Shapedbydesire Archive

Aw, what, did you forget to take your morning gummies? C’mon, even an old gay like you has a sharper mind than that! This ain’t your first rodeo! As if you don’t remember the fact that you added that extra X to the XL yearsss ago! The pretty pink speedo has been pushed to its limits by soft curves, the very same curves you now possess. Gazing down at an unfamiliar, doughy, hairy body, you begin to smell the scent of stale sweat right as you feel the swampy dampness in your crotch and between your ass cheeks, the aftermath of a total bear icon dancing it up in the clubs, chubby body sweating buckets.

And that pink beard? Ugh! Everything. When you reflect on who you used to be, your connection to your true past self seems to go pop like chewing gum. You remember being a skinny, rambunctious twink that couldn’t go a day without taking shot after shot and riding cock after cock. Eventually, all that alcohol caught up to you, and now after all those years, you’re a bloated, still rambunctious bear who still jiggles all his assets in the club weekly. Everyone loves your energy! Maybe your hygiene could be better, but nobody’s perfect.

Funny thing about your transformation magic, though. Your new, vain self really only craves one of two things besides hogging out on desserts: being railed by a big fat cock, or hanging out with other iconic gay bottoms who totally get your POV. When young, snobby twinks come into contact with you, your residual magic has a habit of zapping them and making them fit along better to your fantasy. After all, if you can’t go home with a thick cock deep in your bare, hairy, sweaty, fat ass…

Then go home with a new bestie who gets all your dated jokes & is always happy to gossip about the best dicks to ride in town!

Oh, darling. Haven’t I already made that clear? Or have you forgotten about the last man who asked me to work my magic with desire?

He’s a fleshlight now, still oozing Joon-tae’s hot cum from his rubber pussy lips. But he got what he wanted. He got to watch a simple young man become the douchebag he desired.

So don’t try to change your mind, you’re already coming along for the ride. First we have to find our lucky little victim.

And here he is. Oh, isn’t he precious? I sought out a boy seeking a change, a desire to be something more, and I came across this cute little twink. His name is Ronny, and I think he’ll be pleased with your intentions for him.

But he’s awfully small, isn’t he? Let’s start by stretching him out. Our bodybuilder fantasy can’t even begin if the foundation can’t support all of that heavy muscle. Isn’t it fun to watch how shocked and happy he is? He’s a whole foot taller now.

He’ll have to be careful not to smack that cute little face on the doorway. But maybe that’s too simple of a problem. After all if he’s going to live up to your desire, his real struggle should be trying to fit through the door. So let’s blow him up, make him expand to suit that new towering height of his.

He’s such a cute fledgling bodybuilder! Just starting on his fitness journey. What, you think that’s the kind of buff we’re going for? You asked for dumb, and smelly, and a pretty boy just doesn’t fit the bill for that. He’s too shredded, too prissy. We need to put some hair and extra beef on his chest. And I mean that literally.

And if you want him to reek, then we’ll need to make sure he can work up a proper sweat. I think the right man for that job has to be well into his prime, a grizzly bear of a guy covered in sticky fur and always shining with his dank filth. Ah, just look at him test out that new body. Ronny is looking more like a Ron.

Ron the Man.

Wow, I have to plug my nose just changing him. I made him fuckin’ pungent. Are you enjoying this? Do you like the scent of him up your nose? He’s a man built for getting his pump on and unleashing protein farts at a moment’s notice. Not that he can even think to be ashamed of his poor manners. His mouth is always hanging open in a dumb smile, his eyes always cloudy and glazed over.

Let’s give him some tattoos and beef up his features just one last time, make him look like the absolute brute of a man you were hoping for. A nice nipple piercing, some sweaty gym clothes, a thicker layer of swampy hair clotting together around his tight asshole. Ronny used to be such a sweet twink.

But here’s Ron. And as you could imagine, that thick python bulging in his jockstrap is only built for plowing pussy. Not that it’s easy finding a girl when you’re as gross and large as he is, but fuck when he does, they’re a real good bimbo bitch. He loves watching them squirm beneath him, creaming themselves all over his thick cock. He likes watching ‘em gag, too.

That’s the fucking raw scent of an alpha male.

And it’s all his. It wafts off of him with every flex, every fart and belch. His muscle gut is a tank full of engine, bloated with protein and testosterone. Watch him bend over and lift his leg, watch him squeeze his face together and laugh like a little kid. Don’t even try to cover up your nose, breathe it in! This is what you wanted.

This is the dumb, smelly bodybuilder that you were wishing for. You might as well be in the same room as him! Don’t worry. He’s not that scary. The worst he’ll do is rough you up a bit, shove your face between his ass and make you sniff up a fart or two because it’s so funny. But he doesn’t really seem to pay any attention to you as you appear. There’s no reason for that.

You won’t stay as you for long.

Because there’s always a price to pay, and there’s a certain place where a guy as bloated and stinky as Ron likes to spend his time. You don’t even have a chance to fight or beg for mercy, you simply begin to harden and shrink and watch as your skin becomes porcelain white. Your mouth is trapped as a permanent, silent scream. There’s something wet rising in your mouth, but you’re not drowning.

You’re just a dirty toilet, a throne fit for a reeking king. I’m going to turn your senses back on, let you taste and smell and feel the man you helped me create, but I’m gonna stop listening to you. I have a feeling you’ll be screaming and crying for the rest of your existence. But don’t worry. You’ll have Ron for company! Every few hours he’ll come waddling over, always grunting and cursing and rubbing one out as he unleashes all of his loads into your mouth.

