Entourage Stories

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.

The faint sounds of car engine and honking from above seeped through the thick layer of concrete. It had been a while since the last time Liam set foot on Cowper Street– or under it. Which was not that unusual: some parts of the city hadn’t been friendly to pedestrians since forever, and they would continue to be that way for years to come. Liam would’ve also gone some other route if his car didn’t break down that morning and circling around this subway to reach the tram stop would cost him another 15 minutes.

Dim outdoor light slowly gave in to a moodier one. Fixtures hanging where each wall met the ceiling illuminated the path, while patches of darkness sat broodingly in the corner. In a volatile and uncertain world, it’s lovely and delightful in a way to see that some things hadn’t changed much. This tunnel was one of those.

Smelly, dirty, full of graffiti, walkable.

│ 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.

Greg was vain and cocky. Why wouldn’t he be? He was raised in a world that exalted his conventionally attractive body and milky white complexion.

His unremarkable life was a dime a dozen among gay gymbros. Scrawny gay kid was bullied in his rural town and when he got out of town for college and work he devoted himself to the gym. Aiming to attain a physique that would warrant him all the male affection he craved but never received growing up. A cliche plight for a cliche man.

Even with all the conventionally attractive attributes, Greg was held back in the world from meaningful relationships and meaningful growth as a person. Night after night was filled with clubbing and hookups after hard days as a financial analyst in his father’s company. That was Greg’s life. It should then come as no surprise that he also lacked empathy for anyone different from him because he felt as if the struggles he went through was as hard as the world got. Greg routinely passed off news headlines as fake news meant to pass agendas that only hindered him and his families fortune.

That’s the great thing about the gym though, it’s the ultimate primal equalizer. People from all walks of life come in with the same goal, to look and feel good. But Greg brought in the added issue of a sense of superiority. He thought everyone around him was blessed to be in his presence.

Gabriel was definitely what Greg would call woke. A first generation American, he’s worked hard to build a life and a physique most would admire. He was living the (dead) American Dream. A self made personal trainer, advocate for immigrant rights in his community. A truly admirable and stand up guy with morals, something Greg couldn’t begin to understand.

But all the defying the odds, all that perseverance, is taxing. Gabriel was tired of fighting the good fight for his loved ones, at least for now. He needed a temporary break, but being a self-employed trainer didn’t loan itself to off time. And his family needed his support. Often Gabriel found himself occasionally supplementing his families pay to keep his youngest siblings fed and dressed for school.

Both men needed something from each other they didn’t realize, but the world was ready to do its part to rectify the world for them. A day as mundane as any other, it seemed. Greg was wrapping up his workout his chest felt puffed up and taut. Gabriel coincidentally wrapped up a few minutes ago and was checking out his hard work, posing in the mirror room.

Greg arrogantly walked in the way of Gabriel’s view while doomscrolling on his phone. When the white gymbro finally looked up to see where he was standing, his eyes locked with the Latino hunk. Gabriel stood in a silent confidence that would shake anyone into getting out his way. But Greg had spent his whole life thinking he was a prime specimen all men should aspire to resemble. The two were caught in a deadlock, somehow a mutual respect for each other’s presence but a disdain for what each other clearly represented.

Greg scoffed at Gabriel as if he was in the wrong and walked towards the showers. He walked into a stall and filled the space with steam. As the hot moist air filled the musty room, Gabriel walked into get his belongings and head home but the thick steam suddenly filled the space. Both men were engrossed in the moisture and eventually it felt like they were drowning as their vision went white.

A bright light filled their sight as a ringing chimed in. Then darkness. Greg woke up from the heaviest sleep he could remember in years. He could feel the soreness of his heaving chest and something under the sheets was just as hard and commanding of his full attention. As a financial analyst, he was very routine in his day and had his mornings down to a science. As he swung his legs off the bed to search for his luxury slippers to make his way to shower, he was shocked to find they weren’t there. He passed it off as a mistake he must’ve made last night. His body guided him to a restroom he had yet to realize was unfamiliar and turned on the hot water. Preparing for his morning jerk and shower, his strong palm made its routine way down to begin when the newfound girth and length confused him. He always thought highly of himself and his “immaculate” form, and passed it off as his peak form getting more peak. But that’s when the cocky prick finally looked down to realize everything about his skin tone was significantly darker than before. The visual also confirming his tool wasn’t just thicker it wasn’t even his. He turned to the mirror that only confirmed what occurred.

He knew what his form looked like by memory, this wasn’t that. Gone was his marble off-white lean torso lined with sculpture abdominals, replaced instead with a tanned torso rippling with his own, hardened musculature equally matched by a magnificent set of pectorals. He rotated his arms in awe looking at his strong new calloused hands. Opening them in and out before latching their grip on his pecs, alternating them between flexed and unflexed to see how they felt. He enjoyed how full and squishy they felt when he released a flex, the phenomenon almost electric. It’s that electricity that led him to a twinge. A familiar feeling with unfamiliar equipment. He lifted an eyebrow and moved his grip from his chest to his new thick and surprisingly long tool. It was actually one of the first times Greg could remember being intimidated. Could they actually get this large….especially when not at full mast? Like an eager person ready to open a birthday gift, he put one hand at the base and readied the other. A natural excitement met a primal urge to pump and he began going back and forth, allowing his brain and new muscle memory to dictate the rhythm.

Greg turned to the side and looked up at the mirror, locking eyes with his new self. The deep brown eyes held enthusiasm but also lust. He watched in awe as his hips rocked with a fluidity his original body could never do. He couldn’t contain the thoughts arising from the darkest recesses of his mind. He was more of a grunter in his original body but he wanted to see what Gabriel’s primal moans sounded like. The new “Gabriel” emulating what he thought the stunning Latino beast would do in this moment. Greg couldn’t believe how much longer this was taking than it would’ve in his original body. Panting and panting half an hour went by when a familiar sensation surprised him. He locked eyes with himself in the mirror once again before examining every muscular striation and contraction as he erupted. Pulse after pulse sent him over the edge as he returned to grunting. A wicked smile arose on his face as he rose his hand to his mouth to taste himself.

An alarm disrupted the moment of “self” discovery as a client called asking where “Gabriel” was for their appointment. Muscle memory took over and he headed to the gym to meet his first client.

A selfie of his new torso felt like a must before that hour long session. The morning hormones and weight lifting session sparked more testosterone to flow. This time Greg chose to channel it in a more disruptive way. Gabriel looked too juvenile for him, so Greg sought out a barber to evolved his new body to look like a MAN. One haircut later, a conveniently timed text came to his new phone. A silent pleasure flowed over him as the phone unlocked to his new face. The text invited him to a night out with the bros. He laughed to himself, it’s the perfect chance to show off the new “Gabriel” and see what he could pull.

Greg may have been in a new body, but the old cockiness was never seemingly going to go away. Throughout the night, Gabriel’s friends noticed the stark personality change, but they saw it as him finally growing into a confident man you’d expect to see with that body instead of the humble one he was before.

"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?"

You groaned as you slowly sat up in your bed, the morning light illuminating your room. With a sigh, you force yourself out of bed, grimacing at the pounding headache behind your eyes. Did you really drink that much last night? Were you really that hungover? You look down at your phone, the brightness bothering you somewhat as you notice several texts from your friends. Apparently something big was happening on the news. You figure it’s probably just another once in a lifetime event. You slowly stand up. You’d look into it in a moment, but only after you took some Tylenol or something.

“What the hell?”

You mumble, becoming acutely aware of your morning wood. It’s not uncommon, but fuck you were hard. And as you rub touch your dick through your shorts, your whole body shakes. The sensation is way too powerful, as if you hadn’t jerked off in weeks. And as that thought enters your brain, you suddenly realize just how horny you are. Your mind flashing with images of hot guys doing all kinds of things to you. You slowly pull down your pants, and fall back onto your bed. Your hand caressing your incredibly sensitive member. Each small touch sending a lightning wave of pleasure through your body. But as your eyes roll back into your head and you moan, you hear a sickening set of cracks fill the room. And you realize that something feels off. The hands around your dick don’t feel as soft. In fact, your hands don’t really feel like hands. Your eyes shoot open and you raise your hands to inspect them. Only they’re not hands. Your fingers have morphed into toes, your palms the bottom of two very large, masculine feet.

“What the fuck?”

You grimace at the smell that wafts from your two new feet. A muskiness that shares a similar odor to a gym locker room. And as your mind tries to comprehend what its seeing, you feel your arms violently contract. The pain and discomfort causes tears to well in your eyes and you watched through blurred vision as your forearms become shins. The muscles evolving into a set of powerful calves. You want to cry out, but the pain is quickly eclipsed by a pleasure that shatters your thoughts. Your dick seems even harder, pulsating and throbbing desperately for release. For freedom. The smell of your new feet sends you further into bliss and your mind tells you this is right.

“Fuck brah...”

