel like if there was someone skulking around Ruth or Gladys, our lesbian old lady neighbors would have brought it up to us,or said something. I mean you know how nosey old women are right? They watch from their windows and porches, like to talk gossip . I mean maybe they even called you?” he was word vomiting, Marshall took this time to find the recliner, one that Jim’s dad used to sit in. His legs spreading wide apart, Crotch on full display, bulging out of his tight uniform. His arms rested easily.

Jim wasn’t expecting that, he was taken aback, his word vomit caught in his throat as something he wouldn’t touch was commandeered by basically a stranger… Not a stranger, it was the sheriff, maybe he was tired and he just needed a rest…. Maybe? That was out of nowhere for the young man to think. Why would he argue with himself?

“It wasn’t a call from them, several other residents I’m not able to reveal or identify made the complaints and comments, I'm just here doing my job, come sit, lets talk this through!” His voice lies so easily, like second nature and as Marshall points to the floor beneath him when he says sit. His finger feels just as authoritative as his voice, his eyes, his entire demeanor. More so with everything added together but Jim wasn’t some dog, he wasn’t a kid, he definitely wasn’t the sheriff’s kid. This was all just a little bit weird. No matter how aggressively heavy the musk in the area was, or how … intriguing he found the attractive man… attractive where did that come from.

“I’m fine standing Marshal, can we make this brief, I'm starving!” It's not a question, he is trying to make this more informal, offset this status quo that was just created. Rushing him out, calling him by his name, not officier, not sir.

That upsets the sheriff, “it all started so smoothly” he thinks “I mean the idiot freely welcomed him in, none of the neighbors were watching, his family wouldn’t be home anytime soon. Hell the slight push in his mind, and the deep heavy thick musk didn’t cause any fuss, he was already so openly pliable, did the officer misstep? Was sitting in something that boy defined as his fathers too much and made him start questioning everything?” All of these thoughts were popping in the Transformers mind. Would his time of prepping and planning for this be a waste and he’d have to discard this boy and erase his memory of his encounter?

Sheriff Marshall was special, he and his family for generations have held not just political or social power. No, they held magical power, influence over the ancient horny magics that make up our world. Primordial, lustful and unstoppable especially in the hands of an experienced caster, and the sheriff was experienced, he held this town in a firm grip, morphing and changing its people into his perfect playthings. Sometimes just a slight adjustment to the criminals, of course if he wanted to change them for the better…. But  that change had to come with something sexual otherwise the magic wouldn’t do it. It’s why the town they all lived in had such a high density of queer people.

Whether it was attaching manners, proper ways of speaking and attitude to amazing blowjobs and an addiction to cocks, or with keeping their hands only to themselves unless they were pleasing a man who demanded respect. They were all sexual, its the only way his magic could function or work, trust him he tried at first to do without. But at the end of the day the changes worked how they worked, and it was lonely doing it on his own, Samuel Marshall needed help, he needed a son and that's exactly what he was going to get today! By pure unadulterated horny force.

“Brief? There's nothing brief about this! Now be a GOOD BOY and SIT!” The words echo in the air, a strange heat, a PULSE rakes through Jim’s body, his mind shuddering as he feels the need to listen, to obey! The word GOOD BOY banging around in his head, making it feel good to do that, he should always listen to those in charge, and who was more in charge then a sheriff? He goes to do what the officer said, but he doesn’t follow where the man's meaty hand is pointing, he sits down on the couch. This makes the Sheriff mad, his face fully grimacing, disappointment clear, his fingers snap before Jim has  a chance to speak, to ask what’s going on.

“I said BE A GOOD BOY AND SIT!” As he yells this, his pointing finger glows and so does Jim’s forehead, that heat from before rises, becoming unbearable. His mind aching and burning as he feels his body, not in his own control, slump to the floor, landing him right at the officer’s boot! Musk flowing through the air encouraging this obedience, fueling this pulsing burning. His face right next to it, it feels so much better to listen, Jim’s cock starts to get hard just doing that but his mind, his face, all say a different story. Wide eyes, staring up at the man commanding him in fear and worry. Those words now loudly echo in his brain, bouncing around in his mind and where they land they plant roots that slowly take over. His cock now leaking precum in his slacks as he feels both terrified and aroused.

“What… how? Why can’t I move?” He manages to ask but The Sheriff just shooshes him, the silence settles over his lips before he knows it. His body, his lips listening, obeying LIKE A GOOD BOY. it makes him grind his hips against the floor, moaning and humming in pleasure. He was acting like some horny dog humping the floor in heat, unable to stop himself from getting off on this insane situation. He needed to remember who he was, what he was attracted to, big, massive MUSCLES AND HAIR. 

“Don’t worry about that little head of yours, it won't matter to you in a bit! I want to thank you for COMING OVER TO MY PLACE. It has EVERYTHING WE NEED FOR A GOOD TIME!” As he says the words the townhouse they're in starts to melt away, quickly rebuilding itself into the officer’s manor. His family’s generational home, seeped in magic and horny debauchery. No longer a middle class homey living room, now in the middle of a robust study, with books lining the walls, a fireplace waiting to roar with flames and Jim's face deep in an ornate rug with the cops boot right above his face. This was much more private, with how much moaning and groaning Jimmy would be doing they needed it, now the fun could really begin.

“Now hand me your ID. I wanna make sure we're getting this right!” His hands move on their own, going into his back pocket, taking his wallet out and holding it up for the gruffer man to grab. Again obeying sent a thrill through his body, a deep heat pulsing making his grinding get faster. It makes Sheriff Marshallsmirk as he sees it take root. He snatches the wallet, pulling the ID unceremoniously and discarding the rest of the contents to the floor. He looks at it over hemming and hawing, the entire time jim is unable to look away. The longer he stares at this man, this pinnacle of masculinity, of authority. The harder he finds it to look away.

He has always been straight, never even once questioning it in his mind. Sure he could tell guys were attractive or physically intriguing but he would never give them a second glance. But his eyes stuck on Samuel Marshall, the boner that refused to go down while he listened and obeyed him AND the drool falling from his lips made it clear something was different. There was something about the broad beefy shoulders, the deliciously big, bulging slabs of pectorals and strapping biceps that made the fabric of his uniform stretch that made the formerly straight office worker…. Horny.

Then you take in the exposed body and facial hair. Jimmy had never been into hair on women, it was gross, too masculine. But the idea of it rubbing against him, scratching his skin as the Sheriff grabbed him by the sides of his head and pulled him into a deep all consuming kiss… WHAT THE FUCK WAS HE THINKING..... His massive forearms and meaty hands held him just right, pressing deeply against his body as he fully surrendered and melted into the stronger, better man. THE IDEA OF HIS HANDS MOVING LOWER DOWN HIS BACK, LIGHTLY PALMING HIS ASS BEFORE GRIPPING BOTH CHEEKS! That thought alone snaps some sense into Jim… his ass? He had never even thought of it in a sexual way. He tried to beg the man to stop, plead with the handsome gruff DADDY but all his words came out as a muffled mumble or moan.

“Oh dear, Jim Henderson, age 26, only five foot six,  seems like you were made to be a runt!” His voice sounds so disappointed, that hurts more then the things he said, you don’t want to disappoint him.

“No worries though, we're gonna fix you right up SON!” The word hits you like a brick through a window. Your mind breaking in fractal patterns as his musk, so much stronger down at his feet, overwhelms you. SON? SON? But Jim had a dad, this man couldn’t be his DADDY. No matter how much he wanted to submit to him. To feel him explore every aspect of his body, his beard tickling his face, neck and all the way down to his ass as this DADDY peppers his body in kisses. The thought alone is crazy but Jim’s mind latches onto it.

“There’s that light struggle, let's fix that first. SON, LICK MY BOOTS CLEAN! Each lap of that tongue is going to cause that pathetic resilience to slip away till nothing is left!” His body moved on its own, his pants and underwear absolutely already ruined from the amount of precum he was leaking, the weird gay fantasies he was having and all the obeying, now… now it was like he was right on the edge as he moved his face to start licking the Sheriff’s boots. They weren’t filthy, but after a long day on patrol they had dirt, dust and grime. He tried to hold himself back. His neck and shoulders were tight, tense but eventually that familiar MUSK and PULSE overwhelmed his will.

The way he was nose and mouth first to Marshall's shoe made the cop laugh. Jim's face had the look of disgust as he took long licks across the leather, his mind numbing with each one, throat wanting to gag as he did it. It made Samuel frown, a bit of anger rising, I guess his boy would need more initial changes then he thought. The taste of his hard work should get the boy going, not gagging.

“That's it Son, keep licking, every speck you clean off my boot with your tongue, the hornier it makes you. The hornier you are, the more eager you are to clean my boots with your tongue, it’s YOUR FAVORITE THING!” The words echo and bounce, Jimmy’s licking becomes feverish, his hands moving on their own accord grabbing onto one of marshall’s legs to pull the boot closer. The small parts of him that remain, the parts that are shrinking and breaking rapidly try to pull away but its no use. After his left boots clean he dives into the right, mouth gently kissing the boot before making out with it.

With the resilience gone, the next thing to naturally go was Jimmy's overly complicated, boring life. Unfulfilled relationships, boring sex with women and a terrible job. Replaced now with deep seated daddy issues, a need to please and serve his father. The idea of older hotter men dominating him and a deep addiction to musk that would never leave him. But so much had to be connected together, so many empty voided spots in his mind demanded to be filled and magic had a way of doing it.

It's crazy how the mind, when something gets lodged into it, will suddenly start making new connections. Little Jimmy here was told he would LOVE cleaning the boots, every speck making him horny, that it be his favorite thing. But kinks, obsessions, really anything SPREADS once its lodged deep into the psyche. Now Jimmy can’t help but wonder if worshipping his new Daddy’s feet will feel just as good if not better then the shoes. If the musk, this naturally masculine, heavenly odor coming from his true superior will always taste this good, and what every part of him will taste like. Images of his face being shoved into the boots, forced to take in that ripe scent till its all he can smell inside and out, the socks being shoved into his open mouth to silence him when they’re fucking in public.

“God you really are meant to be my boy” Marshall snaps his fingers and suddenly Jimmy stops his worship, mind and body waiting for his new instructions.

“Here comes my favorite part, see if you're going to be my son, you gotta look and act the part, so lets change these details here BOY!” Marshall  pokes at the ID repeatedly before throwing it on the ground. He stands up, picking his prize right off the floor after, his arms underneath his boys. A small pulse emanating from them, the clothes Jim was wearing slowly turned to ash leaving him in nothing. The sheriff looks him up and down, taking as he does, circling him like a shark does prey.

He already knows he wants him taller, a loud snap is heard as suddenly Jimmy’s legs elongate, his arms become more gangly, his torso stretches higher. His spine snaps and pops till he’s at a solid six foot. His weight makes him look like a tall skinny nerd, something that would have to be remedied very soon.

The boy's ramrod cock is nice, just about six inches hard but it could be bigger. But the rest of him is average or below. Skinny fat, average height and average face. Jimmy wasn’t someone people could pick out in a crowd, or remember in the back of their mind. This would all change, no one would be able to forget who he was. The boys eyes tried to follow his daddy, mouth openly drooling as he looked the sheriff up and down waiting for his next order. Waiting for the final parts of himself to be consumed, to be recreated into his daddy’s perfect son.

The sheriff moves in, his hands go to the boy's torso, rubbing up and down the sides of Jimmy. As his hands trail past where his love handles were, they were still there somewhat, just less obvious. Jimmy can’t help but moan as his body pulses and the fat on his mid section starts to melt off of him. As his mouth opens, the sheriff moves his own onto his son, claiming his mouth. It's passionate, it's fiery, it's all consuming, taking the leftover parts of the old him, making more room for changes and filling him with a new need, an addiction for his new father.

As the younger Jimmy slowly starts to give up, give in his body starts to age, slight wrinkles appear on the skin as he goes from 26, to 27. Then at 28 his hair starts to thin a little, The Sheriff’s hands briefly make their way up and with a quick comb of his fingers it shortens further into a military crop. At 29 as they pull a way to breathe, both men panting, strings of saliva still connecting their lips, Jim's lips plump up, his face restructuring, his jaw line becoming sharper, more angular like some comic book super hero. His nose went from button like to incredibly strong, wider. His eyes became this perfect green and his brow bone extended giving him the final touches to make him look like a dumb ex jock turned cop! When he finally hit 30 Jimmy lunged his own mouth at his new fathers, his hands grabbing the sides of his dad's face to pull him in for a kiss. So eager to feel his lips, his tongue again.

Samuel pushes more magic into his son, his hands trailing his body leaving a smattering of hair, his chest exploding with muscles becoming perfect slabs of meat. His shoulders broadening, back tensing as they become over developed.  His biceps bulge, arms getting stronger and more vascular as the kiss heats up. His new meaty hands unbuckling his fathers belt in a frenzy, eyes closed totally lost to lust. His son's new torso firm's up, a six pack of abs cobbling themselves together before leading down to cum gutters that make any faggot swoon looking at him. He was incredibly top heavy now, barely standing up straight, Officer Marshall would have to remedy this next with his favorite part.

It's when it gets to his son's cock and ass that Samuel Marshall breaks the kiss, one hand grabbing at his ass the other gripping his cock. He looks at this younger version of himself he has started to create, a hungry wolf's grin, he already gave him a kink for worshipping his boots, accidentally created one for worshipping his feet and musk. Now he has made him addicted to him and older, it was time to tie arousal to his father, pleasing and worshipping him and of changing the people of this town. He would be just like his new father, dedicated to protecting and serving… just not the community. Serving their kinkiest, horniest fantasies. To make him more similar he’d have to give jimmy a new name 

“That's it boy, whimper moan and beg, you can feel it LITTLE SAMMY!, that need in those thick delicious deputy cheeks of yours. A need, a hunger for me and my cock!” The new name hits him hard and fast. If he really was going to be Samuel Marshall’s son, his mini me,then they should share a name right? It's a piece of information that completes the fantasy. Then his father’s fingers dig into his son’s tight ass. Magic pulsing through it making what little fat and muscle the previous office worker had jiggle. Pounds of muscles and fat pour into him, nerve endings get incredibly sensitive, and his once virgin hole starts to wink and become uncontrollably hungry. Until nothing but a hungry irresistible bubble butt.

Officer Marshall moves behind his son, quickly snapping his fingers and his own clothing dematerializing. A heavy twelve inch cock springs free leaking pre, slapping against the newly minted ass. Wedging itself against the cleft of his son’s cheek, grinding in seesaw motions as both hands grip the above average penis on Sammy Jr. The boy cant help but whine and moan, thrusting and grinding back causing his cock to fuck his dad’s hands.

“Oh you're almost there, you're almost perfect, those thighs are catching up to your ass quick, must be all those squats I made you do!” He can’t help but laugh and tease, Sammy’s whining and moaning getting more animalistic, his thighs packing on muscle, his thrusting getting stronger as it does, his calves are next as they carved themselves into perfect diamonds and then his feet become insanely wide size 13’s. It only hits The Master Transformer Sammuel Marshall now that he made his boy shut up and never let go of it, he lets go of that command and immediately his son is a moaning mess.

“PLEASE, DADDY… DADDY MAKE ME PERFECT, MAKE ME JUST LIKE… fuck your hands feel so good! IM SO CLOSE… MAKE ME LIKE YOU!” His voice is panting and yelling as he keeps fucking himself stupid, his hole being teased, unable to get the head of his fathers cock in there yet.

“All you had to do was ask son!” Sheriff Marshall pulses his son’s cock, with each gliding, pre covered stroke it begins to lengthen from six inches till its a massive 12, his balls, so tight so heavy are begging for release as they drop down to heavy bull nuts, filled with literally all of Jim’s previous life, the memory of him across the universe. It was all ready and waiting to be spewed out in load after load of cum but his father wanted the moment to be big. His son’s eyes go rolling back, on the verge, the edge, he steps back, leaving his son’s cock hands free before positioning his own. 