He’s so dumb that he always forgets to flush. He’s already so smelly that he doesn’t realize just how filthy he really is.

And he’s exactly the man you wanted him to be. Enjoy him.

Hey, guys! I hope last night’s bonus story will make up for this one, I’ve been feeling a bit groggy since I woke up earlier. But I’m here & I’m pumped, and the challenge must go on!

You can check out @mystrangetfs’ latest caption here. You don’t need me to tell you that it’s a real treat. Everything he writes is a tasty snack! Sometimes smelly, sometimes hard to swallow, but always piping hot.

Enjoy!

This is what Chad got for worrying too much about his friend.

His best bro, Ryan, was really putting his all into his gym career over the last few weeks. It was like he only lived to get his pump on, like his day should only begin and end with his grip around an iron bar. While part of Chad could understand the temptation, there had to be a balance.

They were similar, both straight and musky and not too bright, but Chad was a bit more cautious. He at least tried to cover up his stench, wearing protective gear to prevent the possibility of injury. Chad was the total opposite, ignoring all of his basic hygiene just to workout, letting his huge cock flop around freely.

It all came to a head when Chad muttered the simple words, “I wish you would be more careful.” Because he cared about his bro, because the least the gym rat could do was wear a jock cup to contain his massive python. Then Chad started to choke, like his tongue was swelling in his mouth.

He reached out for Ryan to help, but his bro had already strolled over to another machine and begun his pump for the day. Chad was forced to stare down, watching as a small bulge of plastic pushed past his lips, prodding at in terror as it expanded across his face. He was touching it, and he could feel his own fingertips. He tasted like sweat.

It didn’t stop until it was wrapped from his nose down to his chin, hardening as it contorted into its final shape. When Chad ran over to a mirror, he found the very same brand of jock cup he wore suddenly super glued to his face. He reached for it, trying to pull it off, but it hurt too much. It was like he was pinching one of his nostrils and tugging hard.

He couldn’t even feel his mouth anymore, he couldn’t scream. Ryan was still pumping, still grunting, loving every moment of feeling his biceps flex with each curl. His cock was flopping around each time he spread his legs, hard from the thrill of it all. But Chad was terrified, and confused, suddenly he was half man and half jock cup.

And then he watched the plastic become scuffed, squinting at his reflection as it went from brand new to dented and stained. His eyes were already watering in fear when the smell hit him, the acidic stench of piss and cum and sweat, shot straight up a nose he didn’t even have anymore. He fell to his knees, clawing at the jock cup, feeling thick globs of sweat and flakes of dried filth.

His brain went into overdrive, he was shaking, it was like he had stuck his face into a pair of Ryan’s boxers. And then that’s when it all started to click together, but at that point he had already tried to stand back up. He was much shorter than he had been, and lifting up his arms showed that they were shrinking.

It looked like the jock cup was swelling, swallowing up even more of his face. But that wasn’t the case. He realized with a silent cry that he was shrinking into the jock cup itself, his body absorbing into the plastic and the filth until suddenly it was all he could feel, and taste, and smell. He could still see when he fell to the ground with a thud, rolling over to Ryan’s massive reeking feet.

The jock didn’t seem to remember, or even care that his best bro was missing. All he could focus on was getting shredded, but glancing down to see his trusty jock cup lying at his big feet made him snicker. “Ah, fuck. I gotta be more careful.” He was still the same gross,  pump dedicated idiot he always had been, but now he realized just how important it was to keep his family jewels safe.

That was the least he could do! The babes would never forget him if he damaged the biggest fuck stick in town. So with a chuckle and a smirk, he picked up Chad from the ground and shoved the jock cup into his dirty boxers, unable to hear the shrieks and the pleas for mercy. It was a struggle squeezing his fat cock into it, but the sweat and the cum from his morning jerk off helped with securing the protective pouch.

Chad’s new home was this fabric prison. He was a plastic jock cup stuck to a putrid fat cock for the rest of his life, only taken off when Ryan needed to plow a chick. Chad would stay in the same pair of boxers for days on end, absorbing all the filth and waste, drops of piss from one end and the contained toxic fumes of farts from the other. For the rest of his life he would be gagging, and screaming, forced to watch his friend become grosser and bigger with each new day.

But at least the douche was careful now. He patted Chad’s plastic body through his gym shorts, though it became more of a massage as he enjoyed the feeling of his sensitive cock head rubbing against the jock cup. The wish had been granted, and really, things were as they should have been.

“Thanks for keeping me safe, bud.”

He was gonna take it off and cum into it later, flood it with his seed. He didn’t really know how to thank a jock cup, but that felt right. It also sounded kinda hot.

Chad just kept gagging. And to think, the gas from Ryan’s morning burritos hadn’t even hit yet.

PPPPHHHHRRRRRUUUUUPPPPTTT!

Ah, that seems like a simple enough request. I mean, that’s literally what I’m here for. I take simple men and I grant them all of their heart’s desires; maybe it’s not what they really wanted, not when it’s all said and done, but they do get what they wish for. In some way or another.