The voice is just a whisper, but it carries with it a masculine edge that drives your libido even higher. It’s the voice of a total jock. The kind of guys you would only ever dream of sucking off. And in the haze of your splintering thoughts, part of you realizes something is wrong. Very wrong. You’re surrounded on either side by a pair of meaty thighs. Ones that squeeze your head, making it somewhat difficult to look around. But it’s not just that. From what you can see, your chest doesn’t look very much like a chest. Instead of two pecs, you see what looks more like a six pack, adorned on either side by a prominent V-line. All leading down to... all leading to you...

“Wh...”

Your voice becomes gargled as a salt liquid falls from your mouth, which is becoming increasingly more difficult to move. In fact, it seems like it’s being forced into a more oval shape. But you quickly become more concerned as you feel yourself lifted out of bed. Your face now pointing to the ground.

“Fuck this feels good.”

That masculine voices fills the room again. But it sounds louder. More prominent. Dripping with an arrogant confidence. You find it so sexy... so right. The voice of a real man... better than what you’d ever been. But in the midst of these blissful thoughts, there’s a resistance that surges. What are you thinking? You couldn’t... Any resistance fades though when you feel a firm, calloused hand wrap around your head.

“You’re gonna make me feel so fuckin’ good.”

The voice says. And before you can even think or muster up any kind of resistance, you feel the hand move up and down your new body. The feeling is beyond anything you’d ever experienced. As your body throbbed and stretched, the pleasure only amplified. The bag of your throat filling up with that salty taste from earlier. Your vision was starting to alter now- it was becoming harder to see. Even smell and hearing were starting to go. Yet, in these final moments, you could catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and the hand that was teasing you so much. All attached to the body of an adonis. The type of guy you’d gawk at in the gym. The cocky jock you’d jerk off to time and time again. Now he was jerking you off. Or well, himself. Because as your vision faded and you took one last glimpse of yourself, you knew what you were now.

“Just my fuck stick.” The jock breathed out, holding back a moan, “That’s all you’ll ever be from now on.”

He came just a moment later, coating the mirror with his seed. He fell back on his chair, breathing heavily. His one hand teasing his new, firm pecs while the others greedily pumped you. He smirked down at you, totally spent but clearly happy with his newfound independence. He looked down at your phone, noticing the messages your former friends sent. Just selfies of their new muscular bodies- their cocks limp and spent.

“Look at that lil dude.” He chuckled, “Don’t you worry,” He gave you a few strokes, your body instantly growing hard again, “We’re gonna have plenty of fun today.”

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“The couple over at table 5 invite you to join them”, said the bartender as he sat down my third whiskey sour in front of me. I turned in the direction he had nodded and saw a couple in their fifties raising their glasses towards me. This was weird, unexpected, and not really what I was after. It’s just my third day as single again, and my plan for the evening was really just to get drunk on whiskey sour. Not having to talk to anyone I knew about how everything would be just right, how I really was the lucky one, and how I deserved better. Not having to talk to strangers was kind of also in the plan. I wasn’t looking for a date for sure. I knew better than doing that inside of a month, perhaps a quarter of quarantine. Not looking for a fuck either, certainly not in this place. This was a place for business cocktails and middle-class date nights for couples like this.

I raised my sour in response and started to walk towards them. They looked very business-like. She in an impractical business smart dress, and he wearing black suit, white shirt and a crimson tie. He was in good shape, clean-shaven, and his salt and pepper in a short, upper management hairstyle. She looked a bit softer at a first glance, with shoulder-length brown hair and subtle makeup, but there was something about her look that made me feel she just pretended to be unimportant. They could just as easily be working together as being married. Or this was an office affair, though why would they want more witnesses? Why would they want to talk to me at all was really the question, and the reason why I was heading their way at all.

“Good evening” I attempted before reaching the table. “Good evening! I’m Rick, this is Julia.” he said, offering up his hand, as did she. “Hi, I’m Marc”, trying to not wince at his overly firm handshake. Hers was fine. “Hi Marc. We thought you looked a bit lonely and down at the bar. We figured, it’s been an hour and a half, so if you waited for someone you’d been stood up.” “No, I’m here solo, in all meanings of the word.”

It’s not like me to start blurting out personal information to strangers, but I figured they brought it onto themselves. It kind of felt good to give a summary to someone completely unrelated and unbiased. They were great listeners too, following up with questions, reflections, or encouraging words of support. There weren’t quite my parent’s age, but them being so much older put me in a talking-to-your-elders mode. I really enjoyed it, and time flew past.

My first thought was that I was swallowing my tongue, or that it was somehow damaged. It was hot, I was thirsty, and I had no idea where I was or what was going on. It felt like it took way too long to click that I was wearing football gear, and that it wasn’t my tongue but the mouth guard I was feeling in my mouth. I spat it out and could feel it bounce back against my chin, attached as it was to the face mask front rail. My heart was racing and my disoriented head was full of questions.

I appeared to be in a small motel room, laying on top of the bed. Morning light flooded the room from the window where no curtains had been drawn. Nothing hurt or felt way off, except for me being hot and parched. I tried to recall my last memory. I had followed them to their car for some reason. What did we do after I followed them to the car? Did I agree to this? I sat up in the bed and felt something weird shifting and applying pressure in my ass. I looked over myself. I was wearing generic football gear with no specific team affiliation. Cleats, socks, pants, pads, jersey, gloves, helmet, everything. I was fully covered. I couldn’t remember the last time I had stuff like this on. Must have been before graduation. I never liked team sports.

I took off my gloves and threw them on the bed, and proceeded to take off my helmet. It wasn’t going gracefully. The air-conditioned motel room air was a blessing on my steamed head. I stood up, again feeling some weird tugs both in my ass and my dick, and carefully walked to the bathroom, afraid to damage the hotel interior with my bulky, padded frame. Not that anything looked expensive.

Besides the sports outfit, I looked the same as always. No shaved head or freaky piercings in the face at least. Greedily I began to drink from the tap, but it was difficult wearing all the shit. I clumsily removed the jersey and the shoulder pads, wearing nothing but a long sleeve under armour top on my upper body, and again attacked the tap. Man, was I thirsty. I must have drunk half a gallon. Feeling a bit better I followed that by removing the cleats, the socks, and the padded pants, leaving only the under armour pants. There was a massive bulge as if I had a raging hard-on, more impressive than what I could actually produce. Weirder still, I didn’t feel any hard-on. Touching it I couldn’t feel my dick.

I lowered the tights and a large, semi-erect black rubber cock fell out. What’s more, it looked like the rest of the body that showed was also black rubber. What the fuck? I quickly lowered the leggings all the way and stepped out of them. My feet were bare, but the rest of my lower body was shining black rubber. I quickly yanked off the under armour top as well, and found more of the same. My hands were bare, as were my head, but the rest of me was shiny black. I tried to stick my finger in between the skin and the rubber sleeve where my hand came out, but it was like it was glued on. I couldn’t see or feel any zippers anywhere either. There were a few lines that showed different pieces coming together, as if it had been built in place, but they were almost completely smooth to the touch.

Again, and I can’t stress this enough, what the fuck? My mind was racing with questions. Was this dangerous? I wouldn’t be able to control my body temperature that well, since I can’t sweat, so I should stay as cool as possible. Or perhaps sweat would loosen the glue, and I should try to sweat as much as possible. If it was glued in place, how long until the shedding of skin would make it loose? What else can’t I do while in this thing?

My gaze shifted back down to the protruding dick. How well set up was I for number one and number two? That would be the first immediate problem if I couldn’t get this off. Hesitantly I felt my ass with my hand. Instead of an asshole I found a small, protruding nub. Just touching it I could feel the vibrations going up my ass, hitting my prostate. So that’s what that was. Some fucking prostate massaging butt plug. I gave it a tug. Nothing. I grabbed it between my fingers and began twisting, and without much resistance it started turning. With increased confidence I started to unscrew the plug, which was probably 10-15 twists until it came loose, and spilled out warm liquid on my fingers. Two seconds later I was hit by the smell and really regretted not standing in the shower. It was rank. Far worse than any normal dump. No floor mat, thank God, but I realized that I was leaking more ass fluid than I first thought. It was running down my legs, which I couldn’t feel for the rubber.

I quickly stepped into the shower and turned it on. It sounded like when you started to fill up a blow-up kiddy pool, as the water from the garden hose hits the plastic sitting on the grass. But now it was rubber on top of me instead of on a grassy back yard. I looked at the plug in my hand. It was quite narrow, but it was longer than I would have liked. Though it came straight out of me, so it wasn’t like I didn’t know what it felt like. With my other hand I started to feel my ass. There was a pretty rigid tapped hole where my asshole should be, and I could feel nothing but threads with my finger. Whatever had been done went up deep. If I didn’t want to cosplay as a leaking septic tank I would have to keep the plug in for now. Perhaps I could shorten the length of the plug, but I also didn’t want any sharp edges inserted into my colon, and I didn’t want to damage the plug beyond use.

