Untitled

This document reports the events that transpired during a controlled study conducted on [REDACTED], who consented to participate in our trial, to document the physiological, cognitive, and behavioural changes in a human subject infected with a new strain of the Asian Flu, here denominated by the acronym IND.

To help recording the results, Dr. Kenji Nakamura, the lead researcher, recorded his observations throughout the experiment.

The subject was a young caucasian male, with a lean build and average height. He was selected for the trial due to his good health and lack of pre-existing conditions. The experiment was conducted in a secure laboratory environment, with all necessary precautions taken to ensure the safety of the subject and the research team. Below you will find the transcription of his observations.

Logan couldn’t believe how well this date was going and how lucky he was to meet the guy who was now standing at the foot of his bed, naked and rock hard, getting ready to fuck him. He thought back on the fact that he almost passed up a chance to serve this man just because he was on a date with his girlfriend. He thought how silly he was that they both were bothered that his new Master came up to them on the street, took out his hefty member, and started to wave it back and forth.

After that, the night was a blur. Logan quickly broke up with that girl and accepted to be his Master’s obedient cock whore for the night. Logan found himself happy to follow any command that his Master gave him including to strip down to his underwear for the walk back to his Master’s place.

Once inside, Logan was quickly brought to the bed and was commanded to lay down on his back with his legs up. He quickly obeyed. As he held his legs up, he felt his Master’s cock slowly start to enter him. Even though he was deep in trance, he knew this was the final step before total submission to his powerful Master.

Logan felt his Master grab his waist and started to thrust back and forth, pushing his huge cock deeper into him. Logan couldn’t think of anything else at this moment but the pleasure he was feeling from having such a powerful cock inside him. He let out a series of moans causing his Master to thrust faster.

Logan laid there, completely lost in pleasure until he noticed his Master saying something. After each thrust, he noticed that his Master repeated that he was nothing more than an obedient hole. Logan wasn’t sure why but he found himself believing that statement more and more as he laid being fucked.

Logan laid there taking cock and listening to his Master repeat that phrase over and over. He was lost in the repetitive routine.

*Thrust* You are nothing more than an obedient hole

*Thrust* You are nothing more than an obedient hole

*Thrust* You are nothing more than an obedient hole

All of a sudden something changed. He felt his Master thrust and remain deep inside him. He waited for a moment, hoping to hear his Master’s deep voice utter the phrase he had been so accustomed to hearing but nothing came from his Master’s mouth. To his surprise, he found himself opening his mouth and speaking outloud that he was nothing more than an obedient hole. His Master thrust again, and once more, Logan found himself repeating that same phrase.

This went on for about another hour. The same routine. His Master would thrust and Logan would state what he was. Logan felt his Master start to thrust faster and harder. He didn’t care. He was after all, nothing more than an obedient hole. On one final thrust, he felt his Master’s cock start to pulse and shoot inside home. At that moment, the Logan that he once was, was gone. In his place was nothing more than an obedient hole.

Logan laid there as his Master cleaned up. Once his Master returned, Logan was commanded to follow him into another room. Inside that room stood 5 men, all with blank expressions on their faces, glazed eyes, and a string of drool dripping from their open mouths onto their fit bodies. Each man was holding a sign that read pole or hole.

Logan’s mind could not comprehend what he was seeing but it didn’t matter to him anyways. He was just an obedient hole and it wasn’t his place to ask questions. As he was commanded to stand next to a man whose cock was hard and leaking and was holding the sign that had the word pole on it, he did as he was commanded to do and took his place beside the man.

As Logan took his place, he was commanded to hold a sign that read hole. He took it from his Master’s hands and held it up to his chest. His Master gave him a kiss and started to explain what life as a hole would be like.

Logan listened as his Master explained all about how he would be rented out to men to earn money and to bring them pleasure. That was Logan’s life now. He was just a hole that would be used to bring pleasure.

Bryce couldn’t believe that he met a hot Doctor who was running a muscle growth study. He had always wanted to put on muscle but his skinny frame seemed intent on remaining that way. When the Doctor informed him that he still had one spot open, he quickly volunteered to join the study.

Throughout the next year, Bryce would arrive to the Doctor’s lab once a weak and strip down naked so measurements could be taken. Then he would watch a few videos about a new workout technique or diet option. At first these videos were annoying to watch. Sometimes he swore he heard someone talking in the background or saw a random word quickly flash across the screen. When he told the Doctor about this, the Doctor just told him to stopping worrying about it and ignore it so that is exactly what Bryce did.