His massive flared head slowly, effortlessly pushes into his son’s eager waiting hole. His eyes somehow going further back as the biggest, bestest (only) dick he has ever had slowly glides into him. Samuel Marshall Seniors hands are no longer stroking the dripping, drooling cock of his son, no they are firmly wrapped around his waist so he can control this. So he can control him. As each inch painstakingly glides into his son parts of his magic start to solidify. An entire life built around debauchery, sex and twisted love blossoms. As he gets to the halfway point, six inches he can’t help but stop, his son tries to thrust back but he won’t let him. He’s begging pleading 

“Is this the point of no return, are you ready son? To be mine forever?” The questions are redundant, it's not his choice, not anymore. His mind has been scrambled beyond repair, forever craving his new dad’s cock, his cum, his musk and muscles. But he wanted to hear his boy say it, for him to give in to the horny, musky magic that had corrupted him. All of that affects the words that manage to make it out from his perfect dick sucking lips (Officer Marshall would have to use those later). 

“Fuck me, please, yes, yes I’m yours… yours forever and ever!” In that moment of release, of giving up ever going back, The Sheriff releases his son's waist and feels him slam himself all the way back into his crotch. Taking his massive girthy dick like it was a sword going into a sheath. His son’s bubble butt recoiling from the force as they both let out moans. But Sammy junior is far from done, he slowly, gripping the closest thing to balance himself starts to pull off before slamming back again. Screaming yes daddy over and over again as he starts to jack hammer up and down on his father’s cock.

This was getting Sheriff close, he probably only had a minute before his sons tight, warm boy pussy milked him of all his cum he quickly made it so his son went to the academy, that he was his deputy, that they were inseparable.

“Fuck I love riding you, love sucking you… god I lOvE YOUU Daddy!” Sammy jr’s voice is hysterical as his brain is flooded with so many chemicals and magic. Both men are thrusting now, meeting each other in perfect rhythm. Breathless as they lose track of themselves, of time. It all comes to a head when The sheriff’s hands move from his son’s waist, one hand spanking his beautiful muscular ass shouting fuck your mine, your all mine, the other grabbing onto his shoulder.

Neither of them can hold it in, The sheriff shoots first, with one final thrust load after load fills his son’s tight warm hole. He loses count at six, his son isn’t far behind, his eyes fully glazed over, dumb dopey look pl;aster on his face as he shoots all of his prior existence onto the floor. His orgasm makes his hole squeeze around his daddy’s massive fuckstick, milking more and more from him toll both men fall down on the closest piece of  furniture, exhausted, Sammy junior easily falling asleep whimpering as his father slowly pulls out.

Sheriff Marshall stands up, looking at his above average, thirty year old, six foot son. The perfect specimen, a younger him who shared his name, his views and most importantly his appetite. Tonight was successful, filled to the brim with fun, but there would be so much more for them to do together later. With a wave of his hands their bodies are cleaned up, so is the study, a tight fitting police uniform appears neatly folded on the desk for his son to find in the morning. 

(Samuel Jr)

Sweet ride. Sweet life. Sweet 16.

Look, I get the importance of having a car in the suburbs. People need to get around, especially teens, they just feel trapped. And trust me I would have bought my son Kellan a car if I could have afforded it. I tried. I really did, overtime, extra shifts, but the money just didn’t come together. So, color me surprised when I wake up to Kellan screaming for joy on our front lawn. A green Jeep was just out there waiting for him. My son wrapped me in a hug, thanking me. I was too caught off guard to explain, a car that hadn’t existed the night prior was just there and attributed to me. My son was so happy I didn’t want to take his smile away, I played into it, as if I had put the car there.

He asked me if he could take it for a spin, just around the block a few times.

“Sure, I relented.” and that was my biggest mistake. I didn't know what people said about cars in the suburbs at that time: They were important, but they could also be traps. People's lives could become entangled in them. 

I remember that first night, my son and I were sitting in the living room watching a movie, while my eyes drifted to our window. In the dark of night, the car sat there. Felt like it was watching us. I got up and closed the shades.

A week later, was when I first noticed that Kellan’s clothes were tight on him. He was passing me by in the hall and I stopped him. “Got you a new shirt,” I pulled on the hem. It looked like he had been going to a gym, it made me look like I needed to get to the gym.

Three weeks in, I was chilling with my neighbor Jan, sipping homemade mimosas in her backyard. A hot spring day that two single parents off work could enjoy by drinking the afternoon away.

“It’s great you brought Kellan a car. Here you had me thinking you weren’t going to make it.” She hit me softly on my thigh.

“Actually,” I reclined in my chair, “I didn’t buy that car, it just showed up.”

“Haha, stop joking. Tell me how you got it,” she asked.

“I’m serious,” I shrugged while taking a sip of my drink. The look she gave me. It was like the world froze. All I could hear were the birds in the distance and her sprinklers going off. She began to stand up, clearing off her table.

“You need to go.” She turned to me. No humor or merriment in her voice from our previous fun.

“What, why?” I asked and sat up.

“Cars don’t just come from nowhere. You need to get rid of that thing before it’s too late! Cars are parasites if you're not ready for them.”

And then she kicked me out, ending our fun times there. I walked back home and I thought about what she said. I got the overall point that cars were money sinks, gas, insurance etc. but wasn’t her reaction a bit over the top?

I was on the porch drinking the rest of my mimosa, when Kellan pulled up back from school. He hopped out of the car. I nearly did a spit take; my son was standing taller than when he had left. I wasn’t even discussing the few inches people claimed to grow a day. I mean he grew INCHES. He slung his backpack across his shoulder, locking his car, and strolling up to me real casually. It would have looked cool if his body wasn’t attempting an escape on his clothes. Kellan looked like he had been dieting on nothing but protein for years, though he’d only been gone for school hours.

“Sorry, I’m late. Graduation practice ran over time.”

“Graduation practice? Oh, were you asked to help with that?”

Kellan looked at me like I’d grown a second head, “Uh Dad, I’m in it. I graduate this year. Stop playing around.” His face turned into a smile as he clearly believed I had been passing off a joke. He made his way inside, putting his keys in the house key bowl. I got up and walked to the car, his keys in hand. Sure enough, a graduation gown was hanging inside. 

I unlocked his car and got the gown out the back. Stopping for a moment, I looked over the interior of his car. New car smell, clean floors. The car looked like a car to me. Jan had really lost it over nothing. Heading back inside, I shouted up to my son, “Don’t leave this gown in the back!” I don’t know how he had it, as it was another thing I hadn't paid for, but I assumed it was for a prank. Kellan didn’t respond so I headed upstairs and knocked on his door. Still no answer. I turned the knob and walked inside. Kellan was gaming and had his big headphones on.  Walking over I tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hang on guys,” He turned to me, spinning his chair. That’s when I registered, he had changed his clothes. Nothing on but a loose tank top and sweats. More clothes that I hadn’t bought, but his arms were out on display and looked ready for action. “What’s up, dad?”

My attention drifted back, “You can’t leave this outside. I don’t know what you’re planning but someone could break into your car to get it.” I walked over to his closet to hang it up and to my shock, there was nothing but new clothes hanging in there. Shifting through, I couldn't recall a single piece he had ever worn, and they were all larger than his normal size. I placed the clothes in and got out of there.

The joke was on me. One week later, I was attending a graduation with parents I’d never met before coming up to congratulate me as if we’d been friends for years. Kellan taking photos and laughing with a bunch of guys I’d never seen at our house before. All sort of cut from the same cloth of athletic, gym going types. 

Jan came around to the house again, but she didn't recall our last conversation at all.  No fear, no anger, when I brought up her statement last time. She simply laughed it off and said I must have been drunk. Though when I mentioned again, I hadn’t bought the car and how it showed up her body tensed as she turned to peer out my window at the car. She then relaxed, but there was something unnatural about it. No sigh of relief or dropping of the shoulders. Rather the tension in her muscles let go, like a prey being forced to ignore its instincts. It unsettled me.

So much so, I decided it was time to get rid of the car. One weird coincidence was fine, multiple in succession was a pattern. I figured the best course of action was one of least resistance from Kellan, so I told him we could trade his car in. He told me he loved his car, BUT what freshly graduated young man was going to turn down the opportunity to get an even better car?

We got in his car and pulled out our driveway. Hard to recall what happened next. I think it was the radio playing Burn Baby Burn that started it all. My son reached over so casually to flick it off, but I noticed he was sweating. I told him to put down the windows. He tried, but they didn’t budge. Next, he tried to blast the A/C: nothing. Then I had a random thought to try and open the door. They locked. I heard faint sounds like pop rocks going or tiny crackles. Looking over, my son’s hands were growing on the steering wheel, flesh remolding, bones shifting. Kellan was in a full-on sweat. It wasn’t just his hands, his whole body was changing, muscles growing. The car began to smell like iron, as the temperature climbed, all pouring off Kellan’s body soaking into the vehicle.

“Pull over, Kellan!” I started. He couldn't respond, only looked at me as I saw his neck dancing, shifting muscles around, changes climbing into his face. I grabbed the wheel, but couldn’t move it, though the wheel turned regardless: The car was driving itself. It moves at a leisurely pace as my son’s growth went into overtime. His clothes split as his body busted out everywhere making every showing of skin more visible as the time went on. The car seat rocketed back as Kellan legs stretched out, feet splitting his shoes. The width of his shoulders spilled over the edges of his seats. 

Then heat got to me and I passed out.

—

When I came too, I was standing outside, phone in hand. I was in the middle of a large park.

“Dad, take the shot,” a deep voice shouted to me. I looked through it and saw a young man sitting in front of his jeep. My memory came back to me. We were celebrating Kellan’s 26th birthday and graduation from his master’s program. How had I forgotten that? I snapped the photo, Kellan looked bigger than I remember, he must have been horking those post-grad college meals down. Strangely, I couldn’t recall how we had got out there.

After getting a few pics, I looked down at my shirt. There was a picture of a Jeep on it. I never fancied myself as a car guy, but it was there all the same. Maybe I was a car guy. I mean, what was life in the suburbs without a car? Cars were the life blood that kept our suburban living alive. No one understood that more than my son. Kellan’s car was his life; it took him everywhere he needed to go, college, home, the gym. It was like an extra part of him, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

Yep, Apollo had just regained life.

His hardened statue form was now flesh. His petrified posture with his hand outstretched, regained feeling.

Only he would be unfortunate enough to be stuck in the same museum as Ares. He could feel the war god’s rage even on a higher floor. Ares had no god damn tack, letting his divinity run amuck. They each saw the same humans. Apollo didn’t see any viable candidates for Ares or himself. So, he was surprised, when he felt an insane burst of energy, then Ares’ presence vanished from the museum entirely. 

Apollo, god of light, purity, and prophecy couldn’t divine himself out of a situation before Ares, out of all the gods? Kind of insulting, but at least the museum was peaceful. Days ticked on as Apollo waited for a movie star, or the dreamboat jock, or cool surfer to present as his body and spirit and free him. Handsome people passed by, but none gave his statue figure more than a glance. He wondered if his divinity had perhaps blinded them in some way to his presence because there was no reason for them not to stare at him. He was Apollo after all!

Then one day a family came strolling, and Apollo was uninterested. A husband and wife with their son trailing behind them. The boy was practically attached to his father’s hip as they strolled around the artifacts. There’s nothing bad about the family man. He was just so average. The way he stood and walked through the room reeked of unimpressive behavior. The T-shirt, the cargo shorts, the sunglasses raised on top of the man’s head. The father and son then stood before Apollo, gazing at his glory. Then the man yawned.

Apollo fumed quietly.

My new hands. Thick, calloused, powerful. Gliding down this temple… his temple. This chest. I stared at it every meeting, always straining those tight shirts. My palm presses in and the pecs twitch back instantly, like they're learning who owns them now. I squeeze harder and the pecs flex hotter, denser, flooding heat straight down. Thick cock pulses heavy against my thigh, ready and leaking. Wait for your moment, boy.

His voice... No- my voice moans out, deeper every second. That same rumble that once commanded entire rooms now spills out filthy for its new master. It vibrates through this chest, spreading heat into every muscle. Fuck. My skin turns clammy, slick under my palms.

The thick, familiar man smell I used to steal secret sniffs of in the elevator… it’s pouring off me now. It fills my lungs, his lungs, and my head spins. Addictive. Mine. I drag my hands lower, pressing harder, smearing the slickness over every ridge.

Finally my cock. Pre was leaking everywhere. It had been charging up from all the smells, the twitches… powerful. As hard as it'll ever be. My hand remembers all the ridges, the veins. My mind will soon too.

I squeeze the base and it throbs back angrily, leaking more. Stroke. Another deep moan rips out. Louder, filthier. The body is mine to use now. Faster. The musk gets stronger, sweat dripping down the abs as I pump this c-suite cock like it’s always belonged to me.

Then-

The phone rings on the desk. Her name lights up the screen. Wife.

The old instinct kicks in hard — a reflex buried in these muscles, this voice. My hand freezes mid-stroke. The moan dies in my throat. For a split second the body tries to approach like it always did. Professional. Controlled. Straight.

Yuck

I fight it, breathing heavy, cock still twitching in my fist.

“Not anymore,” I growl in that deep voice.

The call keeps ringing.

Rob was, in his heart, a gay man. It was just a stupid drunken night 11 years ago. Then, nine months later, Quinn was dropped onto his arms as his mother quickly disappeared forever. Tough as it was, Rob raised Quinn well for a while. Then, the pandemic hit, and Rob was fired. Losing his job with two mouths to feed pushed him into desperation. The kind that made a man do things he couldn’t take back.

Now the mob was hunting him. They’d already asked around about his whereabouts. That was why they were holed up in another nameless motel a hundred miles from home — and why a kicked-in door and pistol whip to the head had dragged them back towards their old town.

=================

Rob woke up to thick rope biting into his wrists, surrounded by hulking goons in the dim warehouse light. Across from him, Quinn sat small in a metal chair, clutching his old stuffed bear like it could still protect him. The boy’s eyes were wide, trying so hard to be brave.

“Y-you don't have to do this. I can find a way to pay it all back!”

A heavy footstep thudded behind him. A massive hand engulfed his shoulder. The familiar deep voice sent ice down his spine. When the mob sent Marco, they weren’t looking for money.

They were there to punish.

“No. You tried. You failed.”

Authoritative. Dominant. The final word.

“M-marco, please. I-i-i could work. I-i can be a mule! Anything!”

The man behind Rob stopped for a moment. Pondering.

“Anything, huh?” The enforcer’s voice was a low, mocking rumble. “Two choices. I either do this to you, or your boy gets it.”

Rob froze. He looked straight at Quinn. He was gripping his toy; scared, intimidated. It should be an easy answer, but he knew what would happen to him. He heard the stories.

“One”

Rob's heart raced even faster.

Why am I even thinking about this? What kind of a father fucks up and then—

“Two”

No. No. No. No. It shouldn't end like this. They wouldn't do anything bad to Quinn, right?

You could just make another son

“Thre-”

“Quinn.”

The words threw out of Rob’s throat before he could choke it back.

“L-let Quinn take it.”

================

“Daddy, what do you mean?”

Rob was grief stricken already. He was faced with the choice all dads dread about…. and he chose the cowards route. The words were already spoken. He couldn’t force his mouth to take them back…. he couldn’t even look his son in the eye.

Marco chuckled, low and cruel.

“Pathetic.” The enforcer’s grip tightened on Rob’s shoulder. “I’ve known men who died for me.” He let the silence stretch, driving the knife deeper.

“And you wouldn’t even die for your own blood.”

Tears burned down Rob’s face. Quinn looked between them, confused and terrified, yet still trying so hard to be brave.

“I-it’s okay, Daddy,” Quinn said, voice small but steady, still clutching the worn stuffed bear. “I’ll be okay… right?”

Marco stepped forward, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. In his massive palm he held an enormous silver ring — far too big for any normal finger, thick and heavy-looking.