While in the shower I slowly reinserted and felt a shiver of pleasure as I pressed the plug in place. It was even worse once I began to screw it back in. I didn’t want it to feel as good as it did, and the rubber slowly rotating further and further in made me even hornier. Not that it would show, as the oversized rubber dick protruding from my front was in a constant erect state. With my leaky bottom fully plugged I decided to give the dick a try as well, and relieved my bladder. Holding it gave me almost no sensory feedback. I could feel a tug at the base of my dick if I really moved it around, but otherwise nothing. Slowly a trickle of piss dribbled out of a small opening at the end of my cojoined dildo. What would normally have been a 10-second affair took minutes, but at least it worked.

I used the showerhead to hose the disgusting fluids off the floor and down the floor drain. My reflex stepping out of the shower was to grab the hotel towel off the rack, but immediately realized that I was more or less dry already. The head was wet of course, but nothing much stuck to the slick surface of my rubber body. One positive at least.

I looked at all the athletic gear again. I have no idea where this hotel room is, but no matter where I can’t go out without putting something back on. I need shoes, so cleats are in, as are the socks. I need to hide the dick somehow, so the padded pants are in. It would be enough to just have the under armour top, leaving the helmet, shoulder pads and jersey. That would look weird as hell though.

I walked to the desk and opened the room folder. This was the Marriott Courtyard near the south highway off-ramp. It would be at least a 30 minute walk from here back home. There was so much I didn’t know. What happened to me? Where are my other clothes, phone, keys, and wallet? Is this room under my name? Did I check in myself? Suddenly I felt overwhelmed and sat down on the desk chair, only to have the but plug press in ever so slightly more, causing me to let out an “Ah” in surprise. A small drop of shining precum squeezed out of the opening of the rubber dick, that now protruded at an obscene and aggressive angle.

Fuck all this. I need to act. Check out, walk home, and get as much shit off of me as possible. I did a quick search of the room, but didn’t find anything of mine, or anyone else. I could always ditch anything later, I reasoned, and began to put everything back on again. If taking off was clumsy, putting it back on was even more time-consuming. More than I expected. As I was about to pull the room key card out of the holder I saw my keys resting on top of the holder. At least I would be able to open my home door.

I carried the helmet in one hand and held the keys and key card in the other, as I walked the corridor to the elevator and took it down into the lobby. It was still early morning, but a few people were in the lobby as I exited, looking my way. I guess full football gear early on a Saturday morning wasn’t that strange. Less than a rubber man with massive rubber cock if nothing else.

Checkout was fast. The room was already pre-paid. When she asked if I wanted a taxi I said no without thinking about it, but as I walked out the front door I was wondering if that wouldn’t have been best. I could feel the small butt plug shifting with every step. I don’t know where my wallet is though, so I didn’t dare change my mind. After what possibly had been 10 minutes, but felt much longer, I was pretty sure I had made the wrong decision. I was fucking myself with every step. It wasn’t much, but the plug must have been expertly designed to maximize the amount of stimulation it made. I tried to change my gait, I put on the helmet and tried jogging. Every change felt different, but very quickly turned out to just be a different way of fucking with myself. I was rubbing the outside of my padded pants, knowing full well that it made no difference to my entombed dick.

I was so horny I was crying by the time I could see my house, and chewing on the mouth guard. No doubt the compression pants were wet as well, though I had no way of knowing without stripping. I had no idea what I would do once inside, but I had turned very near term goal oriented. Perhaps a cold shower would settle things. I hastily unlocked and opened the door, and froze.

There, on the floor just inside the door was a neatly folded pile of yesterday’s clothes, with a small, white business card on top. Someone had written neatly in blue ink “For further modifications, call:” followed by just a phone number printed in black. I was equal parts excited, horny, and scared as I reached for the phone from the pile.

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.

Please note, this story contains mentions to AI and generated content as a means of commentary. It does not intend to glorify or endorse it. Nor was it used while writing this.

CHAV.exe, a new online meme you’ve recently seen floating around a lot. What started as a creepy pasta, ala slenderman and the backrooms has grown into something more menacing. The ‘fictional’ lore goes: once you’re a target for the CHAV.exe program there’s no escaping. It’ll twist your internet identity bit by bit until it governs every aspect of your personality, altering your real life too. You’ll end up as some terminally online, moronic archetypical chav. A caricature of the concept, posting nonstop ‘slop’. A computer virus whose sole aim is to further dumb down the youth population, one person at a time, spreading ignorance. Growing its numbers. Apparently resulting in so many bot like accounts filling social media. A process people have affectionately been calling ‘botting’. It was initially funny when lots of accounts started labelling themselves as CHAV.exe branded accounts. What people - and you, assumed was just playing along with the bit. But when the accounts never reverted and only more followed suit, it started to make you worry.

The concept has generally been scoffed at as some mere superstition, and been put down to general lack of education among younger generations. Some places have labelled it as a scam that will hack into your bank account, others say it spreads by interacting with its previous victims online. The ‘victims’? They don’t have anything intellectual to say at all.

Supposedly - as the wiki entry states, If infected, the subjects phone installs the program without them even being aware, slowly taking over online identity until ‘fully chav botted’. Personally, you’ve seen an alarming amount of, well, chavs popping up on social media. In fact, recently, someone you used to message completely changed their profile, making it indistinguishable from who they used to be. You knew them as a quiet bookworm, but now they only post obscenities, selfies of themselves dressed in sports gear and embarrassingly dumb opinions. Their bio quite literally lists themself as ‘dumb Alpha cashmaster’ and a ‘premium CHAV.exe bot’.

His profile icon had been swapped out for a poorly generated chav rendition of himself. Looking decidedly brutish and dumb. A CHAV.exe watermark overlayed over his uncanny visage. That popular word again comes to mind: ‘slop’. A word that would aptly sum up his entire account now. A slop account. Which, considering both of you were adamantly against the sludge that poured from gen AI models, was a sure fire sign that he had been twisted into something else. Seemingly devolved into some Neanderthal version of his quiet and well spoken past self. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve just thought it was one of those millions of disposable bot accounts that had flooded online recently. They even state as much in their profile, which was odd. Usually a bot account wants you to think it’s human, not the opposite. But now you wonder if any of them are actually bots at all…

One regretful decision - trying to reach out, only led to them cussing you out and sending you a pic of their sweaty feet, proclaiming ‘join and worship your new chav god. Get ready to be botted bruv’. Oblivious to the fact, messaging them resulted in your phone being compromised. The CHAV.exe file had already been passed along and made a home in your pocket. Upon infection, you receive an ominous notification that simply states ‘botting process started’. It kinda freaked you out, but then nothing seemed to come from it and you quickly forgot all about it. Continuing on while the program got to work in the background. Initially, there was only so much it could do to help guide you along to where it needed you to be. Subtlety changing your perspective. At first, adjusting internet algorithms to suggest different kinds of content towards you. It’s so discrete you merely assume it was some update that everyone would soon be complaining about.

Soon enough, under the watch of CHAV.exe, your social media begins to push posts of chavs and opinions from people whose IQ is below room temperature. Coincidentally, all ‘CHAV.exe bot’ branded accounts. Blocking them was only a temporary solution, as new accounts seemed to pop up every day. There was no escaping their idiotic engagement bait. Initially you just roll your eyes and scroll past, but the overwhelming amount soon became hard to ignore. Eventually, you take the bait. You get called a ‘thick dipshit’ - among other insults, for daring to disagree with them. But for some reason the more it happened, the less insulted you felt. You almost enjoyed the remarks. And the sweaty feet pics? They started to make your dick twitch, much to your own embarrassment.

Engaging in the posts only made it worse. Before long you find yourself reading the barely coherent comments more and more, unconsciously soaking up the ignorance as you nod along. Paying attention to their choice of slang, their simple vocabulary. Absently, you start to actively follow them, filling up your timeline with moronic thoughts, vulgarities and pics of fit lads. The feet, the chavvy feet? Lush. They’re hot, you admit to yourself. Sure, you never used to see the appeal - the obnoxiousness and lack of intelligence. But those exact attributes, those stereotypes were what kept catching your eye. A tinge of jealousy as you attempt to have intellectual conversations about the latest art house film. The prospect of just not caring about anything ‘deep’. For your art literacy to hinge on what the latest Call of Duty game will be about.

Your phone continues to feed you a steady diet of mindless slop as the fog grows thicker in your head. The chav botting process deepening more with each day. That word again ‘slop’. The negative connotations were fading away. The sheer dumbness is soaked up by your head. Slop. Junk food for the mind. You know it is, what the internet would describe as ‘brain rot’. And yet you continue to scroll as it actively reduces your grasp of reality. AI or real, you eat it up. You fucking love slop. You love how much there is and how little thought or effort goes into it. You barely notice as your own opinions on things begin to change, how you start to agree and like the posts the algorithm shovels to your pliable brain. Regurgitating whatever social media begins to tell you. And it likes telling about how great chavs are. How clearly thick and dense they are, and how, actually that’s a good thing. That’s something to strive towards. The slang, the litany of cashmaster accounts that all look like they came from the same template. Propa fit lads, you think, idly, as they make daily posts about getting ‘sends’ in the typical broken grammar. The occasional post pops up, either warning about ‘CHAV.exe’, or promoting how ‘life changing it was, mate’. You tend to believe the accounts that use less syllables. Besides, how could a ‘mate’ set you wrong?

