Makinufat

wanna drink some beers and watch football bro? 🐷⚽️

This is a sequel to the Apron Costume Shop story.

By the time Connor found the aprons again, he’d already forgotten ever seeing them before. Well, some version of Connor had seen them before…even if not this one.

They were in the back seat of Mason’s car in a crinkled costume-shop bag, wedged between a half-empty case of hard seltzer and a book bag. Connor dragged the bag out by one handle while they were parked in front of the Delta-Alpha-Delta house, both of them half-dressed and already late for the brothers annual costume bash.

“Dude, you promised to get us real costumes!” Mason huffed. “Tell me these aprons aren’t our costumes!”

Connor reached into the bag and pulled out the red one first. It unfolded in a bright square of cotton and cheap black lettering:

KING OF THE GRILL

He laughed immediately. “Oh, absolutely these are our costumes.”

Mason took the second apron and held it up by the neck loop. Dark blue denim, big stitched pocket, silver letters across the chest:

ASK ME ABOUT MY MARINADE

Mason stared at it, then at Connor, and started laughing too. “This is so bad.”

“Exactly! It’s perfect.” Connor draped the red apron over his bare chest. “We go as two dads!”

Mason slipped the blue one over his head and started creating a back-story to help his general disappointment in his friend’s decision in costumes subside. “Two divorced dads, specifically.”

“Two hot divorced dads” Connor retorted before Mason could even finish.

“From a cul-de-sac in Ohio!”

Both men laughed for a few seconds - proud of their addenda to the underwhelming presentation of the aprons. Connor adjusted the neck strap and frowned for a second. “Do these feel… weird to you?”

“Weird how?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know.” He tugged at the apron front. “Familiar? Maybe?”

Mason looked down at his own apron and shrugged. “Probably because they’re the most spiritually correct costumes we’ve ever had.”

That felt like enough of an answer. Connor snorted, grabbed a backwards baseball cap from the dash, and slapped it onto Mason’s head. Mason retaliated by swiping Connor’s plastic sunglasses from the cupholder and shoving them at him.

Two minutes later, they walked into the ΔΑΔ house with a swagger and the undeserved confidence of two young men who had planned their costumes well in advance.

The party was already in full swing. Music thumped through the floorboards. The downstairs smelled like beer, sweat, and whatever someone had burned in the kitchen an hour ago. Brothers were everywhere - Roman togas, cowboy hats, football pads, fake mustaches, jerseys, nothing coherent or cerebral. A few shouted as soon as Connor and Mason came through the front room.

“Holy hell,” someone yelled from the couch. “It’s the grill masters!”

“Delta Alpha Delta!” another brother shouted. “More like DAD!” That got a bigger cheer than it deserved.

Connor spread his arms theatrically, red apron on full display. “Gentlemen, I’m here to discuss propane and propane accessories!”

Mason patted the pocket on his blue apron and said, dead seriously, “Don’t ask me what’s in the marinade if you’re not prepared for the answer!”

Someone, probably already wasted, nearly fell off a barstool laughing. For the first half hour, that was all it was: a dumb bit, a good bit, the kind of costume that got funnier the drunker everyone got - and you can be sure people were plenty drunk. Connor and Mason played into it shamelessly. Connor stood in the kitchen with one hand on his hip telling a pledge made up stories about the tragedy of overdone burgers. Mason accepted a beer and immediately started lecturing nobody about optimal meat refrigeration times.

Every now and then, though, one of them would glance down at the apron he was wearing and feel a tiny useless twinge, like when you heard part of a song you almost knew. Something about the fabric. Something about the cut. Something hovering just out of reach.

Then Tyler and Eli cornered them by the stairs. Tyler was in a pale blue polo and backward white cap, already flushed from drinking, carrying a giant foam cup like it was part of his costume - which otherwise seemed non-existant. Eli stood next to him in jeans and an old fraternity T-shirt, glasses slipping down his nose.

“You guys have to let us try those on,” Tyler said, pointing between them. “Just for a minute.”

“For what?” Mason asked.

Tyler grinned. “Because I want to see if we can pull off "Father of the Year" energy! I have dad jokes for days!”

“And I want to see if this one,” Eli said, flicking the blue apron, “can make me look like I refinance boats for a living. And besides - our non-existent costumes are lame and you guys have had enough attention already! Spread the love!”

Connor looked at Mason. Mason looked at Connor. Both shrugged.

