Cody struggled against the thick ropes binding his wrists to the back of the wooden chair, the coarse hemp cutting into his pale skin. His breathing was ragged, eyes wide and glassy with panic as he stared across the cramped, dim dorm room. The overhead light flickered intermittently, casting Cruz’s broad silhouette in twitching shadows across the walls. Cruz had always been a bit… off. Diego used to joke that his roommate was born in the wrong decade—that if it were up to him, every dorm would be one giant locker room. The guy stank like he bathed in his own sweat and wore it like cologne. Cody never liked him, but he never thought he’d end up like this: restrained and helpless, watching as his boyfriend was dragged toward something unthinkable.
“Let him go,” Cody spat, his voice cracking with desperation. “You don’t have to do this!”
Cruz didn’t even glance back. He stood in front of Diego, who was shirtless and breathing hard, his cheeks flushed with confusion and anger. Diego’s dark curls clung damp to his forehead, and his chest rose and fell like he’d just finished running. He looked scared, but not scared enough. Not yet.
“He’s still got that softness in him,” Cruz muttered, lifting one of his battered soccer cleats and pressing it to his own nose, inhaling deeply like it was the finest cigar. “But don’t worry. We’ll fix that.”
“Diego, don’t breathe in. Don’t listen to him!” Cody shouted, writhing in his restraints. “You know who you are. You’re not—whatever he’s trying to make you.”
But Diego just stood there, staring at the shoe Cruz held out like it was… calling to him.
“It’s just sweat, man,” Diego mumbled, uncertain, but not pulling away. “It’s just a smell.”
“No,” Cruz grinned. “It’s the smell of manhood.”
He pressed the cleat to Diego’s face with a sudden, aggressive push, and Diego gagged—then coughed. Then inhaled. The change wasn’t immediate. It never was. That’s what made it worse. Cody could only watch, his stomach twisting in horror as Diego blinked slowly, nostrils flaring. His face contorted with disgust for a second—then something changed. His eyes unfocused, the pupils dilating just a bit too wide.
“Smells… strong,” Diego murmured. He tried to shake it off, but Cruz was ready. He pressed the cleat in harder, practically grinding the sole into Diego’s face.
“Breathe deep, bro. Let it in. Let it show you what you really are under all that fake polish. All that weak-ass love-boy crap.”
“Don’t listen to him!” Cody cried. “You’re not like that! You’re kind, you’re smart—”
But Diego had stopped listening. A low, shuddering breath rolled through his lungs, and his body trembled. He tried to pull away, but Cruz grabbed the back of his head and forced it back down into the cleat. The air was thick with the smell of dried sweat, mildew, and aged leather. Diego moaned—but it wasn’t just in discomfort. There was something else beneath it. Something closer to need.
Cruz leaned in, his voice practically a growl. “That’s it. Let that fog in. It’s already starting, isn’t it? The ache in your brain? The way things don’t matter like they used to? You think Cody matters? He’s just noise. What you need—what you are—is something better.”
Diego staggered back, gasping, but he didn’t fall. He stood there, wobbling slightly, eyes unfocused. One hand moved down to his waistband, shifting slightly as if—
No. No. Cody shook his head, tears in his eyes. “Diego, please. Look at me. You love me. Remember?”
For a moment, a flicker of something real sparked in Diego’s eyes. His mouth opened. “Cody… I…”
Then Cruz was there again, shirtless now, his glistening pit shoved right up to Diego’s nose.
“Round two,” he growled. “Go on. Breathe in deep. This is what being a real man smells like.”
Diego froze—then crumpled into it. Cody could only watch as Diego slumped against the wall, his chest heaving, lips parted as if struggling to suck in clean air. But Cruz was already there, one meaty arm curled around his shoulder like a vice, pinning him in place. The scent of his armpit lingered in the room like a thick haze—pungent, musky, and strangely sweet in its rot. Cody’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t just the smell—it was what it meant. That odor was doing something. Twisting Diego, seeping into him.
“You good, bro?” Cruz muttered into Diego’s ear, loud enough for Cody to hear. “Starting to feel it now? That burn in your lungs? That itch in your brain?”
Diego’s voice was hoarse. “It’s… I dunno. I feel hot. My head’s like… fuzzy.”