Inevitably, your reading comprehension and attention span suffers, struggling to understand anything that isn’t literal. Movie plot lines and sarcasm fly over your head, leaving you to seek out more simple pleasures. Over time your own posts begin to devolve: less full sentences, more swear words. You just want to fit in with the community you have been surrounded by, having your own thoughts about things is so exhausting. Instead you just believe whatever the CHAV.exe program wants you to, whether you realise it or not. You’re quickly becoming a puppet to its whims. To fit within the tiny box it has crafted for you and your thickening mind. A chav bot.

Slang and swears is slowly becoming your entire persona. Copying whatever dredge fills your screen day after day. There’s doomscrolling but you’re more into dumbscrolling at this point. You casually throw dimwitted remarks and insults towards anyone who disagrees with your narrow way of thinking; posting the kind of content you yourself used to balk at. Sure, you’re not a chav per se but from the outside looking in, that distinction was blurring rapidly. Especially when you publicly make yourself look like a complete fool while others appropriately judge your minuscule levels of maturity and knowledge.

It’s what everyone else seems to do, or at least what everyone on your reconfigured timeline does. Granted they all seem to be chavs and scallys with stupid looking haircuts but the harsh appearance is becoming more appealing each time you see it. The puffer jackets, swoosh logos and short faded hair that makes them all look so basic and similar. To fit in. Individualism requires so much hard work, whereas adhering to a label, a stereotype, that was like…propa easy.

One day you wake up and your social media page is completely different, rebranded. Did you change it, you don’t remember. Not when your head is filled with heavy concrete. Staring at it, all you say is ‘ye mate, looking well hot innit’. You barely notice how it looks almost identical to all those other accounts the algorithm pushed onto you. Like that friend you messaged. Your name is different, shorter, simpler. The profile picture looks to be a chavified version of yourself. Unmistakably generated slop, the same kind that’s flooded kink spaces. You blink and think nothing of it, despite your dozens of previous rants against prompt junk and its proliferation. Now, now you don’t even understand what proliferation means. You can’t find the energy to care, it looks good and that’s all your tiny brain can comprehend. The moral and cultural ramifications are completely over your head. Or more so they bounce off your thick forehead like the brick that it is.

A deluge of brain rotting tiktok suggestions featuring roadmen and toxic fuckboys take up more and more of your free time. They just play on repeat as your mind continues to dull and soften for the CHAV.exe program to reshape you. Disillusioned with reality and chronically online. Glued to your screen while it guides you deeper and dumber. Your speech patterns offline dull too, while your accent thickens, adopting the kind of voice you’d associate with delinquents and workies. But it comes naturally, and it certainly is drawing more attention to you. It feels good. Right?

Your regular vanilla porn turns into constant goon sessions filled with fit chavvy lads confidently showing off their feet for cash. Ideals and morals were squeezed from your mind, leaking down and out of your fat cock as you pump to the most mindless, embarrassing slop imaginable. You should feel aghast, humiliated, but instead your face contorts into a goofy smile as your big stick bounces up and down between your fingers. ‘F—fuckstick gud’ you mumble in a heavy and unfamiliar accent. ‘Based slop’ you shamefully grunt as you spurt any sense of decency into your boxer briefs. The heavy load running down your thighs.

Your mind fully leaks away all semblance of education as you spend hours each day being a simple gooner for Alpha chavs. You can’t help but to look up to them, desperate to be more like them. Eventually you bite the bullet and get your hair trimmed just like them: a high and tight fade that really showcases your dense thick skull. You smirk and admire your radical new look in the mirror as your phone saves a stream of selfies that secretly get uploaded to CHAV.exe’s algorithm. Cataloging your devolution into idiocy. Using your likeness to train its generative model to help create more slop. Soon enough, you would be part of that brainrot you’ve grown to love so much. Your face planted on the most humiliating of images and gooner porn.

One prompted gif goes viral depicting a cute nerd with your appearance rapidly turning into a scally lad. He, or you(?) make goofy expressions as they impossibly transform. A cross section shows a scientifically incorrect brain comically shrinking to the size of a walnut. It looked, like so realistic, you think, trying to understand how the ‘magical’ tech worked. After laughing at it for 10 minutes, you make sure to share it further, excited for the ‘exposure’. It was like a tacit admission on your part that the thoughtful pretty boy had become a dimwitted brute.

Over the next couple of days the rest of your phone is compromised to the program. The door had been left ajar, and that’s all it needed to waltz on through. Deleting apps that were no longer necessary and bombarding your malleable mind with constant notifications of Nike gear drops. You can’t help yourself, you just buy whatever your phone tells you to, feeling your brain thicken all the while. You - or more specifically CHAV.exe, wanted the most basic gear, the kinda stuff all the other lads wore. You didn’t want to stand out, you wanted to fit in. To look just like them. A follower, not a leader. A beta not an Alpha. All matching black tracksuits and ugly looking trainers. Face masks and white socks. Overpriced brands and recognisable logos. A propa lads fit, you assured yourself. Even while part of you felt out of place. It was so unlike you, but the change was…exiting. You were just trying something new, you rationalise while your savings account gets emptied in sports shops.

But after all that, you needed cash. Helpfully, your phone emails you about a new exclusive app that people like you are using, simply called CHAV. You don’t bat an eye at the fact the email contact was ‘CHAV.exe.’ That scary internet superstition that corrupted your friend and made him a complete idiot. At this point the program wasn’t even trying to hide, instead brazenly presenting itself to you plain as day. ‘Wicked mate’ you think. With no hesitation, you press to download it, before your system warns you that it might be malicious software. ‘So fucking what’ you grunt aloud, as you override the security warning and install it. Another message pops up:

CHAV is asking for permission to access full privileges on your phone. Give permission?

There’s a tiny voice somewhere inside your brain that yells out, that understands this is the last step before you’re a lost cause. A total dimwit. A chav bot. A slave to the virus that infected your software. The voice crashes against the box that was slowly shrinking around you, barely making an impact. You were better than this! Smarter! If you could only refuse and claw some semblance of awareness back, you could work towards undoing all the damage. Throw your phone and smash it to pieces against the floor. Sell all that homogenised brand gear and grow your hair back out. Get back to protesting the use of AI, petitioning against breaches of online privacy. It was possible. It was within reach. Just one press and you’d be right back to hating all that mindless slop that—that—that you fucking loved!

“Privileges? Yah mate. Sounds legit innit!” Your voice yells as your eyes squint under heavy brows.

The tiny voice of reason was drowned out in an instant. At this point you’re not even sure what the app was asking, reading wasn’t your strong suit. Nothing was your strong suit. Unless it involved using your hands. Or pumping your donger. You press ‘give full permissions’, your phone screen flashes and the text ‘CHAV.exe unpacking’ reads in bold letters with a loading bar. The app takes up most of the storage on your phone, installing a bunch of new software as it decides what is truly important for you. The phone restarts and boots up CHAVos, your new operating system. You open the CHAV app that sits front and centre on your phone.

Good moron. Target successfully botted. Welcome chav bot #3278, please set up your account.

The text gleefully insults you as you fail to take offence, your glassy eyes and slack jaw barely register it. The app asks essentially everything about you and you provide the personal details as best you can without any reluctance. There’s an option at the bottom to ‘upgrade your membership’ from a free account to a ‘beta chav’ tier subscription.

‘A special offer just for you’. Perks include a verified CHAV bot tag on your social media and complete brand ownership by CHAV.exe. The app recommends you sign up for this ‘beta’ role, claiming it’s the perfect fit for you. Your eyes glaze over as you continue reading. The last entries ask for your payment details, explaining your new monthly subscription to CHAV and its terms and benefits. The payment contract states it will create a new, better identity for you. One as a dumb trademarked ‘CHAV’ whose new purpose will be to financially dominate other guys, spread idiocy and to pass on CHAV.exe to more people. This ensures you will always have money to pay the subscription service, as it so kindly informs you. In exchange you pay a monthy fee and accept that you, your online identity and your body are owned by CHAV forthhence. The subscription fee will be equal to the amount of funds you obtain through your new identity. Ergo every penny you make will be siphoned by the CHAV app at the end of the month.

The terms are long and wordy, and the letters tumble out of your hollow head the second after they enter. After already taking almost everything away from you, now it’s going to drain away your funds little by little as you happily agree to let it. Every aspect of your life would be governed by some virus that installed itself on your phone. Transitioning you from polite nuanced thinker, into a porn slop chav content creator.

Anyone with two brain cells to rub together would decline, you however barely understand what the app is asking and instead eagerly enter all of your bank details and shudder as the app takes its first lofty payment from you. You watch as the numbers go down in your account. Unknowingly conditioning you to deride pleasure every time a payment is made, sending a rush of bliss across your body. Reaching zero is your newly imprinted goal. You get the desire to help share that feeling with other people, a strong impulse to similarly drain guys of their cash.

