Unbetitelt

You found a package in the mail. No return address. Just a small box, plain and unassuming. Inside: a sleek, black rubber singlet. Thin, shiny, and definitely too big for your skinny frame.

But... it does look kind of hot. Weirdly inviting.

Curiosity wins. You step into it, the rubber clinging coolly to your legs. As you pull it up your torso, a strange warmth spreads through your skin. Huh. It’s not as loose as it looked. Actually... it fits better than expected.

Tighter. Filled out. Your fingers pause at the straps, suddenly feeling your chest pushing against the rubber.

You blink. How long have you been standing here? You glance down and almost moan - your pecs are solid now, bulging under the singlet, your abs tight and carved. Your arms have veins. And your face in the mirror… fuck. You're a college jock now. A thick-necked, cocky-looking wrestler type. Your cock twitches in the rubber, the singlet pressing tight against your growing bulge. You flex, just to feel it more. God, you look hot.

But something shifts. You weren’t paying attention. Time's… fuzzy. Your skin itches. Heat blooms across your chest, arms, even your face. You blink, confused, then gasp - coarse hairs sprout from your pecs, crawl up your belly, bloom across your cheeks and jaw.

You claw at the singlet. You try to pull it off, but it clings tighter - like a second skin, glued down over every muscle. What the fuck?

Your voice is deeper now. You sound like a man. A grown man.

Your fingers dig under the straps- it’s fused, like vacuum-sealed. Your biceps strain as you try again. No use. The rubber isn’t just on you. It’s part of you.

You pant. You’re huge now. Thicker. Older. A full-grown, sweaty man with a heavy beard and a dense forest of chest hair poking out above the singlet’s neckline.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours? You lose track. You’re panting, covered in sweat - and hair. Chest, shoulders, forearms, legs - all thick with it. And you’re huge now. Your reflection shows a bearded, bald brute of a man. Probably in your 40s. Muscles like a strongman, veiny and pumped, stretching the rubber thin.

You stare in disbelief. Who is that staring back at you?

Finally… it stops. You breathe heavily, chest rising like a goddamn gorilla’s. The singlet makes soft creaking sounds as you move, your mountainous thighs threatening to tear the seams. It’s not glued anymore. But still skintight.

You tug at it again, groaning at the sheer size of your body. You flex in the mirror, cocky grin forming under your thick beard.

Looks like you’re keeping it.