Cody leaned forward in his restraints, shaking his head. “That’s not you, baby. It’s not real! You’re just being drugged or—brainwashed or something, you have to fight it!”
But Diego didn’t look at him. He looked at Cruz.
“What’s happening to me?” Diego asked, voice trembling.
Cruz grinned, full teeth. “You’re just waking up, hermano. Shedding all that weak, soft crap. That boyfriend. That college-boy future. That tight little guilt you carry around.”
Diego flinched. But he didn’t pull away. Cruz leaned in again, letting a slow, wet drip of sweat slide from his pit down onto Diego’s shoulder. “And you’re gonna let it happen. You’re gonna let go. Bit by bit. You don’t need to think so hard anymore. Just feel.”
Diego’s body twitched. His back arched slightly, like he was stretching against invisible restraints. A sound escaped him—half grunt, half moan. He rubbed the back of his hand across his nose, sniffling. Still breathing it in. His abs flexed—not with effort, but with growth. Cody’s eyes widened. Diego had always been fit, sure—swam in high school, hit the gym casually—but this was different. His stomach twitched again, muscle thickening in slow pulses, veins rising under the skin like roots crawling from under the surface. His lats widened slightly, pushing his arms out just a bit further from his sides.
He stared down at his own torso, eyes wide. “What the hell…?”
“It’s the man-fog, bro,” Cruz murmured, voice like a prayer. “Ain’t just a smell. It’s change. It’s what you were meant to be.”
Cody screamed, voice cracking. “Diego, don’t let it win! That’s not you! You’re smart, you’re kind, you’re not—this!”
Diego flinched again—but he still didn’t look at Cody. His hand dropped to his waistband. Cruz saw it and laughed, low and rough.
“Oh yeah. You’re feelin’ it now.”
Diego swallowed hard. “I feel… weird. Like I wanna… stretch or fight or just… I dunno. Do something.”
Cruz’s grin widened. “Your brain’s getting lighter, isn’t it? No more overthinking. No more feelings. Just sweat, and meat, and need. You’re almost there.”
“I don’t… I don’t wanna hurt him,” Diego muttered, eyes flicking toward Cody just for a moment.
But Cruz was ready. He grabbed Diego’s face and shoved it deep into his pit. This time, Diego didn’t resist. The sound he made was obscene—wet, muffled, like a moan buried in a grunt. His fingers dug into Cruz’s side, clinging there as he inhaled again, and again, and again. Cody turned away, his heart pounding so loud it drowned out the room. He wanted to scream, to throw up, to run, but he couldn’t do anything but watch as his boyfriend drowned in the scent. The muscles swelled faster now. Diego’s traps thickened, shoulders bulking outward. His skin glistened with sweat that wasn’t his a moment ago. His jaw clenched, sharpening. The softness in his features—the gentle, thoughtful glow—melted away under a sheen of testosterone-fueled hunger. He was panting when Cruz finally let him go.
Cruz leaned in, brushing a thumb across Diego’s cheek. “You’re gonna forget him soon. That little twink tied up in the chair? He’s just background noise now. You don’t date guys, bro. You don’t even like ‘em.”
Diego’s voice was different now. Thicker. Slower. “Nah, man… I don’t—” He shook his head. “I don’t swing that way.”
His eyes flicked to Cody. And for the first time…They weren’t eyes of love. They were eyes of confusion. Disgust.
Cody’s breath caught in his throat.
Cruz chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, bro. He’s just someone you used to know. Before you woke up.”
Diego nodded slowly. “Yeah… before I got fuckin’ real.”
Cody’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t speak anymore—not because he didn’t want to, but because the words wouldn’t come. His throat was raw from screaming, and no matter how much he begged, pleaded, or cried, Diego kept slipping further away. And now… now Diego was laughing.
“Bro, what the hell,” Diego grunted, holding his arms out and flexing. His voice was lower now—rougher, almost sluggish—and when he looked down at himself, it was like he didn’t recognize his own body, but didn’t care. “I feel jacked, dude. This shit’s wild.”
“You’re becoming you,” Cruz said, standing behind him, one hand on Diego’s shoulder like a proud sculptor admiring his work. “The real you. The one who doesn’t give a single fuck about anything except lifting, smashing, and stinking up the world.”