“Fine,” Connor said. “But if you spill anything on King of the Grill, I swear to God…”

Tyler saluted and snatched the red apron. Eli took the blue one more carefully.

“There’s a mirror upstairs, let's use it to take some selfies” Tyler said. “We’ll be back in two minutes.”

Connor watched them head up the stairs shoulder to shoulder, aprons hanging from their hands. He felt that odd twinge again, stronger this time, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“What?” Mason asked.

“Nothing,” Connor said. “I just had the strangest feeling.”

“About?”

He watched Tyler and Eli disappear down the upstairs hall. “No clue.”

⸻

The upstairs half-bathroom at the ΔΑΔ house was barely big enough for two men to stand in shoulder to shoulder without elbowing each other, which made it exactly the kind of place Tyler and Eli would choose for a joke selfie.

Tyler put the red apron on first, still laughing. “Tell me honestly,” he said, turning toward the mirror. “Am I giving neighborhood cookout dad?”

Eli, already looping the denim apron over his head, smirked. “You’re giving ‘asks if the beer in the fridge is for everybody.’”

Tyler barked a laugh. “That’s the same thing!”

Then he stopped. His smile lingered a second too long on his face before slipping. He tugged at the neck strap. “Dude.”

Eli was staring at himself now too. “Why does this suddenly feel tight?”

The room seemed to shrink around them. Tyler’s shoulders jerked first, broadening under the red apron not with youthful gym definition but with the heavier, denser width of an older man. His chest thickened. His waist pushed outward, not soft exactly, but settling into a substantial, middle-aged solidity. The pale blue polo beneath the apron tightened, then changed with him, seams stretching and reshaping into an older cut that fit a thicker torso.

“Connor got the wrong size or something,” Tyler started to joke, but his voice snagged halfway down into something deeper, rougher. He grabbed the sink.

In the mirror, a dark blur spread over his jaw. Beard stubble pushed through smooth skin all at once, not in patches but in a fast, bristling wave, thickening up his cheeks, darkening his chin, filling into a full beard that framed a face broadening by the second. His cheeks got heavier. The easy, loose planes of a college kid’s face settled into the lined, lived-in structure of a man around fifty. His nose looked more pronounced. Crow’s feet pinched into the corners of his eyes. Beneath the backward cap, the front of his hairline crept backward, temples clearing, then the crown thinning until the cap sat oddly over less hair than it had a second ago.

“Eli!” Tyler said, and the name came out in the voice and tone of his father.

Eli lurched back against the towel rack. “No, no, no.”

His own change was racing him. The glasses on his face shifted as his features thickened underneath them. His jaw got broader. His cheeks filled. The bridge of his nose hardened into a stronger line. Beneath the blue apron, his slim torso filled out, shoulders becoming denser, chest fuller, stomach firmer and thicker. Dark chest hair pushed up under the collar of his T-shirt and spilled higher as if it had always been there. His hairline retreated in a smooth, merciless line at the temples, leaving the front slightly higher, more mature, more undeniably his father’s.

Across his upper lip, a thick dark mustache grew in dense and fast, heavy enough to change his whole expression. His forearms roughened. Hair spread darker over them. Even his posture changed, settling lower and sturdier.

Tyler stared at him in horror. “You look like—”

“Don’t say it,” Eli snapped, except it didn’t come out like Eli anymore. It came out like a man in his early forties who had spent years answering work calls on speakerphone. He clutched the sink next to Tyler, the mustache on his face making the motion look absurdly natural. “You look like your—”

Tyler’s cap no longer fit right. He pulled it off and stared at the thinning hair beneath it, then at the beard shadow swallowing the lower half of his face. Hair had started creeping out at the open neck of his shirt. His arms were thicker, dusted with more hair. His stomach pressed solidly against the apron front.

For one brief, impossible instant, both men understood exactly what was happening. Tyler saw his own father in the mirror wearing his expression and Eli saw his father’s mustache settle onto his own face.

Then the understanding loosened. The panic didn’t vanish so much as slide sideways, becoming confusion with nowhere to land.

Tyler blinked at the mirror. “Why am I…” He frowned. “Whose house is this?”

Eli touched his mustache, puzzled but no longer terrified. “I was looking for a bathroom, I think?”

Tyler peeled the red apron off automatically, as if it were the least important part of the situation, and dropped it on the sink. Eli unlooped the blue one and hung it on a hook near the sink. Then they looked at each other.