And you want to see an average guy become a real douche. Big personality, big muscles, big cock, small brain. Let’s begin! All we have to do is find our lucky victim. Let’s search for a guy who has been desiring a change in his simple life…

Ah, here we go. This is Joon-tae — isn’t he such a little cutie? A bit too plain for my tastes, but we’re here to fix him. And he wants to be fixed, too. Or at least he feels stuck in his life, too anxious to make a change and too uptight to let loose.

Let’s take him out of those stuffy clothes first, wash away some of the stress and anxiety. We’re not making him dumb, not quite yet, but a starting douche is so much easier to work with when their brain is quiet. Just look at Joon-tae now.

Oh, he’s feeling himself. Look at the start of that cocky smirk, the gentle hand on his thigh. He’s still a bit too bony, a bit too reserved, but we’re getting there. We have to show what’s beneath all those layers before we can fix it.

We’ll inflate his pecs, beef up his thighs, make his big biceps rub against his swollen chest. Each pump will ease his thoughts just a bit more, until he’s smirking like he’s done something worthwhile and inviting us to his private gun show.

He’s so cheeky now!

Speaking of that, let’s go ahead and plump up what’s below the belt. He’ll need a nice chunky ass, the kind you want to play with and bury your face in, but you already know he’ll never let you touch it. Hell, it smells like he doesn’t even touch it when he showers.

Did I forget to mention that Joon-tae was gay? Yeah, was. It’s not like he’s really losing anything. He was a virgin! But now his brain is shrinking under the lustful thoughts of big tits and tight asses, pussies made just for his fuck stick. His asshole closes up tight and a light dusting of sweaty hair covers up his former center of pleasure.

Something in particular swells to take its place, sensitive as can be and pressing against his boxers with such force that he moans in pure bliss. Low, and stupid, like a breeding bull in heat. His balls live up to the animal’s prestige, thick with cum and hanging low. All he can think is that he needs to find a hole to fill.

( click here )

Those tattoos are new, too. Aren’t they hot? Notice the tan, how oiled up he is? Oh, he’s almost there. Let’s blow him up just a bit more. He’s not just a douche, he’s the king of all douches. His biceps are bowling balls, his shoulders are cinder blocks, his thighs are fucking slabs of pure beef.

This is a real fucking man.

His face is sharp, his hair is gelled, he’s so cocky and so horny and so dumb. Who the fuck cares! All the ladies want his python, they want his seed deep in their guts, that’s all that matters. Suddenly Joon-tae is pretty damn confident, and pretty fucking happy with his life. He has it all figured out now.

JOON-TAE GETS THE PUSS-SAY. That’s his new slogan in life. He says it with a straight face, wearing whatever he fucking wants and sticking out his large tongue with a smirk. He’s hungry for pussy all the time, it’s all he ever wants, all he craves now is a bimbo moaning on his cock and and the crowd giving him their full attention.

Look at our creation. Isn’t he perfect now? Isn’t he the douche that you were hoping for? Aw, he’s so horny. Look at him palming that big package, look at all his sexy bling catching the light. His eyes are closed, he’s imagining the biggest rack right now, his palm is the wettest pussy. But it’s not enough. That will never be enough for this absolute. bull of a man.

And I’m sorry, but that’s where you come in. Desire is a funny thing, and it goes both ways. If he has to become the hulking god of a man you were craving, then you need to become the hole he’s itching to fill. Something easy and quick to use, something he can rely on when there’s a real pussy drought.

You find yourself shrinking quickly, compacting in on yourself, there’s no time to scream or fight or to consider your new fate. Suddenly you are made of plastic, suddenly you can fit in the palm of a hand, suddenly your entire being is nothing more than a soft pair of pussy lips and a gripped handle.

And this is where the story ends for you, worn from years of use and pink flesh torn into a gaping hole. He calls you his ‘pussy without life support,’ because that’s all women are to him now. A thing to keep the pussies wet, and throbbing, and ready for him. But here you are, so welcoming and soft, and he fucking loves you almost as much as the real deal.

Maybe that’s why he never cleans you out. Not that you should care.

It’s an honor to carry his spunk inside of you, just ask him what he thinks.

Naturally, this is the best fate for you.

You don’t want to be a big, smelly, alpha breeder? You can’t help being so attracted to superior men? Then being a fat, reeking ass is the best thing you could ever hope for. A straight man has no purpose for a faggot beyond paying for all his bills and sniffing his foot sweat, but there’s still a way for you to be a part of his life and have some use.

Everything goes black, your head feels so swollen and congested. All of your body feels like it’s been reduced to one big wobbling globe of meat, no arms or legs, you can’t even feel your cock anymore. Would you be hard right now? Would you be screaming? You try to call out for help, but your mouth is puckered and oh, so tight. Hard as you try, you have no control, you can’t get it to open.

Damp, sweaty fabric surrounds you. You don’t have a nose or eyes, or even a tongue, but your senses are still intact. You can taste that dank strip of fabric pulled taut across your new face, just like you gag internally at the line of sweat that drips down your new form, collecting in the crack that conceals your new asshole mouth, getting slick and lost within the tangle of swampy ass hairs.

You hear the distant chuckle of a man, a man you can sense is your new owner. “Brah, that Mexican food we had last night is still running through me. And now I’m chasing that shit down with a protein shake.” The deep voice echoes through the body you’re connected to, making your new form as fat cheeks jiggle and sway, causing the odor that clings to your flesh and wiry body hairs to invade your senses once more. “I gotta let one rip before we go into the gym, dude, or I’m gonna gas the whole place out.” Panic bubbles inside you, fear that you’re about to push a fart out from your new lips, but then you realize that the bubbling you feel isn’t metaphorical.