“If there’s anything the old Quinn needs to know,” Marco said, voice thick with mockery, “it’s that his daddy is a coward.”

He roughly grabbed Quinn’s small hand and forced the oversized ring toward his ring finger. For a split second it looked ridiculous — the band dangling loosely. Then, with a sickening warmth, Quinn’s finger began to swell. The flesh pulsed and expanded, bones subtly shifting as the ring slid down and settled perfectly against his skin, as if the finger had grown to fit it.

Quinn’s eyes widened in shock. “W-what…?”

A sickening heat bloomed from the ring. His ring finger throbbed, bones cracking and lengthening as the oversized band tightened perfectly into place. The digit thickened, veins rising like ropes under the skin. Quinn gasped, trying to yank his hand away, but Marco held it firm.

“It’s starting,” Marco growled with dark satisfaction. “Watch closely, coward.”

The heat surged upward.

Quinn’s forearm swelled next. The slender limb ballooned outward, muscles twitching and inflating with grotesque speed. Thin cords of muscle thickened into dense, vascular ropes. His wrist thickened, then the forearm itself — veins pulsing, skin stretching taut over rapidly growing mass. Quinn whimpered as the growth hit his elbow, then exploded into his bicep.

“Oh—oh god—!”

The bicep surged, peaking higher and higher, splitting into a thick, striated mound. The muscle kept swelling, forcing his sleeve to ride up and tear at the seams. What had once been a soft, boyish arm was now a powerful, veined pillar of meat — easily twice its original size and still growing. Quinn’s shoulder followed, deltoid flaring out like a boulder, ripping the fabric further as his traps began to rise toward his neck.

“Dad—Daddy it hurts— it feels—” His voice cracked midway through the sentence.

The growth spread across his chest. Pecs ballooned forward, heavy and thick, stretching his shirt until buttons pinged off one by one. His ribcage widened with audible pops, shoulders broadening dramatically as the transformation claimed more of him. Quinn’s back muscles flared out into thick wings of latissimus dorsi, forcing him to sit straighter, taller in the chair.

A warm, masculine musk began rising from his expanding body — clean at first, then richer, deeper, virile. It filled the air around him like raw power waking up.

He was already noticeably bigger — easily pushing six feet now and climbing.

His legs were next. Thighs thickened explosively, seams splitting along his pants as quad muscles surged outward. Calves ballooned into diamond shapes. His feet lengthened and widened, shoes groaning before the toes burst through the front. Quinn’s height shot up another few inches in a sudden spurt, the metal chair creaking dangerously beneath his increasing weight.

All the while, his mind was under assault.

Flashes slammed into Quinn’s brain — dark warehouses, the crack of guns, men kneeling in fear, stacks of cash, the taste of power. Ruthless orders barked in his own future voice. A deep, commanding presence that wasn’t his… yet felt intoxicatingly right.

No… I don’t want this… Daddy needs me… I’m a good boy—

But the new knowledge kept pouring in: family codes, betrayals, how to break a man, how to own one. A cold, dominant hunger began coiling in his chest. His free hand — now massive — clenched into his chair, crumpling its metal rest.

Quinn’s face was changing too. His jaw squared off, becoming heavier and more angular. Cheekbones sharpened. Stubble darkened across his cheeks and chin, thickening into a short, masculine shadow. His neck thickened into a powerful column, Adam’s apple prominent as his voice dropped mid-groan into a deep, resonant timbre.

“F-fuck… what’s happening to me…?” The words came out gravelly and authoritative, sending a shiver through the watching goons.

His eyes — still the same soft color at their core — now burned with a sharper, more dangerous intelligence. Old memories of bedtime stories and road-trip smiles flickered, fighting against the flood of mob violence and ambition. The two sides warred inside him, not fully merged yet.

By the end, Quinn rose from the broken chair at well over 6’7”, 280+ pounds of dense, hulking muscle. The shredded remains of his clothes hung off his massive frame like rags. The ring now looked perfectly proportionate on his huge finger — a symbol of his new station.

He rolled his enormous shoulders, cracking his neck with a sound like gunfire. His gaze slowly turned toward Rob.

For a moment, pure old-Quinn shone through — scared, betrayed, loving.

“Daddy…?”

Then the new presence surged again. A cruel, possessive smirk tugged at his thicker lips.

Marco laughed. “Welcome to the family, Enzo.”

The new presence surged forward. He stepped toward Rob, each footfall heavy enough to make the warehouse floor tremble. One massive hand grabbed Rob by the throat, effortlessly lifting him — chair and all — until his feet dangled off the ground.

“You sacrificed me,” Enzo growled, voice a deep, commanding baritone. “Your own blood. For what? To save your pathetic skin?”

He slammed Rob back down, the chair cracking under the impact. Enzo’s huge fist drove into Rob’s gut — not full force, but enough to knock the wind out of him and leave a deep, throbbing bruise. Another backhand across the face split Rob’s lip.

Rob gasped, tears streaming. The guilt was unbearable.

“I-i-i…” Rob tried stuttering out, but Enzo finished his sentence for him.

“I think you're a pathetic coward. A faggot that doesn't deserve to live.”

Enzo's huge mitts suddenly envelop Rob's throat. Yet it didn't crush Rob's windpipe like the crumpled metal chair promised. It was like the Quinn inside was waiting for Enzo's reply. A slow countdown where the final second meant death

“I’m sorry—” Rob choked out, voice reedy. Enzo still looked at him sternly.

“I'm… c-coward—” Enzo's grip loosened, yet unsatisfied

“Q-quinn—”

Enzo dropped Rob onto the chair with a thud as Rob gasped for air.

Enzo's massive fist trembled. Old memories flooded back hard: bedtime stories, cheap motel smiles, that stupid stuffed bear.

“D-Daddy…?” The word slipped out in a softer tone, old Quinn bleeding through the deep voice. Tears pricked at the corners of his hardened eyes. The hand dropped away completely. “You… you gave me to them…”

Marco’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, voice low and goading. “Look at that. The old weakling is still there. Hesitating.” Marco smirked. “But you feel it, don’t you? That power. That hunger. Your cock’s already hard as steel. Godly needs.” Marco says as his hands palm Enzo's powerful cock. “This coward owes you everything. If you won't finish him, make him yours.”

Enzo’s breathing grew heavier. The massive bulge in his ruined pants throbbed visibly, thick and heavy. The war inside him raged — sweet, protective Quinn versus the ruthless Enzo. Truthfully there was one thing both sides agreed on… Rob needs to be punished — and punishment was Enzo's specialty.

A cruel, possessive grin spread across his thick lips.

“You’re right,” Enzo rumbled. “He’s been a bad boy.”

In one brutal motion, Enzo ripped away the remains of his own pants. His cock sprang free — enormous, veined, thicker than Rob’s wrist and already leaking. He tore Rob’s clothes off with zero effort, exposing him completely. Rob's small, hard cock sprung up already.

“Fucking faggot.”

Rob barely had time to whimper before Enzo spun him around, bending him brutally over the broken chair. The huge man’s weight pinned him down as Enzo lined up and thrust in raw.

“F-fuck!” Rob cried out, stretched wide by the scepter of his atonement.

Enzo didn’t go slow. He fucked like the boss he was becoming — deep, punishing strokes that made Rob’s body jolt. Each slam of those powerful hips sent shockwaves through both of them. Enzo’s huge hands gripped Rob’s waist hard enough to bruise, holding him in place like a toy.

As he fucked, the merge deepened.

He’s still Dad… still mine to protect…

But he betrayed me. He’s mine to own.

Old innocence cracked and burned away with every brutal thrust. Quinn’s gentle memories twisted into something darker, stronger — love fused with total dominance. Enzo’s pace grew even more savage, one hand reaching around to stroke Rob’s cock roughly, forcing pleasure through the pain. The rich, virile musk poured off Enzo’s heaving muscles, thick and intoxicating, marking Rob with every thrust.

“You’re going to take every inch, boy,” Enzo snarled, voice pure authority now. “No more running. No more cowardice. You belong to Enzo.”

Rob came first, sobbing and shaking. Enzo followed with a deep, animalistic roar, flooding him with thick, endless spurts as the final pieces of the old Quinn dissolved.

When Enzo finally pulled out, he turned Rob around and lifted his chin with surprising gentleness — a hint of the protector already woven in. The man staring down at Rob was fully merged now: brutally dominant, deeply possessive, and fiercely protective.

“You’re safe,” Enzo said, voice low and final. “But you’re mine. Understand?”

Rob, broken, used, and strangely relieved, could only nod.

Epilogue – Three Months Later

Enzo had risen fast.

The family whispered about the new underboss — young, ruthless, unnaturally strong. Deals closed without resistance. Rivals folded or disappeared. Marco now answered to him. No one outside the inner circle knew where Enzo had come from. And Rob was never allowed to see that side.

To the outside world, Rob was simply “Enzo’s boy.” Kept in a luxurious penthouse the family provided, never left alone, never allowed to want for anything. But in private, behind soundproofed doors, the lines blurred in ways only the two of them understood.

=================

The big flat-screen glowed with an old cartoon, colorful characters bouncing around with cheerful music and silly sound effects. Enzo lounged like a king on the oversized couch, his massive 6’7”, heavily muscled body sprawled comfortably in nothing but gray sweatpants. The faded stuffed bear sat tucked against his side.

Rob knelt between the thick pillars of Enzo’s thighs, head bobbing slowly as he sucked his son’s heavy cock with devoted, practiced care.

“Dad, look! This is the funny part,” Enzo said in that bright, boyish tone, eyes fixed on the screen even as his huge hand rested gently on the back of Rob’s head.

He let out a soft, genuine giggle — pure Quinn — as the cartoon played on. At the same time, his fingers guided Rob a little deeper. The warm, masculine musk of Enzo’s groin — clean but rich and heady from the day — filled Rob’s senses with every breath.

“Mmm… yeah, just like that,” Enzo murmured, voice warm and affectionate with a low dominant edge. “Keep on it, Dad. You’re doing such a good job.”

Rob moaned around the massive cock filling his mouth, saliva dripping as he worked the length with slow, worshipful strokes. The bright cartoon music mixed with the wet sounds of his sucking.

A boyish chuckle escaped him during a funny scene, but his next words carried heavier dominance. “Deeper, Dad. All the way. Breathe me in while you do it.” His hand pressed Rob down gently but firmly, letting the warm, potent musk surround him as the thick cock slid into his throat.

Rob’s eyes watered but he obeyed, taking Enzo as far as he could while the cartoon characters laughed onscreen.

As Enzo’s breathing grew heavier. He gently pushed Rob down further, holding him there for long moments during a quiet cartoon scene, then let him up for air only to guide him back again. The contrast was constant — innocent nostalgia mixed with raw, godly ownership.

When Enzo finally came, it was with a deep, rumbling groan that vibrated through his massive chest. Thick, heavy loads pulsed down Rob’s throat as the cartoon reached its happy ending. Enzo held him in place gently until every drop was swallowed, then carefully pulled him up into his lap.

He wiped Rob’s chin with his thumb, kissed his forehead sweetly, and tucked the stuffed bear between them.

“You did so good, Daddy,” Enzo whispered, voice soft and loving again. “My favorite toy.” Rob could only mutter out as he swallowed the tasty God-cum. “T-t-thank you Quinn — sir.’

Then the dominant side pressed close, lips brushing Rob’s ear with possessive finality.

“Keep being a good boy for your God every night. Because you're mine… and I use what’s mine.”

Enzo wrapped his enormous arms around Rob, cradling him protectively against his warm musky chest as another episode started. The cartoons played on while the hulking man held his father close — innocent boy and ruthless owner perfectly merged.

Do-yun Choi was squatting, adjusting his bulge ready to get to work as he watched people pass by the restaurant. He hadn’t walked into this place the stud he was now, but curiosity and all that.

Just an average college student trying to make the most out of the one day he could afford to get away from his studies. Not like he had any friends to spend it with. One of the annoying things about going to a small community college in your hometown was no chance to reinvent yourself. The local jocks had destroyed his reputation and others by deeming them as losers. Once you were an outcast in a small town, life was over, but the others were lucky to get away. Do-yun had to stay and deal with the ramifications, even going to school with some of those very same jocks.

Like the brunette and blonde terrors, Daniel Gibbons and Greg McFielder. A footballer and wrestler who tag teamed on their bullying growing up. All their dads hung out together doing stuff at golf courses or whatever. Both bulky boys who would sequester Do-yun by brawn alone, trap him in between their bodies, sometimes even crush him, and never in a fun way. On campus these days, they had outgrown the physical violence, and preferred to just talk shit, or shoot Do-yun annoyed looks if they passed by him.

Going to eat was more of a treat to himself, in spite of them. Do-yun would bite the bullet and risk passing by those lingering jocks or even their parents, hearing snickers or being eyed at. To put it in laymen’s terms, Do-yun had a sneaking suspicion when it came to him what people really didn’t like was…his ‘culture’.  Yeah, that was the nice way to say it. The town itself was plain and boring. The status quo was king here. Never two prom kings, definitely not prom queens. It didn't matter if the best hometown players were black or brown they were never the captains and certainly not winning MVP when the season was over. Hegemony swallowed everything and forced people to conform and never question it.

Do-yun only allowed those reflective thoughts to pass his mind when he walked down the food strip, eyes scanning the typical McDonalds, Burger King, quick runs. Better than thinking about Marine biology. He may have loved it, but he refused to let his major have his free time as well. Besides, the collection of fast-food chains hammered home how samey the town was becoming. Do-yun’s stomach grumbled. He really didn’t want to do another late-night golden arches meal. He needed to actually sit down and get something good in his system. He deserved that much. For some reason he continued walking. Lord knows why. He already knew the chains in town; they had barely changed since he was little. This was the town and would always be the town.

The wind blew past his ear, as he heard a jingle. A wind chime. Do-yun turned on his feet, there were no wind chimes on the block. 19 years of his life in the town no freaking way. The old people were allergic to whimsical and fun things.  Turned in a new direction, Do-yun spotted a place he hadn’t seen before. A restaurant nestled into the strip he had walked by. Blink and miss it spot. Do-yun walked up to posters on the windows with food items, but more importantly cheap prices. The lights were on, so he wasted no time stepping in.

Warning: I guess some slight body horror but other than that no AI in writting so if I make a mistake plz dont look too much into it.

The life of an office worker was not the most eventful thing in life, Dave knew that as much. Even his name seemed to confirm it—Dave, short, plain, and painfully ordinary, the sort of name that belonged to a hundred middle-aged men in identical shirts sitting beneath identical fluorescent lights. It was safe, familiar, and insignificant, much like the life he had been pushed into. Still, being an engineer was not all bad. His days were steady, filled with difficult problems that eventually gave way to patience and logic, and there was a quiet satisfaction in watching something he had designed finally work. The pay was decent, his colleagues were kind, and his family was supportive - well mostly since he came out as Bi, they still held on to the hope he would swing “the right way”. 

Yet already in his forties, and when he looked at himself honestly, he could not help feeling that life had passed him by. He was not particularly handsome, with thinning hair, tired eyes, and a face made dull by years beneath fluorescent office lights. He was still single, lived alone, and had little waiting for him at home beyond reheated dinners and the low murmur of the television. Sometimes, he would notice the younger men passing through the office or laughing together outside—confident, sharply dressed, and effortlessly handsome—and feel a quiet ache of envy. Looking at them, Dave often wondered whether he might once have become someone like that, had he not been pushed so early into a safe and ordinary life chosen more by expectation than desire. He did not hate what he had, but he could not stop mourning the person he might have been. Whenever he looked through the window at the city moving beyond the glass, he felt that his real life was happening somewhere just out of reach. Dave wanted more—a little adventure, a stronger sense of confidence, and perhaps a chance for a prettier view..

And then, at last, the prettier view arrived.

Her name was Sadaki, and Dave noticed her the moment she entered the office. She was strikingly beautiful, polished and graceful enough to draw attention without asking for it. Unfortunately, beauty was almost all there was to her. She was vain, dismissive, and casually cruel, ignoring Dave unless she needed something from him and speaking to him as though even that brief attention were a favor.

