MD7’s Transformation stories and such

Jerry was skeptical that a pill could do all this, but he couldn’t deny his friend looked entirely different than he had just a few days earlier. He studied his aging face, receding hair, and frail frame in the mirror. He had always hated how weak he looked, even in his youth.

He dumped the little black pill into his palm and immediately felt dizzy. Visions of powerfully built men rampaged through his head, as if long-forgotten desires were being pulled to the surface. When his vision cleared, the pill had transformed into a rich brown with a light blue stripe.

Staring down at the pill, he knew this was no regular pill. Jerry felt an odd connection to it, and before he realized what he was doing… he had tilted his head back and swallowed the pill.

Almost immediately, he felt his skin begin to itch and a heavy weight settle in his stomach. The visions started again, blurring together until they became a single, powerful man who filled his mind’s eye. And then, it began…

Jerry marveled at his reflection: a powerful, beefy man stared back with deep brown skin and brilliant, pale blue eyes. He felt strong—a sensation that excited him and filled him with an unfamiliar confidence. Smiling, he realized the name Jerry didn’t fit anymore. He needed something with more presence. Jerome. Yeah, that felt right.

Jerome strode back out into the bar, seeing the world through new eyes—figuratively and literally. It wasn’t long before he was leaning against the bar, hitting on the bartender—something he never would have dared before. Johnny had been right; the little black pill was the Change everyone needed to try.

Back at home, John stared at himself in the mirror— Was he really going to take a pill that he bought from some guy in an alley? He looked at his old, tired, flabby self and knew the answer… for the chance to have a body like the one he’d always wanted… of course he would.

Staring at the black pill in his palm, he felt a sudden wave of vertigo as visions of different men swirled through his head. It felt like the pill was drinking in his deepest, darkest wants. When he blinked, the pill had changed from solid black to intricate patterns of color.

Before he could change his mind, John popped the pill in his mouth and swallowed. He leaned against the sink, not sure what to expect and wondering how long it took for the pill to start wo—

A prickling heat spread across his skin as the visions of men swirled in his head again.  Then the visions coalesced into the form of a single tattooed man, and the change began…

He flexed in the mirror, marveling at his muscles and the intricate tattoos now covering his body… Fuck he was hot. That bad boy look he had always longed for, but had been too timid to pursue. But now… now he was that guy and felt his confidence surge. It was time to introduce the new John—no, Jonny—to the world. 

A few days later, fully settled into his new skin, Jonny was back at the bar hunting for another hookup and savoring all the attention he was getting. It’s not so much that the pill changed who he was, but that it let him be who he always was deep down inside. And it was fucking amazing. His musings were interrupted when his old friend Terry spotted him— “John? Is that you? What the—?”

A minute later, three shirtless jocks emerged from the aisle. Oddly, one looked like a young, athletic version of Mr. Holdwell—but still wearing the librarian’s slacks and shoes. All three wore predatory grins. Before anyone could react, they lunged for the nearby students.

The librarian-jock seized a young man and growled something about the "smell of a real man,” before burying the student's face deep into his sweat-drenched armpit. The man only struggled for a moment before beginning to take deep breaths. Soon he was eagerly inhaling the jock's musky scent.

Suddenly, the student shoved himself away and stumbled into the center of the room. Hayden watched with a mix of horror and fascination as the man’s frame began to swell. With a roar of ecstasy, the man ripped open his shirt, revealing the bulging, sweat-slicked physique of an athletic jock. 

…and then all hell broke loose.

The jocks, including the young man who had just transformed, swarmed the room and began forcing men to inhale their sharp, salty funk. Every man who inhaled the intoxicating scent began transforming and then joining the pack to claim the next victim. It wasn’t long before the library looked more like a locker room, filled with flexing bodies and the growing scent of man-sweat. 

Hayden grabbed his bag and bolted for the exit in a panic.

He had almost reached the doors when powerful arms grabbed him from behind, pinning him firmly. He looked on in terror as one of the jocks approached, smiling smugly while flexing his massive biceps.

