MWG Blog

Jared had everything he could want. The looks, the friends, girls drooling over him, the athletic ability... the list went on. The only thing he didn't have was a good grade in his stupid intro to English course. To Jared, school was just an obstacle to the things he would rather be focusing on. His time partying, working out, and practicing on the field were all higher priorities for him. The only thing grades were good for were maintaining his sports scholarship.

"C'mon man, you can't fail me." Jared insisted, "I'll write a stupid essay or something. Ever heard of extra credit?"

Dr. Peters sighed, "Jared, I know you have the potential. You're a bright young man and..."

"Enough with the bullshitting." The young jock continued, "I'm sure I could pass your class if I gave a fuck." His eyes narrowed.

"In all my years of teaching, I've never..." Dr. Peters paused and regained his composure, "Look, I'm sorry Jared, but I can't just change your grade." He put the papers he had been reading down as his phone buzzed, "I'm sorry, I have to take this."

Jared watched as his professor stepped away and the young man sighed. Did he lose his cool? Yeah. Did it hurt his case? Fuck yeah. But he wasn't about to let some washed out, gay English nerd fuck with his life. Jared looked down at the papers Dr. Peters was reading and smirked. Without a second thought, he grabbed it and left the room.

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Was stealing a bunch of papers from his English professor the best revenge he could think of? No, not at all. But when Jared started reading them, he nearly died from laughter.

"Did he write this shit?" Jared smirked, taking in Dr. Peter's handwriting, "Oh my god, dude needs to learn to type. Probably can't even afford a laptop on his shitty salary."

As Jared started to read the pages he had stolen, his expression shifted. He couldn't believe what he was reading.

"What a pervert." Jared chuckled, "This is what you spend your time writing about?" The story was unlike anything he expected. It detailed an intimate encounter between two men - Dr. Peters and an assistant coach named Chris, "You dirty fucker," Jared whispered under his breath.

But he couldn't help but continue to read over each line. The story unfolded with vivid descriptions of a burly, handsome assistant football coach, Chris. The broad shoulders, thick gut, hirsute form- oozing masculinity.

"So that's the type of guy Peters gets off to." Jared mused, "What a…" He shifted uncomfortably as he felt his cock beginning to stiffen, tenting against his jeans, "The fuck…?" He smirked, "Guess its been a bit since I got off…" He whispered.

Jared kept reading, his curiosity piqued despite himself. The story described how the English professor ran a hand through the assistant coach's thick chest hair, tracing the lines of muscle beneath. As he read these words, Jared felt an odd itching sensation on his own chest. He absently scratched at it, not realizing that fine hairs were beginning to sprout across his smooth skin.

He continued to read, now fully engrossed in the erotic tale unfolding before him. The professor leaned in closer to the coach, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat. Jared inhaled deeply- he could swear he smelled it too. It was rugged, musky, and deliciously masculine. And it was coming from him. His own musky pits… And it smelled so good…

"What the hell." Jared shook his head, "Alright… time to put this down…"

Jared tried to set the papers aside, but found himself unable to look away. The story had taken hold of him, drawing him deeper into its world. As he read on, the characters' encounter grew more heated. The professor pressed his lips to the coach's neck, feeling the coarse stubble against his face. Jared winced as hairs sprouted from his own jawline, growing thicker until he sported a scraggly, manly beard.

"Wh-what the fuck?"

He tried to lift a hand to confirm what he had felt. But his hands remained stuck in place, holding the story. He couldn't even move his head, forced to stare at the pages and read what was on them.

"I can't move…" He stuttered, "I can't…"

Jared couldn't help but continue to read. Read the description of professor grasping the coach's muscular arms, Jared could feel his own biceps swell and thicken. But he couldn't look. Couldn't see the changes that the story wrought on his lean muscles and athletic form.

"Ohhhh... fuck…" He moaned.

The story detailed how the professor trailed kisses down the coach's chest, circling his nipples with his tongue. Jared gasped, feeling his own nipples harden and tingle. He wanted to look down, to see if they had darkened and enlarged like the coach's, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the pages. But he could feel his pecs swell, thickening with muscle, while also sagging and softening with age.

"Pl-please let me go…" Jared begged.

He read as the coach groaned, his hands roaming over the professor's body. Jared's fingers twitched, aching to do the same. To explore every inch of someone else's skin, to feel another man beneath him. He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. But they persisted, growing stronger with each passing moment. As the characters in the story began to undress each other, Jared felt his own clothes start to come undone and vanish, leaving him completely naked on his bed.

"Feels so good..." The cool air on his warm skin sent a shudder of pleasure through his increasingly larger form.

As Jared read on, he felt his scalp begin to tingle. He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the vivid descriptions of the characters' bodies pressing together. But the sensation grew more intense, spreading across his entire head.

He gasped as he felt strands of hair loosen and fall away. More followed, clinging to his fingers as he reached up to feel the thinning locks. Panic surged through him, but he couldn't stop reading. The story described the professor running his hands through the coach's thinning hair, and Jared felt his own recede further, revealing more of his scalp.

"No… please no…" He whimpered, but the words came out slurred and weak. His voice was changing too, deepening into a gravelly rasp. He could hear the difference, but couldn't process what it meant.

Jared's eyes widened as he felt a sudden burst of heat across his skin. The story detailed the professor trailing kisses down the coach's chest, across his hairy belly and lower still. Jared gasped, feeling coarse hairs erupt across his own once-smooth torso. They sprang up everywhere - his chest, back, shoulders. He felt like a walking carpet, covered in a thick pelt of dark fur.

"I can't be becoming him... I can't be.... fuck..."

Despite the alarming changes, Jared found himself growing more aroused. The descriptions of the characters' bodies pressing together, their sweaty skin sliding against each other, filled him with a primal hunger. He craved that closeness, that intimacy. He wanted to feel another man's strong arms around him.