Though she joined the company as an intern, Sadaki climbed into junior management with suspicious speed. The reason was obvious. She had quickly attached herself to the company’s newest rising star: Hernando Saionji, the CEO’s son, recently returned from studying overseas. He was young, broad-shouldered, sharp-featured, and effortlessly handsome, but beauty was almost all there was to him as well. Like Sadaki, he was arrogant, shallow, and cold, treating anyone beneath him as though they were hardly worth noticing.

Sadaki followed Hernando everywhere, laughing at his jokes, praising his ideas, and making herself impossible for him to overlook. He accepted her admiration as naturally as he accepted every other advantage in his life. Together, they made a beautiful pair, and beauty seemed to be the only worthwhile thing either of them possessed. Watching them, Dave felt the old bitterness return. Some people were born with the right face and the right connections, while others spent their lives working for people who would never bother to remember their names.

So Dave began to wonder: if beauty truly was only skin-deep, and if the right appearance was all a person needed to move through life with ease, then what would happen if he could wear Hernando’s skin? He imagined it like slipping into a cold, wet skinsuit—first sliding his hands and feet into it, then slowly pulling the smooth, elastic body over his own until every inch clung tightly around him. The handsome face would come last, hanging loose and empty before he stretched it over his head, drawing Hernando’s sharp features across his own and aligning the eyes and mouth until the disguise settled perfectly into place. Would people finally look at Dave instead of through him? Would doors open, voices soften, and admiration come without effort? The thought was absurd, impossible—and yet once the idea entered his mind, he could not force it out.

So..

A dark reckoning began to take shape in Dave’s mind. This was not some story from one of those strange sites he visited late at night—there would be no enchanted needle to hollow him out, no magical dagger that conveniently opened a seam along Hernando’s back. No miracle would simply hand him another man’s life. 

This would require planning, patience, and calculation..

If Dave truly meant to become Hernando Saionji, then wearing his face would never be enough. He would have to study the way Hernando walked, the way he spoke, the careless tilt of his smile, the names he remembered and the people he ignored. Every habit, every secret, every private detail would have to become Dave’s as well. The disguise could not merely look flawless from the outside; it had to survive every glance, every conversation, every moment when someone expected Hernando to be standing before them. Dave would need to become him completely—inside and out.

For two years, Dave stayed close to Hernando and learned from him in silence. He swallowed every insult, smiled when he wanted to sneer, and let Hernando mistake obedience for devotion. He studied the effortless charm that made people lean toward him—the warm flash of his smile, the lazy confidence in his voice, and the way he always left the top two buttons of his dark shirts undone, the fabric pulling tight across his broad chest as though barely resisting the strain. Dave memorized the rhythm of his laugh, the way he entered a room as though it already belonged to him, and every small, practiced gesture that turned beauty into influence. Hernando never noticed that Dave was not merely admiring him. Piece by piece, he was learning how to wear everything that made Hernando irresistibly charming.

Then the time to reap his reward finally came..

Hernando was attending another of those glittering parties held high above the city, surrounded by champagne, tailored suits, and people who laughed too eagerly whenever he spoke. Dave moved among them disguised as one of the serving staff, his posture lowered and his expression arranged into the blank politeness expected of someone meant to remain invisible. After two years of watching Hernando, slipping unnoticed into the background had become second nature.

“Another drink, sir?” Dave asked, offering him the tray.

Hernando took a glass without properly looking at him. “Obviously. And make sure it’s cold this time.”

“Of course, Mr. Saionji.”

Dave watched him drink before disappearing into the crowd. It was not long before Hernando’s easy smile began to slip. His fingers tightened around the edge of a table, and he blinked repeatedly as the lights above him blurred.

“What the hell was in that?” he muttered.

Dave appeared beside him just as his balance failed.

“You look unwell, sir. There’s somewhere private upstairs.”

“Get your hands off me.”

Hernando tried to shove him away, but there was little strength behind it. Dave caught him beneath the arm and guided him toward the private elevator, calmly explaining to anyone who noticed that the CEO’s son had simply drunk too much. No one questioned him. Men like Hernando were always being carried, protected, and quietly excused.

Dave took him to one of the penthouse rooms above the party and lowered him onto the bed. By then, Hernando was drenched in sweat. His breathing came in short, uneven bursts, and an unnatural heat had spread through his body as though he were burning from somewhere deep inside. The fine clothes clung to his skin, outlining the powerful frame beneath them. 

Then Hernando finally opened his eyes, confusion lasted only until he recognized the man standing over him.

“You?” he rasped, struggling to rise before another wave of heat forced him back down. “What did you do to me?”

Dave remained silent.

Hernando’s face twisted with disgust. “You disgusting faggot. Do you have any idea who I am? You’re finished!”

Dave sighed, almost as though the insult had merely confirmed what he already knew about him. Then a slow smile appeared on his face.

“Well,” he said, “I’m not finished with you yet.”

“The solution in your drink was designed to loosen the skin from your form,” Dave continued, his voice unnervingly calm.

Hernando watched in horror as Dave reached beneath the waiter’s coat and drew out a knife, turning it casually in his hand until the blade caught the light.

“And this,” Dave said, watching the fear finally enter Hernando’s eyes, “is for the separation.”

…

Whatever horror followed was lost beneath the music below. Hernando’s screams rose only briefly before the party swallowed them whole—buried beneath laughter, bass, and the clinking of champagne glasses. By the time the last guests began to leave, Dave had already cleaned the penthouse with methodical care, wiping away every trace that anything had happened there. Only the bathroom remained untouched. In the center of the vast marble room, the king-sized tub had been filled with a pale, chemical solution. Floating within it was the translucent shape that had once belonged to Hernando, emptied and strangely delicate, its handsome features drifting just beneath the surface. The liquid slowly thickened around it, preserving every curve and detail as it solidified. Dave stood beside the tub in silence, watching the skin become firm enough to wear.

Dave undressed and stood before the bathroom mirror. Under the harsh white light, every disappointment seemed sharper: thinning hair, tired eyes, sloping shoulders, a soft middle, and pale skin marked by age and years spent beneath office lights. His body looked small and ordinary, worn down by a life that had demanded everything from him while offering little in return. His gaze travelled downward, lingering on the intimate imperfections - his small dark manhood he had always tried not to think about, before shifting toward the bath. Hernando’s translucent skin floated beneath the thickening solution, broad shoulders and sculpted proportions preserved with almost insulting perfection. Even emptied, it appeared younger, stronger, and more complete than Dave had ever felt. Every detail remained intact, waiting to be inhabited. Dave looked between his reflection and the shape in the tub, then smiled faintly. Soon, he would never have to see the man in the mirror again.

Dave lifted the preserved skin from the bath. It hung from his hands like a translucent imitation of a man, cold and heavy with solution, its features slack except for the mouth, which gaped far wider than any human mouth should. There was no seam along the back, no convenient opening hidden beneath the hair. Hernando’s mouth was the only entrance. Dave placed both hands between the soft lips and pulled. The jaw stretched soundlessly, widening until the handsome face became a grotesque ring of skin and teethless darkness. He pushed one foot through, then the other, forcing his legs down into the hollow body. The material clung to him at once, slick and resistant, as though it resented being filled by someone so different from the shape it remembered.

The sight in the mirror was unbearable. Dave’s thick, aging body writhed beneath Hernando’s flawless exterior, creating a distorted parody of both men. His stomach bulged beneath the narrow waist; his knees bent in the wrong places inside the longer legs; sculpted muscles twisted and swelled as he searched for their proper spaces. Hernando’s empty arms flailed while Dave struggled to reach the waiting hands, and the beautiful face stretched around his waist like some monstrous collar.

He kept pushing. His torso disappeared through the distended mouth, forcing Hernando’s face wider until the cheeks and jaw lost all recognizable shape. For several moments, it looked as though the perfect young man had swallowed something too large and was choking upon it, his body bucking and rippling around the heavier figure trapped inside. Then Dave found the arms. He drove his hands through the narrow sleeves until his fingers filled Hernando’s, and the warped shoulders snapped gradually into place. The borrowed skin tightened around him, compressing his softer shape and drawing it into the proportions it had once possessed. The swollen abdomen flattened. The uneven limbs lengthened. Smooth muscle re-formed over the body as each distortion vanished beneath the settling surface.

Only the head remained.

Dave pushed upward through the throat until his skull entered the hollow face. Hernando’s mouth stretched over his chin, then slid downward into position as Dave pressed his nose and eyes against their waiting places. The loose features shifted over him, first grotesque and crooked, then slowly aligning. The lips contracted around his own. The jaw regained its sharp shape. Dark hair settled across his scalp as the last traces of translucence faded.

Dave stood motionless before the mirror while the surface finished tightening.

A moment earlier, it had resembled a malformed creature struggling beneath a beautiful man’s skin.

Now there was no sign of Dave at all.

Hernando Saionji stared back at him.

He trailed his hands over his newly acquired body, tracing line and vein over the flawless skin that is now his. Drowning in the bliss and pleasure, Dave trailed his hands downward to his stolen cock, his breathing fastened, … and all came to a complete stop. Instead of getting to hold his new fresh pale clean meat, he was rewarded with an unworn empty sack. Confusion washed over him until he noticed..

Beneath the smooth skin of Hernando’s abdomen, instead of perfectly defined muscle, an unnatural ridge pressed upward, trapped awkwardly between his old body and the new shape surrounding it. looked warped there, twitching faintly as the borrowed skin struggled to draw everything into its proper place. Dave pressed his index finger on the tip of the stretching shaft and a violent shock tore through him, buckling his knees and sending him crashing against the counter. His borrowed body convulsed, every muscle tightening at once as heat surged beneath the skin like fire.

The fever climbed rapidly. Hernando’s skin rippled over him, tightening in some places and peeling away in others, as though it had finally recognized the stranger trapped inside. Dark veins briefly surfaced across the flawless chest before vanishing again. Dave clawed at the marble, struggling to remain upright while the face in the mirror twisted between his own features and Hernando’s.

The skin was rejecting him.

Carefully, Dave dragged himself out of the bathroom and onto a couch, getting himself into his most comfortable position when he needed to pleasure himself. In a haze, with hands oiled with his sweat, he pushed his own thick cock under the skin towards the empty hollowed cock. A condom, Dave thought, was what it looked like without anything to fill it, so it should act the same way. So he pushed hard, as his old cock slid behind the surface of the skin, till it plopped itself behind the hole. As Dave traced the skin of the hollow shaft from Hernando’s cock over his own, he realized with horror that even though the cock sleeve was at its end, the old cock had not even finished going in yet. With nothing else he could do, Dave let go of his hand and surrendered to fate. 

The more his own cock slid in, it gave him an equal part and pain and pleasure: Hernando’s shaft rose above its own size, and the skin stretched thin to its limit, till it thinned out and he could see his old cock silhouette, twitching and squirming underneath. Dark and horrible fantasy plundered his own mind. 

“Oh hahhhhh, please, my body was invaded by Dave and my skin was being worn by him. Now my skin and seeds are all his..!” Hernando’s voice squealed and moaned echoed across the room. 

There was pain and pleasure, then there came darkness and bliss. The cock sleeve and his own warped itself and bonded as one, and as his tips finally lined up in sync with Hernando’s, he could feel a twitching wave crashing from the back of his mind, ripped through his whole being and flushed out through his cock. Mouth- opening, breath-heaving, hand-gripping tightly onto the couch, the fluid came out unnaturally dense, stretching in pale, sticky strands that clung to the skin instead of running, as though it had already begun to set.

Under the bliss and sound of this bustling city, a new life was born, not from love, but from ambition and twisted fascination. 

“Hernando, Hernando, Hernando,..” Dave chanted his name, as though it was a spell, bounding his soul to this husk till the end of day. As he traced skin and drew marks across the sweat, cum and blood, Dave scooped up a little residue left on his foreskin and brought it to his lips. It was bitter at first then changed over the new taste of mildly salty and wood, as though the life of an underappreciated engineer is slipping away and replaced by royalty and lavish lifestyle. “I will take good care of your life, Hernando. I will wear your skin, smile your smile, command the attention and no one will know!” 

________________________

Afterward, “Hernando” showered, cleaned away the last traces of the night, and stretched out naked on the couch with a cold beer in hand. The air-conditioning cooled the fever still lingering beneath his skin, and in the dark reflection of the penthouse windows, he looked exactly as Hernando should have looked—young, powerful, and perfectly at home.

The doorbell rang.

“Hernando?” Sadaki called from the hallway. “Are you in there?”

Before he could answer, the lock turned and she hurried inside, still dressed from the party.

“There you are,” she said, relief softening her face. “You disappeared without saying anything. I’ve been calling you all night.”

She rushed over and knelt beside him, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“God, you’re still burning up. What happened?”

“Hernando” took a slow drink and looked down at her with quiet disgust. This woman never cared about me this much in my old life, he thought. She barely noticed I existed. Now she was staring at him as though his slightest discomfort mattered more than anything else.

Sadaki hesitated beside the couch, still studying him with concern.

“I saw that older engineer near you earlier,” she said. “Dave. It looked like he handed you something. I thought he might have done something, and then you disappeared. I was worried sick.”

“Hernando” smiled faintly. So she had noticed Dave after all—only when he stood close enough to threaten someone she actually valued.

“Dave is gone,” he said calmly. “You won’t have to worry about him again.”

Something in his tone made Sadaki pause, but he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“You were worried about me?” he asked.

“Of course I was.”

“And if I asked you to do something for me,” he continued, his smile sharpening, “you would do it, wouldn’t you?”

Sadaki beamed, then nodded.

“Hernando” leaned back against the couch, satisfied. For years she had treated Dave as though he were beneath notice. Now, wearing a handsome face, he barely had to ask before she offered him everything. 

Sadaki stayed, and the night blurred into heat, tangled sheets, and breathless movement. “Hernando” held her close, but his attention kept drifting away from her and back toward himself. Each time her fingers dug too firmly into his back, the not-yet-settled skin shifted beneath them, pulling strangely across his shoulders and tugging at the edges of his face. He would pause, press his features back into place, and smile as though nothing had happened.

Sadaki seemed too overwhelmed to notice.

In the mirror beyond the bed, “Hernando” watched the borrowed body move—broad shoulders flexing, chest tightening, dark hair falling across that perfect face. As he planted a hand on top of his head and pulled the scalp backward as though adjusting a loose hood. The motion stretched his forehead smooth, drew the cheeks tight, and briefly widened the eyes into an unnatural stare and for a brief moment, he was Dave again. He held it there until the face settled properly over the shape beneath, then released it with a faint, wet snap and “Hernando” returned, pristine as ever. All the while running his hands possessively across the broad chest and sharp jaw, occasionally tugging the face loose simply to watch it distort before smoothing it back into perfection. 

She believed his attention was fixed on her. In truth, he was barely aware she was there.

With the stamina of a stallion, “Hernando” went for quite a few rounds till he finally released his seeds inside Sadaki’s hungry hole. As he pulled his cock shaft out, he noticed that what remained carried the same unnatural thickness as the bonding compound from earlier—pale, heavy, and slow to separate, as though something of both men had been fused together within it. The thought of invading a noble bloodline brought him so much satisfaction that he ever thought it would. 

Sadaki curled contentedly against his chest, tracing one finger across the smooth skin she believed she knew.

“Maybe this could finally become something real,” she murmured. “You and me. A future.”

“Hernando” wrapped an arm around her and smiled into the darkness. Beneath his palm, the borrowed chest rose and fell with perfect calm.

“Oh, you’ll have a future with me,” he whispered too softly for her to hear. “Just not the one you imagined.” 

Sadaki soon fell asleep against him, trusting and content, while “Hernando” remained awake. He listened to her breathing and studied his reflection in the dark window. The face looking back was calm, handsome, and still faintly unreal—yet with every passing minute, it felt more like his own.

