Fat Leather Pig

Out of all the creepy desolate planets that Peter Quill had wandered through, this one was the worst. There was an infinite universe with an endless number of planets, so why did he have to end up on the one that had the galaxy’s creepiest warehouse on it? The job was simple, so simple that Star Lord was alone when he landed his newly repaired ship, Milano, on the planet’s cracked rocky surface. Once upon a time, there was a company that spanned solar systems. The great Anitron sold robotics, the most advanced toys for the whole galaxy to enjoy. Yet  after one accident some cycles ago, everything had seemingly been abandoned. By the time Peter arrived toward the great dark structure that was once the head factory of Anitron, he only had one thought—they could take ‘seemingly’ out the sentence. 

When he stepped in, the only sound was the constant howl of wind, deep and guttural and making the company quarters more like a chasm. Peter had no idea what had happened to the place. Nobody did. But from the skeletons he could see strewn around debris of glass and concrete, he could tell it wasn’t good. That was why Peter Quill did the most sane thing. He popped his headphones over his ears and pushed down on the Sony Walkman. 

♬ I CAN’T STOP THIS FEELING ♬

♬ DEEP INSIDE OF ME ♬

Peter’s smile was instant as he danced down the abandoned halls. He ignored the ash that was all over scorched ground and couldn’t hear the creaks of the building as he descended further down. His mission? To scout the place and retrieve whatever scraps of useful technology was left behind for a rival corporation. He figured it would be a safer job than the bounty hunting contract that was offered instead. So Peter Quill continued to dance, gyrate and hip thrust his way throughout the headquarters turned mausoleum. He knew the elevators down to the basement level weren’t working and so he crept down the stairs, hoping to find something good left behind in their laboratories. Or at least something interesting. Perhaps without the music he would have found the whirrs of cameras following his movements interesting. If he would have noticed them.

The underside of the building remained the cleanest. Though there was still debris from caved in ceilings and shattered glass of laboratory windows, it was a far cry from the hell on the surface. Enough so that on the fifth loop of Hooked on a Feeling, Peter pressed pause when he finally found a laboratory that was intact. Or at least it looked more intact compared to the others (which wasn’t saying much with their collapsed doors and scorched lab tables).

For one it helped that the room was lit. Peter hummed to himself as he did a double take when he first rounded the corridor of the third sublevel and saw the weak blue light illuminating from the place. The fact the windows were intact was already surprising enough. But the place having power was downright intriguing. Peter glanced left, then right, then left again and then shot the electronic device beside the door. At once sparks flew and the sealed doors opened with a shriek of metal. Peter sniffed at the sudden sickeningly sweet smell that oozed out the lab. 

“Thought this was a toy place not a candy one,” Peter fanned the stale sweet air, though it did little to help.

Something else about the lab instantly let Peter know how different it was. It was huge. Unlike the others which were square boxes that Peter passed by in a few strides, this lab reached further beyond. Rows and rows of workbenches stood to hold nothing and be attended to by nobody. Peter crept forward, hands curling near his blasters like one of those Earth Westerns that he used to watch as he stepped in. His eyes narrowed when he saw what few things were on the workbenches, brightly painted animals.

At least at a first glance.

The closer Peter got to them, the more he could easily see the metallic sheen, the weak blue lights that flickered above reflecting off their skin. One of them was a fox with long metal fingers and no arm. Another was a rabbit that was missing its faceplate. Each of them seemed to have been toys, impressively large at around two to three tall that hadn’t been finished. One of the mascots cracked to life.

“Welcome to Anitron, where the fun never endssssssssssssssssss-” Its head jerked back and forth like a gear had gotten stuck before its voice devolved into a low groan and it depowered. Peter froze, staring at the creepiness as the sound of something else captured his attention, the sound of bubbles.

“What the fuck is this place?” Quill murmured, creeping along to the sound as if it were a siren song. He knew it was trouble but that only made it more enticing as the lights were weaker in the next half of the lab, making him only see vague shapes. If it weren’t for the gentle green glow of those shapes then Peter probably wouldn’t have recognised what he was seeing. But then he saw the shimmering green and giant bubbles and realised what he was seeing, a row of tanks filled with floating bodies. “What the fu-” The laboratory finished for him by suddenly coming to life. The dead lights turned white and Peter aimed with both blasters at nothing in particular, the tanks, the benches, the door he had come through. But nobody was there and nothing moved, except that of a screen. A section of high wall folded backwards, flipping over to reveal a large flat screen that jutted out. It unclenched from the wall and then began to move closer toward Peter, becoming the next target of his blasters. Even more so when it came to life. 

“Ah…apologies but I have always had a flair for the dramatics,” a gravelly voice sounded out. Peter squinted at the screen, filled with the image of a man or something like a man, he couldn’t tell. Their face was hidden behind a polished silver mask and their body was draped with a lab coat. Though Peter could see the pale skin of a neck, he swore that just out of frame there were dark grooves where flesh merged into metal. The man had hair, spiky and brown, less like it was styled that way and more ragged. “I have been following you Mr. Peter Jason Quill, I believe that’s your name if records are updated. That or along with being a criminal you’re also a hacker who can alter records or practice identity theft. You aren’t and you don’t, do you?” Peter stood there, baffled and then lowered his blasters with a smile. 

“Knew this job couldn’t have been easy. Why can’t any of the jobs I do be easy? Come on man,” complained Peter, appropriately acting like a child in a place where toys were built for them. Surprisingly, the man behind the mask let out a chuckle.

“Funny. They did not mention that on the records, but I always prefer meeting someone face to face as opposed to just relying on their…CV,” said the stranger pointedly. Peter made a gesture toward the screen and then himself, confused. “What?” 

“I mean…dude, you call this face to face? Just because you’ve seen my face and I see your…not-face, doesn’t mean this counts,” scoffed Peter.

“Oh but it does Peter. You see technology can do such wonders…” The screen began to move suddenly, motioning as the man spoke. It was mounted on a rail Peter hadn’t noticed before and whirred around him in a slow circle as the man spoke, gliding from one side of the room to the other. “I find that it can even be a replacement for the things people do. Maybe even for people someday. Don’t you agree?” Peter took a moment, as if seriously thinking it over before giving a deadpan no. “A shame. From my sensors, you are in the Mascot Program. I apologise, I haven’t finished my work to show you.” The screen turned, facing the direction of the tanks. 

“Uh…your what? You did that?” 

“Yes, I did. You see I was attempting to use some of the survivors from the…accident here at Anitron for my experiment. But unfortunately…” The screen turned back toward him. “It seems I need a non-injured body to test on.” 

“Uh…test on? Test what?” “Why…this.” 

At once a spiral suddenly lit up the screen. Peter blinked. And then he couldn’t blink anymore. He tried to look away, but there was a sudden pulsating pressure behind his eyes. The spiral seemed to grow larger and larger until it was the only thing he could see. 

“W-Wha is…wha…” Peter tried to look away again but it was as if the more he tried, the harder it was to do and the harder it was to do the more he tried. His thoughts were becoming a vortex of circular logic that was making no sense, almost like the thoughts one would have in a dream. Peter tried to reach toward his trusty blasters but the more that he tried, the harder it was to do.