"Oh fuck that… I'm not gay…" The pace of his breathing had quickened, his mind was racing as he tried to process the changes, "I'm Jared. I'm not…"

The story described the professor reaching down to grasp the coach's throbbing cock, feeling it pulse in his hand. Jared moaned, his own member responding in kind. It lengthened and thickened. Pre-cum leaked from the tip, dripping down onto his furry thighs. He couldn't believe how sensitive he had become, how desperately he needed release.

"I need… I need…" He whimpered, but he couldn't find the words. Couldn't articulate the burning desire coursing through his veins. All he knew was that he craved another man's touch. Craved the feeling of being filled, of being used.

Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him.

Strong arms wrapped around Jared's waist, pulling him back against a solid, muscular frame. He gasped, his eyes snapping open as he realized he was no longer alone. Realized he wasn't even in his dorm room anymore. He was in a bedroom. Their bedroom. Their? No he was… he was… His eyes widened as the papers in his hands vanished, as the the story's words faded away, instead replaced by reality.

"W-what the fuck?" He stammered, trying to turn around. But the arms held him firmly in place.

A low, husky voice rumbled in his ear, "I love you, babe."

Jared froze, recognizing that voice instantly. It was Dr. Peters. But how?

Before he could process it further, he felt the older man's hand wrap around his throbbing cock. Fingers closed around the base, squeezing gently. Jared cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"Yes, right there," Jared heard himself say, but the voice didn't belong to him. It was deeper, gruffer, and laced with lust. He tried to open his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Instead, his lips formed a smile as he pushed back against Dr. Peters' hand.

Panic surged through Jared's mind as he realized he wasn't in control of his own body anymore. He was trapped, watching helplessly as the assistant coach persona took over. The one from the story.

"Please, don't stop," Coach moaned, his hips rocking in time with Dr. Peters' strokes. "I need you inside me."

As Dr. Peters guided him towards the bed, Jared's vision blurred. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was a wedding band glinting on his own finger. Memories flooded his mind - memories of a life he hadn't lived. Of loving Dr. Peters, of being loved by him. Of countless nights spent entwined in each other's arms, of waking up to the older man's warm embrace.

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"Babe? Babe?" Jared stirred awake, his eyelids fluttering open. He blinked groggily, trying to orient himself. The last thing he remembered was… what exactly? Something about a story... about Dr. Peters… No... Evan. His husband...

"Thank god, you passed out," Evan said, relief evident in his voice. He sat on the edge of the bed, a concerned look etched on his face. "I was worried sick about you."

Jared frowned, confusion clouding his mind. Passed out? Worried? What was going on? He glanced down at his hand, noticing the wedding band for the first time. It was gold, simple, but unmistakable. He lifted his hand to examine it, but Evan caught his wrist gently.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Evan murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of Jared's hand.

Jared found himself nodding along, allowing Dr. Peters to guide him towards the bathroom. As they walked, Jared inspected his body. The thick chest hair, the broad shoulders, the paunch around his middle. None of it made sense. He was supposed to be a fit, muscular college athlete, not this… not this…

"Babe?"

As Jared looked at Evan, something clicked into place. The concern in his eyes, the gentle touch of his hands, the familiarity of his voice - it all fell together like pieces of a puzzle. This was his husband. His lover. The man he had built a life with. With a swift movement, Jared pushed Evan backwards onto the couch, pinning him beneath his weight. The older man yelped in surprise, but quickly melted into a pleased smile as he felt Jared's erection press against his thigh.

"We can't just leave it hanging like that, can we?"

You knew that look. The one that screamed, "Dear God, what have I done to myself"? Every gainer goes through it. It might be a ripped pair of pants, failing to tie your shoes, a stranger's lingering glance on your heavy frame... You reach that point where you question every choice that led you to your current state. "Is this my will, or the whim of a fading kink?". It takes you three seconds of doubt to answer that question: you want to be fat. It's the reason you eagerly weighed yourself every morning through the first 20 lbs. It's the reason you started ordering a second, third, fourth entree every night out. It's the reason you hold dearly to every outgrown item, a physical measurement of your progress. To define it as a mere kink, a "fattening fetish", is a grave injustice to your very identity. For you are driven by more than pleasure, greed, gluttony, lust, approval, or even acceptance.

You are fat for yourself.

Maybe he doesn’t appreciate this re-enactment of that locker room and magic underwear strip…..

I have been having lots of fun with Ai and have been creating lots of transformations but don't have time to write so I thought I would share one that I made, with a very quick caption. These were inspired by a very old story I read, that has always stuck with me.

Clive had been going to the gym for months now and had seen barely any results. Instead he only found himself getting sweaty and getting sniggered at by other patrons around him. That's when he decided to hire Payton, he had the body of a god. Defined abs, big biceps, cute round bubble butt and thick muscular legs, he was the whole package and he knew it. Often he would strut around shirtless and the women would swoon and the men would stare enviously. He had worked for a best part of a decade to achieve his body, but Clive didn't plan on working for that long. Payton barely even looked up at his phone as Clive approached him in the locker room. "Errr Payton. I wanted to get a body like yours. I would be willing to pay?" Payton didn't even look up "300 dollars for -" Clive didn't even let him finish before exclaiming "Deal!"

Santa Shorts 5

Now Bring Us Some Figgy Pudding

Titus always enjoyed hosting holiday parties, but the clean up was always a bitch. This year, it was potluck style, and there were too many leftovers despite trying to send some back with the twinks, hunks, and muscle bears he invited. The largest item left over was a massive figgy pudding Carson's partner brought over. Carson was great, but Titus didn't know what to do with Bobby, an older bear who was easily the least fit guy there. Bobby was nice and all, but Titus didn't love the way Bobby looked at him sometimes or the way Carson had slowly gone from lean twink to chunky cub since they started dating. And now, Titus had a two pound, barely touched, figgy pudding from the man sitting on the counter.