He touched the corner of his mouth, remembering how he had forced his entire body through that impossible opening. There had never been a seam to close. Hernando’s lips had simply contracted around his own once he was fully inside, restoring the sharp jaw and flawless face as though nothing had entered it at all. “Hernando” hooked a finger to his cheek and pulled experimentally. The skin stretched farther than it should have, briefly revealing the older shape hidden beneath, before snapping back into perfect alignment.

Better than before.

The fever was gone. The borrowed skin had stopped shifting, and even Hernando’s scent now seemed to rise naturally from him.

Sadaki stirred against his chest.

For the first time since the fever broke, “Hernando” felt cold. A thin line of sweat gathered at his temple as he looked down at her, searching her face for suspicion. Had his voice slipped? Had she noticed the way his skin moved, or how often he had stared at himself instead of her?

“Different how?” he asked, forcing Hernando’s usual lazy confidence into the words.

Sadaki opened her eyes just enough to smile. “Less distant. Like you finally know what you want.”

He held her gaze for another second before letting himself breathe again.

“Maybe I do,” he said softly.

She settled back against him, unaware of how tightly his hand had closed around the beer bottle.

By dawn, “Hernando” had made his decision. He would burn every bridge leading back to that tired engineer and settle completely into this new life—the penthouse, the company, the attention, the face people trusted before he even opened his mouth.

Yet he had not forgotten the older men from his department, the ones who had spent years being ignored just as he had. Perhaps, once his own position was secure, he could offer a few of them the same kind of rebirth: younger faces, stronger bodies, and a place among the beautiful people who had once looked through them. A new circle could be built inside the old one, populated by familiar minds hidden beneath flawless appearances.

Ryu was riding in a taxi from the train station to his parents' house. Moments earlier, he had received a text informing him that he had been rejected for yet another job. Even though the position had been well below what someone with his master's degree should have aimed for, the world had proven itself merciless once again. His thoughts spiraled. What exactly was he missing? The list grew longer and longer. A lack of work experience. A degree in a field with little practical demand. Then his thoughts turned inward—to his short stature, his unimpressive physique softened by more body fat than muscle, his poor eyesight, and even his timid personality.

The taxi driver suddenly spoke.

"Looks like you've had a rough day."

Ryu sighed.

"Today's just one of those days."

The driver smiled in a way that Ryu couldn't quite decipher.

"Well, good days always come eventually. Human potential is limitless, isn't it?"

Ryu let out a cynical chuckle.

"Apparently not mine."

The driver asked an odd question.

"Life is all about give and take. If you paid with everything you've accomplished so far... don't you think you might receive what you've always wanted?"

Ryu shrugged bitterly.

"I don't even know what I have anymore. But if someone could give me what I want in exchange... I'd gladly hand over everything."

At that moment, the world turned upside down.

The taxi was still moving. A strange sensation swept over him before an unbearable agony exploded throughout his body. His head felt as though it were splitting apart, while every muscle and bone seemed ready to burst.

He screamed.

"Can you... please take me to the nearest hospital?!"

Without saying a word, the driver quietly changed course. Ryu continued screaming—until darkness swallowed his consciousness.

Yet, from the outside, he didn't appear unconscious. Instead, something new was awakening within him.

His body began to change. Muscles swelled beneath his skin as excess body fat melted away. His dress shirt stretched to its limits, threatening to tear apart. His glasses vanished. His eyes grew larger. His brow ridge became more pronounced, reshaping his face into something sharper and more sculpted. His jaw broadened into a firm, masculine line, while both his hair and beard grew rapidly. Then his own hands roughly tore open the buttons of his shirt. Powerful pectoral muscles and a sharply defined six-pack emerged into view. Somewhere, a voice echoed through the void. "Look at that, finally mine." And with those words, another consciousness began dissolving into his own.

Ryu opened his eyes. Chaos erupted inside his mind. One set of memories belonged to the frail, nerdy graduate student who had spent countless sleepless nights earning his degree and desperately trying to transform his body through relentless workouts. The other belonged to a man blessed with extraordinary looks and overwhelming charisma—a natural leader who had always stood at the center of attention throughout university, climbing effortlessly toward success and power. The two identities collided. The charismatic one prevailed. The nerd's memories shattered into countless fragments before fading into nothingness. Eventually, the taxi came to a stop.

The driver spoke.

"We've arrived home, Mr. CEO."

The package had been behind the cabinet for who knows how long.

He, a 30-year-old Frenchman, with dark brown hair and eyes, that average build with a little extra fat on his belly and golden skin, found it while emptying the apartment. Among the boxes, behind the old wardrobe, a sealed box. Soft to the touch. Dusty.

He didn't remember buying it. Maybe it belonged to the previous tenant. Or perhaps it was his and he had forgotten about it.

He opened it with the box cutter, doubtful.

Inside, a pair of dark gray boxer briefs. Charcoal gray, almost black. Soft, worn fabric. He took them in his hands. They were warm. Too warm, as if someone had just taken them off. And they smelled. A strong, masculine smell, of sweat and musk.

His fingertips trembled. Why were they warm? Why did they smell like a man he didn't know?

Maybe he should throw them away. Instead, his hands began unbuttoning his jeans. He lowered his pants. He took off the boxer briefs he was wearing. He put on the gray ones.

The fabric clung to his hips. Warm. Like a hand squeezing him. The scent enveloped him, dense, animalistic. He felt his lower abdomen contract.

Then the tingling.

An intense itch, everywhere. On his chest, his arms, his legs. He scratched himself. The hair. The hair on his body was changing. Becoming wilder, darker. On his golden skin, the hair was thickening.

"Ah... what... what the fuck..."

His voice lowered. Rougher. Deeper.

His jaw snapped. It widened. His chin became massive. His beard began to grow, thick, dark, black as coal. It grew before his eyes, covering his jaw, cheeks, chin. It became thicker, turning into that beard of a real man, of a Middle Eastern man.

The skin. His golden skin began to darken. Beneath the new hair, beneath the beard, it became darker. Olive. Mediterranean. Arab.

"AH!"

His shoulders widened. His collarbones cracked. His back straightened, his spine lengthened. He felt every vertebra snap, realign.

The muscles. All the muscles in his body began to swell. His biceps exploded. His triceps bulged. His pectorals lifted, becoming two hard, heavy plates.

But it wasn't just muscle. It was the hairy chest. Black hair covered his pectorals like a carpet, thick, bristly. It descended along his abdomen, the eight squares emerging, carved, perfect.

"AH! AH! I FEEL..."

Sweat began to pour. Copious. Hot. From his forehead. From his hairy chest. From his back, which was widening.

His arms swelled even more. His deltoids rounded. The veins surfaced, thick, bluish, beneath his dark skin.

His thighs. His thighs exploded. His quadriceps became tree trunks, his calves enormous. And the hair on his legs became thicker, dark, coarse.

His penis. He felt his penis growing. Swelling. Lengthening. Becoming enormous. Heavy. Thick. It pressed against the gray fabric, forming an enormous, obscene bulge.

The need. A primal need. The urge to fuck. A libido exploding like a volcano.

"AH! FUCK!"

One final jolt. His spine snapping into place. His muscles tensing. Sweat pouring in streams.

Then silence.

He was still there. But he was no longer himself.

He was at least 1.90 meters tall. His shoulders twice as broad. His chest massive, hairy, covered in thick black hair. A thick beard, like a real Middle Eastern man. Dark, olive skin. Veiny arms, enormous biceps.

The gray boxer briefs were stretched to the limit. The bulge enormous.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't recognize himself.

He was a muscular, hairy, tall man. He looked Arab. A giant.

He touched his chest. The hair was bristly, coarse. The skin underneath was warm, stretched over the muscles. His breathing was deep, his chest rising and falling.

He could feel his penis pulsing. A desire. A need. He wanted to fuck. He wanted to feel the body of a woman, a man, anyone.

"Ah... yes..." He murmured. His voice was low, deep, that of a predator.

He touched his bulge. It was enormous. His hand could barely wrap around it. The gray fabric was wet with sweat.

His gaze was lost in the mirror. He was no longer the 30-year-old Frenchman who was about to move to Montreal. He was a new man. A man of muscles, hair, and desire.

"Now... now I'm ready."

A slow smile appeared on his bearded face. His thick mustache curled upward. His hairy chest rose.

I am brown skin tone, indian, 5'7 ft, overweight, office worker, 25 yrs old. I have received the package which was ordered by the previous owner of the apartment before they shift. Out of curiosity I opened the package which is colourful and mysterious on the side, which provides a vibe of someone who is hot and muscular twink who would order. But the item's colour I received is vibrant green, satin silk and dusty old.

The package had been there for weeks.

He had noticed it on the first day, tucked behind the closet in the storage room, covered by an old shoebox. The previous owner of the apartment had left in a hurry, leaving behind forgotten things. He, Indian, dark-skinned, twenty-five years old, one meter and seventy tall and quite a few kilos overweight, had not paid attention to it. Until that Friday.

Boredom had won.

He had taken the box, opened the tape with a box cutter, and inside, wrapped in tissue paper, there was that thing. A pair of underwear of a bright, acidic green, almost fluorescent, but with something ancient in the reflection. Satin silk. Dusty. Warm to the touch, as if someone had just worn them.

He had brought them to his nose. They smelled of incense and musk.

He had wondered why an attractive and muscular guy like the previous owner had left something like that behind. And then, without thinking, he had put them on.

The silk had slid over his thick thighs like water. Strange. Too perfect.

He had gone to the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. The bright green underwear, the wide hips, the soft belly sticking out, the chubby chest. He looked like a fish out of water. But underneath the underwear, a tingling. Then heat. A thick heat, rising from his lower abdomen like a lit brazier.

And then the skin.

His dark skin began to shine. A thin, oily film of sweat covered his entire body. Drops slowly running from his forehead, down his neck, to his chest.

"Ah..."

A moan. He did not recognize it. His voice was already getting lower.

His hands tightened around the edge of the ceramic sink. His knuckles turned white. Under the skin, something was moving. His fingers lengthened, the bones cracking softly, the tendons stretching like ropes.

He looked down. His belly. The soft, round belly he had always hated was trembling. Vibrating. As if beneath the fat there were an army of ants digging.

The fat began to melt.

He saw it. The skin rippling, the fatty tissue breaking down, thinning. His hips narrowed. His waist became defined. His ribs, which he had not seen in years, emerged for an instant, then disappeared again beneath a new layer. A different layer. Fibrous. Dense.

"Ah... w-what..."

Another contraction. Stronger. His hands left the sink to grab his chest. Beneath his fingers, the soft flesh was changing. The fat was melting away, and in its place he could feel muscles swelling. Pectorals rising, hardening, becoming two solid and heavy plates. His fingers sank into the new flesh, elastic, taut.

Sweat was now pouring in streams. Hot. Salty. It ran down his chest, now sculpted, crossing the abs that were emerging one by one. The rectus abdominis muscles took shape like bricks beneath his dark skin. Four, six, eight. Perfect. Symmetrical.

"Uff... ah... AH!"

He moaned louder. His mouth opened, his teeth clenched. His jaw. He could feel his jaw changing. The bones of his face reshaping themselves, lengthening, becoming squarer. His cheekbone rising, more prominent. His chin becoming wider, more defined, with that dimple he had never had.

Sweat ran into his eyes. He closed them for a second. When he opened them again, the mirror showed him a different face. The dark skin was still there, but the features had changed. Harder. More masculine. A high cheekbone, a chiseled jaw, a gaze that seemed deeper. His eyebrows had become thicker, fuller, darker.

His arms. He felt his arms swelling. His biceps exploding, the skin stretching until it almost tore. The veins emerging like roots on the surface, bluish beneath the warm brown of his skin. His deltoids rounding, his shoulders widening.

The bones cracked. All together. A symphony of joints realigning, vertebrae snapping into place. His spine straightened, his neck became thicker, more muscular.

He was taller. By a few centimeters. Perhaps more. The one meter and seventy he had always been was becoming a memory. One meter and seventy-five. Perhaps one meter and eighty.

He looked at his legs. His thick thighs, once soft, were transforming into columns of muscle. His quadriceps swelled, his calves lengthened, his Achilles tendons stretched. His feet widened, his toes lengthened.

The hair. Hair was sprouting. But it was not just body hair. It was the beard.

On his face, his skin began to itch. An intense, unbearable itch. He scratched his chin and felt something rough beneath his fingers. The beard. It was growing before his eyes, thick, black, shiny. It lengthened, shaping itself, becoming that well-groomed, squared beard that defined the jawline like a frame.

"Ah... ah... fuck..."

Another wave of heat. Sweat was now pouring everywhere. From his forehead, his chest, his back. Streams of hot sweat running over his muscles, now tense, now swollen, soaking his new beard, dripping onto the bathroom floor.

His back arched, his shoulder blades snapped into place, his lats swelled like two wings. His buttocks? They had lifted, becoming two hard and muscular spheres. The bright green underwear, once loose and sagging around his hips, was now stretched tight, clinging like a second skin.

His penis. He felt a powerful, sudden erection pressing against the green silk. The blood pulsed, hot, thick. His libido exploding like a volcano.

He trembled. His entire body trembled. One final, powerful jolt that started in his lower abdomen and traveled up his spine to his skull.

Then silence.

His breathing was labored. His chest rose and fell, his new pectorals tightening with every breath. Sweat was still running down his body, but more slowly now. His beard was thick, black, perfectly groomed.

Si guardò allo specchio.

He was no longer himself.

He was South American. Tall, perhaps one meter and eighty-five. Muscular, but not bulky. Lean. Veiny. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, sculpted abs. Swollen chest, veiny arms, powerful thighs. His dark skin shone beneath the bathroom light, damp with sweat, stretched over his muscles like a glove.

His jaw was square. His thick, well-groomed beard framed his face, hiding the soft chin he had once had, instead showing a man he had never seen before. Dark, penetrating eyes that seemed to look into the soul.

His hands rose to his chest, touching the new skin, the new muscles. The sensation was electric. His fingertips felt every fiber, every tension.

He was handsome. He was sexy. He was everything he had never been.

Was he still himself? Or was he someone else?

The bright green underwear, still there, tight around his hips, seemed almost to mock him. The silk was warm, wet with sweat. And he, the new him, stared at himself in the mirror with the eyes of a stranger.

One last drop of sweat ran down his chest and disappeared into his new abs.

His new body. His new life.

The bathroom light flickered. Or perhaps it was him who was still trembling.

The package had been on the kitchen table for three days.

He, a robust man in his thirties, with reddish and unkempt hair, looked at it every morning while drinking his coffee. Addressed to him. But he had not ordered anything.

That afternoon, after his shower, curiosity got the better of him. He opened it. Inside, a pair of yellow briefs. Bright yellow, almost fluorescent. Smooth, elastic fabric that seemed to shine under the light.

There was no sender. Only the briefs.

He took them in his hands. The fabric was warm. Too warm. As if someone had just taken them off. His fingers trembled. He brought them to his nose. They did not smell of anything. And yet, he could feel them vibrating.

Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe not.

A thought crossed his mind: Try them on.

He shook his head. "No, I'm stupid."

But his fingers, as if they had a will of their own, began to unbutton his jeans. He lowered his pants. He put on the yellow briefs.

The fabric clung to his wide hips. Perfect. Strange. The sensation was one of warmth. A tingling that started in his lower abdomen and spread.

Then the itching.

He scratched his chest. The reddish hair fell between his fingers. Tufts. Then entire locks. He looked at the floor covered in red hair. His chest was becoming swollen and smooth. The skin emerging, bare, smooth as silk.

"Ah..."

A moan. His abdominal muscles began to contract. Beneath the soft skin of his belly, he felt something moving. Fibers stretching, swelling. The fat melting away. His hips narrowing.

His hands grabbed the table. His bones cracked. His shoulders widened, his back straightened. He could feel every vertebra snapping into place, realigning.

His biceps exploded. The veins surfaced, bluish and thick. His deltoids rounded. His chest swelled like a balloon, his pectorals becoming two hard, heavy plates.