You’re a straight jock’s ass now. As his stomach churns protein and greasy bulking food, your new form knows exactly what its new purpose is. For the rest of your life, you’ll be producing the potent ass blasts that make his bros laugh and slap his back, you’ll be the big booty that everyone has to admire and slap playfully, never again will you feel the pleasure or touch of a man. Only rank farts and bad hygiene, all you’re good for is processing waste and being another big muscle on his glorious body. “Listen to this, bro!”

You try to scream as your new lips part, the sweaty fabric pressing against you, but your cry for help is lost under the trumpet that leaves the jock’s ass.

PRFFFFFFFFFFFT!

Hours later, the stud is admiring his gains in the gym mirror, wondering why his asshole keeps twitching more than usual. He reminds himself to go take a fat shit before heading home, but he takes time to admire his reflection.

“Stop, babe!! You have to stop or we’re going to keep changing!” When the jock said he’d help us enjoy the straight bar after my boyfriend & I spent the whole night complaining about the lack of fun drinks and cute decor, I never thought he’d curse my boyfriend to have a straight man’s impulses, and worse: a transformative kiss.

As soon as he pecked me on the cheek to calm me down, my beard pulled back into my skin, and when he kissed my neck my Adam’s apple sank away into a smooth line; at first he was trying to help me relax, shrugging off the jock’s warning, but the more feminine I started to appear the more I noticed it looked like his cock was fattening up and drooling pre in his shorts; looking at him I could see that his jaw was more square, his body more defined and still bulking up, his stare hungry.

When he grabbed me harshly and pulled me in, wrapping his arms around me like a trap and planting a big, wet kiss on my flat chest after ripping off my shirt, all I could do was gasp and moan and struggle to push him off as I felt my tits starting to swell, at first two soft mounds and then eventually fat bouncy mountains, his tongue swirling expertly around my sensitive flesh, I just kept moaning and trembling, the entirety of my body changing the longer he held contact; longer hair, narrower waist, wider hips, my cock receding as it began to be slurped by two wet, dripping folds. He has one hand squeezing my fat tit like it’s about to burst and I can feel as he reaches down his other one to stick his greedy fingers up my cunt, slick with juices.

“Please, baby,” I try to plead again as I feel the dizziness in my brain starting to take over my urge to fight back, missing my sweet and intelligent boyfriend and not at all recognizing this muscular, musky straight man treating my body like his sex toy, “remember we’re gay! You’re my boyfriend! Please don’t do this to me!”

The man that has taken the place of the love of my life pulls away from my jiggling breasts just long enough to smirk down at me, gripping me by the waist with strong hands and jerking me forward, sliding his cock into my pussy like it was made to fit his length. “This feel gay to you, baby?” he says gruffly, beginning to buck his hips as he pleasures my slit, a whiny moan leaving my lips, fucking away all my resistance and memories. “And I’m not your fucking boyfriend, slut.”

A chinstrap beard on his jaw, backwards ball cap on his head, thoughts full of fat bouncing tits and leaking pussies and blasting his load deep inside a bitch’s womb - unfortunately, he forgets entirely about the sweet, smooth twink he once loved, the one he was just celebrating his anniversary with only moments before the flash of red light came through their bedroom window and shone on them, and that was when Clark started bulking up and feeling horny and talking like a total douche despite his internal protests; “bro, I need to fuckin’ breed!”

He insisted, pleaded, pressing down on his skinny little boyfriend and holding him in place as his slender limbs were slurped back into his compacting body, head and face smoothing out as his tears turned into old cum stains, taking a vaguely feminine shape simply meant to help alpha men assert their dominance even in the mere act of jacking off their cocks.

When Clark shoots his load all over the sex toy’s insides, it forgets ever being anything more than its Master’s convenient fuck toy, enjoying the sensation of the cum cooling inside of it but feeling pity that the alpha seed was wasted on it. Master deserves to breed the real thing.

And that switch will never be flipped back down.

Your cock is gonna be hard forever now, throbbing and aching for some slick pussy. Aren’t chicks so fucking hot? Don’t you love the idea of a sexy bimbo sitting in your lap, running her hands over your powerful muscles? You deserve to be worshipped. Imagine your cock resting against her pussy slit, her whiny moans as she grinds against you like a bitch in heat. When your big hands close around her fat ass, she’s gonna feel so soft and good. That will pale in comparison to the feeling of her huge breasts filling your palms, your fingertips squeezing her squirting nipples.

Now that you want this, there’s no going back. Go be a good straight boy and jerk it to some lesbian porn.

Yeah, honestly bro you've hit the nail on the head.

To be fair, I was gay - nothing about female bodies used to turn me on. I fiercely defended my attraction to men, I took a guy to my senior prom, I came out in my early teens. I felt resolute in my feelings and was more than happy to say there absolutely no chance I'd ever be with a woman.

And now cut to the present, and nothing turns me on more than writing about gay guys realizing their straight potential and the wonders of female anatomy. There's just no fucking competition. Nothing gets me harder than a good GIF of a guy sucking a big pair of tits, and don't even get me started on eating out pussy. My fat tongue slipping between her folds, her juices running down my throat. One hand squeezed around her fat, squishy breast.

