Dumb Hypno Twink

Dude, just live with it. I’m way better in this game than you. You had no chance in beating me - especially not with that lame character you picked. Anyways, you tried everything yet you failed. And you will be losing the bet. You know what that means… You’ll ve doing the chores for one week. And I will finally have as much time to fuck Jenny as I want.

It always baffles me when someone thinks they can lick on another solely based on their looks and what society deems to be attractive or worthy. Well not anymore, well, not for you at least. You wanted a change in dynamic between you and your bully, I’ve got you covered. But I must warn you that change doesn’t happen overnight... or maybe in this case it does.

Today had been tough, that jerk Chris had been taunting you whenever he could. He’d point out that you were chubby, call you names like Piggy and Porker. He’d even go as far to make snorting sounds when he saw you eating lunch. “You’ll never have muscles like these fatass! Can barely roll out of bed never mind hit the gym! *snort snort*” Chris was a grade A dick to you. He was taller and would often look down on you. His words echoed around your head as you got ready for bed. Looking in the mirror you felt his words echoing relentlessly. You wished he’d know what it was like being chubby. Having to buy new clothes so your underbelly doesn’t poke out. Not being able to wear tight shirts. Or even just the odd rude comments.

Getting into bed you kept imagining Chris in your head. His sculpted body. Bulging biceps. Handsome face. Awful attitude. But also his huge package he would always let freeball in his shorts. His 6”2 frame towered above your 5”6 body.

Half way through the night, you felt a sudden shiver run across your entire body. It was like a cold hand was stroking down your spine. You sat up alarmed and switched on the lamp. There was no one there, just a dimly lit bedroom. Yet, something still seemed off. You noticed a lack of pressure in your lap and looked down. Where you’d have once seen your belly jutting forward into your lap was now a smooth stomach. Jumping out of bed, you b-lined straight for the mirror. Gone was your belly. And love handles. And back rolls. And moobs. You were slim. This was probably the slimmest you’d ever been! You twisted and turned trying to get a better look at yourself. Your feet, which were once obscured, were now completely visible.

What the hell had happened? Then, just like before, a shiver ran down your spine again. This time, it was followed by a vibrating feeling in each of your muscles. You could feel your thighs and calves starting to expand and stretch. It was slightly uncomfortable, almost like you’d been on a run. You watched as they thickened and the grooves of muscle became apparent. Your shorts were feeling smaller and smaller around the legs until they felt smaller everywhere else. It felt like a pop as your ass began to expand outwards with muscle and a healthy layer of fat to make it a bubble butt. Soft to the touch and with a lot of bounce. It was perfectly sculpted. The same happened to your cock as it began to extend. It felt like an erection but it was still flaccid. It pushed out the front of your shorts until you started hearing fabric tearing. The seams were pulling apart.

The growth on your lower half started to slow down. Your legs stopped expanding, ass stoped ballooning, and cock reached a length of 8 inches with significant girth (flaccid)! Then your upper half started experiencing changes. Your stomach was flexing and moving as body fat melted away leaving you lean. Abs appeared slowly as they started to push out. Your pecs began to follow in the steps of your ass as they bulged outwards. Your nipples became erect and sensitive as your pecs became two thick slabs of muscle which were just as bouncy as your ass. They obscured your view of your lower half but you weren’t too bothered to say the least. You were cupping them with your hands and running your fingers over your abs. Muscle started looking into your arms as they inflated. Soon they were big enough to make any shirt difficult to put on without ripping the sleeves. You’d have to invest in more sleeveless shirts or opt to go shirtless from now on. Something you hadn’t done in years.

A cracking sound ran through your spine as your height began to shoot up. Where there was once a 5”6 chubby guy was now a 6”5 muscular Greek god! Your feet followed suit as they grew out to accommodate your new height and weight, stretching from size 7s to an impressive size 15. It might be a lot more difficult to find shoes your size now.

That morning was one of the best you’d had in years. Sure you had to buy new clothes and order new shoes, so for now you’d be bare foot, but you felt amazing. You strode around with pride as you felt huge. People would stare as you passed in amazement. You couldn’t wait to sleep around a bit, something you’d never done before. Things were looking amazing for you! *Ping* You felt your phone go off in your pocket and saw a text from an unknown number. It read, “Please come back, your piggy is hungry 🐽!” At first you were confused but new memories quickly filled in the blanks. It was Chris. Or as he was no known, Chubs.

As you entered his apartment, you could smell sweat and pizza. The hallway was littered with pizza boxes and empty candy wrappers. It was a mess. You made your way through all of the junk towards a room with the door slightly ajar. You could hear moaning, burping, and the occasional wet, sloppy fart. Squeezing your huge build inside, you could finally see what had become of Chris.

See that night, you weren’t the only one to change. You wanted to switch up the dynamic, well your bully certainly got the short straw. Literally. As he slept his apartment changed around him. It became littered with evidence of long sessions of binge eating, dirty plates stacked into every corner. Chris tossed and turned in bed as his height shrank from 6”2 to a measly 5”2. His cock followed suit as his once impressive package shrivelled away and became nothing but a useless nub and a tiny sack of balls which enveloped it. Chris’ tossing and turning became more difficult as a weight in his stomach started pinning him in place. It looked like his stomach was starting to bloat except it didn’t look hard, it was soft. Soft with growing fat. As it expanded all signs of abs were erased. It bulged up and outwards as his belly button became deeper and wider. His pecs began to soften as they started dropping at the sides as he was laying down. Pudge started enveloping across his arms and legs as their strength depleted. As his belly wobbled as it pushed outwards, Chris absentmindedly placed a hand on his growing gut and squeezed and shook it. The wobbling of fat was comforting to him as he stayed asleep throughout.