Diego snorted. “Yeah, man. I feel, like… free or something.”
Then Cruz grinned—and shoved Diego down, forcing him to his knees on the floor.
“You’re not done yet, bro,” he said, turning around and tugging down the waistband of his shorts. “You’ve still got the last piece to inhale.”
Cody’s eyes went wide. “Don’t—please, don’t—”
But it was already too late. Cruz hunched over slightly and ripped one—a deep, slow, bubbling fart that hissed out of him like a leaking gas valve, thick and sulfuric.
The sound was disgusting, but it was the smell that hit the room like a war crime. Cody gagged instantly, jerking against the ropes. It smelled like fermented protein, swamp rot, and something sourer. Rancid. Diego twitched on the floor. His nose wrinkled—but instead of recoiling, he leaned forward. And breathed.
“Duuude,” he groaned. “That’s so rank.”
Cruz let another one out, louder this time, right into Diego’s face. “Yeah, man. Drink it in. This is what alpha really smells like. Raw. Brutal. Unfiltered.”
Diego moaned—and his body shuddered. The change kicked into overdrive. His neck thickened, veins pulsing just under the skin. His jaw cracked and widened, growing meatier. He scratched at his pecs as they ballooned, sweat soaking through his skin. His abs were now fully formed bricks, deep and grooved. A trail of dark hair snaked down his stomach. Then came the shift lower. Diego’s groin twitched—and then bulged. His crotch strained against his underwear, a visible wet spot forming as the musk worked its way deeper into him. He groaned again, louder, hips jerking involuntarily.
“Goddamn, my cock’s like… heavy, bro,” Diego slurred, dumbfounded. “And it reeks.”
Cruz laughed. “Yeah it does. That’s manhood, bro. Cheese it up. You ain’t some soft little boyfriend anymore. You’re a freakin’ jock beast. You stink like a god now.”
Diego’s face twisted. Something inside him cracked—and Cody could almost see it.
“What’s a guy doing tied up in our room anyway?” Diego asked, scratching his balls through his boxers. “That’s, like… gay or something.”
Cody’s heart shattered. He stared into Diego’s eyes—and saw nothing left of the man he loved. No recognition. No softness. Just heat, hunger, and haze.
“Please remember me,” Cody whispered. “You’re not… this. You were never this.”
Diego snorted, rising to his feet with a stretch, his pits now reeking on their own. He turned to Cruz. “Yo, let’s hit the gym after this. I’m, like, amped. Might blow out my back doin’ squats or some shit.”
Cruz slapped him on the back. “Atta boy.”
Then, casually, he ripped another fart—wet this time—and Diego laughed. Like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Like it was home.
Cody’s chest heaved in shallow, panicked breaths. He didn’t even notice the tears streaming down his face anymore. His wrists burned from the ropes, his lungs ached from the choking stench lingering in the room—but nothing hurt more than what he saw in Diego’s eyes. Nothing. Not even the way Diego smirked now. That same crooked smirk Cody used to find charming after long nights in bed. But now it was warped—emptied. The smirk of a man who no longer remembered why Cody ever mattered.
“Yo,” Diego grunted, flexing and sniffing his own pit, face twisting in satisfied disgust. “We can’t just leave the twink like that, bro.”
Cruz leaned back against the desk, arms folded, his own sweat-streaked chest rising and falling with lazy breaths. “Nah. That’d be cruel, right?”
He turned his head slowly, locking eyes with Cody.
“But not turning him?” Cruz grinned. “Now that would be cruel.”
“No,” Cody croaked, struggling again, more desperate than ever. “Please. I’m not like you. I don’t want this.”
Diego crouched beside him, still shirtless, drenched in testosterone-soaked sweat. The scent rolled off him like heat. His shorts were tented—he didn’t care. His grin stretched wider as he leaned in close, bringing that overwhelming stink with him.
“You’re gonna love it, bro,” Diego said, voice thick and sloppy. “You just need to… breathe it in. Like I did. Shit changed my life.”
“Changed you,” Cody spat, his voice breaking. “Killed you.”
