Entourage Stories

Most would refer to the house at the end of the road as “modest;” at first glance Randy called it “white trash.” His Mercedes-Benz stuck out like a nugget of gold among the rocks of the rural Midwestern community. Having spent his entire life climbing up the wealthy ladder of his city, Randy had never expected to find himself locked away in ho-dunk nowhere.

Randy’s boss had “recommended” that he should take some time away to avoid the negative press. His boss then offered the remote property as “a sanctuary,” although to Randy the step-above-shack appeared to be more like a punishment. He had won his trial fair and square, as every top-notch lawyer like himself aimed to do. It was not Randy’s fault his client had allegedly spilled toxic chemicals into hundreds of waterways. Phrases like “morally grounded” were never used to define Randy or his work–“fiscally grounded” was more appropriate.

Setting the mood right away, Randy hopped out of his sedan and scuffed the embroidered brogues his boyfriend Ben had gifted him. Instantly Randy was hit with a pang of heartache, followed by a pang of lust. If he could have, Randy would have asked for Ben to join him in his desolate exile. Surely Ben’s sweet kisses and massive cock would have made the time fly by. But his boss had insisted that Randy would have to spend the week alone.

Randy took a deep breath before grabbing his belongings and moving them to the porch. Using the key his boss had given him, Randy proceeded inside, instantly greeted with a waft of musty stale air. The home was scantily furnished, only housing the bare necessities. Basic groceries (none of which fit Randy’s strict diet), store-brand soap (which Randy refused to use), and even some generic leftover clothing options in the closet (which Randy feared carried some kind of hickish disease). 

Despite the trials and tribulations, Randy managed to unpack and organize himself as needed. He was thirsty after all the work, but was dismayed to not find any filtered water available. He eventually gave in and placed a cup underneath the tap. After a timid sip, Randy noted a colorful board propped alongside the sink.

“House Rules?” Randy muttered to himself. The board itself was rather plain, naming its purpose followed by an empty list where he assumed the titular commandments were supposed to live. At that moment, only one line was occupied. 

No Shoes Allowed.

Randy’s eyes moved from the board down to his shoes, then to the board again, then laughed. A man of his standards did not remove his shoes, especially not in this locale. Randy could only imagine the ticks and bugs that crawled around these floors, desperate to get a free ride on his soft, Size 9 soles. His brogues were fine anyway, so Randy made no plans to remove them. 

Randy spent the rest of his first day exploring the property. A sterile green lawn that housed an old garage, printed instructions on how to use the television set, a bookshelf displaying titles each at least twenty years old. Soon it was time to retire for the evening. After a rigorous skin-care routine, Randy swaddled himself up in his luxurious robe and matching slippers before descending into the twin size bed, a major downgrade from the California king he was used to. Randy did his best to fall asleep quickly, praying that the cheap polyester sheets had been thoroughly washed before his visit.

— 

Day Two began with the sound of an alarm, reminding Randy that while he was away from home, he was technically not on vacation. A lingering odor tickled his nose as he awoke, its funk familiarly greeting him like an old friend. Randy gently lifted his head and peered down the bed, finding his Size 14 feet naked and proud. Randy assumed they must have freed themselves sometimes during the night: they were always too hot to remain under the covers, or enclosed in any fabric for that matter. His feet were hairless like the rest of his body, causing their tanned skin to glow in the morning light.

Unbothered, Randy proceeded to the bathroom, stripping his robe as his meaty soles slapped the ground with every step. Sunscreen was applied and an expensive running outfit was adorned. Randy cued up his millennial party playlist and ventured outside, returning an hour later for a shower followed by layers of lotion and cream. Had he been able to choose, Randy’s breakfast would have consisted of organic protein powder, oats, and fruits. Unfortunately only the last category was fulfilled as he opted for the lifeless Red Delicious apples awaiting him on the counter. 

Right as Randy was about to proceed back to the bedroom to grab his laptop, he noticed something strange. The board he had laughed at the day prior displayed a new, second line of chalk.

No Shaving Allowed.

“Seriously?” Randy asked aloud. Yesterday when he had read the board, the first rule had not affected him whatsoever. His dogs were always out. They liked to breathe the fresh air and there was something comforting to Randy about the fragrance they emitted. No shaving though? That was a step too far. He liked to be smooth, clean. And his haircut remained on a rigorous schedule, having to be clipped every few days to retain its shape.

Disgusted, Randy stormed off and logged into work. There was paperwork to file, client emails to respond to, and plenty of questions from the public relations team. Randy only stepped away once for lunch, grabbing the sole thing in the fridge that appeared edible to him: a rotisserie chicken. By the time the sun went down Randy was exhausted. He donned his robe, performed his nighttime routine, and in defiance to the board, sheared away at a few edges of his hair. Randy slept well that night, satisfied by his pettiness.

— 

Day Three started like the day before: sound of alarm and haze of foot smell. Randy rose from his bed, hung up his robe, and opened the curtain. Instantly the dawn light flooded the room, the hairs on Randy’s arms, chest, and legs casting miniature shadows across his skin. Randy's otter appearance had made his boyfriend Ben hesitant at first as he had preferred clean shaven men. “Shaving just takes so long,” Randy had persuaded at the time. “And besides, if you’re looking for shiny and smooth, you’ve always got my head.”

In the bathroom, Randy applied sunscreen, taking extra care to polish his bald head. Fresh running set and the queued playlist cemented a perfect run. A long hot shower relaxed his muscles, and Randy’s daily applicants softened his skin. After he had finished rubbing in his beard oil, Randy snatched another fruit from the fridge. Curiously, his eyes shifted towards the sink, catching the dreaded House Rules.

No Diets Allowed.

Randy grimaced. As a lawyer, a potential lawsuit (and accompanying settlement) popped into his mind. But as a logical human, he was simply confused by the statement. Was the rule not a little vague? What about people with dietary issues or religious obligations? Randy did not think on the issue much further however. He was already following two of the three commandments (although he was not exactly trying to), so he rationed that he could ignore the last option as a freebie.

Work, pitiful lunch, work, pitiful dinner. Randy had planned to stream something that night from his personal laptop but found the connection too spotty. Unfortunately, the television set provided to the home was too old to offer anything beyond local channels and some downloaded movies. Randy eventually gave up and decided to call it. Robe and skincare products adorned, he finally found himself in bed.

— 

Day Four held true to form: alarm, feet, sunscreen, run. Randy found himself starving in the shower, rushing out to the kitchen as soon as he was finished. Still dripping and wrapped in an old towel, Randy rummaged through the contents of the fridge. Eggs, pork sausage, bread and butter–everything was taken out and prepared. Within a quarter of an hour Randy had prepared a feast. Within five minutes all the food was in his stomach.

Randy released an abnormal but welcome belch after he had finished. He brought his dishes to the sink, only now realizing there was no dishwasher, and found his eyes drifting to the board on their own.

No Luxury Allowed. 

Randy’s reaction was smaller than previous days. These random decrees were becoming more abstract and had had yet to have any impact on his lifestyle. He did not wear shoes, he did not shave, and he sure as hell did not believe in diets. Randy grew his body from strong starches, organic produce, and pure red meat. Allergies and tolerances were a hoax: if past generations could eat everything what was stopping him from doing so too?

The laptop was on soon after, and work was followed by a hearty set of stacked sandwiches. Some mustard stained Randy’s thousand-dollar shirt which was a bummer, but otherwise the day passed by uninterrupted. To end the evening, Randy robed up and tossed himself into the bed before calling Ben for a bit of phone sex. Things remained light and sexy until Randy accidentally passed some gas. He shrugged it off, not mentioning his dinner of hot dogs with macaroni and cheese. He then promptly passed out, ending the call.

—

Day Five. Randy’s eyes opened to the beautiful silence of rural living. Sun streaming in over his near-naked body, only clad in a pair of boxer shorts that should have been discarded months ago. But if they still worked, why would Randy toss them? With a yawn, he took in a heaping breath of his own musk before trudging over to the bathroom. The countertop was empty beyond the single bar of soap. Randy believed in living what he called “naturally.” He often insisted it had nothing to do with the instability of his blue collar employment.

Breakfast consisted of microwavable waffles and a beer. This was then followed by a second beer. A few drops of condensation scattered themselves across the free tee shirt he had won at a county fair and the pair of camo shorts he had owned for a decade. Once finished, Randy tossed the dishes on top of those already in the sink.

Maintain The Property. 

Randy blinked. The grammar had changed, which was nice. Without a second thought he moved to the couch and popped on the television set, satisfied by the first sports channel that appeared. Every commercial break was taken to either grab another beer, smuggle another snack, or take another leek. It was not until the channel switched from live feeds to highlights that Randy realized it was nearly midnight.

—

Day Six. Randy shoved down some cold leftovers from the night prior and called it a meal. After taking an evaluatory sniff of his pits (ripe, but not enough to warrant a shower), Randy proceeded outside to the garage. Before him was any man’s wet dream: a spread of old tools and toys at his disposal. 

A list of items rapidly assembled itself inside of Randy’s head, he decided to spend the rest of the day checking each item off. First was the riding mower, which had to be filled with gasoline before shearing the lawn down into a pleasant, even height. Then he moved to trim the trees, cleaning the gutters immediately after. A break for lunch offered beer and a ready-to-serve casserole. Oil change on his old truck, ordering some parts for his new-to-him motorbike. A nap on the porch took place somewhere in between, along with a quick jack-off session. It was not until after dinner that Randy finally took note of the board beside the sink.

Break Up With Your Boyfriend.

Randy remained silent for a few moments before eventually returning to the couch. Lazily grabbing for his phone, he pulled up his chat log with Ben and began typing.

We’re done. No longer interested.

Randy hit the send button and immediately blocked the phone number. He then performed a quick sweep of his phone, removing all evidence of his relationship. Satisfied, Randy let loose a blast of flatulence before returning to the kitchen for some snacks. He did not see the new instruction that had appeared on the board.

And Pick Up The Kids From Practice Tomorrow!

Food and beer in hand, Randy returned to the couch and turned on the television set. He eventually landed on a raunchy ‘90s sex comedy, his hand switching between a greasy bag of chips and his pouch between scenes.

—

Ron woke up on the couch, slightly disoriented. It took him a while to recognize where he was. Once he found his phone, Ron opened a bookmarked porn site from his web browser. The shot was simple: two blondes going at it, moaning up a storm. Within minutes a load was leaking through Ron’s boxers onto his shirt. He wiped at it lazily but did not bother to change. Instead, he found himself rifling through the fridge for another beer and whatever food did not need to be heated up.

Ron spent the morning between chores and catching up on local sports. At one point he jokingly considered cleaning the place as it had become quite the pigsty, but then reminded himself that that was a woman’s job. Eventually he found himself out on the porch tossing back a beer, his mind freely dreaming until a silver sedan appeared in his driveway.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Two young boys dashed out from either side of the vehicle, ecstatic to see their sloppy bum of a father. Ron did not bother acknowledging them beyond two quick nods.

“Ron,” a female voice groaned from the driveway. “Why didn’t you pick up the boys from practice?”

Becky, his ex-wife, was obviously flustered.

“Guess I forgot,” Ron replied. The innocent boys lovingly forgave their father before rushing inside. Becky however remained put.