All I Want for Christmas is You (and to Be Your Dad)

It is Christmas morning, and you are at your boyfriend’s dining room table. You’d been friends with benefits for a few years now, but this was your first Christmas officially dating, and you both wanted to spend it together, just the two of you. As the coffee finished, Chris hands you an envelope with a bow on it.

“What’s this?” You ask, then read the envelope.

It reads, ‘To: my boy; From: your dad’.

The reality hit you like a car, fast and quick. Everything started to make sense, you knew exactly what was happening but it was too late to do anything about it.

You had always wondered what your boyfriend saw in you, all his exes were hairy men with big beards, thick pelts, and receding hairlines. They were stronger, tougher, more masculine than you. You were like your boyfriend, hairless, effeminate, a twink. A few months into your relationship he tired to get you to grow a beard, told you to stop using nair on your arms and back. You said youd only do it if he did the same but he would always respond "I dont want to look like an animal!" Eventually you gave in, did a no shave november as a birthday gift for him. You looked horrible, with only a light dusting on your upper lip to show for it at the end of the month... your boyfriend was expecting more. You tried to tune him out, he kept talking about supplements and testosterone treatments. There was something you could add to water, a pill you could take, a cream. You didnt want to hear it. You liked being a twink, you liked being a bottom, you didnt want to be like you boyfriends exes all dilfy and straight passing. They watched sports, treated your boyfriend like a house wife, and worked blue collar jobs. You wanted to stay in your field as a scientist, you wanted to have an equal partnership with your partner. Though there was a part of you, an animal part of you, that wanted to let go and devolve into the kind of man your boyfriend wanted you to be.

Today, on your day off, you decided to take a shower. Your boyfriend had already been up, cleaning the house or something. You stumbled to the shower, half awake and not thinking. You didnt stop to ask why your wet skin felt itchy and why your morning wood didnt get ofter with the water, in fact, it was getting harder and harder. You were planning on saving your load for your boyfriend but you couldnt help it. You needed it. You wrapped your hand around your cock and began stroking only a moment later realizing that it wasnt your think twinky hand stroking your cock but a thick bearish man's paw, covered in thick black hairs. You screamed in a deep manly voice, its not your own voice or at least it wasnt. Your boyfriend came in, half scared half excited. He looked at you as you rubbed your hands over your body, as you felt the hair growing in, the beard, the pelt, the growth. The reality hit you like a car, fast and quick. Everything started to make sense, you knew exactly what was happening but it was too late to do anything about it. You were becoming what he wanted, a bear of a man. Its starting with your body, the hair on your head beginning to fall out, the beard pushing out of your skin, the layer of fur, and then its going to be your mind. Your boyfriend must have snuck those supplements, the oils, into your shampoo or something. You look at him over your shoulder, if its true that he put the oils in your shampoo maybe theres still enough on you.

You grab him, pulling your fully clothed twink boyfriend into the shower with you. Hes panicking, "youre supposed to be the daddy not me!" Its too late, as your body gets bigger, hairier, older, so does his. He's crying as the oils, stuck in your thick pelt of fur, get all over him and begin to work their magic. You probably would have cried too, probably would have fought it, but by the time you realized what was happening your mind had already been changed. The old you was already gone and in its place was a mans man more interested in sports than in his appearance.

In the end there wasnt enough oil left to change your boyfriend completely but you made sure to get his face. He might look a few years younger than you and be less hairy but that beard makes up for it. You can imagine the old him screaming trapped inside his new jock brain. You boyfriend used to only care about makeup and boys, now all he cares about is beard care and gains. As for you? Youve settled into your new lifestyle as a daddy. Youre a sold man now, with a nice beard and good pelt of hair. Every night you and your boyfriend watch a football game to get you in the mood before you rail him like the good daddy you are.

Hello! If you're here for my gainer stories, here they are!

A Pigs BIG feed - https://thebearwithpotential.tumblr.com/post/643301600794935296/a-pigs-big-feed

A Norse Genie

Part 1 - https://thebearwithpotential.tumblr.com/post/643905609047179264/a-norse-genie-part-1

Part 2 -

https://thebearwithpotential.tumblr.com/post/645173966204502016/a-norse-genie-part-2

My dad got fat - https://thebearwithpotential.tumblr.com/post/644539937614675968/my-dad-got-fat

A wonderful night -

Wes didn’t have a care in the world. He’d made it. He was the star quarterback on his college football team, he was popular, and he was the hottest guy in the world, as far as he was concerned. They were 1 and 5 this season so far, but he didn’t let that rain on his parade. The parties never stopped, it felt like he walked on a red carpet no matter where he went. They’d lost the game on Saturday but he still had fun that night, so did it really matter? The promo deals kept coming in, his socials were constantly blowing up, it was great.

Wes walked into the locker room on Monday to find the rest of the team waiting for him. They didn’t look too happy to see him.

“Yo Wes,” the running back Brandon barked, “get your ass over here.” Wes was taken aback, his teammates had never spoken to him like that before. He walked over to where they had grouped up and let his gym bag slide off his shoulder.

“What’s the event, boys? Y’all were all waiting for me?” Wes quipped with a hint of anxiety in his voice. He was unsure what to make of this scene. Wes wasn’t a small guy at all, at 6’2” and packing well over 200 pounds of muscle, but in that instant he felt intimidated by his team.

“Seems like you didn’t hear,” Brandon replied, “the school’s not pleased with our performance currently. ‘Bad optics’ they’re sayin’. They sacked Coach yesterday over it.” His face was a mixture of disappointment and ire, clearly he wasn’t taking that news well, despite holding face. Wes knew that Coach and Brandon had been pretty tight, their families had known each other or something like that, he thought. “Our team needs a new coach, new direction. I don’t like this losing streak we’ve got goin’ on right now, and I feel you’ve been slacking on practice and performance,” Brandon continued. “The way I see it, and I talked to the boys about this, you’re the problem here. And seein’ as we need a new coach right now, I think you might just fit the bill.”