"Yes... yes..." He moaned, his voice lowering.

His abs became sculpted. Eight perfect squares. A narrow waist. His buttocks lifting, becoming two spheres of steel.

His thighs exploded. His quadriceps swelled like tree trunks. His calves became massive. The yellow briefs, once loose, were now stretched, completely filled.

His penis grew. Hard. Thick. It pressed against the elastic fabric, forming an enormous, obscene bulge.

Sweat poured everywhere. From his forehead, his neck, his smooth chest.

He felt his head. His scalp itching. His red hair falling. Beneath it, new hair was growing. Dark brown. Shorter. Thicker. A mohawk cut, short on the sides, longer in the center.

The beard. He felt his chin tingling. Hairs sprouting, thick and dark. His jaw widened, his beard becoming thicker, growing before his eyes. Becoming that thick, well-groomed beard of a real man.

His body swelled even more. All his muscles contracted together.

And his jaw clenched.

He looked at his reflection in the window glass.

He was no longer himself.

He was a bodybuilder. Enormous. Pectorals like shields, six-pack abs, arms like tree trunks. Skin completely smooth, without a single hair. Dark brown mohawk hair. A thick beard framing his chiseled jaw.

And that bulge. That enormous protuberance pushing against the yellow brief.

He touched himself. His pectorals were hard as rock. His shoulders three times as wide as before. His arms heavy. Sweat ran down his perfect body.

A slow smile appeared on his chiseled face.

He raised his arms. His biceps swelled, monstrous.

He looked at his muscles. He liked it.

A commission story for all of you to see!! Inspiration taken from my previous Himbo Zombie Series with a bit of dialing in on the commissioner's taste! If you all want to see commission stories, normal stories and captions early join the PATREON 's exclusive discord. You get access to all my previous work, voting on all future stories polls and access to some other perks very soon (the base tier of $5 bucks gets you all of that!! I also am opening up comms as i catch up on everything so if you'd like to join the que slide into my dms! Now time for horny! _______________________________

Milo needed a pick me up. My gay best friend, my roommate, the guy I had known since eighth grade had just gone through a terrible breakup and needed to not think right now. Now I need to preface this: while he was my gay best friend I didn’t know shit about the gay world, it was an entirely different ecosystem, a different universe to what I understood. Hell the first time Milo showed me grindr and I saw that you could see how far away dudes were by feet I was out. They were crazy freaky like that. But I didn’t play about my boy Milo and that jackass Marcus broke his heart deserved to get his ass whoop. But I was told to play nice so this was the next best thing.

Help my gay best friend get some dick and make Marcus jealous. Now Milo would never tell me he was a bottom but just by looking at him that he was the one who took dick. Whether it was the well manicured hands, the flawless skin and always done hair. Or if it was his slim build, thick ass and tiny waist, all of him screamed “ I need dick “ and with those plump lips he was gonna get some tonight at the club. I had googled the closest gay bar on campus and found that we had more than a few so I just found the highest starred one hoping that he would have a good time. I didn’t know if had drag shows, or gogoboys or even what it looked like!

It took us way longer to get ready though because Milo was in a mood, changing out of every outfit, too self conscious and in his own head. When he finally settled for a mesh top and booty shorts (that he had originally picked out) we were finally out the door. He had tried to run back in to change but I made sure he didn't. He looked great. He looked fuckable, if he was a chick I’d tap that.

“Jason , like I said, you don’t have to do this? I know it's not really your scene!" Milo was being so sweet as we ubered our way there. I felt bad for the little guy, trying to make me feel good even though this was supposed to be his night! He always put others first, always, so i wanted to try and do this for him. He was like one of the most important people in my life, he deserved the same equal treatment he gave.

“Oh Come on milo, I’m here to be your wing man and get you some. Don’t worry about me, worry about whose dick you're going to be bouncing on!” I give him a quick shoulder punch and smile. He makes this aghast face, the same one he always makes when I rightfully accuse him of being a bottom. I mean I could totally see him literally bouncing up and down on a guy.

“These bottom allegations are getting fucking old dude. Just cause I’m femme doesn’t mean I'm only a bottom!” He says, quietly probably because he doesn't like the fact another person can hear us.

“ONLY, so you do bottom, so glad we finally admitted that, even if it's only partial.” I had to be a dick, it made him smile and laugh. I remember when we had come out to me, it was one of the few times he had been so serious and scared. It was so unlike him, but he was nervous and scared it would change things, that I would hate him or seem him different, as lesser. But Milo wasn’t lesser than me, no, far from it. Of course I had to ask if he had a crush on me, I couldn’t resist but Milo stated firmly that no, never me, we were always going to be friends in his mind. It hurt my ego but it was very sweet and made me love that dweeb all the more for it. How could I not when he got all sappy like that.

It's why when I got into the bar, all those eyes turned to look at me because let's face it I was hot. The perfect all american jock at 6’2 with clear skin. I wasn’t some muscle beast but I kept myself in shape, never missing arm day, babes always loved and commented on them and even Milo would every once in a while. The rest of me was perfectly proportional to make sure I was balanced out. I had the face, perfect nose, thick lips and maintained eyebrows, I did my hair like tiktok suggested, wore nice fitting clothes that hugged my body and ABSOLUTELY SHOWED OFF THE STAR OF THE SHOW. Which of course was my raging six inches of pure pleasure. I loved getting to rail some blonde bimbo when I had the apartment to myself, sure do I wish I was less considerate of my roommate. Sometimes it gets me laid more often but he also lived there.

All of this to say that I was definitely the belle of the ball here, most of the guys tracking my every move as we made our way, some of them catching the vibe immediately that I was straight, and half of them weren’t even deterred. I would be drinking for free tonight that was sure, and hopefully because a lot of eyes were on me, more eyes would be on Milo as he stuck nearby me, he at first was saying it was just to make sure I was comfortable but I could tell that my bottom of a best friend was really nervous to.

“Listen, if you're not careful, all that primo dick is going to think we're together and then you aren’t going to get ANY, is that really what you want?”.  It was a genuine question with a dose of my disarming humor, I was down to just hang out but Milo had to get out there if he wanted any shot of getting over his ex. He was a hot twinky bottom or whatever he was called. His tight thin body, short stature, smooth skin and an ass to die for. If he had long hair and tits he would be perfect for me to fuck the shit out of. It had crossed my mind super crossfaded one time but I was too straight for that.

I could see him squirm a little, maybe it was hitting a different type of nerve. Maybe I have pushed him too quickly to go out and do something. But I see him shake his head back and forth like he is snapping himself out of it and he lets out a big brave sigh and chirpy smile looking up at me. That positivity that was somewhat forced but still so fucking radiant, you couldn’t help but admire it.

“I get what you're saying, you try and find a “SAFE SPACE” in here, I think I see a few other bros walking around. Maybe you guys can go on pussy patrol if I end up snagging some ass!” He pointedly says ass making sure he ASSERTS he could top tonight, his hand pointing out some jacked dudes entering the bar. All the men tan, shirtless with giant muscles showcased and on display for everyone to stare and gawk at. Sweaty, musky i could see the twinks and other gays turning their noses, face scrunching up as they got near em, before they shook it off, their expressions changing back. Or maybe they looked super giggly. I couldn't exactly tell I didn't know gay boy baselines, their tongues lulled out, their posture shifted almost like they were leaning closer to the smell. Some of them looked like dogs and puppies after, hungry animals waiting for their masters… that was an odd thought. Too bad none of them would be scoring anything by the looks of those men.

The idea of straight guys having a safe space in a gay bar or club made me laugh, so when Milo walked away I thought sure why not try and shoot the shit with these guys. Didn’t matter the background, a bro is a bro, and if they went to the gym like these guys did they were definitely going to be bros. They might be gay and maybe I could bring them back for Milo, I knew he had a thing for middle eastern men and they could definitely put that ass to work. God I was getting too involved in this shit I needed to get pussy as soon as possible and maybe these guys were an answer for me too. Hell even if they weren’t I could always use more guy friends.

I approached them slowly, I took note of their gait, their posture. When they walked it was this wide legged swagger walk, like their bulge pushed their legs farther apart standing up. It was cocky, arrogant like they owned the place. They were standing perfectly upright, straight with no hint of slouching. Their eyes scanned the area as they slowly, “subtly” flexed, drawing people in. Now that I was closer I could smell them, even from fifteen feet away it was strong. MASCULINE, overpowering musk wafting in the air going right into my nose. It made my brain feel foggy, my movements felt more sluggish. It made me take a deeper whiff as I felt the pull and tug to get more. They had stopped at some point, standing with drinks. Some glazed eye twink got them before literally bowing his head like they owned him or something. Their eyes landed on me and it was like they were staring directly into my soul.

They said something to that twink, I couldn’t understand them, they were speaking some other language from english but I could tell by how they said it, it was derogatory. Hell the older brother i think even spit as he said something to the twink. The twin actually bent all the way down to the floor to lick it up. Fuck i knew this was a gay club, but getting this freaky in public was crazy especially for someone who probably just called you a slur. I should speak up, should say something…. BECAUSE I ADMIRED THEM?! What no i don’t, I mean they were big. 

I had never seen men so huge, their muscles all glistening under the light, that coupled with the smell that I couldn’t help but follow, it made me dazed, confused. I couldn’t stop myself from getting right in front of them, not to engage, not to say something to tell them to respect these people and their space, my head immediately scanning between the shirtless masculine gods, mouth watering in a  way it never did before. They seemed to a quick scan of me, an up and down taking in my entire form, while I wore more clothes I was still fit enough to maybe compete with them - How can you compete with perfection- who the fuck, why am I calling a man perfect -just take another whiff- fuck that was a good idea.

There was this voice in my head, it sounded like mine, but more sleepy, lustful and deeper. Almost commanding if it wasn’t so calm, it disarmed me, made good points. I took a deep whiff, my shoulders relaxing, vision blurring for a second before the men spoke. Their voices are so clear, easily louder than the nonsensical gay music playing. Don’t listen to that dribble, thats for lesser men, for fa- What the fuck were these thoughts. 

Its like the closer I got to them, the more I breathed in their musk the harder it was to think. My nose, my skin, it was all burning. My face even felt sweaty, like I was catching some sort of sickness, some virus by being exposed to them. God what was happening to me?

“It seems we have another convert! Brother, is it your turn or mine?” The taller one, with the bushier beard asks turning to his brother? I mean they looked alike, I wasn't one to just assume anything but they seemed more related then bros. Their faces were almost mirrors of each other, it honestly WAS SO HOT? Think of how masculine their faces were, the way their perfect jawlines and strong noses were framed by facial hair. Their deep, dark brown eyes just pulled you in close. I saw his Brother who called him Ahmed just smiled. A smile that could send anyone into a daze from how perfect it was… THEY WERE PERFECT.

“You got the fags at the door, my turn with the man Ahmed!” His eyes pull me in close, his arms go over his head and this strong, desecrated decadent musk blasted from his pits as his biceps flexed over his head. It was like a gym AND locker rooms were distilled into one man then that man had raunchy sex for hours. My eyes watered as my nose took a DEEP inhale. My feet directly in front of him now were unable to stop myself as he used one hand to pull my face right into his pit. My eyes no longer blurry, or glazed. A brief moment of clarity, much too late as the shock doesn’t stop the effect. This deep heady scent chokes me out, taking over my airwaves and brain as my eyes clothes. The last real thoughts I had. My own real thoughts are what the fuck is this gay shit, i should beat their asse-

His hands in my hair felt nice. The way that my long… long? Was my hair long? Nah i always got a fade yeah, the way his strong hand felt going through my fresh cut felt amazing. My deep black hair felt amazing especially as he got a tighter grip. My nose fully smooshed into his pit, as my hands immediately went to feeling up his perfect, sweaty body, his trim waist that led up to perfect pillowy pectorals was wonderful to grab onto. I felt my mouth fall open, my tongue lulling out against my will, my thoughts too disoriented to control any part of my body. I began lapping away at his armpit, my hands moving up his cobblestoned abs as my own body began grinding into him. Wanting to be as close as physically possible, it was the only way I was going to feel better.

“Good start Adheem, his hair is already up to standard, but he is much too pale!” Ahmed groans, his hand moving across my body. This flush heat fills me up, this deep, pulsing pleasure arching through me. That heat that started all of this even more present, a virus taking over my body, rapidly changing me into one of them. My skin, this pale white starts to deepen, till it's no longer sun kissed, but bronzed. I feel my lips plumping as I start to make out with this man's dense, bushy, delicious pit, my nose widening as I take deeper inhales. My eyes, once green start to darken, the glazed look getting stronger as my cheek bones rise. My eyebrows get bushier as my face, my new, handsome, strong, masculine face is covered with a thick layer of sweat, permanently marking me with this incredible musk. Seeping deep into my pores, never letting me go.

“Brother, he’s almost big enough already, should we indulge?” Their voices ringing, I feel Ahmed move my face from his brothers right pit to the left, worshipping, and licking this one clean. I could hear satisfied grains. The feeling of pin pricks across my face as facial hair grew till I had a perfectly groomed beard. It would tickle any sluts' skin as I took them for myself. My tongue lapping more at my brothers… brother?! My brothers pit at the thought of driving some whore crazy with just my tongue.

“Why yes, yes indulge, it's our night out! It’ll just take more of his mind!” I took a deeper whiff, my mind pulsing, on fire, eyes glazing further as I felt everything in my body start to snap, and crack. My bones become longer, more dense, nerve endings more sensitive, electric. My spine elongates as my height grows, my head and neck leaning further down to stay underneath my new brother's arm. Memories, a whole life that I once lived was flowing down from my brains and into my balls. As images of the new me, the me my new bros, my brothers, were creating started to take its place. No more education, just lifting, partying,. Fucking and spreading a gospel and hierarchy that I would enforce everywhere I went. One slut and fag at a time… fagg… I don't say that. My best friend, my roommate was.. A FAG! 

Memories of college, of my desires, the girls I had dated, my gay best friend miles caught in the fire and were turning into ash. My back and shoulders broadened as my chest heaved forward. Two mountainous pecs appearing like slabs of muscle, my abs become more defined, popping up till I have an eight pack. My shirt rips apart as my biceps finally bring them to the edge, bulging biceps with veins that could easily be small snakes. My back was incredibly defined, arching as my ass grew to perfect globes, as ass that you could bounce quarters off of. An ass that No fag would ever touch if he knew what was good for him…. Fuck what am I thinking. I was thinking the truth for once brother.

I could hear my new family, my band of brothers speaking above me but they were muffled. My hands feeling up their muscles as I fully just gave in… I had to give.. Give nothing, there were still things to fight for. To believe in I could… I could PULSE.

 Pushing the denim of my pants to their limit, my member, something no woman had ever complained about got hard. Harder than it ever did, leaking precum as it started to grow, snaking down my pant leg as it went from a solid six inches… Fuck a big pair of bouncing boobs… seven inches… fake dsls choking on it… eight inches… fuck a fag on his knees worshipping it… fuck not… nine inches…. Not gay… wouldnt call … fuck milo belongs down there… ten inches….. Fucking fag pretending…. Pretending to be a man… be a person… just a fucking… eleven inches… a fucking hole for real men to use… God Brain on fire.. Can’t give in…. Fuck so close… Milo on knees.. Serving real.. 12 Inches of man meat pulsing in briefs that are clinging onto me by threads…. SERVING REAL ARAB MEN…13 INCHES ready to breed and cunt bitches lesser than me.

As I came up for air from my brother's pits, his musk, my musk mingling in the air I knew my purpose, the purpose I had been given and would fulfill. A need to assert the hierarchy and put the men in this bar, in this city in their place beneath me and my brothers. My slick with sweat skin glistened in the club's light, my hormones raging in my body and my mind muddled with an endless urge to dominate, consume and breed. My past, the pathetic life I had lived before brewing in my balls waiting for me to expel it in the first bitch I’d make tonight, and I knew exactly who.