“Aww bro, you can’t leave yet,” he chuckled. “And don’t look so worried. We’re gonna make everything better. All you gotta do is take in the smell of a real man. It’s so good, bro.”

The jock stepped in close, looming over Hayden as he hiked his arm up, placing his sweaty armpit directly in front of Hayden’s face. The unwashed funk hit Hayden like a physical blow. He tried to recoil, but the strong arms holding him forced his nose deep into the sour musk of the jock's pit.

And then he… he tried to… he… his thoughts trailed off as he inhaled. It was good, so good.

The thick scent flooded Hayden's senses, washing over him like a wave. This wasn't a stench to avoid; it was the natural, heavy scent of masculinity. A scent to just sink into. It was... him. A cocky smile began to spread across his face as all thoughts of his research and thesis faded away.

And then he began to change…

His body felt like it was on fire as his soft features began to sharpen into something more youthful and rugged. He was so warm—why was he wearing all these stuffy clothes? He needed to get out of them. 

The tangy scent of his own sweat triggered a surge of primal energy. His body thrummed, his muscles expanding and hardening into heavy slabs. He tore his shirt open, revealing rock-hard abs as he threw back his head in a moan of pure ecstasy.

Hayden flexed his sculpted biceps, his body now a temple of alpha manhood. He was no longer a soft bookworm; his mind was now filled with thoughts of working out, sex, sports, and more sex—a jock through and through. He was the ideal of what a man should be—what every man needed to be… what he would help them become. 

Hayden let out a primal roar.

With a violent shake, the engine roared to life sending a jolt through Caleb’s spine that made his heart hammer. He expected to hate it, but the low rumble felt strangely right. As he gripped the steering wheel, he noticed the interior smelled of rich leather and high-octane potential. He pressed the gas, and an unexpected tingling wave of adrenaline washed over him. His grip tightened, his fingers feeling thicker and more sure against the wheel.

Navigating downtown towards the grocery store, Caleb realized the car felt like it was alive with a raw energy. The engine’s vibration radiated through the seat, seeping into his bones and causing his chest to tighten and expand with every rev. At the stoplight, his muscles coiled with anticipation and he felt his shirt sleeves start to pinch his arms. He relished the tightness, flashing a cocky smirk at the driver next to him. When the light turned green, he floored it, the torque pinning his growing frame into the leather.

Forget the groceries; he needed to see what this beast could do. As he hit the open road, Caleb felt a primal connection to the machine—all thoughts of sensible hybrids left in the dust. With every shift of the gears, his muscles surged, growing swollen and rock-hard as if infused with the car's raw horsepower. His lanky frame was gone, replaced by a heavy, powerful physique that filled the cabin. He wasn't just driving the car anymore; he was part of it. Both of them the perfect muscle machine.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the new Caleb—now massive, broad-shouldered, and radiating a dominant confidence—headed back into town; he needed a muscle boy to share in the fun. He pulled up to Cody’s place, eager to see his friend's reaction to the gleaming black ride and the man behind the wheel. Cody climbed in, his soft and flabby frame settling awkwardly into the passenger seat. Caleb flashed him a knowing smirk and grunted, "Hold on," his voice deeper and more resonant now. He hit the gas hard once again, and they sped back out toward a vista point overlooking the city.

He had put on the shorts and was in the process of pulling on the polo when he felt an odd tingling sensation started spreading down his body. 

Then came an itching sensation on his face and looking at him self closer in the mirror… something looked off about his reflection, and was that hair on his chin?!?

Next he felt his stomach rumble and he looked down to see a large bulge where his abs should have been! No, no, no! Something was very wrong. Yet as he started to rub his now rounded belly… it somehow felt… comforting.

It didn’t take long for the rest of his body to follow— his hair receding, a touch of gray appearing in his beard, and a soft stocky build to match his prominent belly. And it… it felt good. Why had he obsessed over keeping such a scrawny physique before? 

Reaching into the pocket of the shorts, he found a crumpled invitation to the “Summer Bear Picnic.” That sounded exactly like the kind of crowd he was looking for now and he had a feeling he’d fit right in. What better way to spend the afternoon.