Wes took a step back. What the hell was Brandon talking about? Him? The new coach? That made no sense, he was young and fit and not at all what a coach was. His heart sank when he heard the door lock behind him, whipping his head around to find one of the linebackers guarding the exit with his hulking frame. He was suddenly surrounded by his own teammates; some looked at him with contempt, and some avoided eye contact all together. His attention was brought back to Brandon as he loudly spat in his own hand. He nodded at the others, who turned from Wes and walked over to the running back, before spitting in his hand as well. In just a few moments, Brandon’s hand was dripping with the thick saliva of every jock on the team, and he locked eyes with Wes as he marched over towards him. Wes was frozen, he couldn’t bring himself to move. This whole scene was surreal; what the hell was going on?

Brandon took his spit coated hand and grabbed Wes’ own into a firm, if wet, handshake. He even brought in his other hand for enthusiasm. Brandon looked up at Wes with a sadistic glimmer in his eye. “Congrats on the new position, Coach,” he said, his voice dripping with vindication. Wes could feel the slimy texture of his team’s spit pressed into his hand, and before Brandon had even let go, his skin began to tingle, his hand twitching to his disbelief. He stumbled backwards, breaking away from Brandon’s tight grip. Wes stared down at his hand, the feeling of pins and needles pulsing around it. His eyes widened as he watched his palm widen, slowly stretching with a large cracking sound. His fingers elongated one by one before thickening, doubling in size from what he was used to. He felt bones popping and growing as his hand swelled, looking comical in proportion to the rest of his arm. Thick callouses coated his palm as the soft skin wrinkled just a bit more than it should’ve. The tingling sensation reached a peak, and Wes gagged as he watched as thick hairs pushed out from the backs of his newly beefy fingers. The back of his hand followed next as hairs sprouted through the leathery skin, weaving together into a wiry mat that covered his hand end to end, and started creeping up towards his wrist. He brought his other hand over and felt the newly grown hairs, his still normal hand caressing over the thick wiry hairs that looked alien on his body. His cock lurched in his shorts as he felt the mat of hairs across the back of his palm, bewildered at what was happening to him.

He barely had time to breathe before the hairs continued their advance. The newly grown strands on his hand darkened, as if coming to age, as thick, progressively darker hairs popped up on his wrist, climbing up his forearm in rapid succession. His arm thickened, the lean muscle he’d built up over years of training suddenly bloating, as if he’d been bulking nonstop for all that time. The hairs took advantage of the enlarged terrain, and his forearm was buried beneath a forest of dark, coarse hairs. His bicep bulged slightly, upper arm thickening as muscle but mostly fat packed on, the smooth and tanned skin growing spotty. The tingling feeling that had trickled up his arm alongside the hair intensified into a strong itch, which concentrated itself under his arm. 

Wes was panicking at this point. He looked down at his arm in disbelief, it looked like it belonged to a different man entirely. He raised his head up to stare at Brandon, who was now sitting on the bench in front of him with a smirk on his face. Wes opened his mouth to lash out at his former teammate, but before he could get a word out the itch in his pit exploded into an unbearable sensation. He quickly pulled his shirt off and raised his arm up, revealing his armpit that had a scant few wispy hairs in it. Wes sighed in relief, but the itching continued. The lump returned to his throat upon seeing a dark, wiry hair push out from between the other light fuzz. In short order another sprouted out, and then another. Wes’ pit quickly turned from pubescent to virile as thick dark hairs continued to burst out, his wispy tuft rapidly becoming a manly thicket of hair. The dark brown hairs tangled together as they curled out from the follicles, becoming an impenetrable jungle trapping sweat and scent in his increasingly oily pit. The jungle continued to spread out, new hairs popping up on the edges of the deeply forested pit, hairs slithering out to claim new territory as older hairs pushed out even longer. He stuck his hand into the growing hairs, feeling them twist and lengthen against his fingers. Unbeknownst to him, his cock was beginning to tent against his compression shorts, the sensation of hair growing in was flooding his body with a euphoric effect as his pit gushed with new hairs.

The steady march of hair continued, reaching from his hand up his arm and through his pit as the first brown hairs began to pop up on his pecs. His nipples perked up as slender threads pushed out from around their edges, wispy strands that glistened in the harsh locker room lighting. Wes watched as those hairs grew darker as more and more started cropping up, his nipples became the center of a vortex of stubbly hairs that crept out across his chest. The hairs remained flat against his skin as they coated his pecs in a light, but still visible field of hair. The density of that growing field was lessened somewhat as he saw his pecs bloat slightly in size, growing a tad softer as they enlarged. His refined, chiseled body continued to vanish before his eyes, his abs softening until they blended in entirely. Hair began to trickle down over his newly padded stomach, a trail tracing towards his navel and past it, soft brown hairs pushing out in branches from that central line. Wes groaned as his nipples grew larger, becoming more proportional to his growing chest. 

The other players surrounding Wes were hypnotized by his growth, and Brandon was front and center with a nasty grin on his face. He had one more idea to try out. While Wes was completely distracted in his own world, Brandon approached him and once again spat in his own hand. He yanked Wes’ shorts down, exposing his now fully erect cock. Before Wes could react Brandon grabbed hold of Wes’ balls with his saliva laden hand, squeezing them tight. Wes groaned again, this time much louder as pain and pleasure pulsed from his testicles. In an instant, they began to swell in size, his sack stretching to accommodate. They doubled, then tripled in size, growing from grapes to lemons, hanging lower and lower. Wes could feel them churning, immediately beginning to fill with cum as they started pumping testosterone out into his body. His scrotum wrinkled, tingling as hairs started to push out. Dark brown strands quickly coated his entire sack, the coarse hairs curling as they sprouted and tangling together, creating a nest that swung between his legs. He reached down and cupped his balls with a similarly furry hand, feeling how hot and heavy they’d become. 

