Satyr_Transforms

You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.

"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"

"Jason is like totally the hottest."

"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."

"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"

You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.

"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"

The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.

“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"

"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.

"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.

The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"

You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.

"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"

Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.

"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"

"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"

"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.

"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."

"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"

You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.

"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.

"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.

"No shame in that, brah!"

You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.

"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"

Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"

"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"

The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.

"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.

"Chlorophyll."

"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"

Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"

The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.

"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.

"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"

You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."

"Correct!"

"Woah bro, nice one!"

Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.

"What the…?"

The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…

"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"

The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"

"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."

But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?

"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."

You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!

"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.

"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."

You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...

"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.

"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."

The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...

"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"

"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."

"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.

The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?

"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."

"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"

"Dead lifts..."

"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."

The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."

Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?

"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.

You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.

"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.

"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."

Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.

"The answer is hips, bro."

"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.

As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.

"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.

Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind—Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.

When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?

"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.

Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?

A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.

The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."

"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.

"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.

"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"

The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"

The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.

"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."

Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.

The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.

With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.

"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.

And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…

When Oliver Queen declared he would protect his city, he meant it. He just didn’t realise that it would take over his life in more ways than one. There was Green Arrow, the vigilante, the side of him that he could compartmentalise. As long as he donned his costume and went out in the dead of night, then it was like that side of himself was something tucked away. Hidden. He could imagine both sides and keep it from interfering in his daily life, if not that, then who he was as a person. He had failed at both of those numerous times, but yet it still helped. It helped that he could separate the two.

But the Green Arrow wasn’t enough. Ever since a new organisation, Blackwatch, had reared its head, he had to take matters into his own hand. So that was how Oliver Queen found himself waiting patiently in his office—the Mayor’s Office. He had traded the boardroom for the city council, hoping that with this new organisation he could take on a two pronged front.

At night, he was Green Arrow, stopping shipments, dropping drug dealers and making sure anyone and everyone who failed Star City wouldn’t get another chance to do it again. He had been pushing himself, making more arrests and captures and intelligence than ever before. All the while in the position where he wasn’t ‘recovering from the island’ or running a company that ‘practically ran itself’. He had been stressed about keeping his daily life separate and yet now more than ever when he had the most important and busy position in his life, he found the lines blurring until there were moments where he could no longer tell where Oliver Queen ended and Green Arrow began.

If the mission was to save the city (a nice slogan by Felicity he had to admit), then what was the difference whether he was doing it as mayor or vigilante? There was no difference besides the method and that was exactly what tonight’s upcoming meeting was about. He had given up patrol for the night, both too tired and too tense to focus on anything else but what was tonight.

Oliver didn’t even let himself show it by pacing in his office, thinking of a plan of what to do. This new organisation was like a hydra, they had a limb spread everywhere and he wasn’t even sure if he could trust the city council. 

Oliver checked the time. Almost midnight. His office wasn’t bugged, he knew that for certain. They would need total privacy. The office was built for it. It was an old place in an even older building, its walls were thick enough that sound did not travel and the wiring had been replaced twice over during his first months as Mayor because he knew it needed to be secure. There were countermeasures hidden beneath the desk and inside the walls.

Devices that scrambled frequencies and rendered microphones useless. If there were going to be any surprises tonight, then he already cut the head off that snake. And yet there was something in his head that told him he couldn’t be so sure. He told himself that there was still some way they could see inside his office, could detect his behaviour, could see any hint of nervousness. Blackwatch was quietly winning the war, consuming gangs, taking over the city like a rot. Oliver had to play chess and make sure they didn’t see any weakness.

When the door opened two minutes after midnight, Oliver Queen was staring outside the window at the skyline of Star City. The city was like a jungle, wild and untameable in essence but also in how it looked. Maybe it was his time on the island but he just saw everything as some extension of nature and in the dead of night, Oliver Queen could only see the buildings as tall trees, made of steel and illuminated by a thousand different campfires burning away in the windows. It also meant that as he turned to look at Cole Cassidy stepping into his office, he didn’t see a man. He saw a wild thing, not quite a beast but not human either, but still the same thing—predatory. 

Cole Cassidy sauntered in like a cowboy stepping into a saloon, with Oliver supposedly playing one of the stunned men in his mind. He was dressed like he came for war, adorned in black from throat to boot. A tactical vest sat across his chest over a dark shirt rolled to the elbows, whilst the man wore a duster above, slightly lighter yet rain dark at the shoulders. Oliver could instantly see the plates that shifted beneath the vest, armour most likely, more than enough to stop a bullet. The man was unfortunately handsome, Oliver wasn’t going to hide facts. His square jaw was made sharper from the sharp facial hair that adorned it, merging with the thick moustache across his lip. His brown narrow eyes instantly fell on Oliver, raising one of his thick brown brows so high that it nearly touched the black cowboy hat atop his shaggy head. His nostrils flared, like the smell of detergent and cologne was offensive to him and without saying another word, he reached into his holster and pulled out a cigar.

Better than a gun I suppose, Oliver thought to himself.

“I’d rather you not smoke here,” said Oliver with a warning tone that translated his words to you better not smoke here. Cassidy tilted his head up, cigar in mouth, lighter in hand inches away as if calculating how angry Oliver would be if he lit up anyway. He took the cigar out of his mouth and returned both it and the lighter to his holster. Oliver nodded, satisfied, and then gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Cole grabbed the chair with his mechanical arm and pulled it closer to the desk before he sat down. 

“So…here we are.”

“Here. We. Are.” Oliver punctuated every word, trying his best to hide how excited he was for the meeting. If it were true and he could strike up a deal with Cole, then he would be in with one of Blackwatch’s commanders and stop them before it was too late. He knew what Cole would want, to sell out the commander of Blackwatch so that Oliver could take him down and then Cole would swoop in and take leadership himself. All these criminals were always so shortsighted. The one advantage this supposed ‘Reaper’ had that Cole didn’t was the fact that Oliver didn’t know who he was. He had searched everywhere, used every resource, called on every ally and still, nothing. It was almost like Reaper wasn’t real. A man who could supposedly turn to smoke was just as elusive as his abilities. Tonight that would all change, Oliver thought that and he was sure Cassidy did too. “I heard you’re the man who is ‘always right’, so let me ask simply. Do you really have information on Blackwatch’s leader?” 

“I do. And you’re right…I am the man who's always right.” Cole declared as he leaned back, opening his legs as Oliver could see the man’s bulge. The dark jeans that wrapped around Cassidy’s thighs pressed inward, outlining the man’s cock. Oliver pretended not to notice. Cole smiled. “The leader is…how do I put it…” He tapped his finger animatedly on his chin, each tap stirring an impatience within Oliver. Why could the man not just hurry up and say what he meant? Does he think this is some kind of game? Oliver cleared his throat after a moment. “Oh. Sorry.” The cowboy smiled at Oliver, as if only just realising he was there. “Lost mah train’o’thought.” The words came so quick it was either a rehearsed lie or embarrassment. Oliver didn’t think the cowboy let himself be embarrassed by anything. “Funny how that kinda thing can happen.” At that, Cole stared at Oliver, enough to make the mayor realise the man hadn’t really been looking at him. The brown pools had been focused off to the side, raking up and down the mayor’s form, sometimes looking at his face but not directly at him. Not with his own eyes locked onto Oliver’s. When he did, a pale pink glow emanated from nowhere. The brown edges of the eyes suddenly darkened pitch black in contrast. As if the iris itself was injected with new colour, pink bloomed from within. Oliver did a double take. At first confused why the man’s eyes were glowing, then confused why he couldn’t look away when he tried to. His eyes felt magnetized, shaking, tearing his eyes away was the equivalent of rebelling against gravity. 

“What…can…” Oliver blinked. Why had he suddenly sounded so quiet? He was the mayor, he told himself. He should have been focused, ready, this was important information. And yet all he could do was stare helplessly as the eyes drew him in. Much like how the outer edges of Cole’s brown looked pitch black in comparison, the rest of the world felt the same. The windows to the city darkened as if night could get blacker. The door to his office melted from mahogany to murkiness. Anything and everything that was not the cowboy’s face, his eyes, simply blurred, like he could only see the entire world as if it was out of the corner of his eyes. Oliver’s mind smudged like his vision. Thoughts were there, taking up space, but he couldn’t differentiate what they were or what he even wanted to say. All he could do was stare and comprehend that he was staring too long. 

“Our leader’s a lot like you actually. Reaper. Grumpy and cocky sonofabitch,” Cole smirked wider and carried on as if nothing was wrong. Oliver blinked heavily, the only relief from staring at the eyes. 

“Like…me?” The mayor shifted or at least tried to. But his body didn’t even risk movement. Completely focused on just staring. The words took a moment for him to understand. Like me? Does he know about The Arrow? He couldn’t…Could he? Even if he did, Oliver knew that The Arrow and the leader of some criminal empire were far from the same. “That…That’s impossible.” 