Now here you were, looking down at a fat 350lbs tub of lard. His jawline was lost in a thick double chin and a scruffy beard as shaving became too tiring for the slobbish Chris. His cheeks were doughy much like the rest of his body. He was definitely obese! There was no way around it, or him for that matter. His laptop was sat atop his belly like it was a table. He couldn’t find his phone as it was wedged under his overhang so had to message you on his Mac. Although a pig, his face was so cute to you as he looked at you with pleading eyes. He was yours. Your very own pig to stuff at both ends. You’d definitely need the muscles for when you flip over that bubbling, farting swine.

Memories filled your head of digging your hands into his soft pudge as your cock penetrated his fat ass. Without you, he wouldn’t make it very far. The man who once tormented you relentlessly would now always rely on you. So, are you ready to stuff this little porker?

It always baffles me when someone thinks they can lick on another solely based on their looks and what society deems to be attractive or worthy. Well not anymore, well, not for you at least. You wanted a change in dynamic between you and your bully, I’ve got you covered. But I must warn you that change doesn’t happen overnight... or maybe in this case it does.

Today had been tough, that jerk Chris had been taunting you whenever he could. He’d point out that you were chubby, call you names like Piggy and Porker. He’d even go as far to make snorting sounds when he saw you eating lunch. “You’ll never have muscles like these fatass! Can barely roll out of bed never mind hit the gym! *snort snort*” Chris was a grade A dick to you. He was taller and would often look down on you. His words echoed around your head as you got ready for bed. Looking in the mirror you felt his words echoing relentlessly. You wished he’d know what it was like being chubby. Having to buy new clothes so your underbelly doesn’t poke out. Not being able to wear tight shirts. Or even just the odd rude comments.

Getting into bed you kept imagining Chris in your head. His sculpted body. Bulging biceps. Handsome face. Awful attitude. But also his huge package he would always let freeball in his shorts. His 6”2 frame towered above your 5”6 body.

Half way through the night, you felt a sudden shiver run across your entire body. It was like a cold hand was stroking down your spine. You sat up alarmed and switched on the lamp. There was no one there, just a dimly lit bedroom. Yet, something still seemed off. You noticed a lack of pressure in your lap and looked down. Where you’d have once seen your belly jutting forward into your lap was now a smooth stomach. Jumping out of bed, you b-lined straight for the mirror. Gone was your belly. And love handles. And back rolls. And moobs. You were slim. This was probably the slimmest you’d ever been! You twisted and turned trying to get a better look at yourself. Your feet, which were once obscured, were now completely visible.

What the hell had happened? Then, just like before, a shiver ran down your spine again. This time, it was followed by a vibrating feeling in each of your muscles. You could feel your thighs and calves starting to expand and stretch. It was slightly uncomfortable, almost like you’d been on a run. You watched as they thickened and the grooves of muscle became apparent. Your shorts were feeling smaller and smaller around the legs until they felt smaller everywhere else. It felt like a pop as your ass began to expand outwards with muscle and a healthy layer of fat to make it a bubble butt. Soft to the touch and with a lot of bounce. It was perfectly sculpted. The same happened to your cock as it began to extend. It felt like an erection but it was still flaccid. It pushed out the front of your shorts until you started hearing fabric tearing. The seams were pulling apart.

The growth on your lower half started to slow down. Your legs stopped expanding, ass stoped ballooning, and cock reached a length of 8 inches with significant girth (flaccid)! Then your upper half started experiencing changes. Your stomach was flexing and moving as body fat melted away leaving you lean. Abs appeared slowly as they started to push out. Your pecs began to follow in the steps of your ass as they bulged outwards. Your nipples became erect and sensitive as your pecs became two thick slabs of muscle which were just as bouncy as your ass. They obscured your view of your lower half but you weren’t too bothered to say the least. You were cupping them with your hands and running your fingers over your abs. Muscle started looking into your arms as they inflated. Soon they were big enough to make any shirt difficult to put on without ripping the sleeves. You’d have to invest in more sleeveless shirts or opt to go shirtless from now on. Something you hadn’t done in years.

A cracking sound ran through your spine as your height began to shoot up. Where there was once a 5”6 chubby guy was now a 6”5 muscular Greek god! Your feet followed suit as they grew out to accommodate your new height and weight, stretching from size 7s to an impressive size 15. It might be a lot more difficult to find shoes your size now.

That morning was one of the best you’d had in years. Sure you had to buy new clothes and order new shoes, so for now you’d be bare foot, but you felt amazing. You strode around with pride as you felt huge. People would stare as you passed in amazement. You couldn’t wait to sleep around a bit, something you’d never done before. Things were looking amazing for you! *Ping* You felt your phone go off in your pocket and saw a text from an unknown number. It read, “Please come back, your piggy is hungry 🐽!” At first you were confused but new memories quickly filled in the blanks. It was Chris. Or as he was no known, Chubs.