He thought about just closing his eyes, not bothering to look anywhere but each time he blinked, it was as if the spiral was burned into his retina, still playing. It looped constantly in his mind and it was suddenly just so easy to continue following the spiral, at the looping pattern that swirled and felt like a black hole that was sucking his mind into its centre to be crushed. The longer he stared at the spiral, the closer he felt his mind was to the event horizon.

“You see…a non-injured person can focus on something beyond their pain and I have worked so hard to do this…to create the perfect subliminal to alter one’s DNA once they come into contact with the gas. Did you like that by the way? I was worried you would have smelled it by now and turned back.”

The voice continued but it sounded as if it was echoing from everywhere, a sudden omnidirectional force that was seizing his mind.

“No injuries and a weak mind combined with the gas you inhaled filled with nanomachines and it is a perfect combination. I would like to thank you Peter Jason Quill…” 

“T-Thank…thank…f-for…wha…” Peter’s voice faltered as drool was already starting to escape the corner of his mouth. 

“Why for being the first person to submit to the Mascot Program! Now repeat after me…” There was no way Peter was going to repeat anything this fucker sai-

I AM HEAVY.

The words felt so strong as they appeared on the screen, a brief flash, just enough for his mind to cling onto and understand before disappearing for good. As soon as the stranger said it, Peter felt a wave of fatigue cause him to sink.

He gasped as it began with his feet, his boots felt as though they had just crashed into the floor as tile cracked beneath him. The muscles in his legs seized and tensed, caught in some kind of forever flex whilst his arms fell to the sides. His fingers weren’t even able to try and grab at the blasters falteringly, instead barely twitching as both arms suddenly felt like they were made of lead. 

“D-Dude what the fuck-” 

I AM METAL.

“No c-come on wait…”

Peter’s eyes widened, the only semblance of some control that he still had over his body as a coldness started to form over his skin. A rhythm began beneath his ribs, different from his heartbeat yet similar enough in cadence like it was replacing the organ. A sudden heat was searing through his chest and making him almost wince in pain, though pain quickly started to feel dulled down.

All touch and sensation did in his chest, all feeling receding except for two, sensitivity and with it, pleasure. Peter could feel the cold make his nipples harden before they sank further into his chest. His shoulders locked, the sound of whirring at the shoulder blades like they had been disintended from the arms and fitted into place.

Steam hissed suddenly from the skin as both shoulders locked into position. 

The same sound travelled down Peter’s spine as it aligned upright, forcing him to stand taller. Peter knew it was impossible but he swore that he could feel the nanomachines coursing through him, like tiny insects that were worming their way through his hands and feet, up his limbs, toward his chest. He could feel them dancing around his bones, latching themselves onto his skeleton, forcing his body to thicken as it grew more boxy and heavy at the chest. Beneath the skin, heavy steel frameworks began to form and interlock against the skin (or rather what was now the much more shiny lifelike shell). 

MY MIND IS PLASTIC.

“N-no way am I saying-”

Peter’s next words didn’t matter. That’s what he told himself or rather the nanomachines or the spiral or something told him as he continued staring. There was another rhythm, the cadence of whatever replaced his heartbeat, ca-clunk, ca-clunk, ca-clunk, that continued on in a similar enough cadence. As it did, warmth started pooling through him, oozing through his head first as his eyes threatened to roll into the back of his head. But his eyes didn’t move because Peter realised that his eyes no longer blinked. They had grown glassy and flat, fixed forever on the spiral which burrowed deeper and deeper into his mind. His hands felt like one appendage, the fingers thickening into rounded metallic digits that let the white light of the laboratory melt over them in a sheen. The same happened for his feet, trapped in the boots as Star Lord couldn’t have even lifted them if he tried (and he did, constantly screaming at himself to just run, get out, call the mission a dud, laser a warning sign into the side of the planet and fly off). Unlike his hands, the digits merged together into one thick piece, only separated by some detailed painting of lines to indicate the different toes even existed. The arches flattened completely and any and all blemishes or scars were replaced by the smooth texture of plastic, the same that raced up Peter’s limbs. 

But it was his mind that he could feel was corroding the most, even as his chest expanded outwards like his ribs were pushed from the inside out. 

I AM A TOY.

“W-Won’t get away withhhhhhhh…” Peter’s words slurred as his jaw grew heavier, his wide eyes desperately wanting to look around in instinctive panic. But instead they were fixed forward as a smile began to creep over Peter’s face. “No no nuh nuhhhhhhhh…” His chin separated from his body. It fell downward with a hollow plastic clack, hinging open like a piece of a toy. Two screws at the very back left it attached to the inner jaw whilst the chin dangled uselessly. “Nuhhh huuullppp mmuhhh…” 

Peter garbled as the sickening cold infected the rest of his face. His eyes now no longer wanted to look around but roll into the back of his head as he felt all feelings recede from the skin except for pleasure. His cheeks rounded out slightly, almost rosy as Peter could imagine how smooth they looked with light reflecting off them. His nose receded in size slightly, flattening and hardening before he could feel the cartilage turn into mechanical pieces that let his nose be slotted onto his face. His flat eyes were allowed to blink once more, each blink clacking as his eyelids thickened into hardened plastic.

Peter’s auburn wavy hair hardened and no longer drifted in the wind, instead the hairs coalesced together, thickening and turning slightly brighter. As if he could imagine some marketing executive telling someone to make his hair almost ginger, to make his design unique, as if he wasn’t a person. A voice told him because he wasn’t a person. The spiral told him he wasn't a person. His mind told him he wasn’t a person. 

His brain was calcifying. Peter Quill stared helplessly from somewhere deep inside himself as the frantic electricity of his thoughts slowed and hardened. Instead all the electricity was something that was becoming like his thoughts, something to happen at a set amount of time, with a set amount of power, in a set way.

Otherwise, it was something controlled. Suddenly every wild desperate impulse that had once been in the brain of Star Lord had seemed to freeze in place. His neurons no longer sparked naturally. Instead they aligned and clicked and fired only in neat patterns, each thought moving along invisible tracks laid down by the Mascot Program.

He could feel it happening and it was perhaps the last human feeling he had before the intoxicating pleasure of his sensitive body took hold. All the while Star Lord could feel the soft folds of his brain stiffened inside his skull as it became flatter and denser and smoother and colder. All electric chaos of memory and instinct and fear was being replaced with something clean, programmed, simple and worst of all, corporately safe.

I 

AM

A

TOY

The spiral repeated emphasising each word with its own second long screentime. Toy…Toy…TOY…TOY…TOY…TOY…TOY…The word screamed inside Star Lord and suddenly started to make the gears inside his chest whir and the electric signals of his motherboard light up. The circuitry within him that was once his veins let the electric flow and send signals to the rest of his body like a real brain as Star Lord™ reared up suddenly. His half lidded eyes sprung wide awake and commands slid into place where memories used to be.

SMILE.

SING.

WAVE.

ENTERTAIN.