“You sure?” Cole questioned quickly, surprising Oliver. Compared to him, it felt as if the Blackwatch agent was thinking twice as fast. “You sure you ain’t that kind of person?” Oliver blinked. He wasn’t sure why but he felt the same as if he had been asked something he didn’t know the answer to. All certainty slipped like the rest of the world into a blur, vague shapes and colours and ideas of what it could have been with none of the definitive definition. The uncertainty suddenly gave way to memories, short and clipped and few and far in between. Moments where he had to make the hard call. Times when he brutalised some thug as The Arrow. Days where the press pushed his buttons and had him snap at an intern. It was hard to think of the times when he showed criminals mercy or would apologise moments later to his staff. It was so hard to think at all. Oliver had no clue that his eyes began to slowly grow pink.

I…I…I don’t act like that. I do my best for the city, I help people.

“Well I…I do act like that, but only because my staff can be so incompetent when I try to do what I think is best,” Oliver’s words felt foreign to him, as if speaking another language. They sounded so close and so far away from what he actually wanted to say. But as if the conversation was a chess game, he felt like speaking was making a move. And he couldn’t take it back. He tried to speak, to correct, to explain, but he suddenly felt the urge to wait for his turn. 

“Ah see that’s what I’m talkin’ about-” 

No! No. That’s not…

“I’m…No I’m sorry I…” Oliver shut his eyes. Cole raised a brow as if that wasn’t what he anticipated. The moment the mayor did, his mind felt like it was at a standstill, on the edge of some unknown precipice, barely saved from falling. Oliver tried to focus, to think and could feel the words coming back. “Sorry I…” “You okay?” The smile in Cole’s voice wasn’t hidden at all. “Here, why don’t you put yer feet up.” 

At once Oliver did so, moving to lean back in his chair and putting his feet up on the table. He did it without thought, an urge that he completely gave into. The moment the feet were crossed and on his desk, he blinked hard again. What was he doing? He thought to himself. He never sat like this before. Why would he? He wasn’t some cocky mayor that would be the type to have their feet up on their desk as they go ahead with their work? Especially not with a meeting as serious as this. Yet he couldn’t help himself. Somehow it felt right to do so as his mind warred with itself if that was even true. 

“I-” “Here partner, lemme help you get comfortable,” Cole came closer, one hand wrapped around one of his shoes. Before he knew it both shoes were suddenly off, revealing his bare pale feet. Oliver wanted to say something, how obviously wrong and inappropriate this was. But he thought about the pink glow and everything turned into a dream, where he could think about how wrong things were and yet they happened anyway. What’s he…What…doing? My feet… 

The man suddenly wrapped a gloved hand over a foot. At once, some of the darkness spread from the gloves as a tan spread over the paleness. The toes slowly thickened. All the while the arches of the feet stretched longer, lengthening as they writhed beneath the leather coated fingers. As the tendons clicked into their new place, the cartilage and muscles of the feet expanded, stretching out so much that it was almost comical they even managed to fit inside the shoes they slipped out of, moments ago. There was a cartoonish growth that made Oliver unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The same way he knew Hulk movies weren’t really an actor growing gargantuan green feet to burst out of footwear, he couldn’t conceive what was happening to his own feet. The toes twitched and he could feel it, the way the big toe brushed against the skin of the others. They were his feet and yet he still couldn’t understand. 

All the while the arches spread out, growing both wider and longer as if trying to outrun the tanned complexion that bloomed across them. It looked like coffee poured into water, spreading to all the skin over his feet. As they did, both feet grew warmer, a sweat forming a sheen as they itched with hairs that bloomed through the skin. Each hair felt like a pinprick where instead of pain, there was just pleasure.  The more that they were underneath Cole’s touch, the more that the feet began to be kneaded, not just massaged but suddenly stretched. Oliver could only stare the same way he did when the man’s eyes glowed pink. 

My feet…What…Why are my feet…

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Yet he couldn’t deny that the feet were also feeling good. More than that, they felt orgasmic. As his feet were being rubbed, a scent wafted from the toes, so thick that Oliver swore he could almost see it curdling. Then it hit him, the tangy thick scent of musk and suddenly his cock wasn’t just something vaguely stirring. It shot up. Hard. Outlined in his own suit pants as much as Cole’s was. He was entirely unaware that it was slowly growing thicker, pooling mass, like there was so much pleasure to be concentrated through his thick cock that it just simply needed the added space to keep growing. 

“Wooowee,” Cole whistled. “And look at these big manly things huh? You got a nice big pair of manly feet.” As he spoke, Oliver blinked. 

Big? Manly? He looked down at his feet to argue that he would never exactly call the pale and lean things large or manly. They were supposed to be size ten, lithe, with the skin having been drawn back so that the toes looked almost sharp and cutting. But instead he saw large thick feet, wide and hairy, reflecting his office light with a sheen of sweat and he blinked. Much like it was a dream, his mind accepted the way things were. Even though there was a voice in the back of his mind telling him otherwise. 

“Yeah I got big manly feet,” repeated Oliver, unaware his voice came out in a monotone. He blinked. Stop…I think something’s wrong. “Keep on rubbing em.” Oliver didn’t recognise the words or voice that came out of him when he gave the command. Cole wasn’t exactly someone he respected but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go around not treating him with some level of respect. Yet there was a sudden excitement in being able to tell the man he wanted to get his feet rubbed and watching him do it. The seduction of suddenly being commanding. 

“Cocky huh? Well as you wish Commander…” 

Commander?!

Before he could do anything, Oliver moaned and thrust his feet forward even more into Cole’s grip. He suddenly could feel that pleasure racing through his feet and wanting to go down his calves. Then he could imagine it going down to his cock. One more whiff of the musk and the tan began to spread as Cole took charge even as he did what his ‘commander’ told him. He began rubbing Oliver’s feet. The tan squeezed out of the feet and spread down towards the calves with each deep knead. 

At the same time Oliver’s cock was suddenly growing, throbbing and thickening without even touch. He didn't even realise that he had slipped down his boxers as if wanting to get more of a feel for it. Whilst the cock was growing larger, it started to darken itself.

A vein in the shaft became more pronounced especially as the dick widened in its girth. Foreskin grew back over the once circumcised head, just to be peeled back as the cock head itself was wet. Oliver started to imagine the musk as some kind of smog, travelling up his body. He was never the kind of guy who liked that scent, something he had to suffer on the island and another thing he wanted to get rid of after the gym (along with sweat). Yet now he couldn’t get enough of it as he kept taking deep huffs of the musk. All the while his body reacted in kind. 

If you want musk? I’ll give you musk.

Oliver wasn’t quite sure if that was some deep gravelly voice in the back of his mind or some interpretation of what his body was doing. Perhaps both. But suddenly his chest grew even more hairy beneath his shirt and tie. A meaty and growing hand reached up to loosen the tie whilst the pits themselves grew dark and hairy, bushy with the amount that threaded on top of one another.

As they bloomed, heat collected within the pits and caused more sweat to drool down, just adding to the musk in a continuous cycle. The more of the musk he took in and sniffed, the more that Oliver was starting to feel that resistance in the back of his mind crumble. The island that he survived on started to turn into an island that he did missions on. His time with the bow was shifting as his hands did the same, the fingers not remembering the correct positions to pull back the drawstring and fire. But instead their aim was something more calculated, on the mechanical shotguns that fit in either hand. More of the smog travelled up his body as it thickened and grew. His already muscular chest started to barrel out as Oliver writhed.

What the…What…happening…

“Shhh don’t worry Commander. I’m here to help,” Cole purred and the voice was like honey poured into his ears, thick and delectable. Oliver’s eyes fluttered as he forgot more and more, just huffing in that musk whilst one gloved hand wrapped around his cock. The moment the cool leather touched the warm brown skin, it was all over. His penis throbbed in the hand, already being pumped. If kneading the feet alone was enough to spread the tan, like it was something to be injected into the rest of his skin, then being pumped only did so faster. Oliver’s complexion turned tawny. “My, my Commander, look how hard you are.” The words slithered into his mind and the more that Cole called him Commander, the more he believed it.

Oliver’s chest continued to barrel out, not simply more muscular but belonging to a taller and more hefty body. As if his lean and tightly coiled self wasn’t so much built for survival and agility but for brute strength. His pecs widened slightly, being dragged across the chest whilst his ribcage pushed from within, expanding with every breath and every stroke and every moan.

The abs followed suit, losing some of their definition in favour of being more spacious, as even Oliver’s appetite changed, becoming something that was like his new self, more hungry. Cole continued to stroke, the next few pumps feeling like they were pumping up his ass which inflated. The bulbous cheeks finally tore off his boxers. Hairs grew on both of the cheeks as Oliver let out another groan, deeper and more guttural, as if belonging to a different voice entirely. 