As you entered his apartment, you could smell sweat and pizza. The hallway was littered with pizza boxes and empty candy wrappers. It was a mess. You made your way through all of the junk towards a room with the door slightly ajar. You could hear moaning, burping, and the occasional wet, sloppy fart. Squeezing your huge build inside, you could finally see what had become of Chris.

See that night, you weren’t the only one to change. You wanted to switch up the dynamic, well your bully certainly got the short straw. Literally. As he slept his apartment changed around him. It became littered with evidence of long sessions of binge eating, dirty plates stacked into every corner. Chris tossed and turned in bed as his height shrank from 6”2 to a measly 5”2. His cock followed suit as his once impressive package shrivelled away and became nothing but a useless nub and a tiny sack of balls which enveloped it. Chris’ tossing and turning became more difficult as a weight in his stomach started pinning him in place. It looked like his stomach was starting to bloat except it didn’t look hard, it was soft. Soft with growing fat. As it expanded all signs of abs were erased. It bulged up and outwards as his belly button became deeper and wider. His pecs began to soften as they started dropping at the sides as he was laying down. Pudge started enveloping across his arms and legs as their strength depleted. As his belly wobbled as it pushed outwards, Chris absentmindedly placed a hand on his growing gut and squeezed and shook it. The wobbling of fat was comforting to him as he stayed asleep throughout.

Now here you were, looking down at a fat 350lbs tub of lard. His jawline was lost in a thick double chin and a scruffy beard as shaving became too tiring for the slobbish Chris. His cheeks were doughy much like the rest of his body. He was definitely obese! There was no way around it, or him for that matter. His laptop was sat atop his belly like it was a table. He couldn’t find his phone as it was wedged under his overhang so had to message you on his Mac. Although a pig, his face was so cute to you as he looked at you with pleading eyes. He was yours. Your very own pig to stuff at both ends. You’d definitely need the muscles for when you flip over that bubbling, farting swine.

Memories filled your head of digging your hands into his soft pudge as your cock penetrated his fat ass. Without you, he wouldn’t make it very far. The man who once tormented you relentlessly would now always rely on you. So, are you ready to stuff this little porker?

This is another story from my archive. Some may remember it from my old account, but I've rewritten a lot of this story. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings/Tags: Face Farting, Ass to Mouth Farting, Mind Control, Hypnosis, Rimming, Farts to mouth

Liam loved his boyfriend, Noah—he really did. Noah was sweet, affectionate, and always up for a cozy night in. But if Liam was being honest with himself… he wished Noah was a little more. More confident, more strong, more manly. Instead of a soft, cuddly boyfriend, he wanted someone who could pick him up effortlessly, work out every morning, and take charge in all the right ways.

So, after some late-night scrolling through dubious forums, Liam found exactly what he was looking for: The Alpha’s Awakening Spell. It was simple—light three red candles, chant a few words, and picture the ideal version of the person in mind. Supposedly, the spell would unlock one’s true masculine energy.

Liam didn’t fully believe it would work, but that didn’t stop him from whispering the incantation that night. A strange warmth filled the air. The candles flickered violently before going out all at once. Liam shivered. Maybe it was just a draft.

The next day, Liam eagerly waited for Noah to come over. When he heard the knock at the door, he practically sprinted to answer it. The moment Noah stepped inside, Liam’s heart skipped a beat. Something was different.

Noah’s stance was wider, his energy more assertive. His face had grown stronger, more traditionally masculine. His usual soft smile was replaced by an easygoing smirk. His shoulders looked broader, though that could’ve been Liam’s imagination.

“Hey, babe,” Noah said, pulling Liam into a rough hug. “Man, I feel amazing today. Like, I got all this energy, y’know?”

Liam grinned. The spell worked!

But before he could celebrate, a loud, unholy PFFFFFTTTTTT erupted from Noah’s direction.

Liam froze.

Noah… laughed. Hard.

“Dude, what was that?” he cackled. “Oh my God, that was gnarly!”

Liam blinked, horrified. “Did you just—”

But before he could finish, Noah burped right in his face.

Liam gagged.

“Oh, man,” Noah wheezed between laughs, holding his stomach. “I swear, that one had layers. I think I taste last night’s mac and cheese.”

Liam’s soul left his body.

The rest of the evening was a disaster. Instead of confidently taking charge in a way Liam had imagined, Noah spent the entire time pushing his newfound masculinity in a completely unexpected direction. He belched between words. He stretched out on the couch with his legs spread obnoxiously wide. At one point, he tried to trap Liam under the blankets after another particularly loud fart, cackling about something called a “Dutch oven.”

Liam wanted to cry. Instead of a strong, gym-loving, responsible boyfriend, he had somehow created a boyish fart machine. At bedtime, Liam curled up as far away from Noah as possible, questioning every decision that had led him here. Meanwhile, Noah lay sprawled out, one arm behind his head, giggling to himself as he tried to burp the alphabet.

The next morning Liam woke up to find Noah nowhere to be found in the bedroom but the lingering stench of his farts still hung in the room. Liam went out to the kitchen to find Noah finishing up a protein shake.

“Morning baby” Liam groggily slurred

All that Noah said in return was “Fart check!” and let out a long squeaking fart as a surprised look spread across his own face.

Javier Ignacio Morales collapsed against the heavy wooden door of his hotel room, the electronic lock clicking shut behind him with a reassuring beep. His calves were burning, and his skin was sticky with a mixture of tropical humidity and the sea salt from an exhausting, incredible day exploring the cobblestone streets of Old San Juan. It was his first solo vacation, a well-deserved escape to Puerto Rico, and so far, it had been nothing short of magical.