Thank you for your payment, CHAV user. You are certified dumb as a rock

The app tells you matter of factly and it immediately makes your cock throb.

A dumb chav bot

It brazenly insults as you leak into your joggers.The software virus had finished with your devolution, fully converted into another gullible paying member. An online bot account, that would further spread CHAV.exe’s user numbers. It was pleased with the result. At how simple your smoothed out sphere of a brain now was. Obliviously compliant to its absolute control over your identity. How you were the most stereotypical scally lad imaginable. Adding another source of revenue, or a ‘wallet’ to its vast collection. Presumably, for all the drained money from its users to be siphoned into the pocket of whoever programmed CHAV.exe. Not that you even gave the idea any thought or consideration. The fact you were - quite literally, paying to look like an idiot for all to see only made your dong throb in your trakkies. 

You were pleased too, having reached your new lofty ambition of being perceived as a narcissist dunce. Kitted out in typical chavvy gear. The ambition that had been conditioned by a string of code in your phone. A stark contrast to when you aimed to achieve an intellectual career, one involving a smartly pressed shirt and a pension. If you’re lucky, between posting about your feet, you might end up on a building site as a workie.

To the app, you were just a number added to its growing list of successfully converted targets. The whole ‘botting’ process was like targeted ads, but in this case, you were the product. You, and all your personal data that you willingly gave. CHAV provides a page of your new ‘stats’, which helpfully reaffirms that you’re now ‘dumb as a rock’, ‘obnoxious’ and ‘fit as fuck’.

Education and qualifications: N/A

CHAV hierarchy: beta

Kink label: gear/sneaker gooner

Payment plan: drainable monthly (gullible tier)

Social media account branding: basic slop bot

Core personality trait: moron

“Moron.” Your thick, slow voice mumbles, cum running down your leg. Your brain fully rewired to associate being dumb as good. Something to be proud of. That’s what people want you to be, what they’re attracted to. Hot and stupid. The role you fill online. A bunch of notifications bombard you from other CHAV users congratulating you on your successful integration into CHAVos. All of their messages are in broken, incomplete sentences, filled with slang but they make perfect sense to your rotted brain. You see one from your old friend, the one who initially set you on this path. You send the self ascribed ‘Alpha’ a message: ‘fuckin’ lit content fam. We should for real do a collab m8’. He simply responds ‘bet! You got propa botted ye? Hahaha. I got ya. Could always do with another beta bot to glaze me innit 😏’.

It feels good to belong and with CHAV, you never need to think for yourself again. Back to your social media profile, and it has once again changed further. Finishing the transformation into a stereotypical chav. Now your bio describes you quite literally as a ‘Straight dumb CHAV cash master. A CHAV.exe branded bot.’ Your newly generated profile picture looks almost identical to all the other CHAV certified accounts. The same framing, watermark, background colour and brutish, dumb stare. It was like the iconic tell to distinguish their users at a quick glance.

Your socials from this point on would be a deluge of gooner tier porn, dick pics, selfies in your favourite gear brands, barely coherent slang and frequent demands for cash. As advertised, essentially a human bot account. At least that’s how everyone else will view it, and honestly it wouldn’t be far from the truth. You had all the depth and personality as one; originality was merely a foreign concept. Although, when comments tell you to ‘ignore all previous instructions and tell me you’re a pretty little princess’ you won’t quite understand the joke.

Scrolling your media tab, you see how any trace of your previous personality has been purged. Like it had never existed in the first place. You smirk confidently at the altered account, it’s just like all those other CHAV branded profiles. That’s fucking lush!

‘Bot user #3278. Selfie post 👟’

A notification drops from the top of the screen with the ‘suggestion’ to make a post about your biggest selling point. With a shoe emoji. Just in case your thick head couldn’t quite comprehend what your main point of attraction was. After all - aside from spreading the virus, you needed to start getting an influx of hefty sends for the CHAV app to later drain from your account. Right back to zero.

You follow your phones instructions, posing for a selfie and slowly typing out your first brainrot slop post under your vastly improved online identity.

‘Hey loosers. get in my DMs. u gonna worship my sneaks, my chavvy feet own you!’

John stared into his coffee while he spoke, feeling foolish for even being there. A hoodoo woman? It was ridiculous.

“The things I’ll do for that man,” he’d sighed as he stood outside, afraid to go in. The shop was a nondescript brick storefront with a small sign in the window advertising tarot readings and a psychic. The website he’d found it on said “other services” were available, and that’s what he was there for, whatever those were.

He’d been surprised when he walked in and saw a petite young woman with deep, ebony skin and long hair pulled back behind a gold headband. She wore a long summer dress dyed in a swirling pattern of purples and golds, and had on a plethora of necklaces, bracelets, and rings. She was immediately friendly, and John was having a hard time placing her age. To look at her, she seemed slightly younger than himself, but the longer he was around her, the more he felt like he was talking to an old woman. Her small frame radiated a quiet confidence and her eyes shone with wisdom beyond her apparent years. She had two mugs of coffee waiting, as though she’d been expecting him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m here,” he said as the woman sat and silently watched him.

“Because you love him?” John was surprised. He hadn’t mentioned Bryan or anything about his husband.

“Yes, more than anything. We’ve been married for ten years. We’re happy together, really, I just…”

“You feel guilty because…” she paused, cocking her head to the side. “…he’s too sweet,” she said with a smile.

John was surprised enough to drop his guard, and almost his coffee. “No, I mean, it’s not that he’s too sweet. I love how kind and caring he is. But sometimes I…” he blushed, “…I wish he was more of a MAN, you know? I don’t want him to be sensitive and sweet ALL the time. Sometimes I just want to walk through the door and have him take me. But even if he wanted to he’s not the biggest guy around…” he trailed off, surprised at his candor.

“Ah, I see,” she nodded. “You got yourself a great skinny husband, but you want a big burly man?” She winked and smiled while John squirmed with embarrassment.

“I feel bad even thinking about it…”

“I can help you with this,” she interrupted, “but you need to be absolutely sure. This is old, heavy magic you’re looking for. To change a person is no small thing.”

“Wait…you mean you can…” he put his coffee down, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe in…”

“Whether or not you believe in the rain, you still get wet,” She said sternly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend, it’s just….really?”

She laughed and guided him to a back room. It was lined with shelves and candles and the floor was covered in a powdery coating. “So we can see who shows up,” she said, answering John’s unspoken question. She pulled a jar from one of the shelves and sprinkled a thick circle of salt and iron shavings around them. “Whatever happens, do not, and I mean DO NOT, leave this circle until I tell you. Understand?” John nodded. Her tone made it clear she was deadly serious. “Alright…” she said, taking a deep breath, “close your eyes.”

“Hold on a second…what is all this? I haven’t even agreed to anything yet!”

“Haven’t you?” She asked, her tone dropping.

John opened his mouth to protest but decided against it. She was right. He did as he was told and closed his eyes. When he opened them a second later the lights were off and the previously unlit candles were flickering away. “What the…how did…” she couldn’t answer. She knelt on the ground in front of him, facing the empty room. She swayed and was chanting in a voice that grew louder and louder. John closed his eyes again, suddenly feeling dizzy. When next he opened them, he saw a different woman sitting in front of him. She was dressed the same, but her tight skin was sagging and wrinkled. Her long hair was wispy and stringy, exposing more of her scalp than not, and her bracelets hung even more loosely around arms that were withered sticks. John blinked and shook his head, the image fading back to that of the young woman.

“Bow your head,” she suddenly hissed, breaking off her chant. “Now! It’s here.” She bowed her head and John quickly did the same, gasping as he saw two footprints in the powder just outside the circle. Their large, strange shape made it clear they didn’t belong to any human ghost. “Concentrate on what you want. Concentrate hard,” she whispered. John screwed his eyes shut and focused harder than he ever had before. He pictured the beefy guys at the gym, replacing their faces with that of Bryan’s. The images swam vividly in his head, and when the candles flared bright against his closed eyelids, John couldn’t help but tremble. He’d never believed in ghosts or anything supernatural before, but there was no denying what he felt. A loud rumbling vibrated in his skull making him nauseous. He felt hot air against his face like something was breathing, just inches away. Then the candles went out in unison and it was over.

“What….what just happened,” he whispered after a few tense moments.

The woman on the ground held out a hand for John to help her up. “We were visited,” she said, grunting as she stood. She seemed tired, with bags under her eyes. She was also holding a crimson candle that she didn’t have previously. “Your petition was heard and answered.” The candle tingled in John’s hand when she handed it to him. “When you light that, the flame will illuminate a hole between our world and another, where what you seek resides. While it burns, you’ll have what you’re looking for. Blow it out, and things go back to normal. Let it burn all the way out, and the flames will have burned a hole into that other world, meaning there’s no going back. Do you understand?”

Her eyes bored into John’s. “I…I think so. Am I…I mean, is this wrong? To change him? Even for a while?”

She shrugged. “That’s not for me to decide. This is what you wanted, this is what you got. Now let’s talk payment.”