“Just because you can’t be a responsible husband doesn’t mean you have to be an ignorant father,” she spat.

Ron rolled his eyes, “Shut up, bitch.”

Becky twitched. “What did you say to me?”

Ron leaned back in his chair. “You heard me.”

They remained at a stand-still for a few moments, although it was obvious the battle was already over.

“Go get dinner ready,” Ron ordered. Submissively, Becky looked away as she grabbed for the door handle. Ron stopped her before she took another step.

“Ooooh! who’s she?”

“Miss lady! Are you lost? Do you need help?”

“Just ignore them and focus on the money I’ll save.” Beatrice thought. She was in a VERY, well, LGBTQ+ friendly part of her home city. The forty something woman strolled down a gaudy colored sidewalk towards a certain destination, her eyes looking up on occasion from her cellphone to check the street signs.

After her long walk, she breathed a sigh of relief as she saw her destination just up ahead. It was a beauty parlor painted hot pink with two signs. The first read: Sluty Sal’s Satisfying Salon. The other read: Three-Quarters Off the Sluty Special!

Beatrice headed straight inside, discovering a rather small room with a desk, several chairs along the side, and a massive man sitting behind the desk. He looked up as the bells on the door chimed, seeing her and letting out a delighted and surprised laugh.

““HIYA!” He boomed, “You’re an interestin’ sight for this area!”

“I can imagine,” Beatrice mumbled. She cleared her throat and stated, “My name is Beatrice sent and I believe I have an appointment in a few minutes.”

“Uuuuuhhhhh?” The man behind the counter asked, “You? Hmmmmmm, let me see about that!” He dove to his computer on the desk and slowly typed in it, stared at the screen in confusion every few minutes.

After a moment, he declared, “Oh yeeeeeeeeaaaaah! There you are! Your Super Slut Treatment! I’ll get Sal~”

With a bounce and an ass shake, the himbo walked out of the room and into the rainbow striped back door behind her.  Beatrice sighed and glanced around the plain room. Except for the man who helped her, the whole room was incredibly bland for where she was at.

A little while later, he returned breathlessly with another zesty looking man, this time a twink, ass massively out of proportion with his slim body. His clothing was less see through then the himbo, a billowing pair of blue cargos and a pink crop top with the shop's logo embroidered onto the front. “Hi there!” He said in a lisped voice, “I’m Sal and…I gotta say, it’s not often we get a girl like you here at my salon, especially asking for my sluty special.”

“Well I heard about your special, it's a full body treatment and I desperately need that, and I can’t not at the price you’re offering,” huffed Beatrice.

““Well I’ve never done it for a woman and I don’t know how you would react to my special treatment. Perhaps you would care for something a little less…”

“NOPE!” Both men flinched, exchanging glances at the firm voice that blasted out of their customer’s mouth. “I have no interest in paying for anything else when there is clearly a cheaper option. I demand the treatment I deserve, and I will hear nothing of it.”

Sal went quiet, looking blankly between her and the receptionist. Audibly thinking, suddenly he got a light in his eyes. He gave Beatrice a grin and declared, “Well, the customer is always right I suppose! Let’s get you fixed up! Give me a sec to get everything in order!”

She zipped back into the backroom and loud clanging, clattering noises could be heard. The noise stopped abruptly, replaced by the normal peaceful sound of a typical spa. A few seconds later, Sal’s voice called out, “Ok lady! Come ooooon back!”

Beatrice glanced at the other guy, who gave her pleasant dumb nod and a thumbs up. She sighed and headed into the back slowly. “Oooh gosh, she thought, this is going to be trouble; I’m sure of it. But, it is pretty cheap and I’d rather not waste money on getting pampered at…”

As soon as he entered the room, she felt something on her back, a pair of phantom hands. The feeling spread throughout her body and when she looked down he saw she was completely naked, save a fluffy white towel.

“First thing first!” Sal declared pleasantly, “We begin with a massage! We’ll get those knots and worries out of that body!”

“Y-you just stripped me!” Beatrice finally responded.

“Did no such thing, darling,” the twink stated firmly, patting a massage table in invitation, “‘sides, you’d have to get all naked anyways. Don’t worry about a thing! It’s just us here and no one else!”

The older woman frowned, looking at the young twink with deep annoyance. However, she let out a reluctant sigh and got onto the table, thinking of all the money she was saving.  She removed the towel carefully so that the guy could get at her muscles.

Sal smiled brightly, quickly grabbing a body lotion and squirting its contents into his hands. “Alrighty then!” He spoke softly, “Let’s fix that back and shoulders for you! Sorry if the oil is a bit smelly, but I assure you it will dissolve before the end so no smelling all day for you.”

Elizabeth frowned hearing that, but only responded with a flat, “Okay.”

Wiggling his fingers in the air, Sally brought his fingers down and began rubbing. Beatrice flinched and twitched at first, but suddenly relaxed and melted into the table. The warm touch to her back and the well trained and careful pressure put the woman at ease.

Her arms slipped off the table and hung loosely, her head resting comfortably on the provided pillow. She became so relaxed that her mouth started to hang open, drool slightly dripping out. Sal giggled at the sight, enjoying how relaxed his customer looked.

But as the twink worked his magic, he noticed something happening as he massaged Beatrice’s back. The area seemed to be expanding, growing just a bit. Her torso was widening and thickening to the touch. Curiously, when he tried rubbing the woman’s shoulders, they widened ever so slightly.

Sal paused and rubbed his chin, trying to wrap his head around it. He glanced back at the bottle of body oil, same as usual. The lack of touching snapped Beatrice out of her funk, asking the young man, “Ummm… why did you stop?”

“Oooooh?” He said, “I was… just thinking. You sure you still wanna…”

“I paid for this treatment and I will have it!!” Huffed the woman irritatedly, “Now, get back to work or you will not get a tip.”

“Well if you say so!” Sal declared, shrugging and getting back to it. He picked up the pace of the massage, his careful rubbing and massaging still quite effective and not dipping in quality. However, picking up speed only made the growth move faster.

Massaging every part of Beatrice that she could, including her limbs and her buttock, the twink looked upon the woman with amusement. The lady’s form was younger-looking, all creases and wrinkles rubbed right out of her. Her size was at least a few inches bigger and there were some more pronounced muscles to her than before.

Beatrice now had a rather male-ish body to her, one that she didn’t even seem to notice. The women(?) yawned and said, “Oh? Done already?”

“Yep!” Giggled the nervous boy, “Now that we got your muscles all loosened up and feeling good, how about we get into the sauna and sweat out the rest of your blues and troubles? This treatment is allll about being quick!”

“Well, I suppose that’s okay,” Beatrice yawned, sitting up and stretching her arms and legs. “You just-” 

Without a second to finish, Sal grabbed Beatrice by the wrist and pulled her out of the room, before the women could even realize what had happened, the two were standing outside of a sauna.

He opened the door to the sauna, the room was built completely of stained wood. “Here you are!” the twink said gleefully, “This is the next step! Step on in and relax. You’ll be ready for the next stage in five minutes.”

“Five minutes?”

“Like I said, my treatment plan is super quick and effective,” Sal boasted proudly.  Beatrice gave him an odd look but stepped inside anyway and took a seat. He giggled nervously and closed the door, steam fogging up the window looking in. With that, the boy looked at the thermostat panel beside the door, noticing it was set on “Sweatttyyyy”.

He grabbed the knob and turned it to: One More Degree = OnlyFans Collab.

The second the five minutes were up, a big cloud of dust appeared outside of the door, Sal zooming right back into the area. With a bright smile, he opened the sauna and steam came pouring out like a stream. She called into the room, “Ready, Bea ~ Time is up! Let’s move onto the next stage!”

“Huh, time already? I was just gettin’ use to it! Also, I’m not Bea!!”

The voice that came calling back was not the one of the older woman that Sal had left in there earlier. In fact, a figure stepped out from the steam and it was nothing like that of the woman who had been left in the room. It was still her though, just... different…

It appeared to be a younger, male version of the older lady. His figure was mannish and way larger, with broader shoulders and chest, his breasts completely gone. His waist was larger and his hips flatter on top of that, his rear tight as well. He had male muscle definition to him. The only distinct female things about him now were his longer hair and the fact he still had a vagina.

Sal giggled, taking in the new male before her. Noticing Sal's weird reaction, he asked curiously, “What is it?”

“Oh nothing!” Sal giggled, “Just impressed with the results of my treatment so far. It’s done wonders for your image!”

Beatrice looked down at himself and his jaw dropped, but only just a tad. A small blush came to his cheeks as he ran his bigger hands across his curve-less form, feeling his tighter bum and flat, but defined pecs. He opened his mouth, but the words were too quiet to be heard.

“Hmmm?” Sal asked, “What was that?”

Leaning closer he could hear what the confused dude said, “This is… this is… maybe… maybe I should have gotten...”

“Nah!” Sal declared, Beatrice flinching in response. “You said you didn’t care if the treatment was for men and when I was thinking of stopping, you said to keep going. We’re gonna get your money’s worth, don’t ya worry!”

Beatrice tried to respond, but the twink grabbed his wrist and gently prodded him right out of the hallway. Soon, they were in a completely different room with whole new surroundings. It had three mud baths in it, several towels and a makeshift shower set up in the corner for use afterwards.

“And here we are!” Sal explained, “Take any bath you like. The results are the same, I assure you.”

“But I don’t…” The newly made guy mumbled.

“Oh? Need help deciding? Can do!” Sal took Beatrice’s hand again and before he knew it the customer was now sitting down in one of the mud baths. The substance went up his neck, his entire body beneath the rather warm, comfortable beauty sludge.

“Wait!” Beatrice started, his body slowly relaxing, “Maybe I should… should… this, this feels fucking good.”

“Well of course it does, ya big lug!” Sal giggled, heading over to a spare chair in the room to sit down, “My mud baths have only the best minerals and sludges put into them to make a guy feel good and come out looking incredible to boot!”

Beatrice’s face turned into that bearing a goofy grin, and his body slumped further into the mud, his entire neck consumed by it. Sooooo good, he thought, a soft sigh escaping his mouth,  soooooooooooo goood. Why… why was I pissed again? I can’t… remember… fuck it… 

His eyes slowly closed, and his mind drifted off. The world faded from view, a dark void surrounding his vision. His thought popped into his head, Beatrice didn’t even realize she had voiced until she began mumbling, “Yeessss. Best… makeover… treatment ever…”

“Good to hear that!” Beatrice jolted awake by the sound of Sal’s chipper voice booming into his face. The twinky attendant was kneeling down beside the tube now, grinning happily. He added, “But, time to get ready for the next stage! It’s been five minutes!”

“Five minutes?!” Beatrice complained, “But it barely even felt…”

“Time does slip away when you’re having fun, right?” Giggled the boy, holding out a hand to help him out of the muck. “But, it really is time to get going. We got a few more things left to do to make you hot as fuck!”

With a big hoist, Beatrice plopped out onto the ground, completely covered in mud from his toes to just below his chin. “Yeesh,” he remarked, his voice higher. He looked down at himself, “I’m sooo filthy!”

“Mud baths are mud baths,” the twink remarked, “Buuuut, we got a nice shower over here for you to rinse-”

Before Sal could even finish what she was saying, Beatrice had already started booking it for the shower, and turning it on. 