The added hormones quickly began to act on Wes’ body, his cock stiffening even more as it slowly inched out. Wes looked down to see his groin darken, brown pinpricks spreading across the skin as they formed a dense shadow. Pale skin was overrun by budding hairs, the pinpricks blossoming into a lush forest that surrounded the base of his cock before spreading out over the fertile ground. Wes ran his hand through the growing bush, feeling the hairs lengthen and curl around his fingers, tangling together with the thick strands on his fingers. His cock lurched, shooting out another inch and thickening as a feeling of pleasure he’d never experienced washed over him, his mind conflicted between hormones and horrors. More and more of Wes’ groin vanished beneath the growing hairs, forming the full triangle he vaguely remembered from Coach’s sex ed lecture, before continuing its assault. The hairs lengthened, curling together as they unfurled, the mass stretching further away from his skin as the bush took on true volume.

The wiry strands climbed upwards towards his navel, reaching the growth trailing down from his chest and igniting a new surge of fur that shot back up the vine. His trail thickened and darkened, more hairs twisting into its form as his stomach continued to soften, the entire gut beginning to form a mass. The growing hairs reached back to his pecs and exploded out like a firework, the soft fuzz previously adorning his chest blooming into a rugged pelt. Testosterone was surging out from his newly grown balls, flooding the follicles across his body with the fuel to pump out thicker, darker, wirier hairs. His pecs continued to bloat and sag, though the growing forest did its best to hide that fact. Between every existing hair two more sprouted, weaving across his skin into a dense rug that crawled up towards his collarbone. They grew long and thick, ensuring a tuft of hair would pop out of any shirt collar. The pelt climbed up and over his shoulders, his traps growing as hairy as most guys’ chests. 

Wes grunted as his neck thickened, his Adam's apple doubling in size as his voice dropped to a husky growl. The bulge protruding from his neck was quickly swallowed up by a shadow he’d seen before; dark pinpricks spread upwards from his chest coating his neck in stubble before moving up to his jaw. Another, more pained grunt burst from Wes’ mouth as his jaw bone shifted and cracked, becoming much wider and more angular. His newly defined face was instantly coated with a dark 5 o’clock shadow, one which crawled high onto his cheeks. The prickles of hair appeared on his upper lip, completing the shadow across his face. He brought up his hand to feel the stubble, his fingers gliding across the expanse of bristles, and his cock throbbed in response, globs of precum pouring out of the tip. Under his fingertips, Wes could feel the hairs begin to push out, shadow turning to stubble turning to beard as a thick coat sprouted evenly across his face. Where before he barely had peach fuzz he now had a short but incredibly dense coating adorning his face, obscuring his pale flesh beneath. 

Short would not describe his beard for long, however. Wes’ balls churned, inundating him with more and more testosterone, with his follicles reacted accordingly. Hair surged out from his face, growing inch after inch into a coarse, wild mane. Thickening strands interwove as curls tangled and pushed out from his face. His hand remained on his cheek, the sensation of hairs sprouting and twisting around his fingers had him high on euphoria. For every inch his beard pressed out, his cock grew larger. By the time his beard reached his chest, fully blending into the hairs there, he had a rod pushing ten inches and thick as a beer can. Wes’ other hand drifted down towards his rock hard member, but his focus was stolen by a gurgling sensation in his stomach. 

He looked down, only to see his already plush torso fattening up beneath the fur coat. His pecs softened even more, coming to rest on a gut that grew outwards at an alarming rate, as Wes packed on dozens of pounds in seconds. His muscle mass stayed, even increased underneath, but his body was soft with a layer of fat coating it all. His enormous bush disappeared from view behind the growing belly, only leaving the tip of his massive cock visible as it leaked precum. Wes’ hand now rubbed across his furry gut, feeling the hairs continually sprouting across the growing landscape. A deep groan slipped from his lips as his foreskin regrew over his massive cock, something he’d never experienced before. His hand moved down to grasp his thick cock, feeling the new skin and the incredible pleasure as he began stroking it. Precum poured out of the head of his cock as Wes fell further into his state of bliss. He didn’t even notice as his gut continued to grow, and his limbs grew plump as his body continued to balloon outwards, like he’d given up taking care of himself for 20 years. As he grew larger, the dense pelt he’d grown continued to fill in as more skin became available, follicles awakening and pushing out thick brown hairs in every corner.

Brandon and the rest of the boys stood back and watched the show, as Wes lost himself to the sensations of growth. Brandon’s own cock started to tent his shorts as he watched fur wrap around his former teammate’s body, there was something so primal and masculine about it. He looked up and saw a bunch of the others with a hand down their pants, similarly turned on by the transformation. “Fuck it,” Brandon thought, and joined them, stroking his stiffening cock that had already left a precum stain on his shorts.

Wes had lost all thought in his head but the need to jack off. He had one hand gripping his cock and another rubbing through the growing fur across his belly, the thick hairs twisting and tangling around his fingers. A low groan leaked out from his gaping mouth, as he could feel every hair popping up across his body, each one like a miniature orgasm in itself as a new brown hair erupted out from his skin. What Wes couldn’t see though, was how the hair on his shoulders had started to crawl down his back. Wispy hairs cropped up in patches on his shoulder blades, before growing darker and thicker. The patches spread out quickly, hairs spreading and merging together over his spine, where the hair seemed to shoot up and down even more rapidly. A rug was growing in, connecting his shoulders to his neck and down towards his ass in an unbroken stretch of fur. The dark brown hairs grew longer and longer, shrouding his skin below as the pelt consumed his widening back. At the base of his spine there was an explosion of fur, with thick curly strands popping out just above his ass. The patch grew denser and darker than the rest of his back, as if the testosterone had pooled there, igniting the follicles. That was only the prelude it seemed, as shortly after his massive ass cheeks tingled, hair racing over the expanses and coating them with a wiry mat, one that only grew more and more tangled in between. His crack itched as the same thick wiry hairs bust out into the confined space, weaving together into an impenetrable jungle that quickly grew sweaty. Wes groaned again as his hole was surrounded by curly hairs, his sensations heightened by the hormones and hair.