My body wants it so bad. It drives all my urges, makes my dick throb inside my shorts, gets me so horned up when I scroll through lesbian porn and just imagine those bimbos worshipping me. It's so easy for me to change all these guys because I've already started to change myself. I know how true and honest these urges really are. I can't stop daydreaming about busting my load inside a bitch and getting trapped with these desires.

Becoming a father. Becoming the kind of traditional man I thought I would never be. I want to fill a bottle with breast milk and chug it raw as I palm my package.

That's your body telling you how things are gonna be now, bro. This is your new normal.

It's in your muscle memory - even if you claim to have never wanted to be a breeder before now. This urge to spread your seed has been lying dormant in your DNA, just waiting for your desires to waken inside your throbbing cock and for the hunger for wet pussy to cloud your rational mind. Don't you love the way I talk about women and their bodies? The way the men in my stories just can't help but to suck on a pair of fat, bouncing tits? How their thick, slobby tongues want nothing more than to slide between some wet, slick pussy lips?

Imagine the squelch, the squirt, the sound of her high pitched moaning. The way her eyelids will flutter when you unleash your hot, thick load inside her.

You're rock hard, bro. Don't deny it. Your hips buck with pleasure, your package feels so fat and hot, your wide cock head rubbing the fabric of your underwear with each needy thrust you make. The young gay man who made his home inside your mind finds himself surrounded by a sudden harem of hot women, blondes and redheads and brunettes, all with their huge breasts exposed and their greedy fingers between their juicy thighs. This makes you moan in the outside world, your boner raging as you continue to gyrate, your work pants growing taut around your much stronger, hairier legs.

"Yeah, you like that, bitch?" an unfamiliar voice speaks from your lips, bristles of dark hair framing your strengthening jaw. Your hands grow larger and callused, reaching out in front of you and gripping around the waist of an imaginary slut. Your eyes turn dark and brooding, your once youthful face growing older and more grizzled. The strange voice continues to deepen and shift as you moan, your arms growing thick with muscle as your larger fingers pretend to reach towards a pair of jiggling tits. You swear you've never touched a set of breasts before, but your new body can conjure the feeling so easily, as if you were just squeezing a pair the very night before. Perky nipples under your fingertips, jiggling flesh in your palms. It's so natural. "Fuck. Tell Daddy what a needy whore you are."

Your once trendy hair pulls back into your scalp and darkens, becoming a close cropped masculine hairstyle. Your work clothes become more professional, colorful pastel shirt becoming a simple short sleeved blue button up, your khakis fading into simple denim. You're a straight man, after all. You don't feel the need to dress up or stand out. You just feel the need to push your cock into a wide open cunt, to feel the pussy juice accepting your shaft and allowing your nine inches to slide right in. Your nuts swell inside your underwear, full of virile seed that desperately wants to be fired into a waiting womb. You moan again, drool sliding down your stubbled chin, your expression taken over by primal lust.

The former you is still trapped inside his mind, staring at the group of women that have him cornered. To his horror, he watches as the moaning bimbos begin to cry out louder, reaching their soft hands up to grab their breasts as each of their tits begin to swell with milk. The old you watches in horror and amazement, all these big boobed beauties suddenly taking it to a new level, but your awe settles into shocked terror as suddenly all of the women begin to reach down to their stomachs, which begin to rapidly inflate as pussy juice squirts and runs down their trembling legs. In a matter of seconds, your fading former self is trapped with a harem of pregnant women. Everywhere you look is a wet cunt, a fat tit dribbling milk, a pair of kissable lips sighing a moan.

The old you doesn't stand a chance inside the mind of a breeder. He begins to shake, his image blurring and beginning to fade, all of his youth and former goals burning away to make room for the superior man who has made your body his home. Inside and out. This is you. The women in your mind are just memories of former and future conquests alike, an endless sea of women that will swell with your seed and raise your children. Nothing turns you on more than this. You have found your purpose in life.

And there's no shame in that. You want to be a father because you were quite literally born to be a father. And now, my dear friend, your new body is going to make sure you have no choice but to be fruitful and multiply.

Worrisome?! Bro, you should be so proud of yourself.

Your body and your mind are working in harmony to make you feel so good. You can't deny how wonderful it all is: as your shoulders stretch wide, your bony chest inflating with muscle and fat, your spine cracking and stretching as you grow so much taller. A whole head above where you once were. You were so small, so neat and contained, but you'll never feel that way again. All your romantic aspirations and heartfelt dreams seem to vaporize inside your mind, your head lolling back in pleasure as your thin jaw cracks and widens into a chiseled, hard line. Your thin lips plump up, opening in slack awe, a rank pool of protein rich drool collecting in your mouth and starting to drip down your chin. Where it touches skin, bristles of beard hair erupt, turning dark as the blonde hair on your scalp turns brunette. Your thin arms swell with power, bony limbs becoming the home to two football sized biceps. You hold the pose there in a double bicep flex, your now stubbled face moans as your nose pops and grows larger in a masculine arch, all while two forests of sweaty hair erupt from under your arms.

The smell is pungent and thick. Just like your cock.

The scent fogs your brain.