“Do I know you?” Tyler asked.

Eli squinted. “Maybe? Why are we in the bathroom together?”

After a few seconds the two middle-aged men walked back into the party like they had taken a wrong turn at a neighborhood cookout.

⸻

Connor noticed Tyler first. Or the man who had been Tyler first anyway. There was a thick-built, bearded man standing by the chips in a better-fitting version of Tyler’s polo, turning slowly in place like he had entered the wrong address. He looked about fifty, broad through the chest and waist, hairline receded, beard neat but full. He had Tyler’s eyes.

Connor laughed out loud before he could stop himself. “Okay, who invited somebody’s dad?”

Mason, coming out of the kitchen, followed his gaze - and then froze. At the far end of the room, another older man had just emerged from the hall. Early forties maybe. Glasses. Receding brown hair. Thick mustache. Sturdier build than Eli had had by a wide margin. He looked around with calm, low-grade confusion and accepted a beer from a passing brother without asking questions.

“That’s not funny,” Mason said quietly.

Connor turned. “What?”

Mason looked from one man to the other. “Where are Tyler and Eli?” Connor’s grin faltered.

The red apron was back downstairs twenty minutes later, crumpled on the arm of a couch. Nobody knew how it got there. The blue one turned up in the upstairs hall, then vanished again.

At first, Connor and Mason tried to find some rational explanation, mostly because the irrational one would have required saying sentences neither of them wanted to say out loud.

Maybe Tyler and Eli had gone home and someone’s actual dads had shown up. Maybe alumni were invited. Maybe the whole house had gotten more drunk than either of them realized.

Then Brandon disappeared into the downstairs laundry room with the red apron over one shoulder, shouting to somebody that he was going to “see if the dad energy hits different.”

He had already been one of the hairier brothers in the house - shirtless under an open flannel, dark chest hair, thick legs, built like he spent more time squatting than he did studying - which he did by a wide margin. Connor almost called after him. Mason actually started to. But by the time they got to the laundry room door, it was shut.

From inside came a muffled curse, then a heavy thump.

Connor knocked once. “Brandon?”

A long pause. Then a gruff: “One second.”

The voice that answered was not Brandon’s voice. Connor and Mason looked at each other. The door opened a crack first, then wider.

Then out popped a man with Brandon’s dark eyes and hairy torso but absolutely nothing else in common. He was broader, thicker, built like the older version of Brandon had been buried inside him all along and had finally gotten his turn to break free. Hair covered his chest in a dense dark spread that disappeared down over a full, powerful belly - more muscle than softness beneath it, but unmistakably a dad gut now. His scalp was mostly bald, the top cleared out and shiny under the overhead light, with only heavier hair around the sides. A thick mustache dominated his face, dark and blunt over his mouth. His forearms were huge and shaggy. He held the red apron in one hand like he had forgotten why.

He blinked at them. “You boys in line for the washer?”

Connor’s mouth fell open. The man frowned, looked at the apron, shrugged, and draped it over a chair before lumbering past them into the party.

Mason grabbed Connor’s forearm. “It’s the aprons!”

Connor shook him off automatically, still staring after Brandon’s father. “No shit, Sherlock!"

By then the party had started to tilt. Not all at once, not with a scream or a flash of lightning. It tilted the way a room tilts in a dream - so gradually that you only noticed once your drink slid off the table.

A skinny sophomore Connor barely knew went upstairs in the blue apron and came back as a narrow, graying man in the frat t-shirt, patting his pockets for car keys and asking if anyone had seen a Honda double-parked on their way in.

A broad-shouldered lacrosse bro vanished into the bathroom with the red apron and emerged later as a ruddy, barrel-chested father with a salt-and-pepper goatee, immediately complaining that the music was too loud.

Another brother came out of the downstairs bathroom older, balder, and deeply offended by the quality of the paper towels.

Some of the transformed men clustered automatically in the kitchen. One found the thermostat and turned it down. Another stood by the snack table talking to no one in particular about propane tanks. A third ended up out back examining the house grill with the solemn concentration of a monk.

Every so often one of them would stop, look around, and ask a question in complete sincerity.

“Is this a fundraiser?”

“Whose basement is this?”

“Why is everybody wearing costumes?”

“What's the password for my phone, my son always tells me...”

They were confused, yes - but not enough to panic. Their minds kept smoothing over the inconsistencies in their existence. A fraternity house party became, in their heads, some hazy event they had probably meant to attend at their son's request. Something odd, but survivable.