I AM A TOY.

The spiral turned off and in an instant Star Lord almost did the same. Except somewhere deep inside, behind all the metal and gears and circuitry, there was still some faint pulse, some semblance of Peter. The ability to feel was something unable to be replicated and so with it, a small vestige of the real Peter Quill remained, to feel everything for his new animatronic self. Even if it meant he would be stuck not wanting to feel a thing because he looked-

“Star Lord activate.” 

At once Star Lord™ reared up again, his lower jack opening up on hinges with a clack. It moved up and down as a voice box activated in the back of his mouth.

What the fuck have you done to me?! Star Lord™ tried to say.

“I’M STAR LORD THE LEGENDARY OUTLAW!” Star Lord™ said with a wide smile as his head glided from side to side. The man on screen chuckled.

“Perfect Peter, catchphrase 1!” 

Catchphrase?! I don’t have a fucking-

“BLASTERS LOCKED AND LOADED.” The sound of his blasters letting out a high pitched whine when he activated them sounded out in the background as he spoke. His own voice came with damn sound effects, he thought. He sounded ridiculous, he sounded-

“Catchphrase 22!”

22?! Why the he hell would I have 22 catch-

“DID SOMEBODY SAY, SAVING THE UNIVERSE?” A low quality sound effect of his clipped laughter sounded out after he spoke. In fact all of what he was saying sounded like a bad recording of him, his voice crunchy with static and sounding as hollow as the mouth it came from. 

“Dance time!” 

Wait wait wait what the fuck does that mean?

“DANCE-OFF PROTOCOL!” Just then, the music of I Can’t Stop This Feeling sounded out from the speaker in his open mouth as Star Lord’s fingers clasped together. He began to swivel from side to side, stopping midway through and adjusting his head as his body parts moved separately.

Both arms followed repeated motions, gliding through the air slowly as he realised he was doing a slow version of the robot dance whilst standing completely still.

Only his upper half moved whilst the song played, sounding as if it came from a faulty radio in the corner of some dark echoey room. 

“Stop. Perfect…Absolutely perfect. Star Lord, register me as your master.” 

No I’m not…not going to…

“YES MASTER! STAR LORD READY FOR YOUR COMMAND!” 

“Now come to my office, fifth level. We have a lot of work to do and if you’re as good as you are…well, I think you just might change the galaxy, Peter Quill.”

“READY FOR THE STARS WITH STAR LORD!” Star Lord™ replied after registering one word, galaxy. He began to move, one foot after the other with automated ease, the sounds of springs following each heavy footfall. All Star Lord had to do was just simply walk over toward the right level and go be with his Master. That was all he could think about. It was all he needed to think about. He was now just Star Lord™. And that was all he ever needed to be.

Soon a whole galaxy would agree with him too and if any heroes were to try and rescue him, they would find out just how good it would feel to be something like Star Lord™.

In a small, warmly lit corner of "Chez Gourmet," a renowned cozy restaurant, Julien nervously adjusted his sleek, brown shirt as he waited. He was slender, with a thoughtful expression that often drifted into a daydream. His gaze shifted often to the door, anticipating his blind date's arrival.

The door swung open, and in walked Alex, a man of imposing stature with a broad, welcoming smile. His size was notable, his presence almost filling the doorway. He was bald, his head shining slightly under the restaurant's soft lighting. Dressed in a comfortably fitting white shirt that embraced his large frame, Alex's confidence was palpable.

As Alex approached, Julien's heart raced, but his nervousness eased with Alex's warm, gentle demeanor. "Julien?" Alex inquired with a soft, deep voice, extending a hand.

"Yes, that's me. You must be Alex," Julien replied, shaking his hand. The contrast between their hands – Julien's slender and Alex's broad and strong – was stark.

They settled into their seats, the table quaint with a flickering candle between them, casting a soothing glow. Conversation flowed easily, laughter mingling with the clinking of dishes and soft background music.

"So, what brings you to the world of online dating?" Julien asked, sipping his wine.

Alex leaned back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "I suppose I'm looking for someone who appreciates me for who I am," he said, gesturing subtly to his physique.

Julien's eyes lit up, a mixture of intrigue and boldness in his voice. "Well, you might find this odd, but I have always been drawn to… larger men. There's something about the… the presence, the personality that comes with it."

Alex raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips. "Is that so?" he asked, amused and intrigued.

"Yes," Julien continued, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "There's a certain beauty in it that I find… captivating."

The air between them changed, charged with a new energy. Alex's eyes held a gleam of interest, a connection sparking.

As the night wore on, their bond strengthened, conversations diving deeper into shared interests and laughter. When the night came to a close, Alex, with a hint of excitement in his voice, asked, "Would you like to do this again? Maybe at my place next time?"

Julien's heart skipped a beat. "I'd like that," he said, his smile mirroring Alex's.

They parted with a promise of a second date, the night leaving them both with a sense of anticipation and the budding warmth of a unique connection.

Julien stood outside a charming, somewhat aged apartment building, his heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. He adjusted his light jacket, taking a deep breath before buzzing Alex's apartment.

The door opened to reveal Alex, his presence as captivating as ever. He wore a casual, snugly fitting t-shirt that accentuated his large belly. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said with a grin, ushering Julien in.

The apartment was cozy, filled with warm colors and comfortable furniture. There was an air of lived-in comfort, with books and various knick-knacks adorning the shelves.

Alex led Julien to the dining area, where a feast awaited: piles of juicy burgers, creamy pasta, and a variety of desserts. Julien's eyes widened in awe and a hint of trepidation.

"I hope you're hungry," Alex said with a chuckle, pouring them both a glass of wine.

As they sat and began to eat, Alex broached the topic that lingered in the air. "You know, Julien, I find something fascinating about seeing someone enjoy food, really indulge in it. It's… intimate, in a way."

Julien felt a thrill at those words, his attraction to Alex growing. "I can see that," he said, taking a large bite of a burger. "There's a raw honesty in it, a kind of vulnerability."

Alex nodded, a sly smile on his lips. "Exactly. And I love similarities, you know? Sharing experiences, even… physical traits."

Julien felt his pulse quicken, a mixture of desire and curiosity stirring within him. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur.

"Yes," Alex continued, his eyes fixed on Julien. "Imagine two people, growing together, becoming… similar in more ways than one."

The idea sent a shiver down Julien's spine. He was entranced, the idea of transforming for Alex, with Alex, igniting something deep within him.

As they continued to eat, Alex's encouragement became more pronounced. "Go on, have some more. You'll enjoy it," he urged gently, his hand brushing against Julien's now slightly fuller belly.

Julien complied, the food and the touch sending waves of pleasure through him. He felt himself slipping into a new realm of experience, one filled with indulgence and transformation.

By the end of the night, Julien's belly was noticeably fuller, a soft roundness forming. Alex's approving gaze made him feel seen and appreciated in a way he'd never experienced.

As Julien left that night, his body tingling with newfound sensations, he realized he was embarking on a journey unlike any other. Alex's final words echoed in his mind, "Let's see where this takes us, shall we?"