"Huhuhuhu," the dull laugh leaves your new lips without your control, and your bigger, callused hand reaches down to grab your average package. You moan, wiry hair coating your chest and arms, your brow becoming stern and your eyes turning dark with lust. Nothing remains of the pretty blonde twink who was just standing where you stood. Except for the legs that start to stretch, calves becoming hard as rocks and thighs becoming juicy with thick muscle and fat. Your body inflates with power, and strength, all while your massive hand starts to stroke the waking monster within your underwear. The once unimpressive shaft begins to swell with blood and testosterone, inching forward until a visible bulge of man meat strains the front of your sweats. No one can see it, lost in the size of your package, but you can feel your new bull nuts swaying in their sac. So large, so swollen, desperate to shoot your seed everywhere.

All intelligence and kindness fades from your eyes as you continue to drool, now properly jerking yourself off through your tights. Your cock aches, all while the last remaining essence of you faces a losing battle inside your brain. Everything that made you who you were collapses and reforms, all while what remains of your conviction and original self try to hold on for dear life. But then the women start to appear inside your mind, and you start stroking so much faster. With more purpose. The faggot that used to be your true self finds himself squished between two horny, moaning sluts. His cries are muffled between two fat, bouncing breasts.

Ignore him.

Don't feel ashamed of this. This is what your body needs: this is what a man's cock gets so incredibly hard for. You see the bimbos in your mind, delicate hands squeezing two massive double D tits, bouncing them in front of you. The feminine curves of their body, their plump and kissable cock sucking lips, your brain fries all of your former smarts and charisma to make room for the breeder that has made his home inside your once pathetic vessel.

Now you are a god among lesser men. Unashamed of your masculinity or your desires.

PRFFFFFFFFT!

You let a hot protein fart rip as you bust your nut inside your pants, laughing stupidly at the eggy scent of your protein rich musk and thinking about how you need a good hangout session with your bros. Maybe find a nerd or two to wedge between your smelly ass cheeks and gas out their stupid, dorky brains.

But more than anything, still licking your lips and thinking about those desperate moaning women, their thin fingers slipping inside greedy pussy lips, juices trailing down their thighs, massive breasts looking so swollen and suckable. What you want more than anything is what you now realize you've always wanted: to shove your cock into the tight pussy it was designed to fill, and to unleash your load into the fertile womb of a bitch.

Listen to that inner voice, bros. That's the real you telling you there's nothing to be worried about. Let him out to play.

It’s almost like that’s my goal, bro.

All guys need a strong, masculine presence in their life. Someone who will guide them and mold them, and I can tell this is attracting you. Do you want someone to talk about what a big, powerful, bad mannered straight man you are? Did your parents fail to set you down the path that now excites you to no end? It’s not your fault, it’s not even theirs.

Sometimes, life isn’t able to give us the tools to become the men we want so badly to be. Maybe you’re a little heavier than the average, maybe you’re too delicate, but something in your upbringing has set you apart from the men that are making you shove your hand down your shorts, stroking your shaft to mental image of musk and muscle and douchebag behavior.

If it sounds so appealing, that’s because your deeper being is begging you to realize this is what you want. It makes you so hard, huh? When I describe a thin guy’s shoulders spreading outwards, broad and strong with bouncing pecs. Beefy arms, tree trunk legs, thick beards reeking of dried pussy juice. The men I specialize in are a special breed, the elite. Of course you’re attracted to them, of course your little brain goes fuzzy and dizzy when you start to jerk it to the idea of a fag becoming a conservative, straight man.

Your cock throbs in your hand, each jerk like a flash in your mind, urging you to look through the illusion you’ve created and see the truth. You get so turned on by these stories because you wish it would happen to you, as if these changes need any magic. Imagine a beautiful woman cupping her fat tits, her slender fingers squeezing her nipples, her body jiggling and shivering with pleasure.

If the idea of sliding your fat cock between her boobs excites you, thrusting until your seed coats her bimbo face, then I’m sorry to tell you, my friend: you’re a straight man. And your body, your former values, are clouding your former rationality and urging you to recognize the kind of man you should allow yourself to become. Just stop taking everything so seriously, allow your thoughts to slow, stop worrying about manners and woke views.

Just think about those huge tits, bro. Think about a squirting pussy, imagine your thick tongue sliding up and down her folds, plunging into her. Imagine your strong hands on her tiny waist, your own stubble on your chiseled jaw growing slick with sweat and juices. Lick your lip, listen to yourself growl, your voice is low and powerful and so demanding. This isn’t a story, this isn’t a wish gone wrong, this is a human male realizing how badly he wants to be a traditional man. No more holding in your farts or belches, no more caring about people’a opinions, no more seeing this woman as anything more than a sex toy to blow your load into. She’s not wife material, brah, but that doesn’t mean she’s not ready to be a mother. Women should know your place like you know yours.

Your bones crack and shift, your expression turns to a sneer, your smile is always so cocky. You are thick with muscle, a cloud of body odor lingering around your glorious muscles, and your fat nine incher is already oozing pre. This is the life you want, the version of you that you want so desperately to take the steering wheel. So let him, bro, let that lustful trance take you where you need to go. Hit the gym, change your political opinions, accept that your cock wants to be deep inside a warm, wet cunt.

Don’t wait for magic, my bro.

There’s nothing more magical than a man who knows his place: and you’re never going to forget where you stand. At the top of the ladder, biceps flexed and your grin smug. Lesser men will wish to be like you, fags are gonna jerk it to your pictures. You just focus on the finer things in life. Sports, cigars, letting your nasty habits be heard and smelled.