Connor and Mason tried to keep track of who was still themselves and failed almost immediately. Faces got slippery. Names blurred. Someone Connor swore had been on the couch earlier was now a bald man in orthopedic sneakers talking about mulch. Mason started a list in his phone, but the names stopped meaning anything halfway down.

Around one in the morning they finally found both aprons together again, abandoned in the upstairs bathroom where Tyler and Eli had changed. Connor picked up the red one. Mason took the blue. The mirror above the sink showed two flushed young men in a tiny fraternity bathroom, scared enough now to be quiet.

“Do it,” Mason said.

Connor nodded. They pulled the aprons back on. Nothing happened. They waited. Still nothing - but they somehow knew nothing would happen and not just because they wore the aprons to the party.

The silence in the room deepened. Mason stared at himself in the mirror, blue apron against his chest. “Why doesn’t it work on us?”

Connor gave the kind of laugh people used when they wanted it to cover everything else. “Maybe we’re just imagining everything and we attended a party that was always full of middle-aged dads?”

Mason turned and looked at him. “Connor.”

There was something in his face then that made Connor look back at the mirror. For one impossible second, the reflection changed. Not fully. Not like the others. Just a flicker.

The young blond guy in the red apron was gone, and in his place stood a middle-aged man with a thicker chest, stronger hands, rougher face - someone older, heavier, deeply familiar. Beside him, Mason flickered too: not brown-haired and twenty, but older, broader, with a more mature face and a darker apron stretched over a much larger body. A costume shop mirror. Narrow changing rooms. Fluorescent light.

A shopping bag. Laughter in voices that were not these voices. Driving home with the aprons. Connor jerked backward so hard he hit the toilet. The image vanished.

Mason grabbed the sink with both hands, breathing hard. “You saw that.”

Connor swallowed. “Yeah.”

Neither of them said what it meant. They didn’t need to.

⸻

By the time dawn started whitening the windows, the ΔΑΔ house no longer felt like a fraternity house. It felt like the after-hours lounge of a suburban rec center that had somehow swallowed a keg party.

Middle-aged men sat on couches rubbing their temples. One of them had started wiping down the kitchen counters. Two others were on the back deck beside the grill, speaking to each other with intense concern about whether the propane line was secure. Somewhere upstairs, a man with a thick mustache was asking if anyone had aspirin and why his son wasn't at the party.

Connor and Mason slipped outside with the aprons folded between them. They sat side by side on the curb in front of the house, the sky just beginning to brighten over the roofs. Empty cups littered the lawn. From inside came the muffled sound of dads talking over one another in confused, practical tones. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then Mason looked down at the blue apron beside him.

“If it turned all of them into their dads…” he said slowly, “why didn’t it turn us into ours?”

Connor stared at the red apron. The flash from the bathroom had already started to fade, slipping away like a dream right after waking. But the feeling of it remained - older hands, a different body, the terrible certainty that the aprons had recognized them once already. He rubbed his thumb over the word GRILL.

(Pride Month Special)

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m cool with gay dudes and gay chicks but I just don’t understand why you guys need a whole month? What’s there to celebrate? It’s not like we have a pride month for straight people.” Kyle mused as he scuffed his trainer against the floor.

Garrett had to do his best not to immediately roll his eyes at his clueless roommate. “It’s not just about being part of the LGBTQ. It’s about celebrating how far we’ve and everyone that came before us have come. And how far we still need to go until we get real equality. It’s not just about celebrating how much we like being gay. Come on Kyle…” Garrett did his best to explain things to Kyle but it was clear most of what he was saying went right over the straight skater bro’s head.

“I dunno brah. I feel like you guys have it pretty equal nowadays. I see gay dudes, like, everywhere.” Kyle retorted, his obliviousness somehow making him sound dumber than he already was. It was clear he didn’t mean anything he was saying in a hateful or derogatory way. It was just the ignorance of a straight man shining bright.

“Not in the slightest. I wish that were true but we’re still a ways off equal rights.” Garrett insisted. “I get it’s probably hard to grasp if you’re not actually gay but please just trust me.”

Kyle shrugged. “Whatever you say man. I still think it’s a bit over the top. You do you though I guess.”