Wes’ groans echoed off the lockers lining the room, the sweat and stench of his growing body mixing with that of the team and the copious amounts of used gear spread around to create a noxious yet almost erotic musk. By this point every single other athlete in the room had started jerking off, the combination of pheromones and Wes’ hair overriding any sane thought in their minds. Brandon had let his shorts fall to the ground, fully engrossed in his own masturbation, gliding his hand up and down his fully erect cock as it drizzled precum onto the floor. Between shallow breaths, he could feel his balls churning, ready to release a load like none he’d felt before. He slowly hobbled over towards Wes, not letting up on his cock in the slightest, feeling the pressure building in his balls more and more. The other guys followed his lead, approaching Wes in a circle while all still stroking. Brandon's breath rose to a fever pitch as he tipped over the point of no return, his balls emptying copious amounts of cum as his cock erupted. His load came out in pulses, shooting across Wes’ massive chest and gut, the cum catching in his thick beard and body hair. The other boys couldn’t hold out any longer either, with each of them letting loose their own massive loads. The room echoed with grunts and moans as jock cum splattered across Wes’ huge body. His thick pelt was saturated with semen, the thick sticky liquid seeping deep into his fur.

Wes’ body tingled, the cum-soaked hairs thickening up and growing longer as his breath quickened, his body preparing for the finish. Everywhere he was painted with cum the hair grew denser, more sensitive. The feeling of hairs knotting together pushed Wes towards climax just a bit more as his neverending pelt fluffed out. His whole body shuddered as his massive balls let loose a flood, his cock widening in preparation. Wes’ hips bucked involuntarily as his cock erupted, a deep roar booming from his throat as a load larger than all the jocks’ combined shot out, gush after gush of hot cum spraying across his hairy face and gut. One shot flew up and over his head, coating one of his teammate’s toned chest in thick spunk. Under where the cum landed, the jock’s skin grew itchy, and seconds later dark hairs began to sprout through the liquid. He couldn’t believe his eyes as his chest sprouted a rug befitting a man 20 years older. 

Wes continued to empty his balls onto his body, his cock releasing a seemingly endless amount of semen onto his still thickening pelt. Underneath the dozens of cum splatters his body hair grew denser, curlier, reabsorbing all the testosterone into his body. His breaths grew ragged, his energy consumed as his fountain turned to a drizzle. Wes collapsed onto the bench, not used to the size and weight of his new body. His senses slowly returned to him, the intense euphoria fading as he took stock of what had happened to him. Before he could panic or say anything, Brandon approached him, a huge grin plastered on his face. Brandon slapped him on the back before grabbing his massive paw with both hands.

“Welcome to the team, Coach. I think the rest of the season’s lookin’ up now,” he said with a chuckle. “Come on over boys, let's make sure our new coach is ready for practice tomorrow.”

Hmm, you want something to 'make men to submit to you'? Fancy yourself a bit of a dom, do you? I relate to that myself. I often buy things with my employee discount to help my boys get into the right headspace. I've been having a lot of success with these leather animal masks we added to our line up last year. They really help you embody the headspace of the animal the represent and will even cause some physical changes if...

He first noticed something was wrong on a Wednesday, just after dawn’s pale light had seeped through his curtains. He was shaving in the bathroom, the razor scraping unevenly against his chin when a sharp ping on his phone made him flinch. He frowned at the lock screen: “You’d be happier if you were older.” The message blinked at him like an invitation—or a taunt. He stared, chest tightening, ran a finger over his stubble. His hair had always been dark brown, but now there was an odd glint of silver at his temples. He set the razor down, hand trembling, and tapped “Block” without thinking. But the line of text stayed vivid in his mind: older. The thought echoed in his skull as he finished shaving, as he dressed for work, as he spooned Cheerios into his mouth with a hand that shook just slightly. No one remarked on the new gray. His coworkers greeted him as usual, coffee in hand, before they dove into spreadsheets and budgets. He forced himself to laugh at jokes he no longer found funny, pretending the world hadn’t shifted under his skin.

That afternoon, he was in a client meeting when the phone chimed again. He felt the buzz in his breast pocket and excused himself, muttering about a call. In the hallway, he glanced down at the screen: “You’d be happier if you grew out all your body hair.” His breath caught; he looked down at his forearms peeking from the sleeves of his crisp shirt. The hairs stood on end, thicker, curly, almost bristly against his skin. Panic ripped through him. He pinched himself—hard. Nothing. He pinched again. His skin felt real and taut, but the hair, the excessive dark hair, felt alien. He tapped “Block,” locked the screen, but his pulse pounded in his ears. In the meeting room, he stumbled over a statistic mid-presentation, cheeks hot. No one blinked. They asked him to continue. He straightened, clearing his throat, feeling as though he were underwater, every movement muffled.

By Friday, the beard had grown so full it brushed his Adam’s apple, its color mottled black and silver. He’d begun trimming it every morning, but the clippings piled up so fast he couldn’t keep pace. One evening, while standing under the shower, hot water cascading down his back, his phone buzzed against the tile floor. He stepped out, water dripping, and read: “You’d be happier retired.” He stared past the unnerving calm of the bathroom tiles at his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. His normally lean frame had softened around the midsection, a slight paunch now evident beneath the trimmed hair. His posture, his gait, even the way his shoulders slumped—the world was nudging him toward retirement, toward stillness. He pressed his palm to the mirror, as though to hold on to who he’d been, but the reflection flickered with something age-worn, something grave. He blocked the number again, louder this time. The echo of the phone striking the tile floor seemed to fill the room. He showered again, harder, trying to wash away the dread, but the messages were inside him, fermenting.