Like pulling that blonde bimbo closer, your huge cock thrusting inside her slick folds, her silicone filled tits jiggling from the force. She moans, and you echo the sound with a low growl. You’ll never need to stroke your cock again to my stories — knowing you’ll never run out of fresh, tight pussy to ruin.

Let the trance win, brother. Let the better version of you free.

You're letting this affect you the right way, my man. All my readers should learn from you.

It's been feeling so natural, hasn't it? The way your cock starts to grow fat in your underwear the minute I start describing a hot chick. All those guys you used to hate, the ones you roll your eyes at and claim so proudly to be different than, there's something about them that has you fascinated. You can't help it. It's like some part of yourself, deep down, is calling out to be realized. To be brought to the surface.

To be set free from the cage you've been building. You love the way I make these straight bros speak, the way they act with snide arrogance, so sluggish and dumb and yet so primal. An apex predator, an alpha, a handsome stud with rippling abs and huge biceps always flexed. A cocky smirk, a strong jaw. Not to mention the forests of damp hair beneath his arms, the sour stench of sweat, cum, and sex lingering around his body like noxious gas. He's a stink bomb that is continuously going off.

You love how he belches, how he farts and blames it on the protein, how all he cares about are his brothers. Toxic masculinity really isn't so bad when you're standing on this side of the fence. Your feet are starting to feel secure on the ground, aren't they? Wide, and long, and so firm. Dusted with wiry curls of dark hair. You feel sweat squelch between your fat toes, but you pay it no mind. You think about being surrounded by your bros, how they'll joke about your huge feet and how you must have a massive cock, too. You love the kind of men I write about. You want their respect, their approval, their brotherhood so badly.

You are the kind of man I write about. Because if your cock is getting so hard to the idea of embracing traditional masculinity, if you're about to start jerking your cock to the descriptions I will soon make, then the truth has already revealed itself. I barely have to change anything. Your bones crack and shift, your shoulders grow broad and your nose is strong, your brow harsh and your eyes blazing with dominance. Your body inflates with courage, with conceit, as your leaking, lengthening cock already starts to ooze a thick wad of pre. It's so easy to reshape the outside. Pump up the muscles, make the features a little more rugged, all I'm really doing is making the outside match the inside.

There's a familiar voice that sounds like your own calling out, demanding you to snap out of it, to value your identity and what you know to be true, that this is just a fetish and the world you're stepping into isn't the right one. But it feels so natural, so good, as that whiny voice gets drowned out under the low, domineering tone that makes its home inside your head. I want my cock in a wet cunt, the new you drawls, your wider hips bucking with pleasure and your fat cock jiggling in your tight underwear. You can see the engorged veins beneath the fabric, the fat cock head oozing pre and leaving a splotch. It jerks in place, bobs up and down, it wants so desperately to be plunged between a pair of bouncing, fat, silicone filled tits.

You throw your head back with a low, masculine moan, your meaty hand reaching down to grab your package, stroking your thumb along the shaft. Every trace of the old you, the lie you were telling, is eradicated beneath a tidal wave of new information. All that fancy college learning goes down the drain, all those old dreams and desires and falsehoods, all that's left is a powerful, straight conservative man who knows exactly what he wants. He has never questioned his instincts a day in his life, he has always known he has been an unrivaled male specimen. Wasting his superior seed and not siring a shit ton of sons would be a crime.

Your seed.

It swells in your balls, it makes you ache and tingle, all of the feelings and lust that are taking over belong to you. There's no going back. You're one cocky fucker, a man sculpted by genetics and a conservative upbringing, a man who has always known where he stands in the hierarchy. At the fucking top, with your massive muscles exposed and your fat cock pointing at the next babe it wants to erupt inside of. You continue to jerk your cock, losing all memory of my stories and my silly little kinks, all too happy to spend a night being pleasured by your callused fist knowing it'll take you no effort to get hard again. You think about which bitch you're gonna call later, the blonde with the bee stung lips or the sexy goth, and your cock pulses with the need to impregnate a fertile womb.

Your mind settles into a happy haze of sports knowledge, cockiness, and camaraderie for your fellow traditional man. Most of all, forever filling the empty space of your brain, what remains of you will be wedged in eternity between the hot, breedable women you can't go an hour without daydreaming about. A hot blonde and a brunette with huge tits are scissoring in your mind, making your red blooded cock surge with need and lust. Every last essence of the gay man you once were is smothered between rubbing folds, bouncing breasts, and oozing pussy juice. This loss of self doesn't bother you. It doesn't really feel like you're losing anything at all.

You blow your load all over your chest, basking in the afterglow for all of ten seconds, and then you lift your muscled leg and squeeze out a droning protein fart. The strong smell makes you proud, and the loud sound makes you chuckle like an idiot. Life is going to be so simple, so correct for you from now on. No going back, only forward.

Go ahead and shoot a message to your future baby mama. It's time for you to breed.

I’ve managed to avoid it so far, but for how much longer? Converted accounts are already following me, am I the next target? Will I end up drooling over the prospect of my next ‘breeding’ conquest?

Bro: we write about what makes our cocks hard.

If you’re a man and listening to your brain, your biological urge, then it’s already far too late. You’ll be among our ranks before you can process it - changing your username to highlight your pro breeder lifestyle, framing all your stories around gay men from all walks of life being warped to take a single, straight path. Because you know deep down this is what the masses want to read. It’s what you want to write.