“Yes, keep doing that…keep serving your Commander,” Oliver grimaced as there was still a resistance, an unfamiliarity with what he was doing. Even still the results were undeniable as more pleasure pulsed through his arms. He hadn’t noticed that with Cole’s touch his suit was already morphing. Instead of being torn apart by his developing muscles and stretching body, the suit was merging together. The jacket and shirt formed the thick outer layer of a camo green hoodie, whilst his pants were left to be torn apart by thicker thighs. The more that they ripped, the more Oliver could feel the same happening to his resistance, his old life as The…The…

I…I can’t remember…

What was he even trying to say? His vigilante name or his job? All that came to mind was Reaper and Commander. Neither of those could be right. Could they?

Yet they were the only answers he could find and they felt more right, the more that his thickening thighs tore through the threads of his suit pants and his ass finally ballooned out to rip down the middle. 

“M-My pants-” Oliver surfaced again, getting out of the sea of new thoughts about Blackwatch and unfamiliar faces, people behind the codenames Sombra and Doomfist and reports he read. He quickly looked down, panting just in time to see his visage in the polished reflection of his desk. The pursed lips and smooth nose were shifting. The lips were growing wider, the nose sharper, the tanned cheekbones higher. The very shape of his face was morphing with each stroke. “W-What the?! What is happening to me?!” Cole merely chuckled instead of indulging in panic. 

“Calm down Commander, just let your subordinate here do his job,” Cole said slowly and something in his voice made Oliver throb. A thick glob of pre-cum spilled out the tip of his cock and suddenly wrinkles appeared over Oliver’s brow as his birthday year was suddenly older. In fact he remembered his birthday on a different date.

“N-No s-stop you’re…you can’t…I…”

“Relax Commander…You’re Commander Gabriel Reyes…” Stroke. Leak. Another forgotten memory. 

“N-no I’m…I’m not! I…I…” Oliver panted, trying to argue but his mind was coming up blank. 

“Relax. After all Commander…You know I’m always right.” Something about those words made Oliver moan and throb and leak some more. He knew the man was always right. He was his subordinate. Of course he would hire a good subordinate that was always right. It was just like him. There was no way that he was going to waste time getting someone so incompetent, he thought. And the more that he thought, the more he realised how little there was to think about as his cock continued to be stroked. 

“I…I’m…I’m…” His cock was so close, so ready to let go, if only he wasn’t holding back. But there was absolutely no chance that he could stop himself. All he had to do was let go. All he had to do was let the new memories surface. And like a strained rope that finally snapped, he let go. “I’m Gabriellllllll-” 

The last of Oliver’s face shifted, a goatee quickly sprouting around his lips as a beard formed over his jawline. His hair darkened completely. 

Seed spilled out of Gabriel’s thick musky cock, pearlescent ropes that shot out one after another as euphoria exploded within him like fireworks. His entire body was alight with desire and the orgasmic bliss that came from the expert hands of his subordinates as Oliver Queen let out one last yelp and then quickly faded into the cum that shot out of his cock, completely gone.

As cum continued to shoot out of the throbbing rod again and again and again, all that was left in Gabriel’s mind was space and with each wave of pleasure, he could fill that space with new memories.

He could remember the experiment, Soldier 76, Blackwatch. All of it surfaced together like the smog that he was made of and filled his mind, stretching to all corners of his brain and filling them with nothing more than Gabriel Reyes. Finally, after what felt like the fifth or sixth time he had shot his load all over his desk, Gabriel smirked down at himself and looked at his own gloved hands. He hadn’t even realised he had any other clothes on besides the green hoodie. 

All Gabriel could do was laugh as he tensed the fingers and realised he was now in control of the body. 

“Good job Cole,” Gabriel purred as he felt his arms, checking that he was all there. His smile widened in confirmation. “Looks like our next mission will be easy. Now…what do you want as a reward? More money?” “No sir, you know what I want,” said Cole as he admired the sweaty and hairy muscle. “I want you sir.” Gabriel nodded.

“Lean against the desk and you better get ready. Let’s see if your hole is made for this cock,” replied Gabriel as he didn’t even wait for Cole to finish. He pushed the man against the desk and helped the cowboy pull down his pants and boxers, already satisfied to see his hole clenching. “Looks like you’re practically begging for me. Hold still.” “S-Sir-” Cole spoke with an uneasiness of how fast it was going. And then he forgot about that and everything else when he felt how Gabriel’s thick meaty cock easily slid right into his cheeks, plunged there like a key to a lock. “Sirrrrrrr~” “Fucking look at that. Fits perfect doesn’t it? Yeah and your tight hole feels fucking good,” Gabriel began to thrust. Hard. “Moan for me Cole.” That was a command Cole didn’t need as he was already a groaning and grunting mess with each thrust as Gabriel’s member already met prostate. 

“S-Sir, oh fuck you’re so…so…” “So what Cole?” Gabriel already knew the answer. “Say it.” “So…dominant…Oh fuck…” Cole’s legs were already shaking as it was his turn to get wet, eyes threatening to roll into the back of the cowboy’s head. His hat threatened to fall off his head from how fast and hard Gabriel was thrusting into him, each throb expanding the walls of the cowboy’s anus. 

“Damn right I am. I’m your Commander after all, now take it.” And Cole obeyed because he was no longer meeting with the Mayor. He was enjoying a private rendezvous with his Commander, the one and only Gabriel Reyes and there was nothing either of the men enjoyed more. 

“Hey, what are you doing here and how did you get into my house?”, Gordon said. But the intruder was unimpressed and steadily marched towards Gordon. Without effort and in the blink of an eye, he pushed Gordon onto the floor and tied his legs and hands together.

“Fuck man, what just happened?”. Gordon couldn’t believe he was overthrown just like this.”My money is in the drawer, you can have it, but let me outta here!”.

“Don’t worry, boy, I am not interested in your money”, the man said, “All the pain will be gone soon. Just like your memory. You have been chosen to be my next boyservant!”.

“What? Feck off, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You will understand soon, boy. But for now, I need you to shut your mouth as I will explain.”

That being said, the man took out duck tape and applied it to Gordon’s mouth. Gordon tried to call for help, but all he could say way a dull “Mpph!”

Youre in the wrong place boy, its bear night but judging by your hairless twinky body you didnt know that, did you? Not to worry, he blows smoke in your face, we'll get you fixed up. Fixed up how? You know, help you blend in and get acculturated. Whats that, you dont smoke? Dont worry kid, you will. Here put on this cap, itll look good on you. Oh you dont like beards either? Well thats funny because youre rocking one now. Dont believe me? Look at yourself. He takes off your shirt, rubbing his hands through your fatteneing chest and growing chest hair. Getting hairy too. Bet you want a cigar dont ya, you always were a heavy smoker Daddy. What do you mean you dont smoke and youre not my daddy? Weve been dating for years, youre the one who got me to grow out my mustache too look like yours Daddy. Here, take a hit. If you really arent my daddy, if you really arent a smoker, youll be able to stop after one hit. See! I told you youd get acculturated and remember who you are.

The bass thumped heavily, shaking the very walls of the frat house as AJ stumbled through the crowd. Sweat glistened on his exposed chest, his cowboy hat tilted jauntily on his head. His "sexy cowboy" costume left little to the imagination - tight jeans molding to his muscular thighs, tank top showing off his toned arms.

A group of giggling sorority girls caught sight of him and squealed appreciatively. "AJ! Your costume is so hot!" one called out.

He flashed them a cocky grin, striking a pose. "Why thank ya darlin'. Y'all like?" He said with his best take on a southern accent.

With a flirtatious wink, clearly reveling in the attention, he went back to taking shots with his frat bros. And as the night wore on in a haze of alcohol, AJ found himself making the most of it- making out, grinding, groping- you name it. By the time the party wound down, he had lost track of how many drinks he'd downed and who all he'd hooked up with. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed onto his bed and drifted to sleep.

--------

The harsh glare of sunlight streaming through the blinds and stirred AJ awake. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. His mouth felt dry and his head pounded mercilessly.

"Agh… fuck…" he croaked, voice hoarse from the previous night's activities. Slowly, fragments of the Halloween party came trickling back - the pulsing music, the sea of costumes, the endless flow of booze, the hot girls.

With great effort, AJ sat up, a lazy grin plastered on his face. If he was this hungover, he must've had a good time. He yawned and glanced over to the mirror, chuckling slightly when he saw his cowboy hat was still firmly planted to his head.

"Don't really need this anymore." He smiled and grasped at the hat on his head.

He intended to take it off, but his fingers met resistance - the hat wouldn't budge an inch. Confused, he tried again, gripping harder. Still nothing. A flicker of unease ran through him.

"What the hell…" he muttered, examining the hat more closely. That's when he noticed something strange - his hands looked different somehow. Rougher, more weathered. And were those hairs sprouting from his knuckles?