That night, he checked his bank account out of habit, an impulse he barely understood. The numbers stunned him. His savings had tripled—no, quadrupled—in the span of days. He traced the cursor over the balance, breath shallow. Whose money was this? He’d never been able to scrape together so much in all his thirty-seven years. A new message arrived as he stared at the glowing digits: “You’d be happier with a lot of money in your savings account.” He dropped the phone. It clattered against the table. He fled to the bedroom, hidden behind the closet door, clutching his knees. Under the harsh glow of the closet bulb, he trembled until exhaustion overtook him.

In the mornings now, the harsh light revealed new lines around his eyes, creases at the corners of his mouth where worry and laughter and sorrow had etched their signatures. No one commented on the change, though. One evening, as he poured himself a nightcap, his phone lit up with a call identifier he barely recognized—“Aunt Millie”—the name of the older woman who had once fussed over him as a child, making him ginger tea when he caught a cold. He hadn’t spoken to her in years. He answered, voice rough. “Hello?” She spoke with warm concern, asking how William was settling into retirement, how Robert was doing, and whether he’d visit Dad next Saturday. He stammered at first—last he’d known, his father was decades older, and his aunt had long since passed. But the voice on the line talked of plans that made sense in a wholly different lifetime. She spoke of memories he no longer recognized as his own but which felt oddly familiar. He swallowed hard, nodded, and agreed to come by, even though he’d never visited his father’s house for family Sunday dinners. He hung up, shaking, futilely searching for the old continuity that had been wiped away: his sister, his youth, his former self—gone.

Late on a Sunday, as he lay in bed, head throbbing from a tension headache, his phone vibrated, illuminating the dark room. He snatched it up with one hand, blinking at the single line of text: “You'd be happier if your name was William Rutherford.” He stared at it as though the letters themselves were coiling vipers. He rose and padded to the bathroom. The mirror reflected a stranger: a broad-shouldered, thick-waisted man with steel-gray hair slicked back and a beard trimmed into a neat braid. He blinked at the stranger’s eyes—earthy brown flecked with gold—then at the hand touching the mirror pane. He spoke, voice rough and unfamiliar: “Who…who am I?” There was no answer but his own rasp. He ran water until it roared, trying to cleanse the reflection of its foreignness. When he emerged, he ceased looking in any reflective surface.

On Monday morning, he woke to a new message blinking on the nightstand beside him: “It’s time.” His chest lurched. He lay frozen, tangled in drenched sheets, listening to the distant hum of the city. Three minutes later, another: “You’d be happier if you accept the man who is about to enter your house as your loving wedded husband, and then promptly forget you were ever anyone else.” He sat up, sweat slick on his skin. The air in the room felt thick, as if the walls themselves were closing in. He read the message over and over, each word a nail driven into his skull. He felt the weight of years he had never lived pressing down on him. He clutched the phone as though it were the last tether to reality. His phone fell to the floor when he heard the unmistakable click of the front door’s lock turning.

His legs wobbled as he crept from the bedroom into the hallway, heart hammering. He passed his own reflection in the long mirror by the stairs—something he’d installed weeks ago, he realized with a flicker of pure terror. He recoiled from the face: lined, gray, broad-jawed, wide-nosed. It was him and not him. He reached the living room and froze. There, leaning casually against the doorframe, stood a man who seemed to fill the entire threshold. Over six feet tall, with shoulders like a linebacker’s, chest broad beneath a denim shirt unbuttoned to reveal a tuft of white-black hair. His arms were thick as tree trunks, and veins traced rugged patterns through skin weathered to the color of old parchment. His beard was full and neatly trimmed, the gray hairs interlaced with black, curving around a strong chin. His eyes were the color of storm clouds—pale, gleaming, bearing an ineffable warmth. He looked calm, relaxed, as though he had been standing there waiting for hours.

The stranger smiled, stepping inside, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath his weight. “Bill,” he said, voice low and rich, “I’m home.” The word landed like a hammer blow. Bill—or whoever he was—felt a strange clarity, as if a missing page in his memory had been slipped into place. His throat tightened. He took a trembling step forward. “Rob,” he whispered, the name tumbling out before he could stop it. Terror and longing warred in his chest. He wanted to scream, to bolt, to demand who this man really was, how he’d broken into his life. But the moment Rob crossed the room, reaching out to tug Bill into an embrace, the last of the resistance snapped.

Their bodies pressed together; Rob’s arms wound around him, strong and reassuring. Bill inhaled the scent of cedarwood and tobacco, felt the steady rise and fall of Rob’s chest. It was as though every nerve ending in Bill’s body ignited with recognition. He kissed Rob’s stubbled cheek and murmured, “I missed you.” Rob smiled wider, brushing a hand through Bill’s thickening hair—hair already graying at the roots. “I missed you too,” he said, and for a heartbeat, the horror dissolved into warmth.

Jack had never liked the beach. The sand, the heat, the noise—it all felt like a sensory overload. But here he was, reluctantly dragged along by his friends who insisted he needed to "loosen up." Clad in a plain navy-blue pair of swim trunks and a baseball cap, he trudged along the shoreline with a towel slung over his shoulder. His lithe frame and reserved demeanor made him look like an outsider among the crowds of carefree beachgoers.

As he walked aimlessly, he noticed a group of men gathered near the water. They were laughing loudly, their voices carrying over the sound of the waves. Jack couldn't help but glance over. They were all older, heavier-set, and covered in thick body hair. Their boisterous energy and camaraderie stood in stark contrast to Jack's solitary mood. He looked away quickly, not wanting to seem rude, but he could feel their eyes on him.