Garrett watched as Kyle sauntered off towards his bedroom. He couldn’t help but sigh a little. He could swear they’d had this exact same debate last year during Pride month. And the year before that. Yet every time, no matter how well Garrett explained it, the reason as to why it was so important always seemed to fly over Kyle’s head. Garrett liked the guy but Kyle really could be dense sometimes.

Unbeknownst to them both, a great and powerful warlock had been spying on them. Mr Wavell. Invisible as he usually was. He’d been in search of his next experiment and he couldn’t help but think he’d found just the right guy in Kyle. He was cute for sure. Lean but very hairy from head to toe with some nice facial hair that really got Wavell’s cock pumping. Not to mention that dumb skater bro attitude was enough to make Wavell want to bend him over the side of his bed right here and now before fucking him until the sun comes up.

Immediately Wavell began to think of all the things he could possibly do to Kyle. He could force him to swap bodies with Garrett. He could get him to hulk out of his baggy clothes. Perhaps even add some fat to go with all that hair and make him into a proper bear of a man. Or what if he aged Kyle up to his mid forties just to see how much of a daddy he’d become in years to come. Kyle seemed like the type to age like fine wine after all. However, after the conversation he’d just witnessed, Wavell soon landed on the perfect change for a man like this.

As Kyle laid on his bed scrolling through his phone, Wavell held out a hand towards him. Purple magic began to sparkle around his fingertips before shooting out towards the oblivious dolt before him. Kyle was none the wiser, his mortal eyes unable to see or detect the magic without Wavell’s say so. Before long Kyle’s entire body was wrapped in a soft purple glow as he continued to mindlessly scroll past images of half naked women mixed into his feed. The magic pulsed a few times around his figure before focusing down to concentrate on three precise points on his body.

His brain, his cock and his ass.

Kyle couldn’t help but shift around awkwardly on the bed as his ass began to transform first. It was the most subtle of the three but still necessary in Wavell’s eyes. Those unremarkable fuzzy cheeks he had hidden away in his baggy shorts started to swell and perk up. Soon gaining a bubblier shape that would jiggle modestly with any step he took. Soon becoming a shapely and supple ass, the likes of which anyone would be tempted to smack just for the sake of watching it ripple.

The 27 year old was none the wiser to his first change. However he couldn’t help but grunt a little when the magic pulsing around his crotch began to morph his cock. All his life, Kyle had been blessed with a horse cock. It was part of the reason he always wore such baggy clothes. Anything too tight would run the risk of looking obscene with how large his manhood was. But that was about to change.

9 hefty inches. That’s how big Kyle’s dick was when he got excited. Even still a staggering 6 inches while soft. Enough to give any man all the confidence he needs in life. But now as Wavell’s magic works its was in and around Kyle’s prised male organ, that intimidating size began to slip away. Slowly losing inch after inch alongside some of its formerly impressive girth. Kyle barely noticed. Only scratching his groin in oblivious confusion while continuing to scroll his phone.

Before long Kyle’s once mighty cock had shrunken down to about half of its former greatness. 5 inches hard and 3 inches soft. Much more modest. It was generous considering Wavell had all the power to give Kyle a tiny little micro dick but he decided not to be quite so cruel. Still it was a far cry from the cock Kyle had once had. It doesn't matter though. Soon enough Kyle wouldn't need a large impressive cock anyway.

With Kyle’s cock and ass now changed, his brain was last on the chopping block. The magic swirling around the dome of his head began to intensify as it reached inside of his mind and wormed around until it found what it was looking for. Kyle’s sexuality. The previous two changes had just been for Wavell’s enjoyment. This one was what he was really in it for.

Kyle found himself feeling oddly faint and lightheaded and Wavell’s magic systematically removed any attraction Kyle once had towards women. Draining him of any kind of sexual magnetism for the opposite sex until he was nothing more than a blank slate in that regard. Ready to be remodeled as the warlock saw fit.

Then came the fun part. Wavell had the pleasure of refilling Kyle’s sexuality with a pure unbridled lust for cock. Before long his brain had become completely fogged over with thoughts and images of handsome men, both young and old. His heart raced as he failed to stop himself from feeling hot and flushed at the idea of touching another man’s hairy chest or kissing his biceps. And of course sucking dick. Wavell would make sure to plant these desires so deep inside Kyle’s brain that soon the mere idea of getting fucked by another man would feel like a necessity to him. Like it was something he simply couldn’t live without.