The lights dimmed and a screen flickered to life in front of him as a low droning sound filled the room. He tried to focus on the screen, but the sensation of the IV fluid coursing through his veins made it difficult. It was making his muscles twitch and his head feel fuzzy.

Images of strong muscular men in brutal, bloody fights flashed on the screen along with words that he couldn’t quite make out. What he could clearly understand  were the words being spoken… “Dominate”, “Strength is all, weakness is death”, “Power”, “Fighting makes strength”… more and more, over and over. 

He felt his mind breaking as he tried to fight it, but that was what they wanted, for him to fight— Fighting makes strength, strength is all. His body began betraying his resolve as his muscles started swelling and a feeling of power washed over him. He hated violence… but… but… the strong were meant to dominate the weak, weren’t they?

When the screen finally stopped, nothing remained of the timid young man they had brought in. Roman’s body was now sculpted muscle, and his mind focused— filled with a deep desire to display his physical strength and superiority.  To Dominate. 

They led him through a dark tunnel and into a large room filled with spectators surrounding a cage where another man waited— a man to fight, a man to dominate. His taut muscles were primed with anticipation as he stepped into the cage and his fists began swinging.

Both men fought with the ferocity of caged animals. Blow after brutal blow, until finally his opponent fell unconscious to the mat. Roman roared in triumph as the crowd cheered.

Back in the bunker, that same cold voice came over the intercom…”Congratulations on your first victory, Roman. You have proven your strength; now, you may lay claim to your prize and enjoy him however you wish." A slow, wolfish smile spread across Roman's face—a look that the man he used to be would never have recognized. Roman looked down at the man he had broken in the cage and knew exactly how he would assert his dominance tonight. 

For some unknown reason, you pick up the shirt to smell it. The ripe, pungent odor of man-sweat assaults your nose, causing you to recoil in disgust for a split second before the scent begins to overpower your senses. Your vision turns hazy, and you feel your mind begin to fog over.

Through the fog, you feel an overwhelming need to put the shirt on—to have that salty scent of man cover your body. Moving as if in a daydream, you strip out of your clothes and pull the shirt on. Immediately, a sense of rightness hits you. You are vaguely aware of your muscles twitching as your lanky body grows more defined and the slight outline of tattoos appears on your arms with a pleasant, prickly sensation. You inhale deeply, letting the ripe, masculine smell wash over you.

Still in a daze, you grab a musky pair of old jeans from the pile on the floor and struggle to pull them on. Your legs seem to be thicker than you remember. The unfamiliar feeling of the fabric stretching tight over your quads and ass sends a trickle of thrill through you. It feels so good... so right.

Next comes a denim vest—heavy with the persistent, sour scent of sweat and cigarette smoke clinging to the fabric. It fits perfectly over your bulky frame, showing off your broad shoulders and massive arms. It is like it was made for you, or you were made for it; your dazed mind is unable to decide. Either way, it is right.

Then, as you pull on a cap claimed from the pile, you blink and look around in confusion as if waking from a dream. But when you catch sight of your reflection in the mirror, a cocky grin spreads across your face. You’ve always loved ducking into a dressing room to admire yourself whenever you got the chance. Fuck, you look good.

After flexing for the mirror one last time, you grab a pack of smokes and the six-pack you came to get for your buddy’s tailgate party. Stepping out of the store, you immediately light up a cigarette and take a long drag. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since you’ve had a good smoke, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour or so. You lean against your truck, savoring the taste of the cigarette and the way the sun falls on your massive, tattoo-covered muscles.

His body was on fire, but in a good way, as the fog cleared from his head. Whatever they had given him had more of a kick than he had expected. Seeing a commanding officer standing by the door, he snapped to a perfect, rigid salute.

“Private Leo Sinclair reporting for duty!”

The officer and doctor exchanged satisfied nods and were making notes in his file when a small elderly lady walked into the room.  Bleary-eyed and clutching a handkerchief, she asked for her husband, Master Sergeant Sinclair.