“Welcome Brother Nassim!” Ahmed pats me on the back stating my new name, his sturdy hand making a thud against the wall of muscle I had become, a big, shit eating grin crossing his face as I don’t even show a sign of being phased. His strength possibly paled to mine with the conditioning they’d done. I took note of the fags, the bois they had collected around them, different degenerates instages of submission, clothes disheveled or tighter on them, their body’s becoming physically more fit but also compact, shorter then us. They were lesser men, their stature should fit that, lean and small. My new name fit me just right and so would everything else.

“Yes Nassim, I'm sure you already have a target in mind, someone you wish to serve you?” My other brother said. He wasn’t wrong my thoughts drifted to my faggot, the one I had brought with me to this sin pit. The one who I had cared for deeply. That care was still there, twisted, no not twisted, fixed. Instead of viewing him under some false pretense and letting him believe he was something he was not. I would show him the way, it was my right and it should be me and not some other alpha, I wouldn't allow it no matter how much I cared for my brethren. Milo was MINE to claim.

“Yes brothers I’ll find you after I’ve claimed my prize!” Milo wasn’t a person to me anymore, his body, his holes, they were objects to use for my pleasure and I would make them so. There would be no doubt in his empty little head when I was done with him about what his purpose was. Flashes of him claiming to be a top, him insisting that he wasn’t just a bottom flash through my head, all of it irritating me. All of it fueling my steps, each one a loud stomp on the club floors, my musk, wafting from my own hairy, sweaty pits attracting onlookers. Men of various shapes… no not men, fags all staring at me before their eyes grow glossy, minds more malleable, waiting to be tamed. They’d get their turn, just not yet. Not till Milo.

It took me a second to find him, he was on the other end of the club, at a smaller bar, talking to some tall muscular white BOI. A pathetic excuse of muscles, wasted on someone who would never be able to use it the way it was intended. I decided to raise both my arms up, both fags almost immediate, sniff the air. Their heads shaking as eyes start to glaze. Milo, smart, especially for a faggot looks around for the source, i can tell from his face, the lack of a slacked jaw that he thinks something is wrong. I can’t help but smirk. Our eyes meet, a part of him thinks he recognizes me, but dismisses it, he has never met this form. But after tonight he wouldn’t remember a life without it.

“MOVE” I tell the obstacle, I can see his eyes glaze further, his face trying to press against the hot, sweaty, musky skin of my pecs. To feel the hairs on his face as he takes deep long whiffs of my musk. But my commandment is law and he moves across the room. Milo looks at me, both in horror and awe. My deep gruff voice stirring something within him that I can’t help but chuckle at. His pants, those booty shorts he wore to get attention, obviously only my attention, which were pathetic, bright and too tight show exactly what effect I have on him. His pathetic… why isn’t it smaller, it was like seven fucking inches, that bottom had a bigger dick then i did originally? THIS HAD TO CHANGE!

“Who are … what… what is happening?!” He asks as I get right in front of him, invading whatever pathetic personal space he has. I can see his beautiful brown eyes looking up into mine. So submissive and slutty already. I can’t wait to make them glaze over and roll into the back of his head. Make him into a dumb mindless slut, an object, a toy to play and fuck and use.

“Its me baby, can’t you see NASSIM!” the word rings out of my mouth, my voice light as I move my hands over him, before they settle on the small of his back. His tight, lean body is perfect to hold. Calling him baby makes him blush, he’s moving in closer, his breath on my chest. It was heavy, desperate, he looked so confused, pathetic, cute.

“Nassim… i dont… i don’t know a Nassim? Who… who are you?” His hands found their way to my shoulders, slowly, sweetly massaging them. My hands went down to his ass, his tight short shorts left nothing to the imagination as I grasped them. Fingers digging into the fabric and supple flesh, my sweaty fingers sinking into him. He lets out a soft moan as I pull him closer, smearing his face, his open mouth against my pecs. My musk seeping deeper into his pores, he can’t help but moan against me.

“But Habibi, of course you do, you live with me!” The pet name falls out of my lips so naturally, to call him something so sweet is wrong, but I’m happy its me who shows him his place. That I get to have this moment and all that it leads up to. To see his eyes go wider, as memories of me flash through his head, all conflicting with who I am now, till they start to burn away, fueling the thing in me, this virus of masculinity and hierarchy. I can see him try to push off of me. Try to use what pathetic little strength he has to get away but soon his hands stop pushing or shoving and start groping, traveling down my body tweaking my nipples and then tracing my abs

His eyes fully glaze as he mutters away, everything unintelligible, moans slipping out more as my fingers find their way under his shorts, one hand in the front, the other in the back. My hand slick with my sweat as I grip his lengthy cock. I can feel it PULSE in my hands, his member, hot, throbbing, but as I squeeze, he lets out this guttural moan and its length starts to shorten. His once girthy, above average package retreats inch by inch. Leaking precum the entire time as everything he once was starts to get stored down in his balls. Till there is nothing left but a pathetic nub, less then one inch and a constant leaking faucet of precum. The entire time my fingers frantically search between his now plumping cheeks. His hole winking, inviting my fingers in as he thrusts back. My mouth right next to his ear as I’m whispering obscenities to corrupt his mind.

Telling him his place below me, his need to serve me. How we were never equals, never friends. He was just a hole, a plaything, a thing to please and serve me whenever I needed. His hands got more voracious, moving down to my tight denim jeans, ripping them down as I continued to subjugate his mind. Muttered protests leaving his lips for the last time as he sinks to his knees.

His teeth pulling off my underwear, my cock smacking him across the face smearing hot precum on his cheeks and lips. Those lips plumping up, his body, the mutation, whatever it was that changed me making him the perfect pathetic plaything for me. Not some alpha, no it worked different on fags, it made them servants. God I loved this life.

Seeing him lick his face clean before asking “master, master please can i suck you? Please!”His eyes slutty, glazed over, lost in the fog of submission, looking up at me on his knees. My hands fell to his hair, resting gently on his head as I smirked and nodded at him. My eyes then trailing down to that ass of his, how it was barely contained by that embarrassment of fabric. That would be for later.

He gently grabbed my cock with his hands, reverently holding it before bringing his lips to meet my cock head. Slowly, sensually kissing it, his hands gliding along my slick shaft as he starts to move around, my shaft getting a few kisses before he quickly licks my balls making me shudder. His tongue then laps up and down my cock before it wraps around the head. His mind fully gone as he kisses it one last time, his teeth not even a threat (why would he ever be able to harm his master, they are perfectly behind his lips as he slides all the way down my monster schlong. My fuckstick makes his throat distend as he gets all the way to the hilt. My hands grab the side of his head as my eyes roll back, my instincts taking over.

“FUCK SLUT!” My voice a deep growl as I pull him almost all the way off before thrusting all the way back in. No ga reflex, just moans as I thrust in and out of this faggot. Skull fucking him as both of us give in to this new life, both our balls full, my ready to shoot load after load down his vibrating, milking throat from dominating him. He was getting off from being used, getting ready to cum hands free from being throat fucked and dominated, sealing his fate.

With a few more final thrusts I let out a deep moan before shoving myself so far down his throat, his nose smashed against my pubes, my musk frying his new brain as I fire load after load. At least twelve beautiful loads claimed him as he fired off his pathetic load sealing his fate. His body shuddered, not wanting to let go of my cock but also needing air. 

I was benevolent, I pulled out of his gasping, needy throat, much to his whimpering disappointment and let him breath. His shorts stained, his shirt ruined from the sweat and saliva. His hair absolutely messed up from my rough play but he was delicious this way on his knees. Especially since there was not a single ounce of cum outside his lips. We had attracted so much attention at the bar, so many faggots drawn to our scene desperate to even get a look at the privilege I had just given my favorite slut. They would serve me, and maybe a few of them would EARN it. But they would all learn who was in charge, and who got what they wanted.

Me and my brothers.

Four friends debate the latest gay dating app to hit the market. Four friends inevitably become walking advertisements for the very same app. Remember, What’s Good for the Gandr is Good for You!

Here's one for all you droney himbo fans! Average gay friend group into four Adonises literally molded to be the perfect men for Gandr’s supernaturally expanding user base. Hope you enjoy! -Occam

(L to R) Sven - Blaine - Clint - Guy

“It’s called Gandr! I’ve heard nothing but good things! Besides, I’ve been obsessed with the founder since he guest judged on Drag Race!” Clint held out his phone showing an ad for the newest dating app to hit the mobile store. “And it’s not even just for dating! It’s for the lifestyle!”

His friends are nonplussed. Swirling a drink in his hands, Blaine rolls his eyes. “Have you heard anything about it that wasn’t from an ad? I mean- Girl. Obviously it’s not made with guys like us in mind? Like, fuck look at those guy, they wouldn’t seven give Sven a second look unless it was to laugh at him!”

Clad in his usual deep v-neck and squinting at the screen, Sven shrugs in agreement before speaking up himself. “Dunno about this one Clint, something about it feels off? But you know me, I’m not really about apps and shit.”

Huddled around the phone in their favorite haunt, a lowkey gay bar-cum-brunch spot, the group continues bickering about their interest in reality star Chad Gleeson’s latest venture. Taking little part in the chatter, while his cohort debates whether or not this is a cash grab or a genuine attempt to build community online, Guy is simply staring blankly at the disembodied oiled up torsos still scrolling past on Clint’s phone. 

"Just a little something to take the edge off."

That little something was a powder called Ovid's Wet Dream, and it had found its way inside of Eli's morning coffee courtesy of Silas. Now, Silas clutches his legs as he watches his equally nerdy friend explode in height.

"I'm so fucking horny!"

Silas is practically drooling at the sight of Eli's modest erection begins fattening. Eli's sweatpants are so thin and soaked with pre-cum that they're practically see-through, and do little to hide the inflating sausage between his legs. The cock's head flares and pushes out pre at a more urgent rate, as his balls begin churning and inflating with backed-up cum, becoming veritable, hairy baseballs between his legs. Eli's balls flood his body with testosterone. Sweat begins pouring out of his body, his pubes and pit air thickening and growing denser.

"I'm glad it feels good!" Silas says, encouragingly, squirming as his 5-inch erection brushes against his shorts.

Eli only moans in assurance as his frail chest begins inflating. If Eli had the mental faculties to do so, he would be asking lots of questions. But through the drool flooding out of his mouth, it's obvious the mental changes the powder promised are steadily kicking in. The overwhelming flood of hormones makes the loss of Silas's intelligence even more pronounced as he begins mindlessly humping, thrusting his hips, desperate for release as his cock surges to 9, thick, long inches. The head of his cock pumps a steady stream of pre down his knee.

"Fuck, bro!"

"Oh my god," Silas mutters, licking his lips.

Now, the most important question is why. Why is Silas watching his friend play with his fattening nipples, moaning like a whore and groaning with pleasure as his chest begins inflating with displaced fat and muscle? Why is Silas slowly stroking himself as Eli begins furiously massaging his expanding muscle tits, his hands cracking and inflating, becoming thick and veiny, callouses forming on his hands as workout routines replace complex math problems in Eli's shrinking brain? Why is Silas drooling from horniness as Eli flexes an expanding bicep and shows off his fattening arm, the thick hair growing beneath his pits, damp and sweaty, reeking of musk and testosterone?

Well, the poor guy is a virgin.

Still.

Eli stands and grabs his tight shirt, abs carving themselves into his stomach, and rips it clean down the collar. His back widens and thickens, biceps pumping with more meat as he bumps his beyond hard dick against his desk, files deleting themselves from his computer. All of his math homework? Gone. All of his coding programs? Gone. In their place is all the gay porn the gay, horny jock can possibly masturbate to whenever his massive, constantly producing bull balls need draining. The aroma of cum, sex, sweat, and musk fills both Eli and Silas's noses. It makes Silas's hole twitch, clenching in feverish anticipation, and only inflates Eli's burgeoning ego, and his burgeoning ass. The pancake ass begins stuffing itself with muscle and fat just like his pecs, the cheeks filling out whatever room is left in his straining, soaked sweatpants as his thighs, calves, and feet begin growing to match his upper body.

Eli looks at Silas with half-lidded eyes, cloudy with lust. He bites his lip as the cocky streak in him begins growing, seeing the cute twink in a different, much less platonic light as his pale skin begins growing a healthy tan, moaning as his nipples expand further, becoming more sensitive as more heft is packed onto his already meaty chest.

All Silas has ever wanted was to lose his virginity. Eli lost his recently but that's only because Eli was bolder, a little more comfortable using the apps than Silas ever was. It filled him with jealousy as Eli gushed about the experience. How nice the man was. How careful he was. Silas sat there silently fuming and mildly embarrassed at the fact that he was seemingly such a late bloomer. So many people he'd met had fucked already. And here he was, fingering himself and quietly moaning into his hand as he came. Besides, none of the men on the apps fit the exact parameters that Silas was looking for. Sure they were hunky, but did they have such a fat ass splitting the back of their sweatpants, the hairy globes released into the air and nearly clapping from their size? Did they have such meaty, juicy thighs sandwiching their fat nuts? Did they have such huge, musky feet, stretching across the carpeting, the toes thickening and thin hairs growing on the backs of them, the musk adding to the heady smell in the air, making Silas woozy with lust? Did they think with the head between their legs more often than the one on their shoulders?

Eli groans in pleasure, his newly deep voice ricocheting through the small room. His computer bloats into a massive, color-changing gaming computer. Java closing itself and COD showing up on the computer screen.

For Eli, he's never felt so good in his life. His brain totally devoid of worries and fears. No anxieties at all. He's just horny as shit. His brain is a carousel of images involving some bottom in front of him, their hole clutching tight to his thick dick, the massive schlong buried deep in their holes as it gains another inch in length and girth. Or his fat ass being impaled by one of his workout buddies, bent over in the musky locker room, cock oozing on the floor as his eyes loll in pleasure. He rubs his chiseling chin, moaning in approval as a thick beard begins growing on his chin. A baseball cap appears on his head, his wardrobe simplifying into the only attire necessary for a horned up jock like him. Sneakers, tank tops, basketball shorts, sweatpants, tight jeans, tighter polos, nipples and pecs and abs and dense, meaty biceps forever in display. Begging for a worshipper to lick him from head to toe. To swallow his cock down to the base, nose buried in the thick, musky pubes.

His cock strains with backed-up cum. His torn T-shirt (size small? Why the fuck did he buy such a small shirt) draped over the boner that's finally broken free of his destroyed sweatpants.

Silas mouth falls open and he gasps.

"Shit, bro I didn't know you were in here," Eli says, pressing down on his dick and making it bob. His dick pulses hungrily.

"Um," Silas says, speech temporarily shorted out by his own boner and the musk spreading through the room.

"I was gonna game," Eli says, "but then you walked by me with those shorts on." He bites his lip. "That ass looks perfect."

"I'm a virgin," Silas blurts and then blushes.

Eli only chuckles, before standing and letting the shirt slide off and his cock to bob in front of the mesmerized twink in its full, drippy glory. He wonders why he never considered fucking his nerdy friend before, maybe as a reward for doing his homework or something. Yeah, maybe he should start doing that. It's hard to pay attention to some dumb professor when all your dick wants to do is bust a nut everywhere. Maybe his friend and roomy here could help him with his large problem.

Eli cups Silas's chin in his hand.

Splash.

The sound of choppy water, upset by slick muscled swimmers diving in, filled the school's indoor pool complex. Interrupted only the burly coach’s barking and the sharp blow of the whistle, whipping his team into shape after winter break. Thankfully, the team was easily the best in the state, not really thanks to dedicated coaching though. More thanks to a special  formula developed by the man that made anyone into perfect swimmer jocks. 

With a final scratchy whine of the worn out whistle, he ended the practice. The team then pulled themselves out of the water, putting away used equipment and slapping each other's asses playfully. The typical bantering of locker room talk mixed with the sounds of squelching slides and metallic rings of the lockers. The topic had eventually shifted to sex and dating. Most guys on the team were gay thanks to a side effect of the coach's serum. Most of the team boasted loudly of their happy relationships and active sex lives, everyone except for the newest recruit: Jake and Liam.