He kicked off his woven loafers, letting out a long sigh of relief as the blast of the room’s air conditioning washed over him. He padded over to the main area of the suite, ready to crash face-first into the mattress, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

The housekeeping staff had clearly been in while he was out. The bed was immaculately made, the sheets pulled tight without a single wrinkle. But right in the dead center of the crisp, white duvet lay a single item of clothing.

Javier stepped closer, his brow furrowing in confusion. It was a bathing suit. More specifically, it was a sleek, tailored speedo.

He picked it up, feeling the smooth, high-quality lycra between his fingers. It was a bold design: the entire front panel was a deep, rich navy blue, while the back was a stark, bright white. He looked around the room, half-expecting to see a complimentary fruit basket or a welcome note from the concierge explaining the gift, but there was nothing.

"Huh," Javier murmured to himself, a small smile playing on his lips. He knew this resort was known for its high-end perks and eccentric hospitality, but tailored swimwear was a new one. As a single gay guy looking to make the most of his island getaway, he wasn't exactly complaining. He held the fabric up to his waist, checking the sizing tag. It was exactly his size. They really pay attention to detail here, he thought, tossing it onto the armchair before finally surrendering to the exhaustion of the day and crawling under the covers.

The next morning, Javier was gently coaxed awake by the golden Caribbean sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains. The fatigue of yesterday was gone, replaced by a buzzing anticipation for his only agenda of the day: absolutely nothing, preferably done on the sand.

He hopped out of bed, showered, and then his eyes landed on the chair. The navy and white Speedo.

Why not? It was a gift, it matched the ocean aesthetic perfectly, and he was on vacation. He slipped it on. The fit was surprisingly perfect, hugging his waist comfortably and contrasting nicely with his warm, olive skin. He checked himself out in the full-length mirror, running a hand through his dark, thick hair. The navy blue front looked classic and understated, while the white back added a fun, unexpected pop. Feeling a surge of vacation confidence, he grabbed his sunglasses, slipped on a breezy, unbuttoned linen shirt, and grabbed his room key.

The beach was a casual ten-minute walk from the main lobby of his hotel. Javier stepped out into the vibrant Puerto Rican morning, the heat immediately embracing him. The air smelled of blooming hibiscus and the salty promise of the ocean. He strolled down the palm-lined sidewalk, his flip-flops slapping rhythmically against the pavement. Cars cruised by with reggaeton spilling from their open windows, and street vendors were already setting up carts of shaved ice and fresh fruit. The ten-minute walk to the beach was supposed to be an easy stroll, but after only a couple of blocks, a strange sensation began to creep over him.

It started as a subtle pressure right behind his eyes, a heavy, cotton-like fogginess that made his thoughts suddenly slow to a sluggish crawl. The vibrant colors of the street vendors and the sharp, energetic beats of passing cars seemed to blur together into a dull, senseless hum. He blinked hard, trying to shake the lethargy, but his brain felt like it was wading through thick molasses. He kept walking, but even the rhythmic slap of his flip-flops against the pavement began to feel like a complex, exhausting task requiring far too much focus.

Then, the pressure drastically shifted. It moved rapidly from his hazy head straight down into his lower gut. A deep, wet, bubbling rumble echoed in his stomach.

Javier stopped in his tracks, his heavy eyes widening slightly as a desperate, agonizing urge to pass gas hit him like a freight train. He was out in public, wearing nothing but an open linen shirt and that snug, navy and white speedo. Panic should have set in. He instinctively tried to clench his muscles, crossing his legs slightly to hold the pressure back, but his body felt weirdly relaxed and uncoordinated under the growing mental fog.

It was no use. He couldn't hold it.

With a loud, violently resonant rip that practically vibrated against the tight lycra of his new swimsuit, the gas tore out of him. It was a long, rumbling sound that seemed to echo off the pastel walls of the nearby buildings.

The stench hit the humid air almost instantly, and it was undeniably, spectacularly foul. A thick, invisible cloud billowed up around him, coating the back of his throat. It was a dense, swampy, suffocating reek, a hyper-concentrated, eye-watering mix of boiling sulfur, rotting eggs, and something aggressively sour and fermented. It was the exact kind of overwhelming, toxic odor that should have sent him into a spiral of sheer, burning mortification, frantically looking around to see if any locals had witnessed his public disgrace.

But the shame never arrived.

Instead, the moment that putrid, rotting scent invaded his nostrils, the heavy fog in his mind intensified exponentially. It was as if the foul air was the exact catalyst his brain needed to just… shut down. The sharp, intelligent Javier who had expertly navigated his solo vacation just yesterday melted entirely away, replaced by a wave of warm, stupefying, dopey bliss. His heavy eyelids drooped lazily, the tension drained completely from his posture, and a wide, goofy, utterly vacant grin spread across his face.

Huh, his mind provided a single, slow, sluggish thought floating aimlessly in a vast, empty void.

Before the salty ocean breeze could sweep the noxious, rotten cloud away, Javier leaned forward slightly. His nose twitched, and he took a massive, deliberate, deep sniff of the lingering cloud. He inhaled the foul air like it was a rare delicacy, his chest rising as he filled his lungs with the grossness.