Kyle had become a writhing horny mess on the bed. His phone discarded to one side as he reached a hand down towards his crotch. His diminished cock was as stiff as could be and sensitive to the touch. He reached underneath the waist band to grip it gently. He should’ve noticed how much smaller it was now but somehow as he wrapped his fingers around the shaft, it felt normal…

There was part of his mind that was trying to tell him that something was very wrong. Trying to remind him that he was a straight man despite how much he wanted to bust a nut at the thought of swallowing another dude's cum. Trying to remind him that he liked women as he arched his back at the idea of being speared up the ass by an enormous cock. His mortal brain did everything it could to warn him. But it wasn’t nearly enough to stand against the might of Mr Wavell’s potent magic.

Soon enough Kyle’s shorts were down around his ankles as he found himself jerking off furiously to the onslaught of hot men that now plagued his mind. He’d turned over on the bed so that his face was on the pillow with his ass up in the air while he reached underneath to touch himself. He envisioned some kind of hunk or daddy coming up behind him and rubbing their dick in between his thick hairy ass cheeks. Teasing his hole gently before finally sliding in and giving him the pounding of a lifetime. It was all he could think about as his former life as a straight man seemed to slip through his fingers.

Wavell nodded to himself as he watched, pleased with his handiwork as always. He absolutely could’ve left it there and moved on after taking some time to enjoy the sight. But when he thought of a way to make this even better, he just couldn’t help himself.

He left Kyle where he was in the bedroom before phasing through the walls and into the living room where Garrett was sat. He was flipping through the TV looking for something to watch, completely unaware of what’d happened to his roommate. The unsuspecting man was equally unaware of how the warlock was about to change him as well.

Mr Wavell’s magic reached out towards Garrett similar to how it’d reached Kyle. Coiling gently around Garrett’s lean but fit frame until he was completely submerged in the warmth of Wavell’s sparkling purple magic. Though, just like Kyle, he couldn’t see it. What he would see however was the transformation it was about to bestow upon him.

Garrett’s change was no doubt going to be much more physical than Kyle’s had been, evident by how the magic seemed to spread itself evenly across his entire body rather than focusing on any specific spots. Then, with a smirk, Wavell used his power to begin aging Garrett up.

Prior to this Garrett had always been just a couple years younger than Kyle, having turned 25 a few months back. But not anymore as Garrett found himself growing older by the second. Quickly rising up through his twenties and into his thirties. He had no idea what was happening to him at first. Only that he felt this bizarre build up of energy pulsing around his body in an oddly pleasurable reverberating wave. Hardly even noticing the way his skin began to look more weathered or the feeling of wrinkles starting to form around his eyes and forehead. Or even how his hairline started to recede more noticeably as he started to approach his forties.

Garrett let out a low and satisfied grumble as he allowed his head to fall back against the couch. He should’ve questioned this weird and unnatural sensation but it felt too damn good. So much so that his eyes fluttered shut just dark brown hair began to see wisps of silver that didn’t waste any time multiplying as he continued along his forties. Even the mild hair on his chest and face started to gain a salt and pepper touch.

And finally Garrett reached his early fifties. Luckily for him, the rapid aging came to a screeching halt soon after. He was left looking like a delicious dad who most would agree was a dilf that could absolutely get it. Still lean and fit but now with a bit more mature edge. It was immediately clear that Garrett was just one of those men that age like fine wine. Only looking better as they look older. Wavell had just helped him skip to the good part. But he wasn’t finished.

“There’s still room to dad-ify you a little more I think…” Wavell muttered to himself. So he urged his magic on just a little bit further to keep moulding Garrett’s body.

The result of this was for Garrett’s stomach to rumble loudly. It was an omen for what was to come as seconds later, his once slender physique swiftly began to swell with fat. His lean muscle softening slightly under layers of string capable flesh. His growing arms filled out the sleeves of his shirt slightly. Those ballooning thighs strained the seams of his pants. His once hard chest couldn’t help but sag ever so slightly. But most notably of all, his belly started to expand until he was left with a nice hefty dad gut.

Wavell made sure to add a few final touches like making sure to fill out Garrett’s face with a little bit of chub as well as granting him a nice dad butt to match his belly. But even after adding all that sexy new weight to Garrett’s frame, Wavell was still hungry for more dadification.

“Hmmmm… How about some extra fur.” Wavell shrugged before snapping his fingers.