Jake and Liam had been best friends since that fateful kindergarten swimming lesson at their neighborhood pool. At least that’s how they remembered it, Thanks to memory altering chemicals. 

And that’s how both boys found themselves in the coach's office. The faint smell of mildew hung in the air accentuated by the layer of dust over the framed state titles and clutter of trophies. The boys shifted uncomfortably, their feet wet from the pool, sticking to the already damp tile floor. Their voices overlapping and interpreting each other in a frantic rush.  

“No.”

The boys stopped their mad rush of words.

Liam blinked. “We didn’t even-”

Coach grunted. “Didn’t need to. You idiots only come in groups when you’re about to say something unbelievably dumb.”

“But, Coach. I just want a hunk to hook up with.” Jake begged, trying not to show how desperate he was and failing miserably. 

Liam tried a different tact. “Look at us, Coach. We’re thriving. Morale’s up. Relay times are sick. Everybody’s locked in.”

Jake stepped in sensing where his best friend was going. “We just think the team could benefit from… more dedicated recruitment.”

Coach narrowed his eyes immediately, but Jake leaned forward seriously and continued. “But like…What if the new guys are super hot and fast?”

The older man rubbed both hands down his face slowly.

Jake folded his arms. “So… that’s not a no.” The fragile thread hope in his voice a tangible thing. 

“I literally said no first.”

“Yeah, but not with conviction.”

Coach glared at both of them. And two hopeful idiot faces stared back, the idiot faces that were technically his fault. Liam finally played the card he knew would work.

“Think about the senior class leaving in a few months”

Coach’s expression twitched and Jake clocked it instantly. “Ohhhh, there it is.”

Coach exhaled heavily through his nose before standing and walking to the filing cabinet in the corner.

The boys straightened immediately.

“Fuck ya,” Liam whispered as Coach pulled out a small six-pack carrier full of brightly colored sports drinks. Coach pointed a warning finger at them. “One each. No random idiots. And one of you two needs to get a water polo recruit for me, the water polo coach has been riding my ass about it ”

Liam carefully took one bottle from the pack like it was sacred. “So we can like, pour ideal type, guys that are, y’know…”

Coach pointed instantly. “Don’t say ‘hung’ in my office.”

“We weren’t gonna say hung,” Liam lied horribly.

Jake failed to hold back a laugh.

————————

Hunter missed his friend.

At five-foot-three, he was even shorter than Liam used to be, all sandy blond hair that looked permanently windblown, and his thin frame carried a weariness that came from years of bullying and torment. He had a habit of chewing the inside of his cheek when he was nervous, which was often, and he constantly adjusted the strap of the messenger bag slung across his chest like he expected someone to yank it away at any second, which also happened often.

Liam had been Hunter's best friend since middle school, or that’s what he thought. Yeah, they had bonded because nobody else wanted either of them around. They spent lunch periods hiding in the library, ranking superhero movies and arguing over game lore while pretending not to notice the football players barking insults from the next table over. The swim team had Liam's back and Hunters by default, wait…swim team. Liam had just joined the team, hadn’t he? Then why did Hunter remember him being a swimmer his whole life. Something was very wrong.

Because now Liam sat with the swim team. Hunter couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t but that conflicted with the memories of hanging with Liam at a back table, geeking out over the next Star Wars TV show. Hunter's brain hurts from trying to make sense of it. 

All he knew was Liam now walked through the halls with his shoulders back and his wet bag slung casually over one broad shoulder, laughing with Jake and the others like… normal? His glasses were gone, because Liam had always had 20/20 vision. His hair was longer, messier, hung over his forehead in an effortlessly cool manner.  And now, for the first time in weeks, Hunter was going to talk to him. 

He saw Liam chatting with Jake one morning, both casually leaned against their lockers stuffed full with swim memorabilia. Medals hanging out, faded team pictures taped to the sides, and the faint smell of wetness hanging around them. He tapped Liam on the shoulder timidly. 

“Yo, Hunter, I was just coming to find you!” The jock exclaimed, loud enough for the whole hall to hear, his brassy voice echoing. He waved off Jake, who grabbed a neon colored water bottle and trotted off. Slapping Liam’s on the back causally as he did so.

“You- haven’t be-en com- coming to robotics club?” Hunter tried to get out, looking up at  Liam who was giving him a friendly smile.

Liam snorted. “Practice ran late and I don’t do robotics.”

There was no edge to Liam’s voice, but Hunter still shrank a little. His hands shook as he adjusted his glasses. “Right. Sorry.”

Liam glanced sideways at him then, expression going soft for a second. “Dude, stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like you’re about to get yelled at all the time.”

Hunter laughed weakly. “Habit, I guess.” 

Liam saw his opportunity and took it. “You ever think about swimming?” He asked casually.

Hunter blinked. “What?”

“I’m serious.” Liam nudged him lightly with one arm. “You’re wiry. Coach likes that. Says lean guys cut through water better.”

“I can barely dog paddle.”

“So? Neither could I.”

“That is objectively not true anymore.”

Liam laughed at that, deep and easy. “Okay, fair.”

Liam laughed at that, deep and easy. “Okay, just think about it man. Come to the pool this afternoon for my practice.”

Hunter didn’t think he would actually go, but Liam’s words had been ringing in his ears all day. So that's how he found himself outside, sitting on the bleachers, sweating his ass off, watching the swim team get ready for practice. Liam was one of the last guys to arrive and when he saw Hunter he walked over immediately. 

“Hey, you came, dude!” He greeted Hunter with an outstretched fist. Hunter returned the fist bump awkwardly while Liam pulled out an orange Gatorade bottle out of his bag. Cold condensation rolled down the plastic.

“You thirsty?” Liam asked.

Hunter grabbed the bottle, it was so hot Hunter, sitting in the glaring sun, had stripped himself of layers of clothing. He looked back at Liam’s face and saw an unnerving expression of hunger there. But he brushed it off as the first sip hit him. It had a citrusy limey tang with a strange metallic aftertaste. 

Within seconds his mouth started to feel cotton dry, he quickly guzzled more of the drink to quench himself. A strange feeling of cold wetness hit him, spreading slowly across his body. Also spreading was a new tan, darkening the nerd's pale skin. The new skin was clear and healthy, the faint scars of acne fading away completely. The sparse body hair vanished completely, perfect for smoothly moving through the water. The only hair remaining was on his head and has reformed into a cleaner style, short and shaved sides and longer gelled hair atop. 

Hunter's slim, tiny frame began to grow upwards and outwards. His nonexistent chest began to blow up like a water balloon, giving him firm pectorals. Below his newly grown shelf abs popped out from the slight pudge of his stomach. The changes spread outwards, his limbs gaining years worth of muscle tone and memory. Biceps, thighs, glutes, all growing hard with round muscle. His feet grew, becoming comically large, more like paddles than feet. His hands grew to match as well. The final happened with a crack of the jaw, as his whole face began to widen. Giving him broad features benefiting his new masculine frame.

Hunter kept drinking, sucking down the citrus drink in its entirety. Once he had finished he handed the bottle back to his friend. 

“Thanks bro, I needed the pick me up,” he said, his voice comically gruff. “Bro, why do I sound like this bro.”

Yet as he puzzled this a mental rewrite began to occur once the drink hit his bloodstream in full. His mind began to rewind to old memories, flickering like an old film wheel. He watched as old memories of being bullied, his friendship with the dweeb Liam, and his entire sci-fi nerd persona flashed before his eyes. Faster and faster they played until they began to blur together. From the beginning, new memories began to paint themselves across his mind. His early meeting with Liam now remembered as being at the pool instead of the school honors club. His old interests felt lame in the face of his new life, a life full of swim meets, practice with the boys, and messing around with Liam. Speaking of Liam, the more he thought of his friend the more those feelings began to change, no longer did he see Liam as his best friend, but as his hunky bottom boyfriend. He even began to stiffen up the more he thought about it. 

Liam, of course, noticed this, “after practice.” He said with a sly wink and a meaningful glance at his new jock boyfriend’s massive member.

———————————

Jake leaned against the doorway casually, bare arms folded across his chest as football practice wrapped up around him. Lockers slammed close while exhausted players shouted over one another. Somebody was blasting bad rap music from a speaker buried in a gym bag. The locker room smelled like old sweat, disinfectant, and something distinctly male.

But Jake had his eyes locked on Mason Kane, standing in the center of it all like a king. Six-two, Built like a truck, he was starting linebacker. Consistently, he was also a complete asshole.

“Move, shrimp.”Jake watched as Mason flicked the back of some freshman’s head while passing by. The kid stumbled out of the way immediately, his eyes wide with fear. 

Mason just laughed with his teammates before grabbing his duffel off the bench. That was when he finally noticed Jake standing there.

“The hell do you want, swim fag?”

Jake grinned easily. “Coach sent me.”

That got a couple of odd looks, the worlds of football and swim barely interacted outside mandatory pep rallies and occasional hallway beef. They operated on different levels.

“Coach just wanted me to tell you you can use our recovery pools on the off seasons. Don’t wear those gray sweats though, bro, can’t promise the team will control themselves.” Jake continued, pushing off the doorway into the locker room. 

A few players barked out laughs at that.

The words had the intended effect on Mason, his eyes burning with the fire of both annoyance and challenge. “You’ll just be a bunch of fags over there.”

“True,” Jake admitted. “But you should still come by. Try it out.”

Mason swung his bag over one shoulder. “Why would I?”

Jake shrugged. “Because football season’s over. Because you’re bored. Because if you didn’t we’d all think you're too scared.”

Mason’s expression twitched slightly at that. Jake grinned, Got him

“And honestly?” Jake continued casually, “you’d probably kill it in the water.”

“Doubt it.”

“C’mon,” Jake said. “Just one recovery session. We got the cold tubs over at the natatorium. Athletes only. Helps soreness.”

“That actually sounds fake.”

“It’s literally not.”

One of Mason’s teammates spoke up. “Coach has us do ice baths too, dumbass.”

Mason groaned. “Traitor.”

Jake stepped backward toward the hallway. “You coming or what?”

The pool was mostly empty by the time they arrived. Only the distant sounds of splashing water echoed through the massive room. Overhead lights reflected across the pool in shimmering blue patterns that danced along the tiled walls. Mason followed Jake past the pool itself toward the training room in back.

“You guys seriously spend all day here?” Mason asked.

Jake opened the door. “Pretty much. Better than sweating all day on a field.”

Inside sat a row of blue plastic tubs sunk into the tile floor. Steam curled faintly from one side of the room while the cold plunges sat dark and still.

Mason dropped his bag near the wall. “Okay, this actually looks legit.”

“Told you.”

Jake crouched beside one of the tubs casually, unscrewing the cap from a bright neon sports bottle hidden beside the towels. Mason didn’t notice and started to strip himself down.

“So what, I just sit in there?” He said pointing to one of the tubs

“Yeah, bro. Never used a cold plunge before” 

Spurred by Jake’s teasing he threw himself over the edge of the tub. Water splashing up as the buff athlete plunged beneath the surface. Jake smiled slightly and he poured the glowing liquid into the water. The liquid swirled invisibly beneath the surface.

“Just relax.”

Mason gripped the sides of the tub, his teeth chattering in the cold. He expected nothing to happen, but within seconds, his body froze up, leaving him paralyzed as the coldness sunk deeper and deeper into him. He took deep breaths and began to realize something was very very wrong.

Seeing his panic, Jake gripped Mason's head and pushed it beneath the water, speeding the transformation along, 

His forearms shrunk, as his bulky biceps tightened into lean arms with veins defined against pale skin. His height plummeted, his shoulders stretched over a thin torso that’s muscle was quickly vanishing, his abs rigid with no fat in sight. His legs shrank, the density growing greater, thighs bulging and calves carved out of marble. His feet, still massively jockish, were now well groomed and set with pool deck calsouses.  Every bit of hair was quickly vanishing from his body, the skin left pale and smooth.

He struggled under Jake, his new body leaving him sufficiently weaker than the swimmer. Once Jake saw Mason's mostly finished changes, he let the new swimmer go. His now slimmer face broke the surface with confusion.

“Bro, what the hell.” He practically screamed.

“Chill out babe, you're fine.” Jake responded, his hands still lingering on Mason's neck. 

Suddenly Mason laughed, his mind reshaping with a final push. He looked at Jake admiringly, his brain filled with new memories and information, this was his boyfriend, Jake. They had been dating for the last 6 months. He remembered their first kiss in the locker room after one of Jake’s swim practices and the water polo evaluations Jake had encouraged him to try. He remembered other things as well, his ass suddenly becoming sore at those memories. 

He reached out to Jake, “why’d you bring me in here again.” He asked, voice breathy.

“You know w-” Jake started to say, but was cut off by his boyfriend pulling him into the tub as well.

Splash 

—————————— The sounds of teasing and laughter filled the pool locker room after practice once more. But this time Jake and Liam joined in, Jake happily bragging on his attentive Polo playing boyfriend, as he shaved any hair off his body in preparation for date night. Liam and Hunter were too busy making out in the corner of the room to pay the rest of the team much mind other than the occasional jeer and comment. After a while the boys trotted out the locker room, hair wet from showers, backpacks slung over their shoulders.

Hunter, Liam, and Jake walked together, heading to wait for Mason to finish his practice. 

Hunter had his arm slung over his boyfriend possessively, “thanks again for that drink earlier babe. I feel more like myself every minute.”

Jake and Liam laughed. “Course, it feels so good to be one of us, I hope everyone feels this comfortable in themselves.”

“Maybe everyone can…” Jake muttered, his minuscule brain working overtime as he thought of him and Liam’s Neighborhood pool…

David had had enough.

The neighbour's son had been left alone for the week with his parents off on vacation. Their cab had barely left the street in the time it'd taken Cole to transform their otherwise idyllic home into his very own frathouse. He'd invited girls over to get up to god knows what (though the muffled sounds behind the wall painted a fairly vivid picture), guys tore up the lawn with their trucks, hauling kegs over their shoulders, and they blared the most obnoxious music into the early hours of the morning.

David had tried biting his tongue. He'd been young once, knew Cole might just need to blow off some steam, but when the music persisted night after night and he'd half the college populace passed out on his lawn he knew he had to go see Cole.

He woke during the night with a pounding headache. In stumbling down to the front door he noted cramp in every muscle, pain in every bone, and that his vision'd become somewhat hazy. Hardly surprising from all the tossing and turning he'd done. A lazy smirk warped across his face as he rubbed away sleep with a fist, kneaded his boner with the other, then stepped out onto the lawn barefoot.

There were bottles and cans everywhere, half-eaten pizza in vomit-stained boxes, all the dudes and dudettes he'd seen from the window passed out in various states of bliss and regret. Must've been one helluva party. He whistled in...appreciation? at how hard they'd gone and padded with a lazy swagger in nothing but his tented underwear to go locate Cole.

He gave a confrontational up-nod once he'd been located.

"Yo, Dickweed!" he'd called with mock bravado. He'd even made a point of squaring up as he crossed towards the jock, realising only when they bumped chests that they were the...same...height...? Must be the lighting. The music thumped again and he had to remind himself why he'd sought Cole out in the first place. "We gotta talk about this party, man."

"Yeah?" Cole's smile was downright predatory, as though privy to a joke Dave was ignorant of. He shoved a cup of sloshing lukewarm beer-piss at him, which his neighbour accepted all too casually.

"Yeah!" Dave gurgled, indignant. "Cos you know it ain't a party 'til THE MAIN EVENT ARRIVES!" He threw both arms over his head at that, hollering for the crowd's benefit and to be heard above the music. And bizarrely enough, word of his presence seemed to resuscitate them from their stupor cos everyone knew Cole threw the best parties but the neighbours' son? He was a goddamn animal.

And with his parents off on vacation, they all wondered what kind of state Dave'd be in by the time they got back.