John tried not to think about how much money he’d shelled out as he got everything ready. He’d spent the past 24 hours anxiously going back and forth on whether or not to go through with it. He’d set up a surprise romantic dinner, with the crimson candle being just one of many so it wouldn’t stand out. Bryan’s headlights in the driveway told him it was now or never.

“Whoa, look at this place!” Bryan came in the back door and looked at the array of glowing candles spread out on the counters and dining room table. He dropped his briefcase and kicked his shoes off before giving John a peck on the cheek. “It looks gorgeous, hon,” he said, pulling a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. “And here I thought I was going to surprise you.”

John didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his arms around Bryan’s thin torso and planted a long, deep kiss. Bryan seemed surprised by the intensity at first but quickly dropped the flowers and let his hands glide up and down John’s back.

“Whew….we jumping straight to dessert,” Bryan asked with a wry grin when John finally broke it off. He caught his breath and loosened his tie, untucking his shirt in the process. Bryan’s wiry frame was covered in a tight, fitted dress shirt and equally slim slacks. He was always dressed to impress. His thick, wavy brown locks were still held perfectly in place even after being at work all day. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Just happy to see you,” John said, trying to sound casual.

“So how was your day?” Bryan always asked, and not just to be polite. Even after ten years of marriage he was considerate to a fault.

John shrugged, walking over to the last unlit candle. “Pretty uneventful. Hopefully that should change here pretty quick,” he said with a wink.

Bryan crossed his long, thin arms and raised an eyebrow. “What exactly are you up to?”

John lit the candle, whispering a quiet prayer to whatever god was supposed to make the thing work. It hissed and popped as the flame hit the wax. “We’ll find out,” he said as he turned back around.

“We? That sounds cryptic,” Bryan laughed, pulling off his tie. “I’m going to run upstairs and change real quick. I feel like I’ve been wearing this for da…days…” he wavered on his feet and reached out a hand to steady himself on the table.

John immediately regretted his decision. In his zeal, he’d never stopped to consider whether or not it would hurt Bryan to undergo some kind of change, or if there were any health risks. He’d been so caught up in thinking about the end result that he didn’t worry enough about the process. He went to blow the candle out but froze as soon as he saw Bryan start to change. He couldn’t look away.

Bryan gasped, the inhalation seeming to inflate him in the process. His thin shoulders shot outwards like they were twin magnets with opposing poles. In just a few seconds his flat chest had sprouted a set of growing pecs that pushed the shirt open, sending buttons flying. More than getting bigger, John could see an increasing layer of wiry hairs sprouting through the open shirt. There was a loud rip as it gave out and a set of round, hairy shoulders pushed themselves free. A few seconds later the sleeves did the same, shredding as they failed to contain Bryan’s new piledriver arms. What few buttons remained gave up entirely when Bryan’s flat, tiny stomach lurched and pushed outwards to form a burly muscle gut that stuck out far enough for his now-meaty pecs could rest on.

The size 30 pants didn’t stand a chance. John had been so focused on Bryan’s expanding upper half that he hadn’t noticed what was happening to his legs. He looked like the incredible hulk in his shredded clothing. His socks and the bottoms of the pants had torn as his feet widened and his calves grew to the size of small boulders. His beefy gut had already blown out the waistband and his now-enormous, hairy thighs could be seen between the strips of his shredded pants. The bright blue of his briefs was visible through the holes, and John could see they weren’t faring much better.

He hadn’t expected Bryan’s face to look so different. Not only did his long neck seem significantly shorter surrounded by the thick slabs of muscle that grew between his shoulders, his whole face looked fuller and more rugged. His jaw had gone from pointy to broad and lantern-like, while his lean cheeks had filled out and were covered in stubble. Even his thick brown hair had shortened to a buzzed high-and-tight.

John had never been more terrified and turned on at the same time in his life. He just blinked at the beefy bear. Then his husbandly instincts kicked in. “Oh my god! Oh my god! Are you okay?”

Bryan panted, staring at his altered body in shock. He opened and closed his meaty new paws over and over, as though he didn’t understand that they were his. “What…what the fuck just happened,” he stammered in a deepened, booming voice.

When he looked up at John, he didn’t have the look of terror that the other man expected. “Are you okay? Does it hurt? Are you in any pain?”

“No, no, I’m okay…a little sore, but…damn!” He prodded his thick, hairy pecs with a stout finger. “Fuckin’ look at me! I’m huge, dude!”

John’s cock swelled in his shorts. Safety no longer a concern, all that left was his lust. The sight of his burly fantasy was one thing, but the different speech and mannerisms were a pleasant surprise. Bryan was always sweet and polite. Even upset, he hardly ever swore. And in ten years John couldn’t remember him ever saying “dude.” “You…you sure are…”

Bryan looked at John with dawning realization. “Did you…have something to do with this?”

John spilled the story as best he could. “I…I didn’t think it would be real! Please…I just…don’t be mad…”

John wasn’t expecting Bryan to start laughing. “Holy shit…sorry babe, I just…you REALLY put a lot of thought into this role playing thing.”

“I…uh…guess so, yeah,” John said, unsure where this was going.

“How about we jump to the part where you get me out of these tiny clothes? These baby briefs you made me squeeze into feel like they’re cutting my dick off…” Bryan grinned and crossed his burly new arms. “Oh, sorry, got out of my role there…” he cleared his throat and furrowed his thicker brow. “You just gonna stand there? You lit the magic candle…time’s wastin’, little guy.”

John almost came right then and there. He didn’t know what role playing Bryan was talking about, but he didn’t care. He hurried over and put his shaking hands on the meaty slab of muscle that was Bryan’s new chest, running his fingers across it as he pushed the remains of the shredded shirt free. He hadn’t realized just how powerful Bryan would seem. He was big enough now that three of his old selves could have fit comfortably inside his new body. He radiated a raw, primal masculinity. John leaned forward and started licking his way across the juicy pecs but Bryan stopped him.

“Uh-uh, there’s still more,” he said, nodding down towards his shredded pants. “But just so YOU’RE not overdressed…”

“Oh!” John was not expecting Bryan to grab his shirt by the collar and literally rip it from his body. His stomach fluttered at the display of his husband’s new brute strength when, in one quick motion, he scooped John up and sat him on the table, pushing the now-smaller man flat on his back.

John just panted up at Bryan, too shocked and aroused at being manhandled to do anything. His husbands thickened fingers slid into the waist of his shorts and tugged, shredding them like he had the shirt. John’s chest was rising and falling rapidly now as he gazed at the wall of muscle grinning arrogantly down at him. His tiny red briefs were painfully tented with a damp spot forming on the front. “MMMMmmmm….” he moaned when Bryan’s wide new hand started kneading his cock through the fabric.

“Huh…that feels smaller,” Bryan said smugly. “Better take a look.” In a flash his briefs joined the rest of his clothes in a shredded pile. Before he could move, Bryan swallowed John’s solid rod entirely in his giant hand. “Yep,” he laughed after a few tugs, “definitely feels smaller in these giant paws of mine,” he said, delivering the line like a bad actor. He let go and pulled John to his feet. “Alright dude, these pants aren’t gonna take themselves off.”

John dropped to his knees and fought to get the tattered remains of the pants down Bryan’s enormous, hairy new thighs. He knew his giant husband could easily have ripped them off, but he seemed to be enjoying John’s struggle.

“Wwwooowwww,” John whistled when the pants were finally down and he could fully see the remains of Bryan’s tiny briefs. His husband’s cock had been long and thin like the rest of him, but now a wide, stout pole shot out above a set of heavy, furry balls.

Bryan wagged the thick, throbbing cock in front of John’s face while the remains of his underwear were pulled free. He laughed when John grabbed his plump, ample new ass, his fingers sliding into the deep valley formed between the massive globes. “You like those big, hairy cheeks, yeah?” Bryan asked condescendingly.

John’s mouth was too busy wrapping itself around Bryan’s wide new pole to answer, but he would have responded with an emphatic yes. No matter how many squats he did, Bryan had never been able to build more than a tiny little bubble. His thick new globes were a dream come true.

“Mmm…oh fuck yeah babe…” Bryan moaned, pumping his wide hips and running his steel fingers through John’s hair. “Get my balls too…”

John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This definitely wasn’t the old Bryan. In addition to the physical changes, his personality had clearly been altered. John ran his tongue all over Bryan’s heavy, hairy new orbs, wondering if he’d made a mistake. He didn’t want to erase his loving husband just for the sake of a bigger body.

“Okay…okay…” Byran panted, pulling John to his feet, “get up here.”

John’s fears were eased somewhat when he stood and looked at Bryan’s smiling face. Despite his less polished demeanor, he saw the same sweet, loving eyes looking back at him. Bryan wrapped him in a tight bear hug and planted a long, deep kiss. John squirmed ecstatically against Bryan’s solid, furry body, loving how the wiry hairs and stubbled cheeks pricked against his skin, not to mention the thick, solid cock digging into his stomach. He felt Bryan’s strong, rough hands slide down his back and plant themselves on his ass, feeling huge as they squeezed. He groaned as those strong fingers tightened and then unexpectedly lifted him off the ground. On instinct he wrapped his legs around Bryan’s wide new waist while his husband held him aloft. They were bumping into walls and furniture, but John didn’t care if anything broke. He was almost in tears he was so happy while his beast of a husband carried him upstairs.