And it does make you hard, doesn’t it? The mental picture of some polite, well mannered gay man suddenly feeling that shift deep down inside of him. A bubbling energy, a rising heat. His shoulders popping outwards, his stance now wide and powerful. Thin arms become engorged with muscle, a boyish face hardens and a lantern jaw grows dark stubble. Those frightened whimpers turn into low, masculine grunts. A trendy hairstyle retracts into something shorter and more traditional, the man’s spine stretches as he grows taller until he’s above six feet. Thick with beef, coated with sweat drenched hair.

From the shell of a clueless little twink, a real man rises. Patriotic tattoos swirl across his bronzed skin, his dark brown eyes turn dull and animalistic, hidden behind an apathetic pair of sunglasses. His body is crafted to perception, every part of him large and thick and radiating power. His legs are like tree trunks, his hands and feet huge. And fuck, that little useless cock that was once limp between his legs is now an oozing, throbbing serpent. All of five minutes ago, he was just a little fag jerking off to an story about turning into a straight douchebag, stories like the ones you’ll be writing.

Now, that newly minted straight man has found himself in a new reality, spared from another pathetic date with his own hand. The world shifts, a crying little voice is silenced under a toxic amount of arrogance, and the stud exhales tendrils of smoke as he puffs from the cigar between his lips. His callused palms settle comfortable around a woman’s waist, his huge cock sliding in and out of her slick pussy, his balls swollen and ready to unleash his potent load. He doesn’t question the bimbo under his control. It feels natural.

The bitch moans as she takes his cock, her fat tits bouncing beneath her, his wide palm reaching around to roughly squeeze one as he prepares to blow his load all over her fertile womb. His seed will be planted. This is his purpose, this is his calling, pussy and working out and being an alpha are all he’ll ever give a shit about.

And from one gay to straight TF writer to another, my brother, I have a feeling you agree he’s much better off.

More easily than you can imagine.

The thing about those army bros is that they value their own — when you place that many macho men in the same space, that toxic arrogance starts to merge together. Love for the self becomes love for the brother when both men are identical. If those dudes love themselves for being proudly patriotic, traditional, domineering straight men, then it stands to be proven that they’ll love any dude who is similar.

And no offense, bro, but is your head feeling alright? Just looking at you and all the guys in your barrack, I’m struggling to find who’s the outlier. Because all I see is an army of straight douchebags, flexing and talking about their conquests with brash, loud voices. I don’t see any outcast gay dudes at all. But I do see you: the version of you that you were always destined to be.

Those broad shoulders, that killer smirk. You blend in so perfectly in this pale, chiseled crowd. Your dark hair is tousled and styled traditionally, your jaw strong and your chin dimpled. Your dark eyes are warm with hunger, but there’s little to no intelligence dancing within them. That body of yours is spectacular, as handsome and classic as your face, but it doesn’t seem like you need me to tell you that. The way you carry yourself, the way your biceps flex on instinct, I find it hard to believe you haven’t been obsessed with yourself for your entire life.

But the real truth is badly hidden by those army slacks; your cock is engorged and hard, forming a bulge that all your bros can see, but none of them give a shit. They’ll tease you in the locker room, call you “donkey dick” and say it looks like you need to drain your blue balls, but you know none of the men around you could give a shit about your physical appearance. Same way that the only thing you look for in your army brothers is a similarity to yourself.

Wedding band tight around your finger, testosterone and patriotism and lust flooding your veins, you chug the beer can in your hand until you let loose a massive belch that makes all your new best bros laugh and cheer. They slap you on the back, reminding you of where you left off in conversation.

“Oh, yeah, my wife,” you drawl, smirking at the horny dudes around you, most of them married just like you. All desperate to get back home and load their women up with more kids to raise. “Let me show y’all the nudes I have saved. When I tell you her tits could even make a fag blow his load, you have no fuckin’ idea.”

But I do.

And I, and all your new brothers, have to agree that you are so much better off. Go make your country proud, my man, and let the thought of your wife’s bouncing tits and squirting pussy be the subject of all your dreams. I’d say y’all are ready to welcome a fourth son.

You know what? How about I just go ahead & embrace it. I’ll make sure those commissions & follower stories are shared and handled as intended, my time to write has just been cramped and the spare moments I have to set aside for my kinks are limited; but as I’ve said time and time again, I’m a proud gay man who doesn’t match the views of my characters, this is all purely sexual. I literally moved out of the south to come to the Bay Area, I vote liberal.

We jerk off to men turning into socks that get soaked in sweat and used as a cum rag; we all love reading about straight men turning into big booty himbos that crave cock. Sexuality change is innately hot, and I enjoy and am excited by primal, masculine instincts warping men like me into something entirely different. I have no shame in my kink and enjoyment for the niche of stories I write.

Like I said, I’ll make sure the promised stories are finished and posted as I’m able, but going forward I’m just gonna embrace what I like and write what I want to write. And you guessed it: there’s gonna be a lot of sweet, tidy gay men finding their place as powerful, dominant straight men.

So save the whining for someone else, my dude. Feel that cloudy sluggishness inside your head? The tightness of your muscles as you read more and more of this message? Yeah, go ahead and load up some classic lesbian porn. Feel your cock get fat and hard in your palm, stare at their huge tits bouncing up and down, juices leaking from their pussies. Think about how badly you want to breed them.

You should use your brain power for better things: like planning your next conquest.