But Diego just laughed and yanked the chair—and Cody—closer to the bed with a screech of wood on tile. Cruz was already waiting, one leg up on the mattress, arms lifted behind his head. His pit hair was soaked, glistening, the reek curling in the air like visible fog.
“You know what to do, Diego,” Cruz said. “Wake your bro up.”
Cody thrashed, screaming now, tears and snot smeared down his face as Diego climbed up behind him, locking him in place with thick, muscular arms. His sweat dripped onto Cody’s neck, into his shirt collar. It burned like acid.
“Don’t fight it,” Diego breathed. “It’s so much easier when you let go.”
Cruz stepped forward—and shoved Cody’s face right into his pit. The scent was instant. Like a punch to the soul. Thick, rancid, hot. It had weight, like Cody was being smothered by the very essence of rot. It filled his sinuses, coated his throat, burned into his lungs. His mind reeled. It was so wrong. So foul. So intimate in the most degrading way. He coughed, gagged—but Diego held him tighter. Another shove. Another breath. And the edges of his thoughts began to curl like paper near fire.
“You smell that?” Cruz grunted, voice smug. “That’s the new you. That’s what real life smells like. Not perfume and feelings. Just funk. Just man.”
“Y-you… can’t…” Cody whimpered.
But the fog was already in him. Cruz farted—loud, wet, toxic—and the wave of stink hit Cody hard. His legs kicked instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. The gas was in his mouth, behind his eyes, changing him. His brain screamed—but the scream got quieter. His skin tingled. His chest itched. Something stirred in his groin.
Diego leaned in, whispering, “Feels good, huh? Bet you’re already feelin’ your cock growin’. Gettin’ ripe. Jockified.”
Cody moaned—no. Whimpered. He didn’t want to enjoy it. But the scent kept pressing in, pounding at every barrier inside him like a hammer made of rot and sweat and dominance. Then he felt it.His abs flexed. Not much. But more than before. A faint ridge. A twitch in his biceps. His thighs clenched, tingling as if blood was rushing to places it hadn’t before.
“First pump’s always the best,” Cruz said, smirking down at him. “Now let’s blow the rest of your brain out.”
He turned, stuck out his ass, and let it rip.
Cody’s scream turned into a gasp. And then…A groan. His eyes rolled back. And the first real crack in his identity appeared.
Cody was sweating. Not from exertion—but from exposure. From absorption. His pores were screaming, wide open, trying to fight back against the flood of rancid stink that was seeping into him from every angle. The room was a sauna of testosterone. A crucible of stink, where men were melted down and reforged. He could feel it in the air. Thick and humid and sour. It clung to him like grease—seeped into the fibers of his clothes, into his hair, under his tongue. And it was changing him. His head lolled forward, still bound tight, mouth parted as he gasped for air. But there was no clean air. Only the thick, unrelenting fog of Cruz’s unwashed pits, his protein-fueled farts, and Diego’s now jockified musk rolling off him in waves. Cody whimpered, his voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears.
“Still fighting, huh?” Cruz’s voice oozed through the haze like oil. “Your body’s not.”
Cody couldn’t argue. His chest—flat, smooth, once more aesthetic than athletic—was starting to itch. He could feel the skin tighten, like something was pushing up from beneath the surface. He looked down, horrified, as the slight swell of his pecs pulsed once… then again. Slow, throbbing. They weren’t sculpted. Not yet. But they were thickening. Meat growing under skin. He shuddered, sweat pouring down his temple.
“No,” he whispered. “Not me. Not this.”
But his body wasn’t listening anymore. His abs tightened—involuntarily. His core spasmed, and he felt something click deeper inside him. Muscle fibers waking up. Stretching. Gorging themselves on the stink like it was fuel. And then came the hair. It was subtle at first. Just a darkening at the center of his chest. But as he blinked, more spread across the plane of his torso—sparse but wiry. Around his nipples. Down his belly. It was spreading like moss, fed by the humid air.
Diego leaned down beside him, eyes glittering with jock-stupid pride. “Told you it’d hit good, bro. Gettin’ thick already.”
“F-fuck… off…” Cody tried to snarl—but it came out weak. Almost needy.