The door closed behind him, leaving Julien in a daze of excitement and anticipation for what was to come.

Several weeks had passed since their second date, and Julien found himself eagerly anticipating each meeting with Alex. His body had begun to reflect the changes of their indulgent lifestyle; his once slim figure was gradually filling out, his belly rounding noticeably.

Today, Julien stood in Alex's bathroom, a sense of excitement mingling with his nervousness. Alex, standing behind him with electric clippers in hand, wore a look of gentle determination.

"You sure about this?" Alex asked, his voice a low rumble. The bathroom was bright, reflecting their images in the large mirror. It was a cozy space, filled with the scent of Alex's cologne.

Julien met Alex's eyes in the mirror, a thrill running through him. "Yes, I trust you," he replied, his voice steady yet filled with anticipation.

As the clippers buzzed to life, Alex carefully began to shave Julien's head. Julien closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of Alex's firm, yet gentle touch. Each pass of the clippers sent a shiver down his spine, the feeling of transformation palpable in the air.

"You're doing great," Alex murmured, his hand occasionally brushing against Julien's increasingly round belly. Julien's breath hitched at the touch, a mixture of comfort and excitement building within him.

Once finished, Alex ran his hand over Julien's now bald head. "Perfect," he said, admiration in his voice. Julien opened his eyes, meeting Alex's gaze in the mirror. The man staring back at him was changing, becoming more like Alex, and it filled him with a profound sense of belonging.

"This is just the beginning, Julien," Alex said, his hand lingering on Julien's belly. "I want to take you further, help you embrace this transformation fully."

Julien's heart raced at the thought. "I want that too," he admitted, the idea of becoming more like Alex, more connected to him, was intoxicating.

From that day on, Alex encouraged Julien to embrace their shared lifestyle more deeply. They indulged in rich, calorie-laden meals, Alex always praising Julien's growing appetite and changing body. Julien, in turn, reveled in the attention and care Alex provided, his admiration for Alex turning into something deeper, something more profound.

Their relationship grew alongside Julien's body, each day bringing them closer, each shared meal a step further in their journey together. Julien loved the sensation of Alex's hand on his growing belly, on his smooth scalp, affirming his transformation, affirming their bond.

As Julien continued to expand, to mirror Alex, their connection deepened, turning into a profound love story. They were no longer just two individuals; they were becoming reflections of one another, united in their journey.

Two months later, the changes in Julien were unmistakable. His once slim physique had given way to a much softer, rounder form. His hips had widened, and love handles now adorned his sides. Sitting in Alex's apartment, now a familiar and comforting space, Julien marveled at his reflection in the mirror. He was donning one of Alex's shirts, which fit snugly over his expanded frame.

Alex entered the room with a tray laden with rich, decadent food. "I've made your favorites," he said with a grin, placing the tray down. The smell of freshly baked pastries and creamy pastas filled the air.

Julien's eyes sparkled with delight. "It looks amazing, Alex," he said, his voice tinged with excitement.

As they ate, Alex's encouragement became more affectionate. "You're doing so well, Julien," he said, gently rubbing Julien's now significantly larger belly. "I'm proud of you."

Julien blushed, a warm feeling of contentment washing over him. "It feels good… being like this with you," he confessed, leaning into Alex's touch.

Alex leaned in, their faces inches apart. "I love seeing you embrace your desires," he whispered, before kissing Julien tenderly. It was a moment of deep connection, their journey intertwining their lives in the most intimate of ways.

The meal continued, and with each bite, Julien felt a sense of liberation. He was no longer the man he used to be; he was becoming something new, something that mirrored Alex. And he loved it.

Their evenings often ended with laughter and shared stories, but tonight, as Julien sat, his belly full, a loud fart escaped him. He froze, embarrassed, but Alex just laughed heartily.

"Looks like someone's really comfortable now," Alex teased, his laughter infectious. Julien couldn't help but join in, the sound echoing in the apartment, a testament to their deepening bond and comfort with each other.

As the weeks passed, Julien began to wear more of Alex's clothes, the fabric stretching over his growing body. He fondly remembered one particular day when, as he bent over, his pants gave way, tearing with a loud rip. He had been mortified, but Alex had just hugged him, assuring him it was a sign of progress.

Now, as they sat together, their bodies touching, Julien felt a profound sense of belonging. He was no longer the slim man he once was; he was becoming a reflection of Alex, his partner in both body and spirit.

Their kisses deepened, their hands exploring each other's now similar bodies - their round bellies, their soft, expansive backsides. In this journey, they had found not just a physical transformation but a deep, resonant love that celebrated every aspect of their being.

A year had passed since Julien and Alex began their shared journey, and the transformation was astounding. The two men now resembled each other strikingly; both were large, with round, protruding bellies and bald heads that shone under the light. They had moved in together into Alex's apartment, now a shared sanctuary filled with memories and echoes of their laughter.

In the dining room, surrounded by an abundance of food, Julien and Alex sat facing each other, a look of contentment on their faces. The table was laden with dishes that had become their favorites over the past year – creamy pastas, thick cuts of meat, rich desserts, and more.

Julien picked up a piece of cake, his large fingers enveloping it. "You know, I can't even see my own feet anymore," he said with a chuckle, his voice deep and resonant.

Alex laughed, his belly jiggling with the motion. "That's a sign of success in our book," he replied, winking at Julien.

Julien smiled, then grew thoughtful. "It's not just the body, though. I feel like I'm really part of you now. I even smell like you," he said, referring to the cologne and bath products they now both used.

Alex reached across the table, taking Julien's hand. "That was the idea, wasn't it? To become reflections of each other. And I must say, I love every bit of it."

They reminisced about the earlier days of their transformation. Julien recalled the first time he felt his moobs shaking – a sensation that was strange at first but had become something he cherished. "And my nipples," he added, laughing, "they've become so sensitive!"

Alex nodded, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I remember the first time you ripped your pants. You were so embarrassed, but I thought it was incredibly sexy."

Julien laughed heartily, remembering the incident. "After that, I swore off regular pants. Joggers are the way to go," he said, patting his expansive thigh.

Their conversation drifted to more intimate moments – the first time their bellies touched as they kissed, the feeling of their bodies pressed against each other, the way they could now share clothes that used to belong just to Alex.

As they continued to eat, their hands occasionally met, fingers entwining in a comfortable, familiar gesture. They spoke of their future, of how they wanted to continue this journey together, always exploring, always growing.

The evening ended with them standing in front of the large mirror in their bedroom, arms around each other. They admired their reflections – two large, bald, happy men with beaming smiles.

"We did it," Julien said, a tone of wonder in his voice.

"We did," Alex agreed, kissing the top of Julien's head.

Male TF - Quick TF - Weight Gain

Daniel found himself on vacation at his aunt's house, his cousin away on a trip of his own. His aunt graciously offered Daniel his cousin's room for the duration of his stay. It was a cozy space, adorned with posters of video game characters and shelves stacked with action figures.

The first few days stretched on endlessly for Daniel. He accidentally broke his laptop screen, rendering it unusable for his online work. With the hours dragging by, boredom crept in like an unwelcome guest. His aunt, noticing his plight, suggested he use her son's computer in the basement.