AJ stared at them in shock. They couldn't be his hands. These were the hands of a much older man, a laborer perhaps. Calloused and covered in dark hair.

"No no no," he started to panic, looking down at his body. To his horror, he watched as the changes crept up his arms.

Hair sprouting thickly along his growing forearms as his skin darkened and roughened. Muscles bulged beneath the surface, swelling his biceps and triceps with thick, corded muscle. Muscle he could only dream of acquiring naturally in the gym.

"Oh god oh fuck what's happening to me?!" AJ cried out, voice cracking with fear and confusion.

He scrambled off the bed, stumbling as he felt the changes affecting his legs too. Thighs and calves thickened and hardened, muscles rippling powerfully. Dark hair fuzzed over his skin.

"Hnnngh!" AJ grunted, doubling over as he felt a sudden surge between his legs.

A jolt of intense pleasure shot through AJ as he felt his most private area begin to change. His cock swelled and lengthened, growing thicker and heavier by the second. His balls churned and tightened, already filled to the brim with potent seed.

"Holy shit, holy shit!" he panted, his terror nearly eclipsed by his growing arousal.

But there was no time to dwell on that as he felt his chest begin to morph. Two large, thick slabs of muscle formed where his previously toned pecs had been. Dark hair sprouted across the surface as they grew and grew, heaving with each breath.

"No, no, this ain't right," AJ whimpered, a Southern drawl creeping into his voice despite himself.

He shuddered in revulsion and let out a silent scream as he felt his back broadening, muscles rippling beneath the skin. He scratched desperately at his back as coarse hair began to push through, covering his skin in thick patches.

"Oh god, what in the hell?" AJ gagged, catching a strong whiff of musk emanating from his changing body. He reeked of raw masculinity and virility, "This ain't me, I ain't s'posed to look like this!"

He went to grab his phone- to call for help, but froze. AJ let out a strangled moan as he felt his rock hard abs soften and thicken with a layer of firm, masculine fat. At the same time, his core muscles clenched and strengthened, turning his midsection into a solid wall of power.

"Oh god no no no..." He could feel his face rippling, shifting.

Stubble scraped against his palms as he frantically rubbed his cheeks, watching in the mirror as his features coarsened and became more ruggedly handsome. A beard darkened his jawline and chin. Eyes darkening, skin becoming more weathered. He spun to face the door when he heard a knock followed by his friend's concerned voice.

"Hey man, you alright in there?"

"I-I'm fine!" AJ called back, voice deeper than usual, "Jus' leave me alone!"

"You sure, bro?"

He went to respond, but was stopped as a searing need ignited deep in his core, settling in his ass. AJ felt his hole clench around nothing, craving to be stretched and filled. The urge to submit, to be taken roughly and used.

"Nnngh fuck," he groaned, back arching.

His cock throbbed almost painfully. In his mind's eye, he saw himself bent over, presenting his hairy ass to some faceless man, begging to be bred like the desperate slut he suddenly craved to be. AJ trembled, torn between confusion and overwhelming lust. He didn't understand these foreign urges, this burning need to be dominated and used.

"Y-y'all just go 'way!" Did he really mean that? "I'm fine, jus' a lil' under the weather is all." His voice betrayed his desperation, words slurring together, the Southern drawl thickening.

And when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw what he was now. He was a vision of raw, masculine sexuality - all bulging muscles, dark hair, and throbbing arousal. The perfect image of a horny, slutty cowboy. The realization crashed over AJ as he stood there frozen, staring at his reflection in dawning horror. Gone was the handsome, athletic frame of the cocky college jock. In its place was this - this… figure of pure, unadulterated lust and virility. Everywhere he looked, he saw the physical embodiment of his "sexy cowboy" costume come to twisted life.

"It ain't… it cain't be…" he whimpered, running shaking hands over the thick expanse of his hairy chest, pawing at the heavy bulge straining against his pants. His identity, his very sense of self seemed to be slipping away, drowning under waves of foreign desire and instinct, "No, no please, I don't wanna be this!" Tears of frustration and terror welled in his eyes.

Memories of his old life flashed through his mind - football games, parties, hookups, his easy confidence and charm. But with each passing second, those recollections faded, replaced by an all-consuming need to serve and please. A simple minded slut.

"Ain't nothin' but a slutty lil' cowboy now," AJ slurred, his eyes dimming, his jaw going slack.

Suddenly, the door burst open. AJ's friends rushed in, concern etched on their faces. But when they laid eyes on him, their expressions shifted to shock and awe.

"Holy shit, AJ! What happened to you, man?"

AJ turned to face them, a dopey grin spreading across his face. All traces of the person he once was vanished, replaced by a vacant, eager-to-please desperation.

"Howdy boys," he drawled, "Looks like this here cowboy's ready for ridin'. Any of y'all feel like bein' my first rider?" He grinned as he presented his thick, muscular ass.

Youre in the wrong place boy, its bear night but judging by your hairless twinky body you didnt know that, did you? Not to worry, he blows smoke in your face, we'll get you fixed up. Fixed up how? You know, help you blend in and get acculturated. Whats that, you dont smoke? Dont worry kid, you will. Here put on this cap, itll look good on you. Oh you dont like beards either? Well thats funny because youre rocking one now. Dont believe me? Look at yourself. He takes off your shirt, rubbing his hands through your fatteneing chest and growing chest hair. Getting hairy too. Bet you want a cigar dont ya, you always were a heavy smoker Daddy. What do you mean you dont smoke and youre not my daddy? Weve been dating for years, youre the one who got me to grow out my mustache too look like yours Daddy. Here, take a hit. If you really arent my daddy, if you really arent a smoker, youll be able to stop after one hit. See! I told you youd get acculturated and remember who you are.

"Cuntry Boy" is a strange name for a song. You didn't even know you had this record. It's not in a sleeve or labeled. You've certainly never heard of it or the artist. Cuntry Boi.

Huh.

You think nothing of it as you lower the needle. The first few chords of the song flow through your speakers. It's the typical twangy guitar you'd expect from a country tune. You finish your dishes and start thinking about what you want for dinner. Something light, maybe? Maybe try one of those recipes you've seen on -

Oh, my cuntry boy.

He's the sweetest thang you've ever seen.

He's got a nice voice. Smooth, youthful sounding. It's quite up tempo for a country song. The vocals sounded like they came out of absolute nowhere so you've forgotten what you were thinking about. Oh that's right, dinner! You were thinking about salmon and a salad, some cheesy garlic bread, maybe a little -

Oh, my cuntry boy,

Knows how to put a good meal down.

Corny ass lyrics. But anyway, your stomach is growling fiercely. You've never felt so hungry in your life. You're thinking of steaks and mashed potatoes and slices of sweet potato pie. You moan at the image of a hunk of pan fried ham next to five cheesy scrambled eggs and hash browns. Your stomach gurgles and grumbles in frustration. You open your fridge, and you blink in surprise at how full it is. There's absolutely no way that you would have all....of this.... Right? There's so much food you're a little overwhelmed at all the options.

But that comes with confusion. Why would you be overwhelmed by this? You've always kept a full fridge. You're a hungry -

Growing boy, just like my love for him.

The moan that comes out of your mouth is obscene. You blink as your vision blurs. Your spine snaps and pops, legs elongating as suddenly, you're looking at the top of your fridge. It should be extremely painful but instead, it feels good. Like a massage hitting the right spots as you groan, the soreness in your muscles coming from your joints and bones expanding to make you look proportional to your new height of 6'7". Your sweatpants are stopping at your calves, no actually above your calves. And the hemline of your flannel flutters above your waist. You can see your pubes peeking through the waistband of your sweats and briefs, because you're so tall your clothes are shrinking too small. Your hands pop and expand, thickening into big meaty palms crowned by long, thick fingers to match your longer arms and larger stature. You hold your massive hands in front of your face.

The first few drops of nervous sweat dot your forehead as your feet begin expanding. The pleasurable sensation seems tenfold here, like your widening and stretching soles, become huge stompers with thick toes, are becoming more sensitive. Your toes break through your socks and split them along the top.

You're still ferociously hungry but you slam the door and turn as your stomach feels like it's squirming. It feels oddly good as you lift your shirt and see abs forming through the skin. Dense, strong abs. The strength of your core is overwhelming and you drop your shirt, scrunching your browns in concern as your stomach roars. You place your hands on your stomach as you notice that there's more...give. Sweat drips from your brow as your stomach expands around your hands. The hard muscle gives away to densely muscled softness. Not a muscle gut, but the gut and core strength of a wrestler. The buttons on your flannel strain around your stomach as it thickens. You moan as you squeeze and massage the combination of muscle and fat. Your eyes snap open.

No, no this is - what the fuck is happening? Your -.