“Ugh, I hate being dirty,” he said as he desperately rubbed his body, flinging the mud off desperately. Once he was finally clean, he gave Sal a huge grin, “feel so good after doing that!”

“Well…,” Sal tried to find the words, ogling Beatrice’s wet body. His eyes landed back on his customer’s face and he smirked. “Buuuut, you really can’t argue with results like that.”

Beatrice’s body had gained some new additions since his mud dip. Everywhere the mud had soaked, the muscle had doubled in size. Bulging chest muscles, biceps blown to crazy proportions, thighs so big they touched every time they walked. Veins popping out of his skin, from his massive feet all the way up to his thick neck. Most importantly, between his hips lay a massive dick and ballsack, quite big and impressive even for his massive size.

He glanced down at himself and flinched again. “Oh shit!” He declared, “I forgot! I look so jacked and hu-

“And handsome!” The twink owner finished, wrapping an arm around one of Beatrice’s  own. “And by the time we’re all over, you’ll be even handsomer and gorgeous! Come on, let’s get those nails done!”

With a zip, Beatrice now found himself in a leather coated recliner in a brand-new room, still naked as can be. Sal stood above him, wiggling his fingers. He giggled, “Now, to begin with, let’s get those meaty mits ready for the treatment.”

Beatrice leaned back in his seat as Sal got to work. He went straight for the hands and started rubbing and massaging them carefully. She even felt up the massive man’s wrists as well, the entirety of his hands feeling looser and more flexible.

Once she was done with the rubbing, Beatrice felt his hands tingle and twitch. They both suddenly puffed right up, expanding in size and width. Veins popping and formerly soft palms thick and callused. 

“Oh wow!” Beatrice remarked, wiggling his fingers. His voice was as high as the twink's own, causing a chuckle to escape his lips.

“Liking them?” Sally asked curiously, busy massaging up his feet. Much like his hands, his feet quickly turned into big, manly feet. Wiggling his toes, he remarked, “They’re not bad honestly. Love the toes too!”

“I thought you might enjoy those!” Giggled the twink, pulling out a pink nail file, “But enough chit-chat, let’s fix those nails right up!”

Sal lunged forward, bringing the filer to Elizabeth’s hands and started going crazy. He filed the nails down to smooth perfection. Once he was satisfied, he zipped down to his feet and doing the same. Beatrice moved around a bit in his seat, he’d never had a pedicure before… right? My God! He thought, this little guy is really working quick! This is going to turn out so bad!

But… that was not the case. Once Sal stopped his frenzied work, Beatrice looked down at his newly polished up hands. Each digit had a short, smoothly cut, clear-polished nail at the end of them. They looked very sexxxyy to him.

“Ooooh!” Beatrice remarked, “They’re sooo pretty and polished! You do great work!”

“Awww, thank you handsome!” Sal giggled, pulling him out of the seat, “Those words mean so much… but let’s keep moving! Time for the next stage. Are you ready or do ya have second thoughts?”

Beatrice glanced at his paws and down at his body, even glancing down at his new anatomy. “Hmmm,” he said, “While the gender swap thing was fucking weird… ya can’t really argue with these results and frankly, I’m too far in to wanna go back! Let’s keep making me handsome!”

“That’s the spirit!” Sal declared, “Let’s do that!” He skipped out of the room and this time, Beatrice actually zipped alongside her, keeping pace perfectly, asses wiggling in union.

The two soon were in a makeshift hair salon room with tons of hair products, clippers, and hair dryers. All the seats were red leather with armrests, which Beatrice happily sat down in, picking the one with most room for his new frame to fit in. “Ooooh!” He sighed, “So comfy! The perfect place to make my hair fabulous!”

“And fabulous you’ll look!” Sal skipped over, stepping up to the station Beatrice was at and grabbing a hairspray bottle and brush. “Since your hair is sooo long and boring in some places, I’ll give it a little trim, so I can style it up good!”

“Great!” Beatrice chuckled, “Do your magic cutie !” He let out another chuckle at that. He didn’t know where those words came from, but he had to admit… that the twink was looking pretty sexy with that tiny adorable frame and large ass. Sal giggled and nodded. He gave the scissors a quick twirl and lined them up carefully. Then with one quick swipe, he chopped a good amount of hair off the former woman's head. His hair wobbled and shook, its color turning dark brown, very different from the platinum blond of before, and its texture growing thinner. With the hair changed, he lifted his scissors and slashed at it like a ninja. The hair changed again, instantly shrinking into a tight short buzz cut.

“Heh!” The guy declared, running his hand through his little amount of hair, “Now that’s stylish! This is…”

“Not the end hun!” Sal explained, eyeing his face with a critical eye, “We got a few more adjustments to make. After all, you want to look your best, right?”

Beatrice nodded his head like an oversized, over muscled puppy. He laughed and declared, “Yeah yeah yeah! Finish me up please! Make me look the best cutiepie!”

“You got it hun!” The twink licked his lips, “your perfectly dashing!” 

“My dear, I’m gonna to be a glowing star that no man can resist after all your work.”

“You’re into twinks my dear?” Sal curiously asked, though he already knew the answer. 

Beatrice tapped his chin. “Hmmm,” he mumbled, “I’ve never thought of that before… but, I gotta say, the longer this is going on, the longer I just wanna bury my face into dat ass of yours, ya little cutie!”

Sal giggled, “Oh you! Maybe after I’m done, we can get some coffee together~”

“Anything for you babe, as long as ya help pay.” Beatrice couldn’t help saying all of that. The words were just coming naturally to him at this point. Sure, he had been into men before, but he had never dated much. Yet now the idea of men, let alone fucking one. I mean just the sight of Sal was getting him all hot and bothered. “How about right now?” 

Beatrice  winked.“After I’m done,” giggled Sal, putting his scissors and hairspray away, “No mixing business and pleasure… right away at least. Besides, only one thing left to do!”

“What’s that?”

“Facial massage!” Sal declared, pulling out a bottle from behind his back. The label to it read, “Dom Top Facial Blend”.

“Oh oh oh!” Beatrice declared, “Lay it on me hot stuff! I wanna be the handsomest fucker I can be please!”

Sal smiled and dabbed a bunch of multicolored gunk from the bottle into his hands, getting it all over them. He brought his lithe hand to Beatrice’s face and started rubbing into him carefully. He rubbed his skull and forehead, shaping it to be more like that of a man’s. Rejecting that last bit of femininity. Sal stroked his nose, it broadened into a perfect long sniffer and his nostrils flared up, stretching out.

With that in place, almost like his face was made of clay, he began to pull Beatrice’s face forwards. His jaws were stretched outward into long, strong, sharp jawline. His mouth naturally widened and his lips plumbed up, as his jaws stretched. Sal added a few more adjustments to his cheekbones and brow, finishing him off.

Sal's cheeks turned bright red and he tried to hide his growing hard on. Beatrice had been remade, reborn as a handsome, stunning gay man. Massive dick, shapely and well-defined body type, a lovely set of feet, and a face that made Sal want to swoon.

“So babe,” he asked with a chuckle, his voice smooth and rich as he bit his new lips, “How do I look? Did I get my money’s worth on this deal?”

““Why don’t you tell me?” Sal giggled, as he gestured to the mirror hanging from the salon wall.

Beatrice stared into the mirror from her and checked himself out, grinning happily. Running a hand over his massive pec, he declared, “Whoooo boy, I’m just a sight for sore-eyes! You’ve turned me into perfection and it barely cost a thang! I luuuuuuuuv it! Can’t believe I was ever worried!”

“That’s good to hear,” Sal declared, “So, let’s you dressed up so you can pay your bill!”

“Saaaaaay,” the new man asked, a sly smile on his face, “Before we do that, mind if I give you your tip early? I feel I should really give you something right now for all your trouble.”

“Oooooooh?” Sal asked, eyeing the man’s crotch as something to sprung to life. She grinned, and walked over, slowly, seductively.  “I have a guess of what it is annnnnnd I’m feeling a bit like a naughty boy now. Let’s mix some business with pleasure right! Let’s take it to my office!”

“You got it babe!” Beatrice declared, springing to his feet and trotting over to her side. The two of them chuckled and strolled happily out of the room, ready for some personal business dealings in a private, but not-soundproof setting.

———————————

Tanya stepped into the salon, a bit taken back about how classy the lobby was in comparison to the rest of the town she just walked through. The only telling thing there was the three obviously gay guys in the room, chatting each other up, happily.

“Thank you for the treatment,” the massive guy declared, Tanya had to look away as he was only clad in tight red underwear, “It’s done wonders for me. Can’t wait to dazzle everyone at work tomorrow.”

“No,” the short twink giggled, giving him a flirty wink, “Thank YOU Mr. Tracey for the lovely tip.”

The other mann looked past the two and waved at Tanya. “Hiya!” She called out, “Welcome to Slutty Sal’s Satisfying Salon! Did you want to try one of our fabulous treatments or have you already reserve something ahead of time?”

“Oh!” Tanya answered, taken aback by the men’s energy. She approached the counter, standing beside the mostly naked man, who was eyeing her curiously. She went on, “My name is Tanya Duncan and I have the Super Special Treatment booked for 11 o’clock.”

“Oh that!” Tracey declared, “I just got that myself! You’re going to looooove it!”

“Really?” Tanya asked curiously.

“It’s true!” the tiny man, who she was starting to realize was Sal, answered for him, “He really enjoyed it. However, I do have to say as a precaution, the treatment is really only for guys. Perhaps you would like to try something else I have instead? I have many good options.”

“Just ignore her!” Tracey chuckled, giving the woman a thumbs-up, “The treatment is good for everyone. You’ll feel like a whole new person after it! I promise ya that!”

Tanya looked between the two and shrugged. “Well,” the woman mumbled, growing more sure. “I suppose I did come here with something in mind and I would like to get it. I think I’ll stick with the Super Special Treatment.”

“Whatever you want honey!” Giggled Sal, putting an arm around her and leading her in the back, “My name is Sal by the way and I want you to relax. We’ll start with a little massaging before we go steam off your problems…”

Jace and Casey giggled like school girls as they snuck into the stadium. The majority of the students had gone home for the fall break, hoping to recover from the onslaught of midterms they had endured. The two sophomores had other plans in mind though, deciding to spend the week like young lovers often do. They had sex in their dorm rooms, sex in temporarily-abandoned classrooms, sex in between the bookshelves of the library. It was Jace who had had the idea to do it in the empty stadium, the crown gem of the university.

“Let’s show it to the establishment!” Jace had said as they snuck through hallways. The bottom of the two, Jace acted as if he was on some political mission. Having gay sex in the football stadium was symbolic in a way Casey did not understand nor care. Eventually, they made it to the locker rooms but found themselves stopped by an electronically locked door.

“Now what?” Casey asked. He was dressed as he usually was, baggy jeans and even baggier hoodie. He liked to keep things low maintenance, hence why he opted for a buzzcut.

With a wicked grin, Jace grabbed a small screwdriver from his pocket. Unlike Casey, Jace was wearing a tight ensemble including a tiny tee and fashionable black pants. Casey had expected Jace to use the screwdriver as intended, but instead his partner jammed it into the key card scanner. Its tiny green light flashed orange and then red; a small ping signaled defeat as the door unlocked.