"Jake won't mind. He's always talking about how he and his friends play games online. You might even find something you like," his aunt said with a smile, gesturing towards the door leading downstairs.

Daniel gratefully accepted her offer. The basement was dimly lit but comfortably cool. He found Jake's gaming setup easily—an impressive rig complete with a high-resolution monitor, a gaming chair, and a headset.

After powering up the computer, Daniel hesitated for a moment before logging in. As soon as he connected to the internet, a chat window popped up. Messages flew in from friends of Jake, assuming Daniel was him.

"Hey Jake, you ready for some CoD tonight?"

"Come on, fatty, we're waiting for you!"

Daniel blinked at the screen, unsure of how to respond at first. Then, he decided to go along with it. Maybe immersing himself in a game would distract him from his boredom.

"Yeah, I'm ready," he typed tentatively, adjusting the headset and microphone.

The group welcomed him enthusiastically, using Jake's nickname and cracking jokes about past gaming exploits. Despite feeling a bit out of place, Daniel found himself quickly catching on to the game mechanics. His focus intensified as he maneuvered through missions, his fingers deftly controlling the keyboard and mouse.

As the action heated up, Daniel began to sweat profusely. He shrugged it off, attributing it to the intense concentration and the heat generated by the computer's powerful components. Little did he realize that his body was undergoing a transformation that would soon become startlingly apparent.

Unaware of the changes unfolding, Daniel continued to play, fully immersed in the virtual battlefield. The missions came thick and fast, and he proved surprisingly adept, earning praise from his teammates.

However, beneath his focus, his body was undergoing a subtle yet profound metamorphosis. The warmth that flushed through him wasn't just from the computer—it was a result of his own body shifting. His once-flat stomach began to round out into a small belly, barely noticeable under his shirt. His hips and lower back accumulated softness, developing slight love handles that strained against the fabric of his jeans.

Despite these physical changes, Daniel remained oblivious, caught up in the adrenaline rush of the game. He adjusted his position in the chair, feeling an unfamiliar tightness across his thighs as they pressed together more prominently.

As the game progressed, Daniel's body continued its transformation, each passing moment bringing more startling changes. His chubby belly grew more pronounced, expanding into a modest-sized round belly that protruded slightly over his waistband. A beard sprouted on his face, seemingly growing thicker with each passing minute.

Daniel finally noticed something was amiss when he glanced at his arm. The muscular definition he was used to was fading, replaced by a soft layer of flesh that seemed to spread across his entire body. His arms thickened as the fat settled in, altering his once-toned physique.

Fear began to gnaw at him. "What's happening to me?" he thought, panic rising. His hands trembled as he touched his face, feeling the fuller cheeks and the beginnings of a double chin. His chest, once firm, was now becoming soft and less defined, his pecs losing their muscularity and becoming flabbier.

His face continued to round out, becoming almost cherubic with its newfound fullness. His neck, shoulders, and arms pulsed outward with soft tissue, losing their angularity and taking on a softer, more padded appearance.

The back of his torso sprouted a fat roll just above his love handles, a clear sign of the accumulating weight. He grew hairier too, a fine layer of fuzz appearing on his arms and legs where before there was none.

His entire backside seemed to have exploded outward, from mildly chubby to outright fat. His pecs, once firm and defined, had softened into flabbier versions of their former selves. Even his hands and feet appeared chubbier, the subtle padding of fat altering their once-slender contours.

Daniel's side fat merged seamlessly with his chest fat, filling out his soft chest into what could only be described as fat moobs. He felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead, his mind reeling with the enormity of what was happening.

Daniel stared at his reflection in the computer screen, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The shock of seeing his transformed body was overwhelming. His once-angular features had softened into a round, chubby face, dotted with beads of sweat. The beard, now thicker than before, added to the unfamiliarity of his appearance.

He touched his cheeks, feeling the softness where once there had been sharp angles. His mind struggled to reconcile the person he saw with who he knew himself to be. How had this happened? Was it the game? Was it something else?

As Daniel tried to gather his thoughts, the urgent voices of his teammates broke through the turmoil in his mind.

"Hey, Jake, what are you waiting for? Get back in here!"

"Yeah, come on, fat ass, we need you!"

Daniel winced at the familiar, yet now sharply cutting, nickname. His heart sank with each reference to his changed physique, each reminder of the person he no longer recognized.

But there was something in the camaraderie of their voices, in the urgency of their calls, that stirred a glimmer of determination within him. Despite the shock and confusion, a small voice inside him urged him to prove himself, to show that he was still capable, regardless of his outward appearance.

With a shaky breath, Daniel slipped the headset back over his ears. His fingers found the keyboard and mouse, the familiar weight and texture grounding him in the midst of uncertainty.

"Yeah, I'm here," he replied, his voice wavering slightly. "Let's finish this."

The game resumed, and Daniel threw himself back into the fray. The rhythm of the missions, the teamwork, and the adrenaline rush provided a temporary escape from the turmoil within.

He found himself adapting to the physical changes with surprising ease. His movements, though slower and more ponderous, carried a newfound confidence and straight born of necessity.

With each successful maneuver, each strategy executed flawlessly, Daniel felt a glimmer of pride amidst the chaos. He was still contributing, still valuable to the team, despite the alterations he could feel creeping across his body.

As the round drew to a close and victory flashed on the screen, Daniel couldn't help but smile. The warmth of accomplishment mingled with the lingering discomfort of his transformed body. Yet, in that moment, he found a strange acceptance and even a hint of pride in who he had become.

He glanced down at his belly, now a prominent feature of his physique, and hesitantly ran a hand over it. There was a comfort in its softness.

"I did it," Daniel thought, a small smile playing on his lips. "I adapted, I overcame."

His teammates' voices brought him back to the present, their words a mix of congratulations and playful banter. "Nice job, Fat ass! You really turned it around in the second half!"

Daniel chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the game's victory. Despite the teasing about his physical transformation, he sensed a genuine acceptance from his teammates, an acknowledgment of his skill and dedication.

"I'm glad I played," Daniel murmured to himself, a quiet affirmation of his choice to embrace the challenge presented to him.

With a final glance at his reflection in the monitor, Daniel resolved to continue this journey, both in the virtual world and beyond. Whatever lay ahead, he knew he had the strength and courage to face it.

And who knew? Perhaps, like Daniel, others might find themselves changed in ways they never imagined—physically, emotionally, or otherwise. The virtual realm had shown him that transformation, though daunting, could lead to unexpected growth and acceptance.

Use Spiral Gel.

Keep your hair slick.

Keep your clothes tight.

Evan wasn't very political. All he was taught was blue bad, red good, and he shouldn't think any other way. The city was raving when the food charts got updated by the government- red meat, dairy, carbs, fat, all was ideal. If the president said so, it must be so. That was all Evan's meals consisted of now.