“Hey, buddy!” one of them called out. Jack hesitated, then turned to see a large, bearded man waving him over. His bright red swim trunks and broad, hairy chest made him impossible to ignore. “Come join us!”

“Oh, no, I’m just passing through,” Jack said, raising a hand dismissively.

“Nonsense,” the man insisted, his grin wide and inviting. “You look like you could use a little fun. Come on, we don’t bite.”

Against his better judgment, Jack found himself walking toward them. The group welcomed him warmly, pulling him into their circle. They introduced themselves one by one, their names blending together in Jack’s head. Russ, Greg, Carl…they all seemed so comfortable in their own skin, exuding a confidence Jack couldn’t comprehend.

“So, what brings you here?” Russ, the man who had called him over, asked.

“My friends dragged me out. They said I needed to relax more,” Jack admitted with an awkward chuckle.

“Relaxation is key,” Greg said, his voice deep and soothing. “But you’ve got to do it right. Let go of all that tension. Stop trying to fit into someone else’s idea of who you should be.”

“Exactly,” Carl added. “Happiness comes when you embrace who you really are.”

Before Jack could respond, the group began speaking in unison. Their voices harmonized in a rhythmic chant: “Old, fat, and hairy. Old, fat, and happy. That’s the life worth living.”

Jack’s laugh came out shaky, but the chant grew louder, their words swirling around him like a hypnotic melody. He tried to speak, to protest, but his voice faltered. The words seemed to take root in his mind, growing more insistent. “Old, fat, and hairy. Old, fat, and happy,” he found himself whispering, his voice trembling with confusion.

“Say it with us,” Russ encouraged, his voice smooth and commanding.

Jack’s lips moved involuntarily, his voice faltering at first but gradually gaining strength. “Old… fat… and hairy. Old… fat… and happy.” His speech slowed, each word pronounced with mechanical precision, his voice deepening as if pulled from somewhere far older and wiser.

“That’s it,” Greg said, his hand resting heavily on Jack’s shoulder. “Let it sink in. Let the truth reshape you.”

Jack’s eyes glazed over, his voice steadying into a slow, deep cadence. “Old. Fat. And hairy. Old. Fat. And happy.” Each repetition seemed to reverberate through his body, his tone growing more resonant, more commanding. His breathing slowed, his body relaxing entirely as he surrendered to the rhythm of the chant.

The changes began almost imperceptibly. His stomach churned, and a soft layer of fat began to form, pushing gently against his swim trunks. With each repetition of the mantra, his belly grew heavier and rounder, sagging slightly as it expanded into a massive gut that hung proudly over the waistband of his swim trunks. His chest swelled, the muscle softening and rounding out into thick, heavy slabs. Coarse hair began to sprout across his chest, swirling outward and growing darker and denser until his torso was covered in a forest of wiry hair that shimmered slightly in the sunlight.

“Old. Fat. And hairy,” Jack murmured, his voice now slow and hypnotic. He scratched absently at his chest, feeling the coarse texture of his new hair as it spread to his shoulders and down his back. His arms thickened, the lean muscle giving way to a padded, sturdy frame, and his legs followed suit, their size and strength matching his expanding form. His skin took on a warm, sun-kissed hue, veins vanishing beneath the growing layers of fat.

His face began to change, the sharp angles softening into rounder, more rugged features. His jawline blurred and his cheeks filled out, his face now radiating a confident, mature warmth. A thick beard sprouted almost instantly, salt-and-pepper gray, framing his face perfectly. His dark hair receded slightly at the temples, streaks of silver blending into the black to give him an air of distinguished masculinity.

Jack’s voice grew deeper with each chant, now a rich, resonant bass. “Old. Fat. And hairy. Old. Fat. And happy.” The words rolled off his tongue naturally, as though they had always belonged to him. His swim trunks strained against his expanding thighs and waist before reshaping themselves into a snug pair of bright red shorts, identical to the ones Russ was wearing. His baseball cap tilted slightly, now looking perfectly at home atop his larger, rounder head. A sturdy silver watch materialized on his wrist, glinting in the sunlight. In his hand, flip-flops appeared, their worn soles suggesting years of familiar use.

“Old. Fat. And hairy. Old. Fat. And happy,” he repeated, his voice filled with conviction. His memories of being Jack grew fainter, replaced by vivid recollections of barbecues, road trips, and countless sun-drenched afternoons spent with these men. He remembered being Jim now—a 58-year-old retired contractor with a booming laugh and an unshakable bond with his beach buddies.

“Welcome back, Jim,” Russ said, clapping him on the back.

Jim grinned, his earlier hesitation completely forgotten. He adjusted his red shorts, his massive belly swaying slightly as he moved, and leaned back in his chair. Greg handed him a beer, and he cracked it open with a satisfying hiss. The group erupted into laughter as Carl told a joke, and Jim joined in, his deep, hearty laugh blending seamlessly with theirs.

For hours, they basked in the sun, sharing stories and enjoying each other’s company. Jim felt a profound sense of belonging, a joy he’d never known as Jack.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Jim stretched and let out a contented sigh. But as he gazed at the darkening sky, a strange feeling washed over him. For a fleeting moment, he remembered being someone else—a younger, thinner man with a different name. The thought vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only a faint echo in his mind.

Jim shook his head, chuckling softly. “Must’ve had one beer too many,” he muttered.

“What’s that, Jim?” Russ asked.

“Nothing,” Jim replied, smiling. “Just thinking how lucky I am to have you guys.”

“Right back at ya,” Greg said, raising his beer in a toast.

It seemed he had no idea of how much weight he had gained overnight. He was practically a whale ow, a huge blob of fat, but the look of disbelief on his face suggested he genuinely had no idea what you were talking about.

Getting out of bed and ripping a sloppy fart as he did, he scratched his enormous belly, which he hadn’t had he night before. It was astonishing that he was still oblivious about it, and you wondered if he’d ever realize how much he’d gained.