Head in the clouds and thinking of me/So many lonesome hours along dusty cuntry roads.

Cock swells in your sweatpants. What begins as an erection slowly becomes something more. You're not thinking of Cuntry Boi, you're thinking of men. Big, beefy, hairy men. And this isn't ain't new. But these images feel a little too real to be mere fantasy. Almost like your asshole feels a little empty, as hungry as your empty stomach. You clutch your head in confusion as your cock grows .... past its normal size. Your breathing becomes heavier as your cock thickens and bloats. You can feel all the muscles in your shaft pumping and expanding full of blood and sweaty cock meat. Even your head flares into a huge, gushing mushroom as your cock slips out from underneath your briefs and the sensitive head brushes against the fabric of your sweatpants. A huge wet stain appears as your knees nearly buckle and you grip onto the counter, falling forward and gasping at how far away everything is now. When your balls start inflating, you moan like a porn star as you actually cum. Untouched. Just gushing cum into your sweats as it drips down your legs as the image of you getting plowed in a flatbed rams its way into your mind.

My cuntry boy, growing just like his love for me

You gently grip the massive 10" meat stick between your legs. It's still hard and throbbing, and your balls feel like balloons between your thighs. Your nipples for some reason are buzzing. You're hyper aware of them hardening and thickening, their heightened sensitivity evident by how you can feel them rubbing against your flannel. There's an insane amount of pressure behind each nipple and you grit your teeth and close your eyes, hunched over your counter as you think about the huge muscle tits the men of your fantasies memories have. Your mouth drops open as your chest swells against your shirt. Pure dense muscle flooding into each pectoral before softening with an added few pounds of fat, the nipples expanding and poking like daggers through your shirt as the buttons begin straining. You open your eyes and see strands of dense, dark, sweaty hair swirling from between the straining buttons. With one massive hand, you cup one of your growing muscle tits and your eyes cross from the sensitivity, the muscle and fat piling underneath your fingers. You squeeze one and gasp as more cum fires out of your cock, dripping down your leg and splattering on the floor. Out of the corner of the eye you see -

He gives me eyes from across the room/Can't ignore a pretty boi like me.

The vinyl spinning. Fuck, you have gotta get to it. Gotta get to it. The rest of your buttons burst from your shirt as your tits take one final heave forward and the densely muscled globes pour out of them. Your cock is straining against your pants. One hand idly rubs and massages the muscle in your chest. You whimper and take a few unsteady steps towards your record player. Your chest wobbles and you whimper, biting your lip as you try to adjust to the heft of your torso. Your widening shoulders and the bulking muscles in your back shred your shirt. You close your eyes in defeat as your shirt splits apart and hangs limply from your huge shoulders. Everything back there seemingly built for the massive rack you've got. Except for your cock and torso, your arms and lower body look underdeveloped. The issue is that a part of you is waiting for the rest of your body to catch up, but really, the rest of your body is the real you, right?

And I can't ignore a man like him, and neither can the other Bois along this graveyard bar.

Wait a minute? You take a few tentative sniffs. That smell. That musk. It's not BO at all but this kind of -. Oh, fuck that's coming from you ain't it? You're not this musky. The musk is impossible to ignore, like a pheromone. It's intense and addicting. But this isn't you, Goddammit! In fact, why are you even lifting your arms to smell your pits. Your pits, which are hairer than usual, sweaty and smelling oh so -

Take me out back, I'll ride the bull. Grab 'im by the horns.

You're practically licking your armpits as you fish your cock out of your pants. Your cock and balls are just as hairy as your pits. Just as sweaty. Just as musky. You stroke your cock and remember all the football boys and wrestlers riding your cock and sucking your cock and worshipping your balls and them worshipping your ass and blowing your back out and-.

No. You're still stroking your cock over the waistband of your sweats as you make a mad dash for the record player. Cock slinging strands of pre everywhere as-.

Take you out back and you can ride the bull

You moan so loud you wonder if the windows rattle. Your ass is growing. The growth feels as good as your tits. Pressure and warm inflation. Your hips widen as fat and muscle pour into your ass and your sweats feel like they're about to give up. Huge fatty cheeks, swirling with a dusting of hair, that sensitive pink hole of yours becoming just as hairy, swell and grow, plush and grab-able, two pillows like your chest. Like a good cuntry boy, you can take as much as you can give. And this ass, huge and swelling still, a few tears forming in your sweats, is pretty much built for it. You collapse to your knees, whimpering, moaning and groaning as you spread your legs apart, the wobble of your cheeks making your cock lurch as pre oozes out of it. Your huge balls sag from beneath your rock solid cock, dripping all over your floors. So much muscle and fat fills your ass that some of it overflows into your thighs. Your thin thighs inflate. Muscle and fat piling underneath the skin and blowing them up into huge slabs of -.

Come on, cuntry boy lemme grab this bull by the horns.

All this talk about bulls is making you so horny you're starting to forget about stopping the song. Because all you can imagine is the cuntry twunk singing it and how good it would feel to have him bury his face between your -

Speaking of your ass, it rips through your sweatpants and the huge sweaty globes are released to the air. You are bent in a prime rutting position as your cock head brushes against the cabinets, smearing them with pre. Your thighs break the seams of your sweats as they slowly but surely close in on your balls, the hair on your thighs tickling your sensitive, churning balls. You've never felt this horny. Like your cock -

Oh.....

As Cuntry Boi holds his note, you moan as your throat thickens, your Adam's apple expanding as you detect the first inklings of a Southern accent dripping into your voice. Your brain feels like it's under a thick fog, and the fog is preventing you from crawling forward and -.

Cuntry boy I believe I can tame this bull.

You throw your arms up, flexing (almost) involuntarily, as your biceps expand. The dense muscle is covered up with a thick layer of fat. The ham hocks stretching the skin as fat and muscle pour into them and down into your forearms, and you get another powerful whiff of your musk. You're humping the air with your powerful hips, your ass clapping behind you and balls swinging as your thighs rip the rest of your sweatpants away. Your calves expand and fatten to support your slabs of thighs, that dense torso that continues to grow as more weight piles onto your form, taking you close to 250 pounds.

Make him just as sweet as pie/Oh, my cuntry boy.

Your cock is going to explode. Preferably in someone. Then you could cuddle them and fall asleep. Wake up next to each other coated in sweat and cum, and then you can make him a nice big cuntry boy breakfast and send him on his way, for another man to come and see if he can tame you. Your face rearranges painlessly. Cheeks softening, jaw sharpening. Your lips fatten and become just as sensitive and pink as your hole. A moustache blooms around your lip as a final rush of testosterone races through -.

Oh. Cuntry boy!

Oh indeed.

A geyser of cum erupts from your cock. You've never made this much cum before, but those massive balls of yours have enough space for them. Those overactive cum ducts make sure your balls are always full to bursting half the time, so much testosterone pumping through your veins. With each volley of cum, you forget that old life of yours. You remember horseback riding and doing another type of bareback riding, so horny and so insatiable. Your IQ plummets as you remember not being the best of students during school, not going to college and instead using your hot body for your dream job of being a porn actor. You came to the big city to introduce some Southern hospitality to these Yankees. Including if that meant fucking it into them. One whiff of you, one sight of those huge muscle tits, or that fat ass, or hell any part of your oversized, hyper sexy, hyper masculine body, would have even the straightest of men worshipping you, begging for your cock or a taste of that ass. When you finally stop cumming, there's a huge puddle of musky cum in front of you, the shots so strong it's landed on your records and on the wall behind it.

The record on the vinyl spits out static. Damn how long have you been edging?

Of course you're naked but the scraps of clothing around you is puzzling.

But your brain, your dumb, horny, cotton candy brain, doesn't give it much thought. You chuckle and dumbly

And anyway you've got a big dinner to make for yourself. And also so many cocks to ride. Asses to fuck. Tongues to let worship every part of your beefy, hairy body ....

Once again with the wonderful @misctf .

Eric sighs as he got ready for another day of classes. It wasn’t like classes were hard for a genius like him, but there were certainly other challenges on campus. After a quick shower, breakfast, and organizing his notes for the day, Eric was off to his first class. And as per his usual routine, Liam greets him at the corner.

“Eric!” Liam smiles, “Okay, did you see the latest chapter of Battle Monsters? I won’t spoil it if you didn’t, but…”

"Of course I did!” Eric beams, “Okay, what did you think about…”

The two continue talking about the latest chapter of their favorite manga, before shifting to their plans for the weekend- namely D&D and watching comic book movies. And as they talk, Eric couldn’t help but be grateful to have found friends who share his interests. How less lonely he felt compared to his high school days.

“This is perfect.” Eric thinks, while laughing at one of Liam’s jokes.

Well, almost perfect. As Liam splits off and walks to his class, Eric feels someone walking to catch up with him. And his heart sinks when the all too familiar smell of sweat and a tough-work-out tickles at his nose.