A soft, mindless giggle bubbled up from his chest, slipping past his lips. "Hehe… stinky," he mumbled out loud to nobody in particular. The sound of his own voice felt delightful and intensely amusing to his newly empty head. The stupefying fog was now absolute, wrapping around him like a heavy, warm blanket, leaving him standing on the sidewalk in his tight speedo, utterly mindless, blissfully dumb, and grinning blankly into the tropical air.

A sudden, sharp gust of salty Caribbean wind swept off the coastline, cutting through the humid street and violently scattering the invisible, noxious cloud Javier had just produced. As the fresh sea air flushed the rotting stench from his nostrils, Javier blinked rapidly.

The heavy, stupefying fog evaporated from his mind almost instantly. He gasped, standing up straight as his baseline intelligence snapped back into place like a rubber band. He looked around wildly, a hot flush of deep, belated embarrassment coloring his olive cheeks. “Dios mío, what is wrong with me?” he thought, his sharp mind returning in full force. Did he really just stand on a public sidewalk in a speedo, giggling at his own vile bodily functions like a lobotomized toddler?

He quickly pulled the edges of his unbuttoned linen shirt closer together, checked to make sure the street was still relatively empty, and hurried his pace toward the beach. He just needed to get to the sand, lie down, and sleep off whatever weird, localized heatstroke had just possessed his brain.

But his stomach had other plans.

He hadn't made it past the next pastel-colored building when another bubble of pressure shifted low in his gut. He tried to clench his glutes, but the slick lycra of the white back panel offered zero resistance.

Pffft-squeeeeeak

A tiny, high-pitched squeal of gas slipped out, vibrating sharply against the tight fabric. Instantly, a concentrated puff of odor wafted up to his nose. It was sharper this time an acrid, eye-watering sting of spoiled, fermented cabbage mixed with the heavy, metallic tang of old garlic.

The moment the scent hit his olfactory receptors, Javier stopped dead. His broad shoulders slumped. His eyelids fluttered, dropping to half-mast as the blissful, heavy fog violently crashed back down over his brain. His intelligent, embarrassed internal monologue was instantly wiped clean, replaced by a looping track of elevator music. His mouth fell open into a slack-jawed, dopey grin. He swayed on his feet, utterly mesmerized by the foul garlic-cabbage air, letting out a soft, brainless, "Hehe… oopsie."

Then, another ocean breeze whipped past, carrying the sour air away.

Javier gasped, his eyes snapping wide open. "Wha no, no, keep walking," he muttered to himself, horrified by his sudden relapse into idiocy. He slapped his own cheeks lightly, trying to force his brain to stay alert. He could see the beach now, the glittering turquoise water just at the end of the street.

He took three determined, fast-paced strides before his gut betrayed him again.

Fweeeeeeeeeep-prrrrt

It was a longer, fluttering squeak this time. Javier squeezed his eyes shut in dread, but he couldn't outrun the smell. This one was a hot, cloying cloud of sheer, musky funk. It smelled exactly like sour milk left to curdle on a dashboard, heavily underlaid with the damp, yeasty reek of a mildewed gym towel. It was thick, gag-inducing, and wonderfully terrible.

"Ohhh…" Javier moaned softly. The intelligence drained from his face the second he inhaled the sour-milk funk. His posture melted, his knees buckling slightly as the euphoric stupidity washed over him. He stood there, completely zoned out, mind completely blank, swaying happily in his crisp navy and white speedo as he marinated in his own grossness. He brought a hand up to lazily scratch his stomach, a string of drool threatening to form at the corner of his grinning mouth.

Whoosh. The wind off the water cleared the air once more.

Javier shook his head violently like a wet dog, groaning in profound frustration. He was trapped in a bizarre, humiliating cycle. He was an educated, put-together guy, yet every time a little poot escaped him, he was instantly reduced to a blissfully dumb, giggling mess until the wind saved him.

Determined to break the cycle, he broke into a light jog, the flip-flops smacking loudly against the pavement. He just needed to reach the open, windy expanse of the beach. But with every other step, tiny, squeaky betrayals fired off in rapid succession.

Squeak. (A burst of overripe, rotting papaya). The fog rolled in; he giggled and slowed his jog to a dumb, happy stumble.

The wind blew. He snapped back. "Stop it!" he scolded himself.

Pffffft. (A dense hit of sulfur and boiled eggs). His eyes crossed, his brain emptied completely, and he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, catching himself with a goofy, vacant laugh.

The wind blew. He gasped, terrified of his own disappearing mind, and threw himself forward onto the hot, golden sand of the beach.

Javier’s hands sank into the hot, powdery golden sand as he collapsed onto the beach, panting. He had made it. He looked up at the sprawling, picturesque coastline, expecting the aggressive, salty ocean gale to finally blow the lingering curse away for good.

But as he sat there, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, the rustling of the nearby palm fronds abruptly stopped. The vibrant, colorful flags marking the lifeguard stands went totally limp. The air pressure shifted, and the saving grace of the Caribbean wind simply… died. The atmosphere instantly transformed into a stagnant, sweltering, humid oven.

And deep within Javier’s gut, the final dam broke.

It began as a hot, silent hiss, a continuous, pressurized leak seeping steadily through the tight white lycra stretching across his backside. Hiiiiisssssssss. Without the wind to scatter it, the gas immediately pooled around him, rising up in a thick, invisible, suffocating column. The scent was an absolute masterpiece of grossness: a heavy, gag-inducing wave of hot, rotting kelp perfectly blended with the sharp, pungent sting of aged blue cheese and fermented black beans. It was dense enough to practically taste.