The magic around Garrett glowed brightly again. Then in an instant, newfound body hair began to sprout around his chubby new dad bod. Swirling around his chest and stomach the most but also giving his legs, ass and arms a good helping too. He still wasn’t quite as hairy as Kyle but he wasn’t far off. Especially as his beard grew fuller than ever before.

“Almost perfect. Just one last thing…”

The purple glow moved now and concentrated only on Garrett’s groin. Swirling desperately around his bulge as it began to flood his dick with transformative energy similar to what’d happened to Kyle. Only Garret’s cock didn’t get smaller. Quite the opposite. It started to grow rapidly. Getting longer and girthier while his balls get fatter and fuller. Not stopping until Garrett was carrying an enormous drooling daddy cock between his legs.

Wavell grinned. “There. Now that’s a daddy.”

As the magic finally began to dissipate, so did the warm pleasurable sensation that’d been keeping Garrett distracted. As such he found himself opening his eyes again slowly only to look wide eyed down at his new form.

“W-w-w-what the f-FUCK!” He roared in a panic. Even his voice was different. More gravely and aged. His hands flew to his midsection, grabbing his belly in disbelief. He was lost for words with no idea how to react beyond simply squeezing his gut a few times to confirm it was real. Every instinct was screaming at him that it was impossible. And yet… he couldn’t even remember what his body was supposed to look like? Wavell had already taken the step of removing most of Garrett’s knowledge of his younger self. Before long he’ll believe he’s always been this thick older daddy. But a little extra push to help get his mind off things couldn’t hurt right?

At last Wavell undid the invisibility shimmer on himself, allowing Garrett to see the warlock standing before him.

“Whoa!? W-where did you come from?!? Who are you?!?!” Garrett shouted in a panic, understandably so. Unfortunately he wouldn’t get an answer to his question.

Before he had a chance to wrap his mind around what the hell was happening, the suited stranger before him reached out and grabbed either side of Garrett’s head. Mr Wavell’s eyes began to glow a deep violet as he cradled Garrett’s head in his hands. Garrett sank under his control in a matter of seconds. Nobody could resist his gaze.

“You love being a daddy. Ultimately it’s your life's purpose, isn’t it?” Wavell told Garrett like it was a fact.

“I love being… a daddy. It’s my purpose…” Garrett repeated back to Wavell

“And right now your boy is sitting all alone in his room, begging for someone to go and satisfy his hole. He needs your cock Garrett. He needs daddy’s cock.” Wavell’s words sunk in nice and deep.

“My boy… he needs my cock…” Garrett repeated again, dick hardening slightly against his pants in response.

“You want to be a good daddy don’t you?” The warlock asked.

Garrett nodded slowly but surely.

“Then get in there and fill your boy with a nice fat load to show him just how much he matters to you. Understand?” Wavell smiled.

“Yes… sir.” Garrett confirmed.

Wavell leaned in and kissed Garrett on the forehead “Good man. I know you’ll do well.” He said before slowly pulling his hands back and releasing Garrett from his gaze. “Now get in there.”

Garrett didn’t waste a second. He practically leapt up from the couch before making his way down the hallway towards Kyle’s room. Wavell followed behind him, watching as Garrett opened the door only to be greeted by a glorious sight. Kyle’s ass was still up in there air, waving side to side as he jerked himself off. Who could possibly resist an invitation like that. Garrett couldn’t stop himself from pouncing on Kyle’s furry ass. The first thing he did was stuff his face nice and deep before eating out his hole like a pro.

At first Kyle was a little confused as to what was happening. The hot daddy that’d just walked into his room looked weirdly like his roommate, only older and fatter. Was it Garrett’s dad he wondered? He was too honey to keep questioning it though. All he knew was that the universe had blessed him with a hot daddy who was eager to fulfil his need for cock. And he welcomed it readily.

After recasting the invisibility shimmer on himself, Wavell took a seat on a nearby chair next to the bed. Watching tentatively as Garrett worked his way to finally plunging his huge dad cock inside Kyle’s hole. The sensation of which caused Kyle’s much smaller dick to pulse harder than it ever could’ve from masturbation. Before long Kyle’s face was buried deep into his pillow while Garrett made sure to drive his cock down to the hilt with every mighty thrust. More than eager to breed and claim his new boy.

Wavell smiled. He couldn’t help but feel like these two were going to enjoy their lives a hell of a lot more now. And as for Kyle and his attitude towards pride month, it’s probably safe to say that he might have a change of tone by next year when he’s going to parades and celebrating with his new daddy.