His thighs spasmed next. He felt them bulk. From the inside out. Like two logs swelling under his jeans, pressing outward. Denim stretched. The seams groaned. The skin under it burned with the heat of transformation, and with it came a smell—not theirs, but his. He was starting to make it. His own stink. Faint. Cheesy. New. Cody’s lip trembled. His cock, hard against his will, throbbed once—then twice. It pulsed with heat, and with it came another involuntary moan.
“Feels good, huh?” Cruz whispered, pressing his foot against Cody’s swelling thigh. “That’s your body telling you the truth. You were never a boyfriend. You were a bro waiting to happen.”
Cody shook his head, barely. But his shoulders rolled. A stretch. A twitch. And then another pop of muscle at his traps. He could feel himself getting heavier. And the smell… it was changing. No longer entirely alien. There were moments—brief, terrifying moments—where Cody caught a whiff of something familiar, his own sweat, and instead of gagging, he didn’t mind it. He wanted to mind it. He wanted to hate it. But his brain was lagging behind his flesh. And his flesh was humming. Buzzing with submission. The stink was in him now. Soaked into his skin. Feeding the growth. His arms bulged. Not dramatically. But enough. He could see the rise of muscle at his biceps. Not sculpted—just meaty. Heavy. Bro muscle. Thoughtless, gym-earned thickness. His jaw clenched—because his jaw was widening. He felt his tongue press oddly against his teeth as his face began the slow shift from soft to sharp. His cheekbones rose. His brow thickened. His nose twitched—and for one horrifying second, he liked what he smelled.
A deep fart bubbled from Cruz—wet and brutal—and Cody’s whole body tensed. His cock jerked in his pants, and this time, he didn’t moan. He groaned. Low. Dumb. Needy.
“Shit,” he breathed. “That’s… nasty…”
Cruz leaned in close, licking his lips. “Told you. Your body’s ours now. Your brain’s next.”
Cody’s mouth hung open now, his head lolling slightly from side to side as if it were too heavy for his neck. His tongue was dry, lips cracked, and every breath he took felt like it pulled him deeper into the stink-soaked abyss. And for the first time… Cody didn’t answer. He just breathed. He reeked now. His own musk had joined the oppressive cloud of Diego and Cruz’s sweat, armpit grime, and weaponized farts. The room was a man pit, and Cody was just one more source of it. But now the transformation had shifted focus. Now it was going for his mind.
“Yo,” Diego said, nudging him in the shoulder with a thick, veiny arm. “You in there, bro?”
Cody blinked. Sluggish. Blank. For a moment, nothing came out. Not words. Not even a sound.
Then—“Uhhh… yeah?” It came out like a question. Like even he wasn’t sure.
Cruz laughed. “Fuck yeah, bro. That fog’s finally settin’ in. You feelin’ it now?”
Cody’s brow furrowed. “Fog…?” he repeated, voice slow, dazed. “Yeah… uh… head’s all… floaty n’… shit…”
He blinked again. Thoughts were hard. Words didn’t line up right. Every sentence felt like a workout. His brain was sweating just trying to think. It wasn’t just confusion—it was erosion. Like every deep thought, every emotional memory, every abstract idea was being ground down into dull thuds.
Diego crouched in front of him, grinning that idiot grin Cody used to love—before it had turned into something stupid and cruel. “You remember your name, bro?”
Cody opened his mouth. Closed it. His eyes went distant.
“Cuh…” he started. “Cuh… Cody?”
That was right, wasn’t it? It sounded right. But then Cruz leaned in—and ripped another one. A deep, nasty fart that vibrated the air between them. And just like that, Cody forgot what he was saying. All that came out was a dumb little laugh.
“Shiiit… that’s rank, bro…” he mumbled, drool sliding down the corner of his lip. He didn’t wipe it. Didn’t even notice it.
Cruz clapped him on the back. “That’s the stink killin’ the parts you don’t need, bro. No more overthinking. No more dumb feelings. Just horny, hungry, sweaty fuckin jock shit.”
And Cody’s cock—already half-hard—twitched at those words. He barely reacted. Didn’t question it. Didn’t even feel embarrassed. Diego leaned in closer, and Cody didn’t move away. His former boyfriend’s pit was right there—hot, wet, tangy—and Cody’s nose flared. He sniffed. Once. Then again. Then deeper.