“Jace…”

“No turning back now, right?” Jace answered before ushering the pair into the locker room. Instantly they were sprayed with a sticky mist, the liquid clinging to their pores.

“Looks like you broke more than the door!” Casey yelled, grabbing Jace’s hands and rushing through the strange haze. The pair dashed across the locker room to the other exit, slamming the door behind them. Jace and Casey then gave a once-over of each other’s bodies. They were surprised to find themselves rather dry. 

“What do you think that was?” Casey asked.

“I don’t know,” Jace replied. “Water maybe?”

Casey took a timid sniff. “Kinda smells like body spray.”

Jace mirrored his partner, a small grin coming to his face. “Smells good, bro.”

“‘Bro’?” Casey grimaced. The term had not rolled off Jace's tongue, particularly as hr was the smaller, more feminine of the two.

“I think it’s AXE,” Jace continued. “And if not, Old Spice for sure.”

Before Casey could question how Jace would recognize either of these brands–he was very particular about his fragrances–Casey’s eye caught on Jace’s shirt. A set of buttons had begun to emerge from the fabric, riding on a wave that flattened out into a collar. The fabric itself then lightened into a pastel blue before rippling downwards into a wider fit.

“We need to get out of here, Jace.” For some reason, Casey could not vocalize what he was witnessing: his partner’s black pants cinching up into a pair of plain white athletic shorts. He did not realize his own jeans had done the same, or that his hoodie had upgraded into a polished pink polo to match. “Something’s obviously up, bro.”

“We cAN’t give up now!” Jace’s voice cracked mid-sentence before dropping to a lower register. “The stadium is like, just down this hallway.”

Before Casey could stop him with a thickening hand, Jace paced off into the distance. Casey was surprised to find the footfalls growing louder the farther his partner went. Summoning some strength, Casey went after Jace, his own feet fattening out as his sandals reshaped into larger sneakers.

When Casey finally caught up, the man before him was unrecognizable. Jace was covered head-to-toe in a natural tan, a striking difference from the artificial color he had adorned earlier. He had grown more athletic too–shapelier calves, stronger arms. Jace’s hair had fluffed into a trendy mullet and his face had sharpened into a squarer shape. He had undergone some sort of TikTok-ification, as if Jace’s being was now structured by the algorithm.

“This is exactly what I wanted to see, bro!” There was a lack of personality behind Jace’s words. “This stadium is exactly why I chose this school.”

“I thOUGht-” Casey coughed. “I thought we came here to have sex. Casey’s voice had lost its depth, no longer strong enough to hold its own.

“Sex? You think I’m some fag, bro?” Jace laughed. “I’ve been fuckin' Tiffany since Orientation, man. I thought you knew that?”

An image of a girl with long, glossy brown hair entered Casey’s mind. Soft and pliant, the type of girl that could easily be manipulated by Jac…Jackson. Casey could see it now, the pair eternally aroused by their own dynamic. Tiffany wanted a man who radiated security and stability–someone with wealth but was not necessarily interesting beyond it. Jackson wanted someone who would not bother him with words of affection or silly feminist ideals.

“Oh yeah, sorry bro.” Casey rubbed his hand across his head, scratching at his stylized sandy waves. 

“You can be so dull sometimes, Cliff.” Jackson shook his head. “If it weren’t for those All-American good looks, I don’t know how Chloe would’ve ever been interested in you.”

Another image flashed, this time of a blonde who was sharp and hungry. She lusted for his thick legs. She licked the sweat off his perfect abs. She told him what to do, how to act, and where it felt good. It was the perfect set-up for Cliff; all he had to do was comply. 

“You’re like, so right, bro huhuhuh…” Cliff’s laugh was empty, as if he had never felt a bit of stress in his life. 

“Anyway, should we head back?” Jackson asked. “I hear the frat’s has got a big party tonight.”

“Sounds awesome, bro!”

The pair took one last look at the stadium before heading back the way they came, unknowingly leaving their past behind.

It has been, a frustrating week to say the least. When James suggested that he should try chastity play with you it was initially enjoyable. A few hours in it and being on edge during that entire time was a new experience and having James there to be there and provide constant company and light teasing.

It was awkward to admit but that time caged up did make the orgasm much more… powerful at the end of the session. In a moment of weakness and post orgasm joy Jamie was able to pressure you to accept putting the cage back on afterwards and told you that he could not wait to ‘unwrap’ you in a few days from now.‘No big deal’ you thought to yourself. Having a big orgasm like that usually keeps you satisfied for a good long while.

Boy were you wrong. Even as you saw James leave with your key twirling around his finger you felt a pang of anticipation and a stir from within your pants.

I already knew today was going to be a rough day, but FUCK i had no idea. I got to the hotel yesterday before the big event weekend kicked off. I like to take a little downtime before the chaos starts so that I can settle in, unpack, get my bearings, and ease myself into the weekend. We had talked about this a little bit ahead of time, but not all the details. If we had I’m not sure if I would have asked to change anything or not.

He gets to my hotel room at Noon and comes right in, already having a key ahead of time in case he needs it later when i was shall we say incapacitated. He doesn’t miss any time at all and slams me into the wall shoving his tongue down my throat as I groan in excitement. His other hand starts slowly digging into and kneading my chest muscles that are already sore from the workout routine that week. He always knows exactly how to flip my switch and push me into high gear without any ramp up. I’m melting into him like putty and he knows it. Just as quickly as he started, he releases me steps back and stares at me. I see that his eyes are that cold icy glare that means I’m really in trouble. He has one goal in mind and that is to have fun by making me miserable. My cock throbs from it.

He orders me on my hands and knees on the bed and he steps behind me and begins inspecting my hole. Starting with one finger, then two, then three. Inserting the lubed fingers and worming around while I groan like a bitch in heat. The more he worked my ass the hornier I got. I started backing up and groaning until his other hand punched me underhand in the balls.

He picked up the XL long and thick butt plug that was already lubed up and starts sliding it into my ass. My ass starts to protest and resist, but steady pressure starts to win.

“Good boy” is all I hear and that’s all my brain needs to release the resistance, and I feel the plug slide home.

“FUCKING HELL” I growl through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, get those words out now, you won’t be able to very soon.” He says with that grin on his face as he stands me up. He holds open the front of the prelubed black rubber catsuit and I slide one and then two legs inside. Feeling the rubber encase my muscled calves and quads and then sliding over my hips. He steps behind me and helps guide my arms into the sleeves. As he pulls the zippers up the front it pulls the ass even tighter shoving that giant monster deeper into my ass. My cock is rock hard in the front of the catsuit, and he maneuvers the extra zippers so they are right over my crotch. My lizard brain takes over and my hips press forward trying to get the slightest bit of attention to my aching cock, but he has other plans and immediately moves his hands to start the next stage. Picking up the thigh high rubber wader boots he helps guide my legs into them, and then coming down to the floor he adds a locking ankle restraint around each, and adds a small padlock to both. Now the waders won’t be able to come off without a key…. something tells me those will be there a while.

“Don’t worry, I left them just loose enough so that your feet wont feel left out later, but tight enough that they are stuck. Now for the rest.”

Next he grabs the rubber fist mitts and guides one onto each of my hands holding them in a tight useless ball. Then comes the locking wrist restraints for each wrist now successfully holding the fist mitts in place once the padlocks close.

Fuck me – that’s four padlocks now….

Coming in front of me he adds a steel cable collar around my neck and as he padlocks it closed he runs the lock through the top zipper holding the catsuit closed.

That’s five…

“How’s that feeling toy?” He asks as he gently presses on the back of my ass causing the plug to invade deeper.

“UGGGHHHHUUUUU – Feels amazing SIR- it wants to be your toy for you to enjoy! I’d stay this way ALL day if you wanted SIR!” I respond, mustering all my strength not to collapse in a puddle from the pleasure in my hole.

Without missing a beat the urinal hood with built in gag is next. He slides the gag home which now holds my mouth permanently open, and works the THICK rubber over my head and then pulls the zipper down the back. This thick rubber hood encloses my head completely. Dark tinted lenses cover the eyes severely reducing my ability to see out or anyone’s ability to see in. The thick rubber trough on the front of the hood makes a perfect place for piss or any other liquids to be poured in, and the gag holds the pigs mouth open wide to receive. I hear the distinctive CLICK from behind me as the SIXTH lock is closed.

“MMMPPPHHHHHHPPPHHHHH” – I gurgle into the gag realizing just then what my very last words had been…

“I warned you that you wouldn’t be able to speak soon…. Did I not?” He says with a sneer.

Kneeling down in front of me he opens the suits extra zippers that are holding my cock back and i think for one glimmering moment he’s going to finally pay some attention to my dick, but looking down I see the rubber glove on his hand and I get nervous…. That never ends well…. What’s going on my dick that he doesn’t want on his hands…. He slowly strokes my cock with the handful of cream and i start groaning in pleasure through the gag. Slowly I start to feel less and less of the stroking so I figure he stopped as suddenly as he started…. I look down and he is still stroking my cock but i can’t feel a damn thing.

“MPHPHPHPPPPPPHHMMPP?!?!?!?!” Is the best i can get out

“Ohhh…. You really didn’t think that this was about you or your cock did you? It will be several hours before that numbing cream wears off. Until then you wont feel a damn thing.” He reaches down and works a condom catheter over my hard cock, puts my cock back into my suit leaving only the tube from the catheter exposed

*CLICK* – Padlock seven closes on the suits’ zippers now locking my numb cock inside my suit.

“I don’t want you making a mess while we are out.” He says as he takes the catheter tube and tapes it in place into the trough of the urinal hood.

He pushes me down onto my knees in front of him and pulls his cock out of his sweaty jockstrap and puts his thick meaty cock in front of my face aimed at the trough and let’s loose a strong stream of coffee piss. I struggle to choke it down knowing that he isn’t going to slow down. Clearing his throat he spits into the trough as the last of the piss flushes down the drain.

“Now lets make this day a little more fun. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re stuck and not getting out of any of this on your own. Time to leave a little bit of your fate to chance. I’m going to roll three dice, the number that shows up will be the minimum duration of your sentence in this suit as a public urinal.”

“MMPPPHHHHPPPPPP” I Grunt and try to tell him i can’t go out like this.

He pulls out three dice and shows them to me, standard 6-sided dice. He shakes them in his hand and then rolls them on the floor in front of me and laughs. I look down and see a 4, 5, and 3.

“Wow…. 12 eh? This will be interesting for sure. Looks like you’re not quiet ready yet though.” He says standing me up, and swiftly locking chains to the wrist and ankle restraints. This quickly take the number of padlocks to 11…

He steps behind me and presses hard and rhythmically on the giant plug in my asshole making me groan into the gag.

No… no no no he won’t….

“I’ll bet that’s already feeling pretty rough in there isn’t it pig?” He says so cold that it sends a shiver through me…. I feel and hear the 12th padlock going thru the suit’s rear zipper locking mechanism and feeling him click it closed. “Don’t worry, that’s not going anywhere.”

“MMMPPPPHHHHHHPPPHHHHHH”. I CAN’T HAVE THIS IN ME ALL DAY

“12 locks….” he says as he holds a hand full of keys in front of my face. He picks up the time safe and tosses the handful of keys in and spins the time mechanism to 12:00 hrs and presses the button. “12 hours… I’m going to enjoy this.”