The second that concentrated, foul cloud crawled up his nose, the last shred of Javier’s intellect was violently unplugged.

His broad shoulders completely slumped, turning him into a puddle of relaxed muscle on the sand. His eyes fluttered, rolling back slightly before settling into a glassy, unfocused, half-lidded stare. The intelligent, capable young man vanished, instantly replaced by a blissfully vacant, slack-jawed shell. A thick strand of dopey drool pooled at the corner of his wide, goofy grin, threatening to spill onto his chin. He let out a long, mindless sigh that sounded incredibly content. "Mmmmm… stinky warm…" he mumbled, his voice thick and sluggish.

He lay back against the sand, completely surrendering to the stupefying fog. The silent, hot hissing from his rear end was unrelenting, creating a permanent, foul aura around him. But now, the endless leak began to be punctuated by a spectacular, uncontrollable symphony of louder eruptions.

Fwub-fwub-fwub-squeeeeeeeeee

A staccato burst followed by a high-pitched, tea-kettle squeal vibrated against the sand. This one carried the eye-watering aroma of spoiled mayonnaise left out in the tropical sun. Javier didn't even flinch. Instead, his dopey grin widened, and he let out a loud, braying, donkey-like laugh that echoed over the quiet beach. "Hehehe! Tooty!" he giggled, his brain completely empty, happily marinating in his own putrid miasma.

BRRRRRAAAAAAAAAP-pffft

A wet, booming, unbelievably boisterous rip tore out of him, so powerful it actually flapped the edges of his navy and white speedo. The stench was apocalyptic, a wall of pure, sulfuric swamp mud and sulfur that would have sent a normal person running for the hills.

For Javier, it was pure, brain-melting nirvana. The heavier the stench grew, the dumber he became. He clumsily patted his own flat stomach with a heavy, uncoordinated hand, completely mesmerized by the gurgling sensations beneath his skin. He started making slow, lazy sand angels, utterly lost in a world of absolute, blissful vacuity. The gorgeous Puerto Rican scenery around him didn't matter anymore. The only things that existed in his empty, fog-drenched mind were the hot sun on his chest, the tight hug of his speedo, and the continuous, beautifully foul symphony of his own gas.

Prrrrrrrrrrrt-squeak-hisssssssss…

He sighed happily, his eyes crossing slightly as he took another massive, deliberate whiff of his own humid, rotting garbage cloud. He was trapped in a permanent state of gassy idiocy, and in his stupefied mind, it was the best vacation he had ever had.

Six months later, Javier Ignacio Morales, the sharp, stressed-out city professional who had originally checked into the luxury resort, was officially gone. In his place lounged "Javi," the undisputed, blissfully braindead himbo of San Juan's hottest beach.

His skin had baked into a deep, permanent bronze, his dark hair naturally bleached by the relentless sun and salt. The infamous navy and white speedo was practically a second skin now, clinging snugly to his permanently relaxed frame. He spent his days exactly where he was right now: sprawled lazily on a brightly colored towel, completely surrendered to the endless, stupefying fog that had claimed his mind.

Hiiiiisssssssss-pffft

A hot, sulfurous cloud of spoiled eggs and fermented cabbage continuously leaked from his backside, pooling heavily in the still, humid air. Javi didn't even flinch. His heavy eyelids drooped over glassy, vacant eyes, and a thick drop of drool escaped his wide, goofy grin to land on his chest. He took a massive, greedy sniff of his own thick, rotting miasma, his chest rumbling with a low, mindless giggle.

"Hehehe… Javi soooo stinky…" he mumbled to a passing seagull, his brain completely devoid of any thought more complex than the warmth of the sun and the bubbling in his gut.

“Well if it isn’t our little Spark!” Brick playfully taunted, twisting around the black cap on his head. “Looking to catch up to the big leagues?”

Aaron rolled his eyes, continuing to stretch out his toned, limber legs. “What, are you afraid I’m going to catch up to your varsity team?”

Brick smirked. “You wouldn’t dare.” As captain, and the fastest runner on the team, the college senior was proud of his position on top.

“Maybe I would,” Aaron’s smile held that youthful glow all overachievers had. Although he was only a sophomore, he had been sweeping competitions left and right. No one was able to beat him and his “spark of energy” that was always reserved for the last second, hence his nickname.

“What do you say we put it to the test?” Brick prompted, his lithe frame already warmed up after a few quick laps. Besides being a bit taller than Aaron, their runner’s builds were almost identical. 

“If you’re willing to lose,” Aaron cockily replied, enjoying the friendly competition. He could feel the build of adrenaline slowly pumping throughout his veins. A brisk wind was lightly pushing against them, tickling their bare skin. “Mind if I lunge once or twice?”

“Not at all,” Brick remarked, taking his place a few steps behind. “Gives me a chance to take in your backside, seeing as I won't have the pleasure of viewing it again.”

Aaron followed through with his final stretches, feeling his slim muscles flex and retract appropriately. He was excited for this challenge, pleasantly daunted to be taking on his school’s top champ. Their times had been fairly similar, but being in different leagues had meant the two had never been able to compete.