“Smells… fuckin good, bro,” Cody slurred, eyes fluttering half-closed. “Like… like home…”
Cruz stepped behind him again, rubbing his own swampy pits with both hands and dragging the scent up under Cody’s nose. “Say goodbye to the old you, man. Say goodbye to… uh, whatever fag shit you used to care about.”
Cody tried to focus. Tried to remember. A voice in his head whispered, Boyfriend. College. Love. Literature. Self-respect. But the words were slippery. Soft. Weak. They melted in the heat of the room, in the musk, in the fart-saturated air. And what replaced them was a warm, thick nothing. A dull buzz. Like a gym locker room had grown sentience inside his skull.
“Yo,” Cody muttered, blinking slowly, a little smile spreading over his slack lips. “I think I wanna… lift or somethin’…”
Diego and Cruz fist-bumped.
“He’s almost there,” Cruz grinned.
Cody stared blankly at the wall. His jaw hung loose. His pecs bounced slightly with every lazy breath, chest rising and falling with bro-tified rhythm. He was still Cody, technically. But what was left? A name. A smell. A cock getting thicker by the second in his gym shorts. And a mind…turning to gas.
The room was so thick. Dense. More atmosphere than air now. Sweat clung to the walls like condensation. The musk of three bodies—soured, ripe, corrupted—filled every breath, and Cody’s lungs had long since stopped resisting. He was breathing stink like it was oxygen. His eyes were glassy. Mouth slack. His once-tight jaw now hung open in a permanent dumb bro gape, glistening with drool. His hair, matted with sweat, clung to his forehead. His gym shorts—when had he even gotten into gym shorts?—clung to his hips like a second skin, tented by the heavy, pulsing meat swinging beneath. But the real change now…was in his gut. A deep, grinding pressure had been building. Right at his core. A boiling, festering tension that felt like it had weight—like a storm brewing in his bowels. And it meant something. Cody didn’t know what anymore—he barely knew how to think. But deep down, some part of him knew: this wasn’t just gas. This was everything.
“Bro,” Diego said, fanning the air with one hand, grinning. “He’s loading up. Look at that face. He’s about to blow the last of his fuckin brain out his ass.”
Cruz cackled, pressing a hand to Cody’s shoulder. “This is it, man. The grand finale. Say g’bye to being Cody.”
Cody moaned. A low, wet sound. More sound effect than word. His stomach gurgled—loudly. Pressure shifted. His hips jerked slightly forward. And then—
A long, wet, noxious blast ripped from Cody’s ass, echoing off the wooden chair beneath him. His head snapped back, eyes fluttering, a dumb, blissed-out smile stretching across his dopey face. But that was just the start. The gas kept coming.
PRRRRT-BRRRAAAP—SPRRRRTCHHHHH
Each fart shook his body. Tore through what was left of his dignity, his identity, his memories. Each one was like a balloon popping inside his skull—memories of college, of books, of Diego—gone, carried out on a cloud of steaming, toxic jock-gas.
“Uhhh… what was… what wuz I…”
Another blast. Loud and lazy.
There goes literature. There goes his GPA. There goes his first kiss. Gone.
“Fuck, bro!” Diego laughed. “He’s straight-up fartin’ out his whole personality!”
Cody grunted, abs flexing involuntarily as another bubble of pressure bloated in his core. His body loved this. His cock was fully hard, oozing, bouncing with each thunderous release. His brain was just static now—warm, sour, content. One final glorious blowout built in his gut. The biggest yet. The one that would take everything. Cody’s eyes rolled back. He leaned forward. Gave a dumb, guttural, “Hhhurrghh…”
PPPPFFFRRRRRRBBLBLBLLLTKRRRRTTTTT
A seismic, unholy sound. The stink hit hard, like paint thinner and rotten cheese. His whole body shuddered. His mind emptied. When the sound faded, Cody just slumped back in the chair, arms limp, mouth open. There were no thoughts left. Just heat. Scent. Sweat. Hunger. He blinked slowly and scratched his gut. Then he looked at Cruz and Diego, eyebrows slightly scrunched like he was almost thinking something.
“…yo,” he said finally, in a dopey, lazy voice, “when’s, uh… leg day?”
They howled with laughter. Cody laughed too, not knowing why. Just knowing he was home.
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