In any normal circumstance you'd have screamed and thrown out the box imminently. But something was different this time. You couldn't exactly say what, but you didn't mind the socks and shoes to be well worn. Whoever sent you the whole set of gear was so considerate! You couldn't hold yourself back and just had to try everything on!

Within a few seconds you got rid of your clothes and stood in just your briefs next to the gear. First you pulled up the pants. It was as if they were specifically made for you. They did fit perfectly! As did the jacket! You loved every second of it. Then came the socks. They were too stinky to get close to your face but you didn't mind putting them on your feet. They did fit perfectly as well! And finally you took the TN's. The feeling of the crusty socks in the worn out sneakers felt as if you wore them for years, it felt right, it felt like yourself. You walked up to the mirror in the hallway to look at yourself. You really loved what you saw. This was you! You know this was everything you needed!

Then the bell rang again. You opened the door and were greeted by a guy in a full leather outfit, not much unlike the one you were wearing, and a gas mask. A little shocked you took a step back and thats when the guy bowed down and undid his shoes. The same TN's you were just given. You felt the air around you thicken immediately... That smell of those sneakers were even worse than the ones you got. The guy stood up with a swift motion and stepped forward. He placed the sneaker on your facw without you could even notice what was actually happening. You tried to hold your breath but it didn't take long for you to fail and breathe in. The damp air filled your nose and lungs and it felt like your little nose hairs burned away by the stink. You coughed in shock which forced you to inhale even more of the randic foot stink making it feel like you're starting to run out of air. It just took a couple of seconds more for you to completely pass out breathing in that damp foot stink filled air. The world went black...

You woke up with a feeling you drank a whole bottle of whiskey... And that smell... It seemed you couldn't get rid of that smell. You slowly opened your eyes and finally noticed you were wearing a gas mask. You looked down and saw a bunch of hoses connected to the mask. Suddenly you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned around and saw the guy from before, with the same hoses connected to his mask and behind him a hose ending in that sneaker he pushed on your face earlier. You panicked. What the actual fck is happening here!?!!!

You made yourself ready to run away when suddenly a voice appeared in your head. No... It wasn't in your head, the mask had some speakers built in!

"Relax.... Breathe in.... And... Out"

"Relax and give in"

"Give in boy and relax"

You were about to put your jeans on when you hear a knock at the door so you run towards the door in your boxers and polo t-shirt to answer it. It must be important if someone decided to knock on your door at this time in the morning.

Opening the door doesn’t reveal anyone you expected, nor anyone at all. Looking down all you see is a pair of muddy wellies with a pair of muddy waterproofs around them. For some reason your half asleep mind decides it’d be a good idea to try them on. You take them inside and slide your foot into one of the boots, sitting on the bottom of your stairs leading up to your flat, gripping onto the sides to push your feet in.

Strangely the wellies felt like your size, and you never thought to check before trying to put them on. The other boot was next, and then you stood up and pulled up the waterproofs. Damn they felt comfortable even though they were dirty as fuck.

You decide to take off your polo shirt as to not get it dirty. You notice as you taken it off, grubby hand prints were left on it. Groaning you throw the top up to the top of the stairs.

As you do there is another knock on the door, and you feel a massive headache come on. Fucking hell what could it be, you think. Opening the door you’re greeted by a familiar face dressed in waterproofs. You weren’t sure why he was familiar, but something felt it.

“John mate, we’re gonna be late. And you left your fucking jacket in the car when I dropped you off last night from the bar” the man shouts.

He said on his profile he loved stinky used shoes and he was up for new experiences. What better experience than to send him some quite powerful Nikes for him to play with.

What I didn’t tell him was the more he played with them, the more like the previous owner he would become.

First it started with his feet, of course it had to. They grew out into the size 12s and he was proud of them. Of course it meant he had to wear them, he had no other footwear that would fit him otherwise!

That’s when his socks branded themselves as Nike as well. When he was walking to the shoe shop to try and figure out what was going on, he didn’t realise the other changes.

For one, his mind was mushing to the state of the lad who used to wear them. He wasn’t very bright, and that was beginning to show. What was he buying again?

New trackies, that was it wasn’t it? He headed to the sports shop and almost in a daze bought himself a set of nike to wear. The daze being his normal state until he had a couple cans.

He looked in the mirror on the kitchen bench. Heck, it was his kitchen he could do what he wanted right? He looked at himself, this was odd. He looked and felt like himself, but not entirely.

Nah, it was right wasn’t it. Hair shaved down the sides. Fuck his head was proper hurting. Maybe robbing shit was a bad idea. He’d fuckin come back tomorrow or summert, he just needed to get back to his council flat.

After badgering director's to perform As You Like It for years Toby finally gets what he wanted. Well, besides his favorite part that is. Cast as a wrestler, Toby is going to steal the stage in the only way he knows how: losing himself to his role.

Don't be alarmed but this is my longest story yet! Toby's true love of theatre trickles away and fuels his quick and intense growth into the perfect wrestler. Aided by his soon to be 'best bro' Cal, singlets that never seen to fit, and waning knowledge of stagecraft Tony's trip to the ring is my favorite yet. Hope you enjoy ! -Occam

They do one Shakespeare play on mainstage every year and without fail, every year, Toby has made a case to perform his favorite play: As You Like It. And at last, at this super-senior’s absolute final chance he has convinced them to put it on.

While obviously a fan of the play, the real reason he had been pushing so hard was so he could finally embody the ever-melancholic Jacques. To give the ‘All the World’s a Stage’ speech has been a dream of his so long that it is basically always looping in his head. The casting directors are well aware its verses are engraved upon his heart. 

Longingly imagining being the actor to teach those humdrum layfolk in the audience that they too are players in this farce that we call life as he walks in for his audition, Toby smirks knowing this charade is all just a frivolous formality. The cast list may as well already have his name written next to the most pensive character in the Bard’s canon.

Brody was nervous about living in a dorm. He knew the reputation they had, especially those at Dalton, and that he’d surely be forced to live with at least one roommate throughout the semester. What if they never got on? Brody was an artsy sort of guy with kind eyes and a lithe frame. At a distance he appeared scrawny - not helped by his ill-fitting clothing and equally unflattering posture - though he did have some definition around his shoulders and legs from running track in school. That was actually why he’d come to Dalton in the first place. He’d planned on heading to art school like all his friends only to have his application intercepted and fast-tracked to study at Dalton based on athletic merit. It’d only ever been an extracurricular hobby for him, not the sort of thing he wanted to own or get by on, but given how competitive the art colleges were and the cost of rent being what it was, Brody’d let his friends go with a heavy heart.

It occurred to him as he climbed the stairs that he wasn’t sure if Dalton even had much in the way of an art department. He stepped over some bottles, rolls of unfurled toilet paper and discarded condom packets - was…was that a used one?! - before settling upon his door. 

#69. 

He groaned. Someone out there must’ve laughed themself stupid at that. In fact, muffled behind the door, someone WAS laughing themself stupid. He tensed with the key half-turned, all those doubts of having left his friends rushing back. It wasn’t too late, right? If his roommate turned out to be an obnoxious douche he could always swap with someone else, or spend his days locked away in the library, or go scurrying back home with his tail between his legs. No…No…Brody steeled himself and took a breath, opened the door and stepped inside.

│ NAME: "Antisocial vending machine"

│ CODE: STR-372

│ STATUS: [Active] — the location is moving within London

│ DANGER CLASS: Keter

│ TYPE OF EXPOSURE: Psi-luring + chemical-biological transformation

DESCRIPTION OF THE OBJECT

The object is a cigarette vending machine, externally identical to outdated models [DATA DELETED] that were massively installed in the UK between 1995 and 2010. The case is a faded red, with numerous scratches, marker inscriptions, and impact marks on the bottom. The glass of the showcase is cracked, the backlight inside either does not work, or randomly flashes yellow-white light. There is no information about the manufacturer or service organization on the top panel, and all serial numbers have been deleted.

The facility is not connected to the electrical network — a technical check showed that there is no power cable, but the internal mechanism continues to function independently, and the backlight and coin acceptance systems operate without an external power source. The machine accepts only coins (denominations of 50 pence, 1 and 2 pounds, depending on the brand of cigarettes). Paper bills and bank cards are not accepted, although the corresponding slots are available.

A special characteristic of the object is a powerful psi effect that begins to affect potential victims from a distance of 10 to 50 meters. The effect is expressed as follows:

The victim begins to experience a sudden, inexplicable desire to smoke (even if they have never smoked before).

The victim feels that she has coins in her pocket

The victim loses the ability to critically assess the situation.

The psi effect increases at night (from 22:00 to 05:00) and in the complete absence of witnesses nearby.

The object appears exclusively in sparsely populated places: backyards of shopping malls, underpasses, parking lots at closed pubs, dead ends of residential areas (estates), deserted alleys in industrial areas. The frequency of appearance varies: an object can stay in one place from 1 to 7 days, after which it spontaneously moves to another location within a radius of 5-15 miles.

PROPERTIES / ABNORMAL CHARACTERISTICS

After the victim succumbs to the psi effect, goes to the vending machine and makes a purchase, the transformation process starts. The machine emits a characteristic mechanical click, after which a standard pack of cigarettes appears in the dispensing tray (the brand is usually low-cost). The transformation itself begins 30-120 seconds after the victim picks up the pack.

Stages of transformation:

Stage 1: Physiological restructuring

The facial features become rougher

The skin on the face and hands becomes covered with small blackheads, peeling, and pores expand. The complexion becomes sallow.

Nails turn yellow, stable dirt appears under them (analysis showed a mixture of earth and nicotine resin)

Body odor abruptly changes to heavy, sour, with distinct notes of cheap deodorant and unwashed synthetic clothing.

Hair becomes greasy, unkempt

stage 2: Dressing room intervention

The victim's clothes are completely replaced by a typical chava outfit.:

Tracksuit (usually dark blue, grey or black, with white stripes on the sides) from cheap brands.

A massive "gold" chain around the neck (8-12 mm thick, traces of gilding on the skin).

Baseball cap or beanie hat

Shoes are replaced with dirty white sneakers (a model imitating the "Reebok Classic" or "Nike Air Max" with obvious signs of forgery).

The victim's wallet/purse is completely emptied, turning into a purse; instead of money, there are checks from bookmakers.

Stage 3: Behavioral and Speech Rewriting

The gait becomes swaggering, the shoulders lean forward, the head is slightly tilted, the gaze is aggressive from under the brows.

Facial expressions become rougher: there is a constant expression of discontent or contempt for others.

The victim acquires an obsessive need to smoke.

Speech is completely changing: complex grammatical constructions disappear, Cockney-rhyming slang appears, an abundance of obscenities and threatening constructions. The victim cannot speak his original language without a characteristic chav accent - even if he tries, the words become distorted, pronunciation becomes stringy, guttural, with swallowing endings.

Cognitive abilities do not decrease physically (IQ remains the same), but the victim is unable to use logic and intelligence in everyday life.

Reversibility: possible in the first 6 hours after transformation by forcible administration of a powerful tranquilizer, isolation from tobacco and alcohol for 72 hours, and intensive psychotherapy. The efficiency is 34% (according to 12 documented attempts). After 6 hours, the changes become permanent.