Evan was ecstatic to see his body begin to grow with the new diet, his belief in the president reinforced. He loved feeling more weight in his step. He loved how his shirts and pants grew tighter, how his clothes seemed to constantly shift and expose his skin as if he were a giant. Bigger was better, right?

Evan was too blind to see his body composition change. How all his growth was fat, his body growing plump and soft. He didn't think about how he was constantly out of breath, struggling to lug his new weight around. He didn't realize how his strength was less effective, a beast burdened by its own size. He became plush like a pillow, swollen skin against skin, a buttery chest growing over a dropping belly. All his definitions disappeared, his muscles sinking into a sea of lard.

You spot a big leather daddy pig at the bar. He has a massive broad frame and is chugging a beer. You catch his attention and he licks his lips. He's hungry and ready to fuck.

Careful though. Boar cum is highly addictive and potent.

Come and smell, piggy. Get your face in there. Take a long hard breath. Feel the sweat invade your nose, make you dizzy, make you horny and dumb. You’re a beast now, a dumb creature, a stinky pet, obsessed with sweat. A pig. Go on, snort. Be a pig. Let it out. The more you smell, the more you transform. You’re gonna be a grunting stinking pig from now on, with your piggy snout in every hairy sweaty wet pit you see.

Content Warning: Incest, Weight gain

Trent was an only child raised by just his father. His mother had left his father for a richer man when Trent was only 8 years old. Trent and his father were very close before Trent left for college right out of high school on a basketball scholarship. Trent hadn’t visited for the holidays, which made Trent feel guilt for leaving his father all alone, with only a little communication back and forth. So Trent decided to go back home for Spring break, his father had presumably found a partner who really wanted to meet Trent, he was excited to see his father was doing well.

Trent arrived home and walked right in, announcing himself. “Hello? Dad?? Anybody home?!” As Trent walked in the house was a mess, junk food trash everywhere. Trent’s father was usually healthy… Trent couldn’t imagine his dad ever touching any junk food. There was a smell of musk and piss, stained jockstraps all over the place.

Trent makes it to he living room which was a major source of the smell, his dad was sitting in a chair in the living room. He looked wildly different, his healthy average hairless body seemed to have ballooned into a fat guy topped by a set of tits. He was bald now, a spotted a heady beard. He has a cigar in his mouth, one that seemed to have just been lit.

“Welcome home Piggy, I’ve missed you so much.” Trent’s dad opened his arms stretched out for a hug.

Trent was taken a back… how could this be his father? This man was a fat disgusting slob, the complete opposite of his dad. “Dad? What happened to you?”

“So this is the Piggy I’ve heard so much about!” A giant fat man walked in, wearing only his camouflage underwear. He was graying, definitely older than Trent’s father. His bulge was massive, the tip soaked in pre-cum. He walked right up to Trent and put his hand on his arm “You’re quite the skinny guy, not nearly plump enough to be a pig.”

Trent pushed away “What the fuck? Dad what’s going on here… who is this disgusting man?!” Trent’s head started to feel light, he was starting to get dizzy.

“It’s daddy for now on pig, and this is your paw. I met him at the bar a couple months ago” Hiw could these changes happen in a just a few months? “He told me he could make my life better and help me get you back home.” Trent’s father blew out a plume of smoke into his son’s face.”

Paw got behind Trent and pulled his shirt off “this will give you some room piggy” Trent was so confused, but oddly getting very horny. Paw got Trent in his knees, whipped out his fat cock and huge balls. “I’m so full piggy, time to fattened up this hog!” Paw forced his cock into Trent’s mouth.

After not a few pumps down Trent’s throat Paw was ready to bust his load into Trent’s mouth. It was like his balls has gallons of cum, causing Trent to feel full.

Trent’s body filled out with lard covering his once slender, lean body. His stomach pushed out and jiggled with soft fat, starting to form rolls on his body. “Ughnnnn” Trent moaned as he groped his fat body. “What’s are you doing to me?!” Trent was starting to get hard. Trent was trying to fight away, stop this from happening, but he was beginning to give in.

Paw and Daddy began to play with Piggy’s fattening body, they start to push into his soft rolls. Daddy began to shove junk food like pizza, doughnuts and shakes into Piggy’s mouth.

Piggy’s underwear started morphing into a black jockstrap, his blubbery body hanging over his waist. Piggy grew a full beard that showcased the milkshake staying around his mouth. Piggy’s body had become so huge, so far from the lean body he had moments prior.

You thought your boss was just joking when he gave you a warning last time you showed up to work without having done your hair

"Clearly he wasn't joking" you thought as a security guard shoved you into a chair in your boss's office. He scooped an entire can of pomade and started applying it to your scalp. The sensation was like nothing you'd ever felt before, the thick coat of shiny product cementing your hair in place

When your boss was finally done, what you had on your head could hardly he described as hair anymore. More like a sealed shell of gleaming hair product encasing your scalp. Fuck, you definitely should start taking your boss seriously

The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly as Jake jogged up the steps toward his apartment complex. Sweat glistened on his muscular frame - the product of two hours of grueling football drills. But he barely noticed the heat. His mind was already onto bigger things… namely, tonight's big date with Sarah Thompson, head cheerleader and campus queen bee. She’d finally agreed to go out with him after months of relentless pursuit. This was his chance to seal the deal once and for all.

He fumbled with his keys, still panting slightly. "Better hit the showers," he muttered to himself.

The shower felt incredible against his skin. Steam filled the bathroom as Jake lathered up, admiring his physique in the foggy mirror. Six-pack abs, broad shoulders, chiseled jawline - the whole package. No wonder girls couldn’t resist him. He grinned at his reflection.

"Looking good, Jakey boy," he said aloud. "Sarah won’t know what hit her."

As he toweled off, he grabbed a protein bar from his gym bag, scarfing it down in three bites as he walked back to his dorm room. "Gotta keep these guns fueled," he quipped, flexing an arm.

As Jake entered his dorm room, he wrinkled his nose immediately. The pungent smell of weed hit him first – thick and cloying. Then came another stench underneath, musky and unclean. Mark’s sweaty tank top sat balled-up on the floor near his unmade bunk, looking like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. Empty Red Bull cans littered every surface. And the laptop was propped open, screen displaying what appeared to be some paused porno.

"Oh fuckin’ hell," Jake groaned, "Fuckin' disgusting, bro."

Jake kicked aside a pizza box overflowing with moldy crusts to get to his desk. His own laptop sat pristine beside a neat stack of textbooks – his side of the room looked like a model dorm compared to Mark’s pigsty. He glanced over at the other bed again, noticing fresh stains on the sheets. Gross.

Where the hell was Mark anyway? Usually glued to his computer chair, jerking off to god knew what. The dude was a total loser. All day every day, just sitting there getting high and watching porn until his eyes glazed over. Total waste of space.

"Poor bastard never leaves." Jake thought scathingly, "Who lives like this?"

Jake sighed, dropping his towel, and tossing his sweat-soaked jersey into the laundry hamper. At least he kept his shit clean unlike his slob roomie. He caught sight of himself in the dresser mirror – golden tan, bulging pecs, washboard abs, thick, cut cock. Damn right he worked hard for this body. Not like Mark, who probably hadn’t seen sunlight since freshman orientation. He smirked as he rummaged through his closet- he was gonna look good for Sarah tonight.