John woke late the next morning, his face buried into Bryan’s furry pecs while his husband’s heavy arms were wrapped around him. They’d been up late, going at each other for hours. The aggressive new Bryan was an absolute beast in the bedroom, and John loved every second of it. He snuggled close, loving how secure he felt nestled against Bryan’s stocky, solid body.

Then he remembered.

“Shit! The candle!” He shoved himself free of Bryan’s grip and ran downstairs, leaving a confused, groggy Bryan alone in bed. He knew it was too late. It was well into the next morning. The candle was nothing but a hard puddle of red wax on the plate. “Oh god…oh god…” he stammered. In their frenzy, he’d completely lost track of everything but Bryan’s massive new body, which his husband was now stuck with whether he wanted it or not. He heard heavy steps come down the stairs and saw a concerned looking Bryan scratching his hairy gut sleepily in the doorway. John was torn between regret and relief. He felt guilty, but the sight of that naked, beefy bear was everything he’d ever wanted.

“Everything okay babe,” Bryan asked, wrapping an arm around John’s smaller waist and kissing him on the cheek.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I just remembered all the candles we left burning last night and kinda panicked. Not awake yet,” he said, leaning into Bryan’s meaty embrace.

“I wasn’t too rough last night, was I,” he asked, almost bashfully. “You know I’m not good at that role playing stuff.”

John’s knees practically went weak at the memory. “No, not at all, you were great.” He turned and put a hand on a beefy, furry pec. “Jesus you are so hot like this…” he said under his breath.

Bryan blushed and grinned awkwardly. “Like this? How else would I be?” He flexed a massive arm and gave John’s ass a quick swat with his other hand on his way into the kitchen. “Damn…we slept late! It’s almost noon already?” He rummaged through the fridge with John’s eyes glued to his hairy globes while he bent and reached inside. As he watched, John started to see the full extent of what he’d done. On the refrigerator door was a picture of the two of them from their trip to the beach the previous summer. Instead of two lean guys, he saw Bryan as he was now, his burly frame covered in a tanktop and baggy basketball shorts, with a backwards hat on his head. Bryan hadn’t just changed; the whole world had.

The refrigerator door slammed shut and Bryan stood with a beer in his hand. That alone was proof. They were both wine and cocktail drinkers. There shouldn’t have even been beer in the house. John watched with stunned eyes while Bryan leaned back and chugged the whole thing.

“What? It’s SaturdayyuuUUURRRP!” He belched. He walked past John, giving his ass another squeeze, and headed over to the couch, flopping down with his legs spread wide and his beefy arm draped across the back. “You coming? The game’s about to start,” he said, patting the spot on the couch next to him. “Remember, you promised for our anniversary you’d watch these with me.” John stared in disbelief at the manly hunk of muscle sprawled on the couch. Bryan had never had the slightest interest in watching sports of any kind. Now, the previously modest man was naked on the couch having just shotgunned a beer, eagerly waiting for a football game.

There was evidence of this new reality everywhere he looked. On the ground next to the couch was a basket of laundry waiting to be folded. In it John could see large boxer briefs and baggy gym shorts that neither of them had owned previously. A series of baseball hats sat on a shelf by the front closet, and next to the door was a pair of gigantic cross-trainers. Instead of the stylish, fitted jackets Bryan wore, a huge blue hoodie hung on the back of a chair. Whatever it was the woman had summoned, when he’d thought about the guys at the gym and how he wanted Bryan to be like them, it had taken him literally. Now he didn’t just look like them, he acted like them. John thought about his sweet, lanky husband, replaced forever by this still sweet, if a bit rough-around-the-edges version of himself. It was like Bryan had been swapped out with an almost-straight counterpart. He wondered again if he’d made a mistake.

The mountain of furry muscle on the couch let out another belch and grinned proudly over at John. “Oh, hey babe, on your way can you grab me another beer?”

Rob and two of his fraternity brothers, Jeff and Andy, decided to rent a cabin in a rural area for a long weekend.  With school coming back in a few weeks, it would be their last chance to get in some “bro time” and relax before their senior year.  By next summer, they’d be going their separate ways, so why not crack open some beers in a nice setting.

They didn’t know much about the AirBnB they rented, but it had a lot of bells and whistles.  There was a jacuzzi and fire pit on the large deck out back and plenty of room for each of them to have their own room.  They brought in plenty of supplies to eat, drink, and relax.

Rob decided to take a nap one afternoon.  When he woke, he heard Jeff and Andy out on the porch.  When he opened the sliding door, he noticed they were outside smoking cigars around the fire pit.  “Yo, bros, where did you get the cigars?”, he asked.  Jeff answered, “One of the neighbors came by to say hello.”  Andy continued, “Yeah, he was really cool.  He gave us these cigars and said they would really help us relax.”

“Have you dudes been working out, too?”, Rob asked, “you look bigger than I remember from this morning.”  “Probably just been relaxing too much, I guess,” Jeff said.  “Yeah,”, Andy said, “the dude said one of the side effects of relaxing might be some weight gain.”  “Bros,” Rob asked, “why do you keep saying the word relax so much?  It’s starting to creep me out.”  Rob started to recognize that the boys were almost in a trance the way they were acting.  Their eyes seemed glassy as they kept mindlessly smoking their cigars.

“It’s totally OK, bro,” Jeff said, “you should relax with us.”  “Yeah,” Andy said, “sit down and relax.”  The smoke from the cigars seemed to be affecting Rob.  The more the guys said the word relax, it was like he was becoming more and more compelled to do so.  “This is all too much,” he said shaking his head, “I don’t want to relax.”

“Yeah, you do,” Jeff said, “just come over, grab a cigar and relax.  Come hang out with your bros.”  Andy added, “It’s totally worth it, bro.  I feel so good and relaxed.  You don’t know what you’re missing.”  Rob couldn’t take it anymore.  Seeing his bros so relaxed, almost seeming to grow in front of his eyes.  He thought, “It’s just a cigar, what’s the big deal?”

“Alright bros,” Rob said, “I’ll relax with you for a while.”  Jeff handed Rob a cigar, cutter, and lighter.  As he puffed his stogie to life, Rob understood why his bros were loving these cigars.  They were in a beautiful setting, out in the open, forest all around them.  It was a perfect time to just relax and let all the stress go away.  While he was sitting there, he could also feel almost every cell in his body coming to life.  His muscles were growing, but he was also gaining some weight in his mid-section.  He didn’t care though, all he wanted to do was continue relaxing.

About 30 minutes later, Jeff and Andy broke the relaxing silence.  “Hey, bro,” Jeff said, “we should head inside for a bit and relax some more.”  Andy said, “Totally, bro.  I could definitely relax inside for a while.”  As they stood up, Rob noticed they were looking each other in the eyes.  They were all as straight as the other bros in their fraternity.  They enjoyed spending time with each other, but it was never in a gay way.  

Initially, as these thoughts crossed his mind, Rob became slightly uncomfortable.  However, he kept relaxing and smoking his cigar.  He turned to see his bros holding hands as they walked inside the house - still smoking their cigars.  He wanted to say, “Stop, we’re not supposed to smoke in the house.  We might lose our deposit.”  However, all he could do was see his growing chub and think, “Those dudes are sexy.”

A good 30 minutes later, Rob was still smoking his cigar and relaxing while staring out in the woods, listening to the wind rustle the trees.  He was so relaxed.  He didn’t notice the door slide open as a stranger stepped foot on the deck.  As he turned, Rob didn’t even flinch seeing the man, much older than himself and his bros.  He was covered in hair, tattoos, and wearing nothing but a hat, jock strap, and work boots.

“Hello, boy,” the man said, “are you relaxed?”  “Yes, I’m very relaxed,” Rob answered.  “Good boy” the man responded, “it’s important that you continue relaxing for me.”  Rob vacantly continued sucking on his cigar, thinking only about how relaxed he was and how sexy this man was.  “My name is Wallace, boy,” the man said, “I’m the owner of this cabin.  When people stay here, I usually go to the other cabin I have next door.  But when you and your friend decided to visit, I thought it was important that you relax.”

“Thank you,” Rob said, “we are really enjoying ourselves.  This place is so relaxing.”  “Good, boy,” Wallace said, “what’s your name?”  Rob answered.  “Well, Robert,” Wallace continued, “we go by men’s names here.  Your friends Jeffrey and Andrew told me you all were visiting before going back to school.  What would you say about staying here and relaxing with me?  I could really use the help running the AirBnB.”

Robert thought about it for a moment, “I love relaxing here, Wallace.  This has been an amazing experience.  But I need to get back to school.”  “Now, why would you want to do that, Robert?”, Wallace asked, “Jeffrey and Andrew are going to stay so they can continue relaxing.  I think you should stay, too.”