VICTIM MONITORING PROTOCOLS

3.1 OBSERVATION PROTOCOL No. 1

SUBJECT: Jackson Harris (originally 24 years old, professional athlete, middle—distance runner, height 185 cm, weight 78 kg, muscle mass, clear skin, short haircut)

CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE INCIDENT:

The subject was doing an evening jog along the route he had been using for the last 3 years. The highway passed through an industrial area in the Croydon area. At about 22:35, the subject lost his way, and later testified that he "did not remember turning into the alley." When asked why he went there, he replied:

«Dunno, bruv. Just felt like I needed a fag, yeah? I don’t smoke. Never did. But I felt it in me chest, like a proper craving. Thought I’d go mad if I didn’t get one. So I went. Saw the machine. Red one, old school. Had the cash in me pocket, innit? Two quid. Never carry cash, but it was there. Must've been a sign."

DATE OF TRANSFORMATION: 03/15/20[DATA DELETED]

PURCHASE TIME: 22:47

START TIME OF TRANSFORMATION: 22:48

COMPLETION TIME: 22:53

INITIAL OBSERVATION (4 hours after transformation):

The subject was in the parking lot of a diner with two other chavs. When he saw the agents, he showed no alarm and continued smoking. He said,

"Wot, are you too good for me fags? Bet you smoke them posh ones, with the fancy filter. You’re a mug, you are. I'll bang you out if you don't watch your tone."

PSYCHOLOGICAL ASSESSMENT (after 48 hours):

The subject demonstrates a complete split of subpersonality. He is disoriented in space, refuses to help, and clumsily apologizes for his rudeness.

additionally: When trying to run (a provocative test), the subject showed significant loss of coordination and shortness of breath after 100 meters, while responding aggressively to the remarks.

STATUS: The subject has been placed under surveillance. Long-term monitoring with periodic documentation of changes is recommended.

3.2 MONITORING PROTOCOL No. 2

SUBJECT: Harry Thompson (originally 19 years old, sports college student, workout athlete, height 183 cm, weight 75 kg, clear skin, toned physique)

CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE INCIDENT:

The subject was exercising at an outdoor sports ground in the Brixton area around 23:00. According to witnesses (other visitors to the site), Harry suddenly interrupted training, threw a bottle of water and walked away towards an abandoned warehouse. The witnesses did not attach any importance to this. Harry returned 15 minutes later, but the witnesses did not recognize him — he was wearing a black tracksuit, smoking and drinking an energy drink. The witnesses contacted the police, who sent a signal to us.

DATE OF TRANSFORMATION: 03/22/20[DATA DELETED]

PURCHASE TIME: 23:08

START TIME OF TRANSFORMATION: 23:09

COMPLETION TIME: 23:14

PHYSICAL ASSESSMENT:

The subject lost approximately 4 cm of height (from 183 to 175-176 cm). Muscle mass has decreased by 15-20%, and there is swelling of the face and limbs. Lungs are signs of initial tobacco intoxication (taking into account the fact that the subject smokes for no more than 48 hours — accelerated tissue degradation). Cardiovascular system — the indicators correspond to a person who leads a sedentary lifestyle with excessive alcohol and nicotine consumption.

BEHAVIORAL OBSERVATIONS:

Within 6 hours after the transformation, the subject smoked 2 packs of cigarettes, drank 4 cans of energy drink, came into conflict with two passers-by (verbal aggression), and tried to "borrow" money from a random passerby to buy another pack.

STATUS: The subject has been placed under surveillance. On the 3rd day after the transformation, he refused to eat, demanding "only cigarettes and energy." Forced feeding has been introduced. The forecast is negative.

DIRECTION [DATA DELETED]

3.3 MONITORING PROTOCOL No. 3

THE SUBJECT: Vincent Fraser (originally 25 years old, student of the School of Art, specializing in sculpture and ceramics, height 180 cm, weight 72 kg. Toned physique)

CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE INCIDENT:

The subject was returning from the workshop at about 11:30 p.m. He usually used the route through the park, but this time, as the analysis of his phone showed, the route changed: he turned into an industrial area, which he had never done before. The surveillance footage showed that the subject was walking with an "absent look", stopped at a red vending machine, took out coins, made a purchase and remained standing in place for 3 minutes. Then he walked away from the vending machine, sat on the curb and lit a cigarette. The camera recorded his transformation.

The initial interrogation (was conducted 12 hours after the transformation.

DATE OF TRANSFORMATION: 03/28/2025

PURCHASE TIME: 23:41

START TIME OF TRANSFORMATION: 23:42

COMPLETION TIME: 23:47

CHARACTERISTIC LINES:

"Art? What a waste of time, bruv. All those hours in the studio, chisellin’ away at rocks. For what? Now I’ve got somethin’ real. I’ve got fags. I’ve got mates. I’ve got a proper life.»

STATUS: [DATA DELETED]

CONCLUSION OF THE TECHNICAL DEPARTMENT

The STR-372 object is an anomalous vending machine with a powerful psi effect that causes victims to have an uncontrollable craving for tobacco and the subsequent total personality transformation according to the type of chav subculture. The danger level is classified as Keter due to the growing number of victims and the inability to predict the location of the object.

RECOMMENDED CONTAINMENT PROTOCOL:

Monitoring: Establish a network of observers in industrial areas and on the outskirts of London, especially in the areas of Croydon, Brixton, Lewisham and the East End. Record all messages about the appearance of "red vending machines" from 22:00 to 05:00.

Localization and physical destruction: Upon detection of an object, immediate disposal with a sledgehammer. It is recorded that the object is being restored in another location within 48-72 hours, however, this gives a temporary delay and reduces the number of victims. The use of heavy machinery (excavators, bulldozers) has shown great efficiency.

Working with victims: All identified victims are subject to compulsory hospitalization with round-the-clock supervision, isolation from tobacco and alcohol, and a course of cognitive behavioral therapy for up to 6 hours from the moment of transformation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rich, seriously you need to go home." Rich sighed, meeting the worried eye of his coworker Anna, "All the other guys stayed home… as they were told." She continued to lecture him, "Don't you know…"

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard the news reports. But do you actually believe all that stuff? I mean, I get that it sounds nasty, but c'mon." Rich smiled, trying to mask his discomfort, "I'm a healthy guy in my prime. What are the odds it would hit me?" He adjusted his watch strap. "Besides, even if I did catch it somehow, they'd figure out a cure quick, right? This is the 21st century after all."

"Rich, seriously. Haven't you seen the news?" Anna insisted, "And not just the news! What about Jake? You heard, right?" Rich nodded slowly- he thought it was just a rumor, "Then you know. How his girlfriend found him midway through the process and…" She shuddered, "Why would you even risk that? To end up as nothing but a…"

"Woah woah, hold up! Spare me the gory details, thanks." He chuckles, a growing sense of unease building. "I'm sure Jake is fine, right? I mean…." Jake was around his age, probably just as healthy as him- always down to go to the bar after work or join the company's softball team. Rich shuddered- when was the last time he was with Jake? Was it recent?

Anna looked away, "Jake didn't make it. By the time his girlfriend got him to the hospital, the inversion was complete. There wasn't anything they could do."

"Holy shit…" he muttered under his breath, "Okay, maybe this whole staying home thing does make some sense after all." He grabbed his bag, "But what about work? I mean…"

"You can take a break for just a little Rich." Anna said, "You're always working too hard anyway."

Rich sighed, "Fine… fine, okay…" He ran a hand through his hair, "Alright, I'm gonna jet. See you when all this blows over."

"Stay safe, Rich." She smiled and watched as he headed out.

--------

Rich rushed through the city streets, his polished shoes tapping against concrete with increasing urgency. As he walked, memories flashed through his mind—beers at the bar with Matt two nights ago, gym locker room chats with Luke earlier that week. Both of them seemed fine then… hadn't they? Matt had sent him a text yesterday afternoon, something about picking up a case of beer, but nothing since. Luke had been quieter too—their usual back-and-forth banter replaced by silence. A cold pit formed in Rich's stomach. If something happened to them… he pushed the thought away, breaking into a jog toward his apartment building.

The elevator ride felt endless. When the doors finally opened on his floor, he froze. His neighbor Tom was slumped against his own doorframe, breathing heavily. "Hey… Rich," he wheezed, "you lookin' pale man. I think... I need..."

Infected. Rich swallowed hard and rushed past him, quickly entering and slamming his apartment door shut. He sunk to the floor, breathing heavily- his back against the apartment door, chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. Something felt… off. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and there was an odd pressure building between his legs—not quite painful, but definitely strange.

"Just stress, just stress." He repeated to himself, "Nothing to worry about, I'm okay…"

His phone buzzed twice in rapid succession. Rich fished it from his pocket with unsteady fingers. Two notifications glared back at him—texts from both Matt and Luke. His thumb hovered over the screen before he forced himself to open them.

Matt's message came first: a selfie of a broad-shouldered jock flexing in the mirror, grinning wildly. The caption read: "Dude, check out my NEW DICK! Best upgrade EVER!!"

Luke followed immediately: another shirtless selfie, his bulge proudly displayed. "Who knew getting inverted would feel THIS good? LMAO!"

"HBU Richie?"

"Yeah bro, where you at?"

Rich's vision blurred. His stomach lurched violently, and he fell forward. The pressure between his legs intensified, spreading outward like fire.

"God it burns! Fuck!" Rich cried out, tearing his clothes away and throwing them aside, "So hot… Ice… I need ice!" He let out a moan and fell to his hands and knees, tears dripping down his cheeks, "Wh-what's… this isn't… No... Not me! I can't…" His eyes widened as he looked down at his hands, "God…"

They were changing shape, stretching and thickening. The skin becoming more weathered, coarse hairs sprouting along the backs of his hands.

"Wha…"

Rich stared in horror as his hands elongated… thickened. His fingers shrinking, becoming stubby. His palms forming dense callouses. He shook his head frantically, watching as his once smooth hands morphed into two thick, musky meaty feet. "This isn't happening… it can't be…"

Rich gagged violently, feeling something foul building up in his throat. He coughed, trying to clear it, but only managed to expel a glob of thick, salty fluid onto the floor. "What the fuck…?" He spat again, the taste making him retch.

As he knelt there, shaking, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Slowly, his gaze drifted downward. His arms were… shifting. The muscles rippling, thickening. Dark hairs sprouting along his forearms, spreading upwards towards his shoulders. His biceps and triceps ballooned, squeezing his head between the growing muscle.

"No… please no…" Rich whimpered, watching in terror as his arms lengthened, twisting and contorting. His elbows cracking and shifting into knees, wrists thickening into sturdy ankles.

Rich opened his mouth to scream, but only choked out another gag, more salty fluid oozing from his lips. He coughed and sputtered, moaning as his chest began to ripple and shift. His pecs flattened, stretching outward into a powerful set of abdominal muscles. Meanwhile, his faint six-pack consolidated, the individual abs merging together into a solid slab of rock-hard muscle, bulging outwards into a pair of thick, meaty pecs.

"Mmmphh… stop… stoppppp!" Rich tried to cry out, but the salty liquid kept pouring forth, filling his mouth and nose.