“Well, well look who it is.” Jax’s mocking laughter follows close behind, “Seriously, what the fuck were you talking about?”

“Just leave me alone.” Eric’s words lack the confidence he was hoping to convey, “I…”

“Shut it, nerd.” Jax cut him off. He throws an arm around his victim in mock affection, “Relax. I’m here to give you the good news.” A shit-eating grin spread across his face, “I leave to study abroad in a few days, and I’m sure that oversized brain of yours knows what that means.”

Eric couldn’t help but smile to himself. He knew exactly what that meant. A semester free of Jax. No more bullying, no more mocking, no more torment.

“Oh but don’t get too excited. I still have a few more days here.” Jax continued, “And I’m gonna make the most of it.” Before Eric could react, Jax firmly grasped his arm, “Come on nerd, I wanna show you something.”

“L-let go of me!”

But Jax’s strength easily overpowers the young nerd. And before Eric knew what was happening, he’s pulled into an empty classroom.

“You might be wondering, ‘Why am I here?’ Well, that’s very simple, nerd. You and I are gonna be a lot closer these next few days.” Jax winks at him, “How can I possibly leave for a semester and give you all that precious time free of me?” He glares at Eric, “Sit.” He commands, and Eric did- hoping if he just went along with whatever this was, he’d be done soon enough.

“I-I have to get to class, please…”

“Just wait a goddamn minute, nerd.” Jax smirks and pulls off his sneaker, freeing his sweaty, moist foot, “Fuck, it feels good to free these babies.” He flexes his toes, “Well, they’re not gonna clean themselves, right nerd? That morning work-out really did a number on these.” His dumb laughter fills the air.

“No way, I’m not… I’m not…” Eric wants to protest. To tell Jax to fuck off. But as he stares at his tormenter’s foot, his mind was slowing.

“That’s right. You love to serve me. Love to serve my feet.” Jax smirks as Eric approaches him, dropping to his knees, “Yeah, that’s it. Can’t resist my musk, can ya?” Eric’s eyes water as he brings Jax’s foot to his mouth, “You never want to leave my feet. You want to serve them, love them.”

Jax moans as Eric’s mouth and tongue go to work. The young nerd’s eyes filling with tears as the rotten smell and taste overwhelm his senses. His mind racing. What the fuck am I doing? Why can’t I stop stop? Eric wants to run, to scream. But…

“You’re just a pair of my used and abused socks.” Jax continues in the same hypnotic voice, “Filled with my sweat and cum. Not even a person.”

Eric couldn’t understand what Jax was saying- was this some kind of weird fetish. He isn’t… Eric let out a pained cry as his body began to burn from the inside out.

“Wh-what’s happening to me!?” Eric’s eyes widen as he watches his feet and legs shrink into his torso, “Jax! Stop! Please!”

Jax only watches in amusement as Eric’s skin turns white. His chest and abdomen deflate and hollow out, while his arms shrink into his changing torso. He flops to the ground, unable to move- only able to look up at his bully.

“Wait… please, don’t…!” Eric let out a muffled cry as Jax forcefully sticks his foot into Eric’s open mouth.

“Good little sock.” Jax smiles as he watched the transformation finalize, until he was the only person in the room, “Fuck… I know you can still hear and taste everything. Hope you’re loving it. And even if you aren’t, well… you will.”

Eric had no conception of time. No ability to know how many hours or days passed. His whole world consumed by the smelly, musky foot that filled his entire being. Jax wore him at all times. At the gym, on the field, on his jogs. He didn’t even shower afterwards. Days passed, allowing his stench to accumulate and overwhelm the young nerd further. Eric wished for some relief, even maybe a cycle in the laundry machine to help rid him of his tormentor’s stench. Even on the night Jax did remove him, the relief was short lived as Jax forced his meaty cock into what once had been Eric’s mouth, before jerking off and cumming inside him. Eric hoped that Jax would toss him aside after his pleasure session, but instead he was immediately wrapped around Jax’s foot again. The days went by, the cycle continued, and Eric knew he didn’t have much of a fight left in him…

“Ah fuck, the day has come.” Jax smirks at his sweat and cum-stained sock, “I leave tomorrow, brah. I think I got enough fun in this past week to make up for my semester-long absence, wouldn’t you say?” He grins as he pulls his sock off and tosses it to the ground, “Let’s see…”

He watches with a grin as the sock contorts, morphs, and changes. Human features bubbling from the piece of fabric. And after a few minutes, Eric is back to his human form.

“Wh-where…?”

“Shut your mouth and get the fuck out of here.” Jax smirks, “Here’s a little souvenir.” He tosses him a few items of his clothing, “Wouldn’t want the world having to look at your tiny cock.”

In a daze, Eric dresses in the tank-top, boxers, and athletic shorts that Jax had so graciously given him. His mind still reeling with what happened, unable to process it fully. And as he walks back to his dorm, embarrassment fills him as people wrinkle their nose. Eric became acutely aware of the stench wafting off of him- just like Jax. His bully’s scent scarred into him. He tries to shower when he gets back to his dorm room. Tries to get rid of the stench. But he’s tired. And he quickly drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

Eric sighs as he gets up for another day of classes. The stench still lingers. The memories still hazy. He tries to get into his morning routine, but his desire to shower was gone- he felt like he had to force himself. Even his clothes feel wrong- too stuffy and boring. His notes are harder to understand. He’s aware now that his breakfast lacks protein. This all feels… wrong…

“Eric! Where have you been?” Liam asks as the two meet up, “I heard you were sick, but no one could get in touch with you.”

“Yeah…” Eric’s eyes dart towards the campus gym, “Sick or somethin’ like that.”

“Well, I was thinking we could play some Battle Monsters later. I just got a new deck and…”

“Battle Monsters? Fuck, man. Real men don’t play that shit.” Eric’s eyes widen, “Uh… fuck… I need to go! I’m sorry Liam!” Before Liam could say anything, Eric sprints off.

Eric’s thoughts race as he runs to the closest bathroom. The insanity of the last week, the smell that still clung to him, the words that left his mouth just then… He wants to cry. His identity feels fractured. It felt wrong. He doesn’t smell like himself- he smells like Jax. He doesn’t sound like himself- he sounds like Jax.

“I’m not Jax.” He grunts, throwing his backpack aside and staring closely in the bathroom mirror, “I’m not him.”

Jax wasn’t here. He’s halfway across the world. Eric was free of him. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder. He didn’t have to worry about being tormented. This is all… good. Eric sighs as a strange, tingling warmth spreads through his body- one Eric thought meant joy. But it stays. Lingers, almost painfully.

“Hey Eric?” Liam’s voice breaks his concentration, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… yeah I’m aight.” Eric coughs to clear his throat, “Uh sorry, lost my cool. What were we doing?”

Liam shifts uncomfortably, “Uh class then library, like always.”

“Sweet.”

Class was something Eric usually loved, taught by a professor he admired. But today felt… off. Maybe it was the warmth bubbling beneath his skin, or him trying to catch up after a week of whatever Jax had done to him, but he couldn’t focus. The words the professor used, the concepts he was delving into- Eric’s brain couldn’t seem to retain or understand them. He knew that should frustrate him, but he resigned himself to doodling in his usually pristine notebook. Neat and tidy equations and immaculate handwriting now littered with crudely doodled dicks- the whole time Eric chuckling to himself with the completion of each masterpiece. When the class ends, all Eric had to show for it was a page of doodled dicks- his pride evidenced by his shit-eating grin.

“Dude, I think I broke a record for the number of dicks on a page.” He says turning to one of the jocks in the class- one of Jax’s friends- Eric recalls.

“Oh shit brah.” The jock chuckles, “Jax would be proud.” Eric could swear there was a knowing look in the jock’s eye- something sinister.

“Wh-what are you…?”

“Why are you talking to him?” Liam’s voice breaks Eric’s concentration, “Come on Eric… and leave us alone.” Liam pulls Eric away, the jock’s cruel laughter filling the air.

Liam and Eric walk quickly through campus and towards the library. Eric’s thoughts returning to class… what he did… how Jax’s friend clearly knows something. And as his brain replays what had happened, he felt shame. He’s a star student, not some dick-doodling, braindead jock. He isn’t Jax… That thought repeating in his mind. He isn’t Jax. He isn’t Jax. He… wasn’t Jax. He stopped dead in his tracks.

“Eric?” Liam looks worried, “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I… I need to go back to my room.” Eric says, “I’m still not feeling too well. I’ll see you later!”

Before Liam could get another word in, Eric turns and walks quickly towards the dorms. And when he finally makes it to his room, he falls to his bed, tears falling from his eyes. None of this makes sense- why was any of this happening? Eric wipes his eyes and grunts.

“What are you fuckin’ doing?” A voice echos in the back of his mind, “Real men don’t fuckin’ cry. They deal with their shit in the only way they know how.” The voice is cruel, mocking.