Getting lost in his own head, Aaron did not realize his bowels were rapidly processing information. His body was inappropriately following through with hereditary protocols, having accidentally registered Brick as a threat. Finishing his final lunge, Aaron registered the dreadful rippling in his stomach. But at that point, there was no stopping what was coming next. Aaron’s excitement immediately twisted into fear.

“Watch out!”

PPPPHHHRRTTTT!

Brick had no time to prepare as a massive fart cloud was carried downwind directly into his face. The flatulence bombarded him, its odorous vapors blinding him temporarily and knocking him onto his flat bottom. Aaron immediately rushed in, desperately searching for a way to reverse what had been done. Luckily no one had seen the incident, as the chemical reaction that was about to ensue was–as far as Aaron knew–unreversable.

Brick was sitting back comfortably, dazed and desensitized by the prey’s natural defense. Aaron had accidentally attacked the college senior with runner’s gas. An evolutionary condition, runner’s gas was a fumigation technique used by “weaker” species to protect themselves against predators. The flatulence released altered the predator’s abilities, rendering them bulkier, slower, and dumber, allowing the prey to flee. It was a genetic trait that should have eroded away with evolution, particularly as humans grew more alike. But some were still left with the condition, making its activation incredibly rare and almost always unintentional.

Aaron watched helplessly as Brick’s skin began to ripple. The track star’s body expanded in size, growing taller, longer, and larger. Muscle exploded across his frame, destroying the slim physique by covering it in layer after layer of pure-grade beef. Rounded arms led into broader shoulders, pillowy pecs led straight down to a thicker pack of eight abdominals. Thighs bulked into true haunches, feet so large that their width would prevent them from travelling quickly without the risk of tripping.

As Brick’s buttocks and pouch inflated, Aaron’s eyes trailed up along his victim's body, following the swarm of hair that swiftly painted itself along the surface of skin. He could do nothing as Brick’s jaw cracked into a square shape, as his forehead pushed itself a bit farther out, or as the twinkle of intelligence was dimmed in his eyes. As quick as it had come, the chemical reaction rapidly subsided, leaving behind a new dumb jock in its wake.

“Hey…” Aaron cautiously poked, the college senior now twice his size. He knew they would have to move before anyone saw them. There was one person in particular that he feared.  “Come on, we need to get you out of here before-”

“McNeal!” 

The coach’s gruff shout sent a shiver under Aaron’s skin. He was too late.

“What is this, your fifth one?” The coach was shaking his head as he approached. “It’s one thing to be gassing the competition, but your own team?” 

“It…it was an accident,” Aaron stared at his own feet, embarrassed.

The coach huffed, “Who was it this time?” The affected party was still sitting on the ground, brainwashed and stretching his new muscles slowly. “McNeal…is this my captain?!”

Aaron said nothing. They both watched as the dumb jock began to take in his surroundings.

“Brock,” the coach provided the former captain with a new name. “What are you doing on the track? Football practice takes place on the other side of the complex.

Brock took a moment to process this. “Oh right...." his chuckle was lifeless. “Huhuhuh…I can be so stupid sometimes.” Aaron and the coach simply observed as Brock accepted this new reality.

“Luckily for you,” the coach sighed. “We needed a few more boys on the football team.”

With @gassydumbjocks

Just to make it clear, Joel had no problems with his son being gay. Tanner had grown up a decent young man, now almost 25 and working in the bioengineering field. But throughout his childhood and adolescence, Joel has fostered quite the effeminate son. It made no sense regarding Joel's background. Obsessed with sports, passionate about drinking beer, supporting his family through thick and thin. He was not conservative, but such a traditionally masculine man should not have reared the pinkest pony on the block.

Science and gender studies over business and sports management, Christina Aguilera over Garth Brooks. Heck, Joel had even been excited to have the talk with his son, but instead the discussion turned into Tanner explaining how bottoming worked! All Joel had wished for was a real man of a son, someone he could be proud of. So after hearing of a fantastical “Man-Up Camp”, Joel decided to send his son in. Tanner was almost past the point of young adulthood, so Joel did not want to waste any more time than necessary.

Everything happened fast after Joel’s payment had gone through. Tanner had exited the lab building for the night after a long day of research. Minding his own business and walking on the sidewalk while listening to the music, he had not even noticed when the camp's van suddenly pulled up beside him. Out hopped two burly men, and suddenly Tanner felt a sharp prickling in his neck followed by another in his side. Once out cold, the men were easily able to haul the twink into the van and head off to camp.

When Tanner eventually awoke, he was greeted by a taller lad with tanned skin, a beefy frame, and an already-noticeable obnoxious personality. The hunky man was only wearing some gym shorts, airing out his musk into the small, concrete room. 

"Wha…what’s going on?” Tanner’s high voice squeaked, noticing he was tied up. 

“Welcome to Man-Up Camp, bro!”

Within a moment’s notice, the jock approached and quickly shoved his victim’s head into one of the hairiest armpits Tanner had ever seen. After about 30 seconds, the jock released Tanner, revealing the twink’s sweat and funky grime-covered face.

"Thought you’d like that, sissy boy,” the jock taunted, motioning to Tanner’s small, erect dick before leaning in with a:

BOOUUUURRRPPP!

"Ugh, god..." Tanner grumbled as he swallowed the nasty smoke. Before he could recover, the jock had already turned around, raising a leg before grunting.

PPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT!