The laptop across the room dinged suddenly, making Jake jump. He froze, realizing Mark must’ve forgotten to log out. Curiosity got the better of him. Against his better judgment, he padded over to the bed, careful not to touch anything.

"What’s so special about your stupid porn videos, huh?" Jake muttered under his breath. "Let’s see what’s got you so obsessed…"

Jake hovered over the keyboard, mouse cursor hovering uncertainly. Part of him wanted to shut the thing off and pretend he’d never seen this pathetic display. But another part – the nosier, more judgmental part – needed to confirm his suspicions. With a resigned sigh, he clicked play on the paused video.

"The fuck?"

It was some grainy footage of some tubby dude sprawled naked on a mattress, stroking his flabby gut while moaning like a whore. The audio was muffled but Jake could make out the sounds of the man’s hand working his soft belly folds and small, erect cock. Disgusting.

"Why would anyone watch this shit?" Jake wondered aloud, shaking his head. "Mark’s seriously fucked in the head."

Ignoring the grotesque clip, Jake stalked back to his side of the room. He grabbed a pair of boxers and walked over to his desk.

"Alright, no one can resist this." Jake smirked, applying some deodorant and splashing on some cologne, "And now…"

As he slicked back his hair, the audio from the video picked up.

The voice came through loud and clear now. A low murmur, almost breathy. "That's it baby, work that cock," the chubby dude cooed. "Up and down… slow… slower…"

Jake snorted derisively, rolling his eyes as he walked over towards his closet, "Really dude?"

"Yeah, stroke yourself to me," the man moaned. "Just like that… Nice and easy…"

Jake pulled out a tight-fitting button-down shirt and stepped into a pair of designer jeans. "God, what a creep," he muttered, "No wonder Mark’s such a freak."

The voice grew louder, more insistent. "Bet your cock is getting nice and hard for me, isn't it?"

Jake zipped up his jeans and turned to face the laptop, "God this is almost funny." he chuckled, staring at the screen incredulously. The fat man was now leering directly into the camera, rubbing his swollen belly obscenely.

"Go on baby, touch yourself," he urged, eyes locked on the lens. "Get nice and horny for me. C'mon, don't be shy!"

Jake let out a short bark of laughter and shook his head, turning away sharply. "Holy shit, not going there," he said nervously trying not to notice the growing discomfort and pressure between his legs.

And then he felt it. Undeniable. A sudden throbbing need pulsing through him. With rising panic he pressed his legs together, trying to hide the growing tent in his jeans. Was this actually happening? Him – popular athlete, lady killer Jake – getting turned on by some pudgy geek fondling himself?

No. That couldn’t be. Couldn’t possibly be. It was totally ridiculous, completely wrong. Just nerves or adrenaline or maybe those lingering endorphins from his workout earlier. Yeah, that was it. Nothing to freak out over.

Jake took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Relax," he told himself firmly, "It’s just the weirdness of the situation. Doesn’t mean anything."

But even as he spoke, his traitorous cock twitched eagerly in his pants. Fuck. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, desperate for relief. Maybe he should just whip it out real quick and take care of business. Get rid of this annoying tension so he could focus on his date with Sarah later.

Before he could second-guess himself, Jake hastily unbuckled his belt and shoved his jeans down around his thighs. His erection sprang free, flushed and straining. "Shit," he gasped, giving himself a rough squeeze. Pleasure rippled through him and he groaned.

"I’ll be fast," he promised himself breathlessly, wrapping his fingers around his shaft and starting to pump. "Don’t think, just… ahh…"

His hips jerked involuntarily, thrusting into his fist. God it felt good. Too good. The depraved voice from the laptop echoed in his ears.

"That’s it, baby, touch yourself," it crooned. "Nice and slow. Let me hear you moan."

Jake peeled off his clothes haphazardly, leaving only his snug white undershirt. The thin cotton clung to his sculpted torso, riding up to expose his defined V-line. His cock bobbed heavily between his thighs, thick and veiny, leaking pre-cum.

"Damn," he breathed, wrapping his fingers around the heated flesh. Slowly, he began to stroke, savoring each delicious drag of his palm along his sensitive length. His breathing grew ragged as pleasure built inside him.

"That’s it, nice and easy," the voice murmured approvingly from the speakers. "Take your time. Enjoy every second."

Jake bit his lip, fighting the urge to speed up. Every cell in his body screamed for release but something held him back. Some dark instinct told him to obey, to prolong this sweet torment. So he complied, pumping his aching cock in torturously slow, deliberate strokes. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as his muscles tensed.

"Yes! Good boy," the disembodied voice praised. "Now hold it. Hold it right there for me."

"Ahhh fuuuck," he grunted through gritted teeth, thighs trembling. His heavy balls drew up tight. He was so close, teetering on the razor’s edge of ecstasy. But somehow, impossibly, he willed himself to stop. To hover there, suspended in agonizing bliss, cock throbbing desperately in his grip.

Jake ran his tongue over his lips and scratched at his chin absentmindedly. Something felt different. Off. His fingers met coarse bristle instead of smooth skin. What the—? When did he start growing a beard?

Confusion clouded his lust-hazed brain. He didn’t have a beard. Hadn’t ever had one. He made a point of keeping his chiseled jawline clean-shaven. Always had. It was part of his image. Chicks dug the clean-cut look.

So why the hell was his face covered in fur now?

He rubbed his cheeks, blinking in disbelief. Thick, wiry hairs sprouted everywhere. Down his neck, dusting his collarbone. Even a little patch on his chest. Like a grizzly bear was crawling out of his pores.

This wasn’t possible.

"Keep going. Up and down, up and down…"

The voice droned on, encouraging him to keep pleasuring himself despite the terrifying changes happening to his body. Jake squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the sensation of his cock in his hand, trying to ignore the strange sensations covering him elsewhere. But he couldn’t deny it. His hands confirmed what his eyes saw—the most alarming shift of all. His pubic hair seemed thicker and curlier than usual, springing wildly outward as far as his fingertips could trace. Worse, similar tufts were spreading up his inner thighs and descending into his crack.

"You’re doing great," the stranger on the screen rasped, oblivious to Jake’s confusion, "Keep going… more…"

Unconsciously, his hips started rocking faster, chasing the release he’d denied himself for so long. His balls tightened painfully, cock pulsing urgently in his grip. He was so close, balanced on a knife’s edge. Just a few more strokes—

"And stop! Bask in it…" The command cracked through the air like a gunshot.

Jake froze mid-stroke, trembling violently. Every muscle strained, screaming for completion. Drool leaked from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to obey, to stay perfectly still with his throbbing cock in hand. Tears pricked at his eyes. It hurt. Oh god, it hurt so bad.

"Good boy," the voice purred. "Such control. Now breathe. Deep breaths. Feel the pleasure build. Don’t fight it."

Jake whimpered, chest heaving. His vision blurred. He was lost. Drowning in sensation. There was nothing else. Only the ache. The need.