“H-how?” Eric whispers into the air.

“The gym.”

Eric looks over to a pile of discarded clothes in the corner of the room. The only athletic clothes he owns. Jax’s clothes… the ones he gave him that day. He had sworn never to wear them again. But without much resistance, Eric stripped out of his nerdy clothes, and grabbed his tormentor’s. First, the boxers. They slid up his leg and settled nicely on his waist. Eric had to admit they felt… right. Then the athletic shorts. And then the gray tank-top. Eric stares in the mirror, Jax’s clothes hanging loosely on his scrawny frame.

“I look…”

“Good.” The voice fills his mind, “But you’re missing something… Well, a few things…”

And Eric knew what he needed to do- where he needed to go. His walk across campus felt different this time. Each step filled with a bit more confidence. His clothes feeling more comfortable on his skin… not as loose. The wrinkling of noses, the dirty looks- things that he knows should bother him… just didn’t.

“Almost there.”

The voice in is head becoming clearer, taking on a familiar cadence and tone. Eric realizes it sounds like… Jax. He knows this should definitely bother him- scare him even. Why was Jax in his head? Why was Jax talking to him? Why was he fuckin’ listening? He pauses, his breathing becomes faster. He feels… he feels… He turns and looks at himself in a window.

“Wh-what’s happening to me?” He whispers.

His exposed arms are toned, bulkier. His legs more muscular- calves more defined, thighs thicker. He looks down at his hands- the beginnings of callouses that he knew weren’t there an hour ago are etched into his skin. Weakly, he raises the tank-top and runs his hand along the faint but undeniably present abs he definitely knew were not there earlier that day.

“Fuck… you’re wasting time.” Jax’s voice grunts, “C'mon already…”

Eric nods slowly, “Yeah… yeah gotta go…” His voice sounds deeper, a bit rougher.

He turns from the mirror, catching a glimpse of his face as his jaw squares out a bit and his eyes darken and dull. Eric walks quicker now, his newly powerful legs bounding up the stairs of a frat house. Entering it like second nature- like he’d done this countless times. And as he walks through the living room, stepping over beer bottles and dumbbells, he can feel their eyes on him. Jax’s frat bros, lounging on the couch, making protein shakes in the kitchen- all turn and watch as Eric walks in. Some just smirk, while others laugh. But Eric keeps going- entering Jax’s room. And as he stands in his tormentor’s room, his stomach drops.

“I-I should leave…” Eric whispers to himself, “I need to get out of here.”

“We came here for a reason.” The voice in his head says, “Now go on…”

“But…”

Eric wants to protest and argue. A part of him registering that he isn’t going to be leaving this place as himself. That maybe… just maybe if he turned and left now, there’d be hope for him. That he could go back to being a nerd. Enjoying comic books… talking to Liam… playing Battle Monsters…

“Fuck all that shit.” Jax’s voice cruelly dismissed those thoughts, “I’m not some fuckin’ nerd. And you aren’t anymore either. Got it?”

“No… I’m not… I’m not you…”

“Yeah you are bruh… well, you will be.” The voice continues, “Now didn’t we come here for a reason?”

Eric whimpers as he steps forward, not sure anymore who was in control of his body. There, sitting on Jax’s bed was a red cap. Jax’s favorite. The one he always wore around campus. Part of his signature, douchebag look. And Eric took it in his now large, calloused hands. Every part of him screaming not to. Knowing this was it.

“You think he’s gonna do it?”

“Fuck, I can’t even tell the difference anymore.”

“Brah, this voodoo shit is wild.”

Eric could hear Jax’s frat bros from the doorway. Staring at him. Watching him closely. Mocking him. He didn’t like them. How they acted. What they said and did. Yet he was about to join them- that very thought causing his stomach to twist. And before he could think more about it, he raised the cap to his head and lowered it.

The room was silent. Eric was silent. That was it. It was on. The jocks held their breath. Eric stared blankly ahead. Waiting. For something. And just when the faintest hint of relief started to build, Eric let out a pained cry.

“Oh god, what the fuck!?”

It started in his feet. The cracking, the twisting. He watched as his feet morphed and shifted- growing in size. At least 13 inches. Wiry hairs sprouting on his toes- their stench enough to bring down an elephant. Eric hated how familiar they smelled. His memory as Jax’s sock playing endlessly in his shrinking brain.

“There we go.” The voice in his head sounded prideful, “Thatta boy.”

Eric’s legs followed- hair sprouting on his ever-enlarging muscular thighs and calves. Powerful. Warm. His butt filling with firm muscle and fat- two squeezable basketballs that would barely be contained in his pants. He’d certainly turn heads- the very thought sending another wave of unwanted pride through Eric’s mind.

“Fuck…” Eric moaned as his dick stood at full attention.

His balls grew larger, filling with virile cum. His dick continued to grow in his pants, while a jungle of unkempt, musky pubes grew around it. He pawed miserably at his cock with his thick, meaty hands. Watching through half-lidded eyes as his forearms thickened with muscle. He backed up against a wall and slid to the ground, cushioned by his thicc ass.

“I can’t… I don’t want this…” He could hear Jax’s frat bros laughing, gawking at the sight before them, “Please… help me…”

He let out a pained cry as his abs popped into existence, the small amount of fat burning away. The cramping continued as it moved into his chest. His flat chest began to fill with firm muscle, his nipples growing more sensitive as his pecs swelled into existence. He weakly brought his arm to them, giving one a squeeze and watched as his biceps and triceps grew thicker with firm muscle. With a tired sigh, he dropped his arm to his side, breathing heavily.

“It… it has to be over…” He grunted, “Please… just…”

He immediately went into a coughing fit as his neck thickened and his Adams apple grew more prominent. He grabbed at his face as his cute features finished becoming more angular- more masculine. He could feel his face rearranging beneath his skin and he just knew, even though he hated to admit it, that when he looked in the mirror, Jax would be staring back. He could even feel the burning pain as his ear was pierced.

“Fuck look at him.”

“Dude, what do we call him?”

“I mean, its Jax right?”

Eric looked over at them, and clumsily pulled out his phone. His heart was thumping in his newly muscular chest as he turned the camera towards him.

“No…” Eric knew what he was going to see, but actually seeing it. That was different, “I-I don’t want this. I don’t…”

“Why are you crying, nerd?” Jax’s voice echoed from within, “You got a problem with being a man?”

“No! Why would I ever want to be you?” Eric replied, the anguish evident in his voice- Jax’s voice, “All you do is torment people. You’re an asshole. A piece of shit!”

“Correct… You’re an asshole.” The voice chuckled, “And you’re a piece of shit. Because brah, you’re me. Get it?”

Eric held back a sob, “But… I’m still…”

“There’s no one better than you to be me.” The voice continued, “You know all my lines. Know all my favorite ways to keep nerds in their place.” Eric knew he was right- he experienced it all first hand, “Now you have the body, you have the tactics. You’re the fuckin’ king, brah.”

“But I don’t want to be this. I don’t want to…”

“Dude, this voice in your head? It’s you. It’s always been you.” Eric felt his heart start to sink, “Jax didn’t put me in your brain, these are your fuckin’ thoughts. I don’t know what the fuck Jax did to make us into this, but I’ve always been here. Waiting. And now? Admit it. You want this.”

“What are you saying?” Eric’s voice never sounded more uncertain.

“You got the bod. You got the mindset. You just gotta want it.” The voice pushed, “Do you want it?”

Eric knew he shouldn’t. He couldn’t. He was sweet. A good kid. He had dreams and passions. Complexity. He wasn’t this simple-minded asshole. But… he could be. He looked over to the mirror and saw Jax staring back. He wasn’t even himself anymore.

“Just let go. You know how to.”

Would it be that easy? To let go? To throw away his old life? To lose himself in Jax’s persona?

“It would be so fuckin’ easy.”

“Yeah… yeah it would.” So simple… no worries… so few thoughts…

A shit-eating grin formed on Eric’s new face. One that he knew mimicked Jax’s perfectly. He looked over at his frat bros, all of whom seemed to be on the edge of their seat, waiting to see if Jax’s little plan worked.

“Whatcha fuckin’ lookin’ at?” Eric pawed at his erect dick, “If you’re gonna stare, you might as well get to work.” He smirked as his frat bros howled with laughter.

_________

“Fuck yeah bro, that bitch from bio got me an A on another lab report.” Eric grunted, eyes fixated on the videogame before him, his phone on speaker, “Let him worship my cock in exchange. Seems fair right?”

“Pfft you’re a real fuckin’ natural. Ain’t it good being me?” Jax replied

“Yeah… fuckin’ love being you. Never going back…” Eric mindlessly flexed his bicep and gave it a kiss, “So when are ya gettin’ back to the states, brah?”