Secretly, he was.

You were his gym buddy, his ride, the friend he called in the middle of the night when he needed to be picked up from wherever he was. He barely returned a thanks, never available if you needed the same favor. Your friends laughed when you mentioned it, leaving you feeling stuck with nothing else to do but suck it up.

At least, until you got an idea from a magic show with a mind mentalist.

You began using the same tricks whenever you were with him in the gym or your car. You expected it to take at least some form of effect from how much time he spent with you, but was surprised to learn just how suggestible he was.

One week of conversations about famous skin heads Brian Shaw or Terry Crews, and he couldn't have shaved his head any faster to match. One week of mentioning underwear and support, and soon he could only ever be touting about the lockerroom in a jockstrap. He was too unaware to even consider the stares or weird glances from the other men in the gym, so mentally weak when that gave you another idea.

You added subliminal messaging to your soundtrack, layered voices under the music in your car. Your friend could never notice. You started saying "oh boy" whenever he was about to do something, training him to respond to it. Conditioning him.

You let him train for a month, finding that you couldn't be happier to learn just how effective it was. You were out eating with friends when you decided to drop the trigger, responding "oh boy" to something that was said. His reaction couldn't have been more immediate, your friend bumping the table as he got up to excuse himself before mindlessly wandering to the rear of the restaurant.

You waited a moment before also saying that you needed to go yourself, and tried not to dash back to the same room.

You walked into the best sight you'd ever seen of your friend. His hands were planted above the urinal, pants lowered revealing his powerlifting ass wrapped in a white jockstrap. His back was arched, pushing his rear out and allowing for easier entry.

It had been the same at every yearly bear event in this hotel. There was always a hot chubby cub in room 315 that left the door unlocked, a line forming for the amazing ass. Dylan, who now held the key to room 315, was in no way hefty. Just a twink admirer, there was no chance at a room 315 at this event.

Having arrived early on Thursday, Dylan ended up going to sleep alone that night thinking of all the hot men that’d show up over the weekend. His dream seemed to read his mind.

He turned his head as he heard the room’s door open revealing a huge bear lumbering in naked. Dylan’s mouth dropped open at the tool hanging from the intruder’s groin. The cock was gargantuan, even bigger than their thick hairy forearms, a fire hose swinging out over two balls the size of melons. Each step seemed to shake the room entire room as well as the bear’s massive chest and huge gut. Dylan’s underwear dampened as he felt himself leak as it grew hard.

“You ready for the weekend of your life cub?” The bear said, positioning himself at the bottom of the bed. Dylan was still taking the moment in when the beast grabbed the twinks feet hoisting them into the air, sliding his ass to the edge.

“Wait! I don’t think I can take- hgh!” Dylan gasped as the giant tool penetrated his ass, all two feet quickly sheathed into his body. Dylan couldn’t hold the moan forced out from his body as his insides wrapped around the cock tightly, fluid spurting out of his own tip.

As the bear began plunging in and out, Dylan felt the cock sliding all along the inside of his body, the shaft constantly running over Dylan’s prostate pushing liquor gold out of his own dick constantly. The bear worked harder and faster, Dylan becoming an unwilling ragdoll as his entire body shut down to embrace each thrust in ecstasy, almost weightless, until in one final heave the bear unloaded.

Dylan could barely begin describe the sensation as the cock dumped it’s unending seed into him. It felt as if a huge enema were filling his body with heavy cream. His stomach puffed out like a jelly donut, swelling his torso across the bed. His mass expanded, ballooning with fluid as it took up more space. The swelling spread into his neck and shoulders, cushioning his head while his arms filled like sausages. His legs fattened like pork, his ass turned into a pliable soft fuck cushion.

Dylan couldn’t move. Like a pig covered in sweat, his muscles were completely fatigued after being spitroasted on the giant cock. Then the bear began pulling out.

It was as if his entire insides were being emptied. Like he had a gaping hole in his bottom everything suddenly dumped out of. Now there was just a tunnel through his body excavated by the cock, it’s entrance opening at his posterior. He reached down with his hand and his suspicions were confirmed. A pit the diameter of the cock remained open, his body an empty tube meant to be filled. With a wink the bear was gone, the door left open.

Dylan woke to find his own hand reaching into his body, all four fingers digging into his soft pliant hole. He thought he was laying on a giant cushion, but looking down he realized it was a new giant soft gut, supporting his ass in the air.