"Pl-please…" Jake begged, "I… oh fuck…"

"Almost there," the voice coaxed. "Hold on just a little longer. You’re doing so well. Such a good boy."

Jake sobbed brokenly, hips twitching uncontrollably. His cock wept steadily now, dripping sticky fluid over his fist. He was beyond thought, beyond reason. There was only the endless cycle of agony and ecstasy. Edge. Deny. Repeat.

"Focus," the voice instructed, "On your task. On my voice. Forget everything else. Cancel any plans. Focus solely on this."

"B-but my plans… Sarah." Jake's breath was heavy, his eyes half-lidded, "I… don't want this. Why can't I stop?"

But his hand moved almost of its own accord, thumbs flying across the screen.

'Sorry babe. Can't make it. Got sick.'

Sent. Done. Forgotten. Because the truth was, Jake didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to break the spell. Not when he was so close. So tantalizingly close.

As he tossed his phone aside, Jake became aware of a new sensation. A strange fullness pressing against his waistband. Confused, he lifted his shirt and peered down.

What he saw made his blood run cold. Where once there had been taut, toned abdominal muscles, now lay a soft swell of flesh. Not much yet—a mere hint—but undeniably present.

A gut.

Like Mark’s.

"No," Jake whispered hoarsely, "Not me. Never me."

But even as he protested, he could feel the changes accelerating. His skin prickled and stretched, expanding rapidly. Coarse hairs sprouted across his chest and belly, thickening into a dense pelt.

"Wh-what’s happening to me?" he wailed, voice cracking. "Make it stop! Please, someone make it stop!"

"Take a hit, get into the mindset." the voice instructed, "But don't let go of your cock. Up and down. Up and down."

Through half-lidded eyes, he looked over to Mark's desk.

Amidst the clutter lay a familiar blue pipe and lighter. Mark’s weed. Of course. He used it constantly to enhance his sessions, lose himself completely in the haze.

Jake licked his lips hungrily. Just a tiny puff to dull the edge. To give him strength. The glass tube trembled in his grasp as he lit it, taking a deep drag. The acrid smoke scorched his lungs but he didn’t cough. Didn’t dare. Holding the burning inhale, he squeezed his eyes shut and focused inward.

Instantly, the world narrowed. Distances collapsed. Sound muted. Time slowed. All that existed was the throb of his cock in his hand and the velvet caress of the high blooming behind his eyelids.

Yes. This was good. Right. Exactly what he needed.

With renewed vigor, Jake stroked himself, gasping and shuddering as waves of euphoria crashed over him. Deeper and deeper he fell, losing himself in the rhythm. In and out. Up and down. An endless loop of pleasure and denial.

Nothing else mattered. Only this. Only the voice guiding him. Telling him how good he was. How perfect. How he was exactly where he belonged.

Hours passed. Or minutes. Jake couldn’t say. He drifted in a dreamlike state, pleasuring himself robotically, existing purely for the voice and the commands it gave. His body continued changing, morphing into something unfamiliar and foreign. Hair spread like wildfire across his skin, hiding his old shape beneath a matted blanket of fur. His face rounded, jowls sagging. Belly swelled, stretching his shirt taut. Muscles softened, melted away. The smell of his deodorant and cologne were drowned out by his new, pungent musk.

Yet he didn’t resist. Couldn’t. He was lost. Drowned in the sea of sensation. The constant push-pull of agony and ecstasy. Edge. Deny. Repeat. Distantly, he registered the buzz of his phone. Text alerts. Missed calls. Probably Sarah wondering why he stood her up. But he ignored it. It meant nothing. None of it did anymore.

______

A door creaked. Footsteps shuffled closer. Soft gasps and murmurs followed. The smell hit Jake next—a familiar blend of stale chips, sweat, and pot.

"Aight Jake," Mark drawled, settling heavily on the edge of the bed. "Guess ya found the vid, huh?" His words slurred lazily, pupils blown wide. "Hooo-wee buddy, that’s somethin’ ain’t it?"

Jake blinked blearily, struggling to focus on the figure looming above him. Mark’s doughy face swam into view, split by a slack grin. His roommate’s usual stained t-shirt strained over his rotund middle, armpits yellowed with perspiration.

"S-saw it," Jake managed weakly, throat raw. "Couldn’t… couldn’t stop."

"Yep," Mark nodded sagely, picking at his nose. "First time I watched it too. Life changer, lemme tell ya. Went from being a nerd to well… this."

"But… but…" Jake whispered hoarsely, "Gonna wake up and it’ll all be a bad dream? Right?"

"Sorry, but no. Your old life’s over, bro," Mark said, placing a meaty paw on Jake’s hairy shoulder. "Welcome to the club."

Jake shuddered at the contact, revulsion warring with reluctant acceptance. Because Mark was right. His sleek muscles had gone soft, replaced by pillowy rolls of fat. His chiseled features had smoothed into pudgy blandness- all covered in a forest of wiry, musky hairs. Even his cock, once proud and powerful, had shrunk to a stubby nub buried in a nest of coarse curls.

"We’ll get you set up," Mark promised, reaching for the pipe. "Help you really embrace it. We’ll be like… brothers, yeah? Two goons livin’ large, gettin’ high and edgin’ all damn day."

Jake stared numbly at the ceiling, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Everything he’d worked for, strived for, was gone. Poof. Vanished like smoke. Leaving behind only this…

"So uh… whaddya wanna do?" Mark asked, kicking back on the bed. "We could order a pizza or somethin’. Maybe find ourselves a livestream to edge to. Together."

Jake didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They both knew he had no choice anymore. Jake stared blankly at the wall, listening to Mark dial the pizza place. His fingers idly played with his drooping cock, squeezing lightly. Still so sensitive. Still so much need. And Jake knew it then.

Sam had been a city boy just a few weeks ago, but everything changed as he was driving through the country one faithful night, his Prius broke down and his cell had no signal out until the middle of nowhere. Luckily for him an older gentleman in a big pickup truck happened to drive by and offer him a ride. The man was easily in his late 40s with a pudging belly and a large beard. Something about the man was so alurring to the young boy as he rode in his in his truck. They shared some small talk back and forth, and the boy found himself becoming more and more relaxed around the man. After some time the man offered the boy some chew. He’d never smoked or chewed anything in his life in fact he found the idea gross, but something about this man made him want to do it. His hand reached out and took some packing it messily into his lip. He felt as the nicotine entered his body and his mind. He felt his mind grow foggy and he passed out. “That’s right boy just let it take over” were the last words he heard

You thought your boss was just joking when he gave you a warning last time you showed up to work without having done your hair

"Clearly he wasn't joking" you thought as a security guard shoved you into a chair in your boss's office. He scooped an entire can of pomade and started applying it to your scalp. The sensation was like nothing you'd ever felt before, the thick coat of shiny product cementing your hair in place

When your boss was finally done, what you had on your head could hardly he described as hair anymore. More like a sealed shell of gleaming hair product encasing your scalp. Fuck, you definitely should start taking your boss seriously

“hypno henchman sketchies”