“A few weeks, bro. Can’t wait to hit the gym with my new twin bro.”

Eric smirked, “Yeah, can’t wait, bro.” He turned his game off, “Aight bro, remember that bitch, Liam? He’s comin’ over in a bit.”

“Oh really? What? You gonna play Battle Monsters with your old BFF?” Jax mocked.

“Oh hell naw brah.” Eric’s dull laughter filled the air, “I got something else in mind.” He looked down at his sweaty, hairy foot, a cruel grin spread across his face, “Hope you don’t mind being a triplet, bro.”

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

After being grabbed, bagged, and zip-tied, and then driven around for hours in the trunk of a car I had some troubles walking when we finally stopped and someone hoisted me out of the car. No light and only muffled sounds managed to penetrate the thick hood. No smells either. It was just my own moist breath in there. The ground was probably concrete floor all the way from the car to where we ended up, with a few stairs down on the way. When we stopped I could feel something being attached to the zip ties behind my back that then held me mostly in place. The light was blinding when the hood came off.

Two jacked, shaved, eastern European guys stood in front of me, one wearing jeans and leather jacket, presumably the guy delivering me, and one was gleaming in sweat, wearing too tight military green shorts and a white tank top.

So, just to make sure I understand, you’re a nerdy guy who can’t relate to his new, studly jock stepdad, and well you are not specifically telling me what to change, you ended on ‘it would be easier if he wasn’t my step dad?’ Do I have all that right?

You have to know where this whole thing is going.

I mean, talking about how different you are, and how you wish he wasn’t your stepdad, but not actually asking me to get rid of him or change him in any specific way, you had to realize that you’d be the one I ended up transforming, not him. That instead of changing your stepdad to someone more your liking, I’ll be making you a true father and son, with you taking on some of his more athletic qualities as you transform into the frat boy jock son he’s always wanted. I mean, c’mon, it’s so obvious. Heck, it was so obvious that I actually avoided this request for a while because I thought that it had to be some sort of trap, set up by The Master or one of my other enemies. Until I realized what was really going on. You aren’t trying to trap me, you’re trying to goad me. Because even though you’re a geek, and even though you act like you’re constantly annoyed by your stepdad… you actually want to be his son, don’t you? 

Your dad left when you were only 3 years old, and ever since then it’s been you and your mom on your own. You’ve never exactly suffered from not having a Dad. Your Mom has done an amazing job of raising and providing for you both, and from the little you can actually remember about your biological dad, his leaving was probably the best thing he ever did for you. But when he left, it did leave a bit of a hole in your life, one that you never quite seemed to be able to fill. With your naturally geeky personality and tendency to ramble for hours on end about whatever you happen to be into that month, you never truly fit in with other guys, and without your dad you didn’t really have any male role models growing up. Now, I’m not saying that a guy has to have a male role model growing up. There tons of men who were raised by single mothers, or who had two moms, that grew up just fine. But with your difficulties fitting in, and your lack of any close relationships outside of your Mom, you felt a disconnect from your own masculinity that left you feeling like you weren’t a real man. Over time that confusion and loneliness turned into something more bitter, and you grew a disdain for anything and anyone who was traditionally manly, to the point you began to hate most men in general, something that only got worse as you found like minded people on the internet who reinforced your angry views. You had even started looking around some incel message boards, when you met your Mom’s new boyfriend, West.

Your Mom hadn’t dated much in the last 16 years since your father had run out on you, and so far she had never introduced you to anyone she was dating, as no relationship she started ever got that serious, so you were shocked when she told you she had invited her new boyfriend over to dinner. It took less than a minute of your mom talking about him for you to decide you absolutely hated him. He sounded like a classic example of the macho jocks you had come to despise, and you were prepared for dinner to be absolutely awful. Except, it wasn’t. Because even though you loathed to admit it, even to yourself, you actually really liked West. You couldn’t really explain it. He was a personal trainer, literally a professional meathead, who was so physically intimate with your mom it made you want to puke. But when the dinner actually started and you got to know him, you couldn’t help but like him! Sure he was a total meathead, and was ridiculously cocky, but he was also really kind. He took your cold treatment of him in stride, with this sort of unshakeable confidence you couldn’t help but admire. He obviously didn’t know anything about the geeky stuff you were into, but he listened to you talk about it, and was patient and didn’t dismiss anything you said like everyone else seemed to. He was surprisingly intelligent, and the way he talked about exercise made even you feel a little like going to the gym. By the end of the night, the two of you had actually hit it off, much to your moms surprise and utter delight. The problem was, you absolutely hated yourself for it. How did you let yourself get so friendly with some meathead? Why did you like him so much? Over the next 6 months you struggled with this strange feeling of being caught between your normal beliefs and this growing fondness for your Mom’s new boyfriend, something that only got worse when she and West announced they planned to get married. You tried to talk to your friends online about it, but they seemed to think you were a traitor because you didn’t despise your jock stepdad as much as you were supposed to. You tried to talk to other guys at school, but they couldn’t really relate, and it turned out that getting along with your stepdad hadn’t really fixed your issues with connecting with other guys. You felt trapped, like you had finally met someone who could teach you, guide you, show you how to connect with other guys, help you become a real man, but you were just too old to learn. Sure a 20 year old guy still had plenty of time to change and grow, but you were just so scared to step out of your bubble, and kept thinking about all the milestones you could have had if West had entered your life just a bit earlier. That was when you found out about this blog, found out what I do, and decided to ask for help, even if your pride wouldn’t allow you to be as direct as you wanted to be.

You should count yourself lucky that I saw what you were really asking for, since if I hadn’t there is a real chance you could have ended up in a very different situation. You should feel even luckier that I actually have the perfect thing for this. You might remember in an earlier post I helped a guy rewrite his history by using a magical artifact known as a ‘family tree’. It’s this medium sized silver tree statuette, one that allows you to see, and alter, your family tree. It’s a dangerous thing to mess around with, but I think it’s perfect for this situation, especially since we’re only making one change. We’ve just got to cut out your scummy birth father, and make it so West is your biological dad. We don’t have to keep it this way forever, but by doing this you’ll at least get a chance to see what it would be like to be his full son. 

As the change takes hold, you’re going to feel it wash over your life, going down your timeline, through your memories one by one as it alters your entire life, from the moment of your birth to this very moment. Memories of being abandoned at 3 are replaced by memories of West, memories of being a little boy and being cared for by a strong, kind man who always made you feel so safe. Your memories continued to shift as your relationship with West solidified, remembering when you were 4 and he taught you to ride a bike, when you were 5 and he and your mom dropped you off at school the first time. Memories of healthy dinners, of watching sports with your dad, of learning how to work out, how to approach people, how to talk to girls. Your youth as a bitter loner was rewritten, piece by piece, into you being a happy young boy, who would eventually grow into a scrappy tween, and eventually a confident, muscular young man. You still had a couple of your old nerdier interests, but most of that had been replaced, washed away by your new natural athleticism and an inherited love of working out and watching sports. You had started working out with West, with your Dad, at a young age, and you had the huge, manly muscles to prove it. You were larger than any 20 year old had any right to be, and the ladies definitely noticed. You weren’t the virgin sitting in his room ranting about girls online anymore. You weren’t even just an average guy. You were the quarterback, the prom king, the life of the party, the fucking man, a reputation you had earned in highschool and had brought with you into college, along with a full wrestling scholarship and a shit ton of cocky confidence. The best part is that you and West have the father-son relationship you had always dreamed of. He was your idol growing up, the man who taught you how to be who you wanted to be instead of who you thought you should be, and now that you were an adult too, you two were going to be the ultimate father-son duo. 

Sounds like you’ve gotten pretty firmly transformed reading my stories. You’ve probably been zoned out for hours, reading my blog with your cock in your hand, your bloodshot eyes glazing over as you bate and drool and read…

Huh? I can detect just a hint of a curse. Pot smoke. Since when did I have a lit joint in my hand?

Fuuuuuck, that feels good, bro. My body feels all warm and fuzzy and horny, huhuhu. Now time to get to work…take another hit, yeah.

Where’d my shirt go? Damn, all this chest hair feels nice to run my fingers through. Watch me pop my pecs. I’ll give you a blissed-out stoner grin, bro. This is what life’s all about. Hold on, lemme finish this joint.

Phew, it’s hot in here. I’m toootally dripping in sweat, nice n musky stoner lmao. I’d give you a taste, but I’m soooo horny. I gotta jerk off first. I’ll just be a minute, I’m gonna read a few stories and I’ll cum asap.

Ohhh, this feels so good. What’s better than this? Jerking my cheesy stoner cock and sniffing my rank, hairy pits while reading tf stories. I’m just a dumb stoned gooner with a horny cock. Dumb stoned gooner with a horny cock.

Dumb stoned gooner can’t stop edging his horny cock dumb stoned gooner can’t stop edging his horny cock…