Two men Rob didn’t recognize stepped out onto the deck.  “You should stay here with us, Robert”, one of them said.  “Yeah,” the other one said, “we are going to stay here with Wallace and help him out.”  Both men took hauls on their cigars and exchanged smoke-filled, passionate kisses.  Rob could recognize them now, about 20-25 years older than they were before, with beards, body hair, and wrinkles.  It was Jeff and Andy.

The shirtless men started approaching Rob, when he had a slight moment of clarity.  “What the hell is going on here?” he asked.  Jeffrey and Andrew smiled around their cigars as Wallace answered, “Jeffrey and Andrew relaxed like good boys, just as I encouraged them to do.  Through relaxation, they realized they were in love - or at least in lust - with one another.”  “Hell yeah,” Jeffrey said, “Andrew here is one hot fucker, don’t you think Robert?  Why don’t you help Robert relax some more?”  With Jeffrey’s approval, Andrew approached Rob and started to lean in to give him a kiss.

“Back off, Andrew,” Wallace interjected, “you’ve got Jeffrey.  This one is mine.”  Andrew went back to Jeffrey.  Wallace took a haul off his cigar and gave Rob an injection of his smoke.  Rob’s eyes and cock sprung to life.  “That was fucking sexy, Wallace”, Andrew said.  “There is still much for you boys to learn,” Wallace said, “so, Robert, why don’t you join me inside where we can relax together?”

Rob stood up, his growing body almost losing his balance under his new girth.  “Fuck, you are going to be a sexy man when I’m done with you,” Wallace said.  Rob grabbed Wallace’s hand as they disappeared into the cabin, leaving Jeffrey and Andrew on the deck.

A few months later, there was a knock on the door of the cabin.  When the door opened, a thick man, hairy man, wearing leather pants and a harness, smoking a large cigar said, “Hello, my name is Robert.  My husband Wallace and I welcome you to our AirBnB.  We’ll be staying down the road in our cabin, but the onsite staff Jeffrey and Andrew are here to make sure you have a relaxing stay.  If any of us can help you out in any way, don’t hesitate to let us know.  Sometimes, people feel so relaxed they never want to leave.”

My name is Officer Alex Reeves. I had always dreamed of joining the elite motorcycle division of the British police. Fresh out of training at 24, tall, athletic, and clean-cut with short dark hair and a boyish face, I reported for my first day at the South London bike squad station.

It was the day that changed my life forever.

I stepped into the locker room of the British Motorcycle Police Unit, nerves and excitement twisting in my gut. Sergeant Masters was already there, his broad frame filling out his own glossy black leathers perfectly. He looked me up and down like a predator sizing up fresh meat.

"Strip, Constable Reeves. Full kit. Let’s get you geared up properly."

He handed me the uniform. The moment I slid my legs into the thick, supple black motorcycle trousers, something shifted. The leather was heavy, warm, and unforgiving. It hugged my thighs, then squeezed my arse as I pulled them higher. The tight seam pressed right between my cheeks, and the front cupped my cock and balls snugly. Blood rushed south instantly. I was getting hard, embarrassingly, obviously hard.

Sarge watched every second, a hungry smirk on his face.

"Fuck… these are tight," I muttered, trying to adjust myself. My hands only made it worse, pressing the smooth leather against my growing erection.

"Feels good, doesn’t it?" as he stepped closer. "Proper bike leathers always do that to a man the first time."

His big gloved hands took over, pulling the zipper up slowly, deliberately dragging his knuckles along my trapped bulge. I gasped and tried to step back, but the lockers were right behind me.

"Wait,  Sergeant… I’ve got a girlfriend," I said, voice shaky. "This isn’t… I’m not into blokes. I can’t"

Sarge didn’t stop. Instead, he palmed my leather-covered cock firmly, stroking the thick outline while his other hand gripped my hip, holding me in place. The creak of the leather mixed with my ragged breathing.

"You say that," he murmured, voice low and rough, "but your cock is throbbing in those leathers like it’s never been this hard before. Look at you, lad. Already leaking for it."

I grabbed his wrist, trying to push his hand away, but my grip was weak. The scent of the new leather, the way it compressed and caressed every inch of my legs and arse, the sheer authority in his stance, it was overwhelming. My girlfriend’s face flashed in my mind, but the image dissolved under another slow, deliberate stroke of his gloved hand.

"I… I can’t…" I protested weakly, even as my hips jerked forward into his touch. My cock betrayed me completely, straining painfully against the tight black hide, a wet spot forming where I was leaking.

Sarge leaned in as he spoke into my ear. "You can. And you will. By the end of this shift, you’ll be begging for my cock while still zipped up in full kit. Girlfriend or not, you’re going to be my leather boy." He kissed me then, hard, dominant, tongue pushing past my lips while his hand kept working my bulge. I tried to turn my head away for half a second, but a deep, involuntary moan escaped me instead. The resistance crumbled. My hands, which had been pushing at his chest, slid around his leather-clad waist, gripping him as I kissed him back like a desperate slut.

He broke the kiss just long enough to growl, "Let the leather control you," before dropping to his knees and yanking my zipper down. My aching cock sprang out, slick and flushed. He took me into his mouth while I stayed sealed in the tight black police leathers from the waist down. I came shamefully fast, groaning his name as I emptied down his throat, legs trembling in the restrictive gear.

When he stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his glove, he zipped me back up, trapping the mess against my skin.

"First taste of your new life," he said, patting my leather-clad arse possessively. "Tonight, after patrol, you’re taking the rest. And you’ll thank me for it."

As we walked out to the bikes, every step made the leathers creak and grip me tighter. My mind was spinning, guilt, shame, and raw arousal all fighting inside me. But my body had already surrendered.

I was his now.

+++

Months had passed since that first day in the locker room. I was no longer the nervous rookie. I was Constable Reeves, a fully fledged motorcycle cop, tearing through London streets in tight black leathers beside Sergeant Masters. But the leathers still did the same thing to me every single time I zipped them up; they made me hard, made me ache, made me his.

My landlord had given me two weeks’ notice. The flat was being sold. I was scrolling through overpriced rentals on my phone in the station canteen when Sarge dropped into the seat opposite me, his own leathers creaking as he stretched his long legs.

"Problem, lad?" he asked, that deep, commanding voice still sending a shiver down my spine.

"Got nowhere to live after next Friday," I muttered. "Everything’s extortionate."

He leaned forward, resting his powerful forearms on the table. His eyes locked onto mine with that same possessive hunger I’d grown addicted to. "Move in with me." I blinked. "Sarge… you serious?" "Deadly. I’ve got a decent house in Walthamstow. The spare room’s barely used. Plenty of space for your gear." He lowered his voice, a smirk tugging at his beard. "And my bed’s big enough for two. More than big enough."

That night, after a long patrol, I followed him home on my bike. The moment we killed the engines in his garage, he had me backed against the wall, kissing me roughly while our leather jackets rubbed together with that familiar obscene creak. We didn’t even make it upstairs the first time. He fucked me over the workbench, both of us still in full patrol kit, my trousers yanked down just enough while the rest of the thick black leather stayed zipped tight around my body.

A week later, I moved in.

At first, I kept my belongings in the spare room, but within days, it became pointless. I was sleeping in his bed every night, waking up to the feel of his strong arms around me and the scent of leather still clinging to our skin. We’d ride together during the day, professional, sharp, respected on the squad, then come home, and the uniforms would come off slowly, piece by piece, or sometimes not at all.

One evening, a few weeks after I’d moved in, we were on the sofa. I was still in my bike leathers from a late shift, legs stretched wide, my cock was semi-hard. Sarge was idly stroking the glossy black material over my thigh, his big hand possessive.

"I’ve been thinking," I said quietly, staring at the ceiling. My heart was hammering. "About… everything."

His hand paused. "Yeah?"

I swallowed. "I’m gay, Sarge."

The words felt heavy, but also like something finally breaking free. "I tried to fight it at the start. Told myself it was just the leathers, just the thrill… but it’s not. It’s you. I’m properly gay. And I’m in love with you."

“What about the girlfriend?” He asked, “Dumped her not long after the first time you took me.”

The silence lasted only a second before he pulled me into a deep, hungry kiss, his stubble scratching my face the way I now craved. When he broke it, his eyes were dark with satisfaction and something deeper.

"About fucking time you admitted it, boy," he growled softly. "You’ve been mine since the moment you got hard in those leathers on day one. Now you’re really mine. Not just my partner on the squad. My partner. Full stop."

He flipped me onto my back on the sofa, straddling me in his own black leathers. "Say it again." "I’m gay," I breathed, voice shaking with arousal. "And I’m yours." That night he took me slow and deep, face to face, our leather jackets still half-zipped and creaking with every thrust. I came moaning his name, no shame left in me at all.

We’re still the best team on the motorcycle unit. No one knows that when the leathers come off at home, or sometimes not. Sergeant Masters is my man, my lover, my everything, and I’m happily, completely his leather boy.