Rich's legs twitched and writhed, the muscles contracting and expanding. His calves stretched, thickening into powerful biceps. His quads rippled and merged, forming massive triceps. His shins elongated, becoming thick forearms. Even his feet shifted, toes curling inward and merging into thick, calloused hands.

A new voice, albeit soft, filled the air. "Hey there, lil dude. What's up with all the gagging, bro? You alright down there?"

Rich forced his eyes upward, struggling to focus through the haze of pain and panic. His gaze landed on a pair of thick, muscular thighs, covered in dark hair. Following them up, he saw a flat, toned stomach, rippling with every movement. His eyes traveled higher, taking in a broad, hairy chest and a smirking face with a strong jawline and piercing blue eyes.

"You're looking a bit rough though, dude. You okay down there?"

Rich tried to respond, but his words came out slow and slurred. Salty fluid leaked from the corners of his mouth, which was becoming harder to move. "Mmph… mmmff.. stop… pl… pleasseee…"

His vision blurred as he watched strands of his once neatly styled hair fall away, drifting lazily to the floor. More salty liquid gushed forth, and he gagged again, feeling it fill his nasal passages. His mouth hung open, slack and unresponsive.

Suddenly, Rich felt a large, calloused hand wrap around his head and neck, gripping tightly. He gasped, trying to pull away, but the grip only tightened.

"Oh, don't worry, little buddy. I'll take care of you." The jock chuckled, giving Rich's head a firm pump. "You might not be the biggest dick in the world, but hey, size ain't everything, right? Know what I mean?"

Rich's eyes watered as he struggled to breathe, his face turning red. The jock's hand moved up and down, pumping him roughly. "Mmmm, yeah. Just relax and let me handle things, okay? I promise I know exactly how to use you right."

As the jock pumped Rich's head, he felt his facial features begin to shift and contort. His sharp jawline smoothed, his high cheekbones flattened. His lips became fixed in their new position- a vertical piss slit. Rich screamed inside as his nose and ears receded, sinking into his flesh. His entire head molding into a single, smooth surface – a bulbous cock head. His neck just a veiny shaft. And with a final pump, he felt the salty fluid surge through his entire form, erupting from his new mouth.

"Oh fuck yeah…." The new jock bellowed, falling backwards in utter bliss.

-----------

Time lost all meaning for Rich. At first, he thought the actual transformation would be the worst part - the agony, the debasement. Going from a living, breathing person with dreams to a leaking fuckstick squeezed between two massive, muscular thighs. But as days turned into weeks, he realized he was wrong. Wrong because he remained aware. Awake. Sentient within his new form. Forced to endure as the new jock lived its life, indulging in whatever pleasures he could, over and over and over again. And Rich was along for the ride. Felt every pump, every thrust as the jock used him to plow through countless holes.

Now, Rich hung limp, twitching weakly as the jock stroked him idly, gazing at the TV. The anchor spoke gravely, "Despite ongoing efforts, researchers have made no progress in finding a cure for the Inversion Virus. Scientists now believe it may be impossible to reverse the effects."

"Hear that, little buddy?" The jock grinned, pumping Rich faster. "Yeah, you like the sound of that, don't ya?" Rich felt his body growing harder, salty fluid oozing from his mouth, "I think we ought to celebrate our new, permanent arrangement, right bro?"

Bryan considered himself to be a cut above the rest. He had always been the kind of guy to turn the other cheek when it comes to handling conflict with others. Even if they were the biggest asshole Bryan has ever met, he’d never stoop down to yelling vulgarities or other petty insults just to get back at them. He’d keep his cool attitude, stay respectful, and minimize future interactions; even if the person didn’t deserve as much as a single look in their general direction. Bryan held the title of always being the bigger person with pride, regardless of how haughty it made him look to others.

However, Bryan’s high and mighty attitude would soon meet its biggest enemy yet when the new neighbor Mr. Martin moved in down the hall. Bryan didn’t think much of Mr. Martin at all when he first met him. Mr. Martin was a single man living on his own. He was pushing 40 and worked as a PE teacher/football coach for the local high school. All in all, Mr. Martin was a pretty ordinary guy. 

As far as Bryan was concerned, Martin would just be another face he’d occasionally run into in their shared apartment building but ultimately ignored otherwise. And that was more or less how their relationship continued for the next month or so. They’d share pleasantries, but nothing else beyond that. They were friendly neighbors, at least until the first time they bumped heads. 

Their apartment building had an open access rooftop with a fully furnished lounge. Residents were free to make use of the lounge as they pleased. One day, Bryan decided to take his boyfriend up to the lounge so they could stargaze together out on the rooftop. While the two lovebirds were spending time together, Martin also happened to show up sometime later. He had brought his telescope to do some stargazing himself. Both parties kept to themselves for the most part. That is until Bryan and his boyfriend began to get intimate. Martin shot them a dirty look but then didn’t say anything at first. Only after a few minutes passed and the two boyfriends were still making out did Martin decide to speak up.

“Hey, I understand that you two are ‘in love’ or whatever, but can’t you go do that in a private room? This is a shared space after all, I don’t want to see that out here.”

Bryan didn’t appreciate the stern tone of voice Martin used with him. It made him feel small, like he was back in high school. He was just as much an adult as he was! But Bryan decided to bite his tongue. Martin had a fair point, it probably wasn’t very considerate of him to be full-on tongue kissing with his boyfriend out in public the way they were. So he apologized, took his boyfriend down to his place, and that was the end of that minor spat. 

But that incident turned out to be only the start of their problems. Soon after, Bryan decided to buy a new welcome sign for his front door. It was a pride welcome sign and had big rainbow letters on it. It only took a day until Martin was knocking on his front door, asking him to take it down. Naturally, Martin would never outright say he wanted it gone because of the rainbows, but Bryan wasn’t stupid. He knew how to connect the dots and read in-between the lines. Only a homophobe would be pushing so strongly for a pride sign to get taken, and Bryan would sooner drop dead than bend over for a bigot. He stood his ground, and Martin left with a scowl on his face. 

From that point on, Bryan and Martin were constantly at each other’s throats. Jab after jab and nonstop passive aggression. They continued having incidents and their animosity for each other only grew steadily over time. Bryan was getting fed up, but he never backed down nor did he ever blatantly disrespect Martin, even when he had no problem disrespecting him. It was an uphill battle, but Bryan saw a light at the end of the tunnel. His lease would be up for renewal soon. All he had to do was not renew his lease, move out, and he’d never have to see Mr. Martin ever again. It was simple! 

Or so Bryan thought. One morning, after Bryan’s boyfriend had spent the night over at his place, he received a very interesting text. One that would snap Bryan’s patience in half.

Babe! I ran into your bigoted neighbor in the elevator last night. I tried to ignore him, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept harassing me and when I wouldn’t talk to him, he started calling me a worthless fag. I’m okay, he didn’t touch me, but I wanted to tell you what happened. I’m not sure I feel comfy enough to go back to your place anymore. : (

Bryan read over the text a couple of times. Once he made sure he read it right, Bryan decided enough was fucking enough. He then slammed his phone down on the nightstand and marched straight to his closet. He never wanted to be the kind of guy who got revenge, but Martin crossed a line after he went after his boyfriend. And if Bryan was going to get revenge, then he was going to come at him at 110%. He had to dig through his things but he eventually found what he was looking for- a body swapping potion. 

Bryan plucked the tiny vial out of his closet. He had saved it for when he really needed to use it, and getting payback on a bigot seemed like the perfect time to use it. Before he could use it, he had to prepare for what comes after the swap. He pulled out a chair and made a makeshift rope out of some leather belts he had laying around. Bryan then proceeded to drink the potion, but instead of swallowing it right away, he held the brew in his mouth. It tasted rancid, but he held out. Bryan used the belts to tie himself up to the chair, completely immobilizing himself so that Martin couldn’t do anything in his body. He used a real knot technique too, just for extra security. Once he was satisfied with his setup, Bryan swallowed the potion and blacked out.

The body swapping potion took effect immediately. Bryan’s consciousness left his body in the form of a long, glowing, snake-like mass of matter. It slithered out of his body through his nostrils and plopped onto the ground. It then began its long journey towards its intended target. Bryan felt weird leaving his lifeless body behind, especially while knowing that Martin would soon be inside of it, but he carried on with his mission. Their swap would only be temporary after all; once Bryan had his fun, they’d switch right back. 

Bryan’s soul made its way to the nearby high school where Martin worked. Luckily, nobody was able to see it slithering by. It slithered into the faculty bathroom where Mr. Martin was just about finishing up his midday shit. Bryan’s soul squeezed underneath the closed bathroom door with ease and slithered right up to Martin.

“Hm?” Martin noticed something glowing out of the corner of his eye. He lowered the magazine he was reading and screamed when he saw the giant, translucent snake creeping up on him. Martin leaped up into the air out of shock with his pants still around his ankles. Big mistake. 

Bryan’s soul quickly expanded until it was the size of an anaconda. It then used its massive size to wrap around Martin, constricting his mobility. Mr. Martin was hyperventilating. He couldn’t move! All he could was watch as the tip of the glowing snake tickled the head of his exposed cock.

A cold shiver ran through Martin’s body with the soul snake’s cool touch. The soul snake then forcibly wiggled its way into Martin’s dick slit. The sensation of getting penetrated made his cock harden up to full mast. Bryan’s soul then slithered down the length of Martin’s girthy member. Martin threw his head back as his body got taken over. He purred a deep, sensual mmm! as it happened. He could feel the cold feeling that started at his groin spread out to the rest of his body as Bryan’s soul took over his body for itself. 

The body takeover started off slowly at first, but as Martin’s body got filled with Bryan’s being, the process began to rapidly speed up. Suddenly, the entire anaconda started rushing into Mr. Martin’s body through his cock. Martin was gasping as the waves of pain rolled over his body. Luckily for him, it only lasted another five seconds. With one slurp, his now engorged cock swallowed up the last few inches of Bryan’s soul.

“Nrrghhh… Fuck…” Martin moaned. Those moans were the last thing Martin said before his body hunched over to throw up his own soul snake. Martin’s soul snake came rushing out of his mouth. Once it was out, it slithered out the bathroom, likely on its way to take over Bryan’s limp body. It left behind a smirking Mr. Martin, only this time, it was Bryan who was in control.

“Whew! That was easy!” Bryan said with his new, baritone voice as he stood up. Bryan immediately noticed the difference in their bodies as his consciousness adjusted to its new heavier, hairier vessel. His nostrils were penetrated by the strong yet familiar musk of his own hairy pits. He took a sniff of his new sweaty body odor and let out a loud, satisfied ahh! Bryan could literally feel how every new inch of skin felt as he moved around in Martin’s body. He then stretched out his new body, while also getting a feel for the thick hair he had all over his body. Bryan always had a thing for furry men, though he was never able to grow much body hair himself. To be able to takeover a hairy body like Mr. Martin’s was just icing on the cake for him. 

Bryan took a look at his reflection in the mirror, winked at himself, then stepped out of the bathroom, ready for revenge. He had one hand on the doorknob while using his other hand to jerk off, making sure he was still nice and hard for what he was about to do. An evil grin formed on his face. It was go time.