The putrid smell dove right for Tanner, penetrating into his skin as it was absorbed. This process of funk exposure would continue for a few hours. The jock would go back and forth between all different methods of emanating stench, a way of directing pure masculine DNA.

As Joel had read online, the unadulterated toxicity would erode away at the drugged client, contaminating until their being was soaked in what was deemed as “undeniably alpha”. In the end, the trauma would restructure Tanner's memory to appropriate the results.

———

Nervously, Joel knocked on the door of his son’s apartment. Tanner had returned from the Man-Up Camp two days ago, but the program had advised not to visit clients for at least 48 hours to help solidify the marination process. Now, Joel stood before his decision, wracked with excitement and guilt. He had not agreed with all the program’s promises, including the conversion, but his desperation for a manly son sat stronger. Joel just hoped he had not gone too far.

“If it ain’t my old man!” A booming voice greeted from the entryway. For the first time ever, Joel had to look up to make eye contact with his son. “I was just about to leave for a game with the boys, wanna come?”

Joel took in his new son. Gone was the short flamboyant nerd; what now stood before him was the epitome of masculine identity. Tanner was tall, muscular, and hairy. Just by peering into the apartment, it was clear his priorities had shifted. While once impeccably decorated, Tanner’s home was now filled with cheap generic furniture, discarded takeout leftovers, and dirty clothes scattered across the floor.

After being blasted by the funk wave that emanated from his new son, Joel agreed to join him. In response through burps, Tanner spelt out a “G-R-E-A-T B-R-OURP!” right into his father’s face.

Over the rest of their time together, Joel simply sat on the sidelines studying this new man. He could not help but take in every inch of Tanner's physical and mental testosterone. The camo baseball hat, the scruffy beard, the lightly-dusted pecs, the massive dong swinging freely in the workout shorts, the giant shoes clomping around the court. His interactions too, chest-bumping his bros when he scored a point and blasting the losers with smelly butt bombs. Tanner had become a dumber, grosser, obnoxious, bigoted version of himself: Joel could not have been more proud of his success. 

“Yo Pops!” Tanner shouted, adjusting himself freely. “You ever gonna join us or you just gonna fag out over there?”

“Hey princess, how about you go grab me a beer while we wait for everyone else to arrive.”

“Sure thing, Mario!” 

I ran inside as fast as I could, trying my best to hold back the smile that was threatening to escape. I could not believe how easily my plan was working. Ever since I caught that twisted, hungry bottom flirting with my boyfriend, I knew I had to take action. It was just fascinating how simple it all had been. 

My boyfriend was a solid-but-sensitive type, big and muscular but soft, which sometimes worked against him. He had not even noticed when Mario had batted his pretty eyelashes for him, or when the bottom pouted with a sickly sweet: “We should hang out more, I’m sure I’d make it worth your time.” But I had known the signs however, and I planned to be proactive. A simple search on the web led me to a solution I could only hope would do the trick.

It was some form of an incantation, performing rites onto an article of clothing with the necessary ingredients. Some rose-embedded candles, feathers of a raven, off-brand vinegar...all stuff I could easily find in the city. And once brought together, the ingredients were meant to create a migration ritual, transferring the essence of one person through an article of clothing onto another being. My plan was for Mario to be at the receiving end, absorbing the identity of my choosing.

And luckily for me, there was no better offering than my arrogant, womanizing older brother. Eric was a decent enough sibling growing up, although we had rarely spoken since my coming out. But overall, he was a different man on the streets. If he was not tackling another dude on the field, then Eric was surely tackling another chick into bed. Therefore, if I could imbed this same heterosexual passion into Mario, I knew I would never have to deal with him skankly attempting to steal my boyfriend every again. 

The set-up had been simple: a pool party with everyone supposedly invited. Of course, I had only reached out to Mario, and had neglected to inform him of the "pool" portion of the party. He was so thankful when I offered him my "spare" pair of speedos, taking the pink-patterned briefs from me without a second thought. He could have never known they had been soaking the entire night before in a brew with my older brother’s own sweat-stained boxers.

At first, the changes had not been evident, but eventually I began to witness the consequences of my actions. Mario had gradually grown taller, every minute having added an extra half-inch to his torso or legs. With this came the expansion of his muscles, defining the bottom’s once-lean figure with juicier, more defined features. 

Now approaching with the beer he had requested, I was able to take in even more changes that had happened while I had been inside. Hair had begun sprouting from Mario’s previously-shaven legs, and his queer mullet had tightened into a douchey French crop. I could even sense his attitude had shifted; Mario was no longer displaying his former star feature (his perky bottom), but instead showcasing his new pride (his literal, much larger pride).

“Good girl,” Mario taunted, chugging the whole can in one go. The teasing nicknames were new too. I should have been insulted, but I was too busy relishing in my success. What other attributes from my older brother would Mario soon absorb?

BUUUUUUUUURRRPP! “So how long until they get here anyway?” Mario groaned, tossing the crushed can aside. 

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” I replied without removing my eyes from him, hoping to witness another change.

Mario noticed my directed attention, assuming it was regarding the swimwear. “This wasn't all some plan to get me into a faggy speedo, was it? I'm beginning to think you wanted a real man like me all to yourself."

The accusation caused me to break, stunned at the rude remark. Mario smirked smugly. “What, something wrong, girly?”

“Yeah, what you're saying is insul-”

“Learn your place and go grab me another beer,” Mario ordered. “You don’t want me to have to get up, do you?”