Bryan stepped out of the faculty bathroom ass naked with his erect cock swinging around freely. He wore a proud smile on his face as he displayed his hairy body in full display. He then wrapped a hand around his cock and proceeded to jerk off ferociously. Bryan made sure to exaggerate the volume of his moans and groans to make sure any nearby faculty heard him. Surely enough, someone heard him, and they stepped in to see the glorious sight of revenge live.

“WHAT THE FUCK!? MR. MARTIN HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND!?” the man shouted. He drew the attention of other nearby adults, who all came in to see what was happening. All of their jaws dropped to the floor as ‘Mr. Martin’ laid down on the table, naked and grinning.

“What do you mean? It’s my lunch break, brah! I deserve to have a little stress relief before I go back to teaching those cocksuckers- I mean, wonderful students! Hey, do any of y’all happen to have sweaty socks on right now? I could reallyyyy use a hand, I wanna finish quickly and my pits aren’t enough to get me there.”

Bryan lifted his arm and took a deep, loud whiff of his dank pit smell. The sight of watching Bryan lick up the droplets of sweat forming on his pit hairs made some of the standby faculty gag. They began to disperse.

“Shut the door to the faculty floor! We can’t let anyone else find out about this!!”

“I-I’ll go call a therapist, he’s definitely gone insane…”

“What’s the matter with y’all? Pshhh y’all act like you’ve never seen a dick before! Don’t be afraid! Bask in the full glory of the male body!! Look at my beautiful, hairy body!”

“Alright, Mr. Martin, let’s just take some deep breaths and get some clothes back on…”

“MAN FUCK Y’ALL!! Y’all some lame ass bitches! I don’t need y’all, I’ll just finish myself off!” Bryan lifted his leg high up in the air. His puckered up, hairy asshole was now on display for all to see.

“Here’s a cool biology fact for y’all! Did ya know you don’t need to go that deep to reach the male g-spot?” Bryan licked up his middle finger until it was soaked with spit. He then reached over to his ass, rubbing around his hole until his finger slipped in with ease. He let out an obscene moan as he fingered himself. “You really need about a knuckle’s length to get to the prostate, you just gotta- AWW FUCKK!! I found it!”

Bryan began jerking off and fingering himself at exaggerated speeds while howling and grunting like a monkey in heat. He accidentally farted while fingering himself, and the smell of his flatulence combined with his sweaty musk to create a particularly potent odor. He made sure to make a display of him sniffing up the strong smells while the audience covered their nose. He kept the act of intense masturbation up for another minute or so, really letting himself get into character, until finally climaxing. Bryan quickly pulled his finger out of his ass and used both hands to pump his cock. 

“Ohhhh fuckkkk that feels soooo gooood…!!” Bryan went cross-eyed as he slowly stroked his throbbing cock with the firm grip of his man paws. The pressure of trying to hold it in was building up, making for an extra strong orgasm that Bryan couldn’t help but give himself into. “Get ready y’all… Here comes Old Faithfullll!!”

Just as he advertised, an eruption of jizz came flooding out of Bryan. His whole body was twitching from orgasmic pleasure, but he managed to hold himself together just enough to point his cock around. He became a squirt gun as he shot load after load of warm, sticky cum all over the faculty lounge and himself. The whole place became covered in his seed, leaving him huffing for breath after such an intense climax. Any remaining faculty had evacuated once they saw what was about to happen, leaving Bryan alone in the lounge.

“Alright… Mission accomplished…” Bryan said with bated breath. “I just… I just gotta switch back…”

Bryan was satisfied. Not only did he completely destroy Mr. Martin’s reputation, but he’ll be coming back to his body naked and covered in jizz at his own workplace! Bryan was sure he’ll be absolutely humiliated, especially considering how many witnesses saw ‘Mr. Martin’ lose his shit in public. 

Bryan steadied his breathing in preparation to swap back to his own body. He had paid top dollar to get the most premium potion money could buy. The body swapping potion was special in that all he needed to do to switch back was simply think about! He focused his mind, thought about what he wanted to achieve, and willed himself back to his body! 

…But nothing happened.

Bryan opened his eyes to find himself still in the teacher’s lounge inside of Mr. Martin’s body. 

He wasn’t sure what he did wrong. He tried again but to no avail. He tried swapping back with his mind again and again but no matter how many times he tried, nothing happened. Bryan was quickly growing nervous, especially as he heard police sirens coming nearby. He tried several more times but it was futile. Bryan was arrested for public indecency as Mr. Martin before he could swap back to his original body. Bryan was in deep shit and he knew it.

The next three days were absolutely miserable for Bryan. He had spent those days locked up and berated for what he did. He hated every second of it. All he wanted was to get back inside his own body and run back into the arms of his beloved. No matter Mr. Martin. No more misery. No more pain.

Bryan pleaded guilty on all charges and took a plea deal in order to avoid jail time. He paid a hefty price for his freedom; a total fine of $50,000, 100+ hours of community service, house arrest, court mandated therapy, and he had to register as a sex offender. But Bryan didn’t care, they weren’t tied to his real identity after all.

Once he was out, Bryan traveled back to his apartment as fast as he physically could. He made it back to his apartment in record time and used the secret key to get inside. He was praying to God that his body would still be sitting there tied up in the chair, just waiting for him to return. He opened the door and his heart immediately sank when he saw an empty chair and torn belts. Bryan dropped to his knees. His eyes began to tear up. He noticed there was a sheet of paper sitting on the chair. Bryan crawled over to it. It was a handwritten letter, and it read: 

Hey there! First off, I want to thank you for switching bodies with me. To tell you the truth, I’m not the real Mr. Martin. The original Martin is looong gone now after so many swaps. But me, I actually used to be just like you. I was gay and pissed off at Martin, and like you, I decided to body swap with him to teach him a lesson for his homophobia. But then I found myself in the same situation I’m sure you’re in right now. I couldn’t swap back to my original body. For some reason, Mr. Martin’s body won’t allow its owner to leave. Only someone else can initiate a swap with Mr. Martin. I’m really sorry man, but I can’t go back. I won’t go back! I’m stealing your body for myself. My mind has been trapped in that homophobic body for God knows how long, just swimming around in that vile hatred… I want to be my own person again. I’ll be praying for you, I hope someone swaps with you before Mr. Martin’s body corrupts your mind, but considering how quickly it took over mine, it’s not looking good. Again, I’m so sorry. Best of luck. PS - Don’t worry about your boyfriend, I’ll be sure to love him just as much as you did and more! He’s safe with me. Bryan. 

Bryan was dumbfounded by the letter. He was even more dumbfounded by the pictures of himself. He had no memory of taking those pictures, which could mean that someone else took those photos with his body. Bryan swallowed the lump in his throat. The walls around him seemed to be closing in. He tried pulling himself together but was failing. Shriveling on the floor, Bryan began repeating a mantra to himself in an attempt to hold onto his identity.

“My name is Bryan, and I am a proud gay man… My name is Bryan, and I am a proud gay man… My name is Bryan, and I am a proud gay man… My name is Bryan… And I am a proud gay man…”

Bryan repeated that mantra out loud every single day from there on out. He said it as many times as he could before his throat got irritated from talking so much. He did everything he could to remember who he truly was. Everyday he studied gay history, watched only queer romances, did his favorite things, and even journaled his thoughts and feelings.

Days became weeks, and slowly but surely, Bryan was losing his grasp on his original identity. He gradually stopped following his routine. He forgot his identity mantra. He even began referring to himself as Mr. Martin. He had lost himself as his mind and soul merged with his new body. 

But while Bryan was gone, Mr. Martin was living the easy life. He was a single man living on his own. He was pushing 40 and worked as a busboy at a local restaurant. All in all, Mr. Martin was a pretty ordinary guy living an easygoing life.

The only real problem Mr. Martin had had to do about the new neighbors that just moved in across the hall from him. They were two young men sharing a single bedroom apartment. Mr. Martin never really cared to know his neighbors all that well, but he recently found out the new neighbors were actually a gay couple. He recently spotted them kissing in the hallway through his peep hole the other day. The sight of them kissing irked his soul, and he planned to ask them to not exhibit that kind of behavior out in public around the apartment building again. Surely, they won’t have a problem with it. Right?

“I wish he loved me back.”

“Well, that requires a few changes.”

You whirl around. Behind you stands a tall, lean Arabian man in an immaculate three-piece suit. “Most straight men have an exception.” The genie begins to walk around you. “One thing that they find so attractive that they’ll do just about anything for it. You are about to become your training partner’s exception.”

The genie taps you once on the forehead, and you fall backwards. It feels like you’re falling a long time, and then…

“Whoa, man!” It’s the voice of your friend, the guy you’ve been training with. He hooks his arms under yours and breaks your fall. “Did you eat enough today?”

You look around. You’re in the gym with your partner. You must have been walking between machines. Wow, you’re spaced out, you thought you were talking to a genie…

There’s a strange, warm sensation spreading from your armpits, where your friend is touching you. “You okay?” he asks again, lowering you to the floor.

“Uh, I don’t know,” you say, “Sir.” Why did you say that? The skin under your arms gets unbearably hot, and you feel the tickle of thick hair starting to grow in. It spreads down your arms and across your chest.

He kneels in front of you. “It’s okay, Boy,” he says, and looks a little puzzled as he says it.

You feel a beard grow out of your sweating face. Hair’s grown everywhere now, and it’s all covered in thick, rich-smelling sweat. You feel your head hair contracting into a regimented buzz cut. Your body looks so masculine now, but why do you feel so small next to your less muscular training partner?

Something dawns in his eyes, and he looks at you slyly. “Hey Boy, I know what will cheer you up.” He stands up and lifts one of his shoes up to your face.

“Oh yes, Sir!” you say, and push yourself to your feet. You love it when Sir steps on you, and you know it’s his favourite thing in the world to get his dirty little feet on your ultramasculine bearded face.

Another wish fulfilled.

Working hard and getting no rewards for it. I would love not to have to worry about any of that anymore. Would love to be a gas masked rubber drone

Thanks for your booking with FWK Vacations. We hope your vacation is blissful and worry-free.

You wake up in darkness. You’re confused for a moment, but then you breathe in and feel the pressure of the gas mask against your face, infusing the air you breathe with Master’s heady musk. You don’t need to be confused. You don’t need to think. You don’t need to be “you.”

The drone gets up from its resting cot and goes to prepare the morning meal for its Master. The drone has been prepared with its Master’s favourite meals, and rotates between a selection of gourmet breakfast spreads from every culture in the world. The bedroom drone takes the breakfast tray from the drone at the bedroom door, and the drone continues with its next tasks: cleaning the kitchen and pumping up its muscles in the drone gym.

After its Master completes his morning workout with his gym trainer drone, the drone brings him a healthy smoothie. In recognition of the drone’s completion of the task, its Master exchanges the stale gym socks in its gas mask with a fresh pair, straight from his feet. If the drone could feel pleasure, it would be overwhelmed with ecstasy.

If the drone continues to complete its assigned tasks and absorb new programming well, it will be upgraded to cumdump drone, or perhaps even bedroom drone. If it becomes a bedroom drone, its Master will provide it with a full coverage suit, erasing every remaining trace of its individuality underneath anonymous rubber, stretched around the musky muscles it was well-programmed to build and maintain.

The drone is not capable of enjoyment, but the vacation should prove blissful regardless.