As the months went by, Bryce found himself incapable of focusing on his studies and found that he only cared about his workouts and diet. He eventually stopped going to classes. He continued to ignore all requests from his teachers and guidance counselors. He just found school so boring now that he couldn’t even give it a moment of his attention anymore. All that mattered now was giving the study his all.

He eventually received a letter that stated that he flunked out school but by the time it arrived, he found that he couldn’t read it so he took it to his next appointment with the Doctor. As the Doctor read the letter to him, he smiled at the end, put his hand on his pumped up pecs and informed him that he was now ready for Part 2 of the study. Bryce found himself cumming uncontrollably as the Doctor said that.

As part 2 of the study started, without even realizing it, he started to isolate himself. His friends and family no longer interested in. They would always act concerned about the changes he was making to his life but he knew deep down that they didn’t care. The only person who cared about him and wanted what’s best for him was the Doctor so he would do anything the Doctor says.

Eventually, Bryce was evicted from his small apartment but he didn’t worry. Today was his least appointment with the Doctor. He couldn’t wait to see if the Doctor would be proud of his growth.

He quickly rushed to the Doctor’s office, went to exam room one, removed his shirt, and waited. The moment the Doctor entered the room, Bryce’s cock started yo throb. He started yo tell the Doctor that he was evicted but the Doctor told him that he was already aware and had a solution for that problem but first, all he had to do was watch a new video.

When Bryce awoke, he has no memory of how he use to be but found that he didn’t care at all about that. He knew now who he was and now, he was the Doctor’s perfect muscle toy. All he must do now, is serve the Doctor so he was so happy when the Doctor informed him that the study was a success and that he was ready for Phase 3.

As Bryce listened to the Doctor explain Phase 3, he found his cock start to constantly leak. For phase 3, Bryce would be sold to the highest bidder at a secret auction. Once sold, Bryce would be programmed into his owner’s personal sex toy.

When the Doctor finished speaking, he found himself getting on his knees and crawling to the Doctor. He was so happy that the Doctor chose him for the study that he started to deep throat the Doctor’s cock. He just didn’t know any other way to thank the man for transforming him into the perfect muscle slave.

This story was requested by @musclejedi-tameem, thanks for the idea!

The desert air of Arabia had always hummed with a frequency Evan couldn’t quite name—a raw, heavy masculinity that made his own pulse quicken. As he wandered the sun-drenched streets, Evan felt like a ghost among giants. He looked down at his own pale, hairless arms, the soft curve of "baby fat" around his middle, and felt a profound ache to be more. Not just a little stronger, but an absolute force of nature.

You’re sitting in the breakroom, poking at your wilted salad with a plastic fork, wishing—not for the first time—that life felt like anything other than a spreadsheet-filled hamster wheel. You’ve got your MBA, a good downtown job in project management, and a perfectly respectable apartment with a view of the parking garage. You’re white, skinny, thirty, smart. Gay, liberal, kind. The kind of guy who goes to Pride, donates to causes, and reads The Atlantic on your lunch break.

But none of that stops you from feeling like something’s missing. Not just romance—you’ve been single since that barista ghosted you—but a sense of power, of presence. Guys like you don’t get noticed at the gym, and they sure as hell don’t get rich selling selfies.

You think of those cocky Instagram “fitness influencers”—Arab gym bros flexing shirtless in sweatshorts, dumb as bricks but raking in money, slapping girls’ asses and bragging about their gains. Disgusting, sure, but… God, life would be easy if you could be him, just for a bit.

You shouldn’t have stayed for the late night gym session, but you had energy to burn. Maybe that was your first mistake.

Your second mistake? Finding those sweatpants.

They were crumpled near the lockers, stained and damp, like some slob just peeled them off. Thick grey cotton, stained at the waistband, with “KASIM” scrawled in permanent marker. You wrinkle your nose. They reek of sweat and some awful cheap cologne, like AXE body spray and ass crack. You mean to toss them into lost and found, but the second your fingers graze the waistband—heat punches through you.

Your knees buckle. There’s a voice inside, soft, coaxing—Put them on, bro. Try ‘em. You want to laugh it off, but your hands are already undoing your gym shorts, and next thing you know, you're pulling those damp, nasty sweatpants up over your thighs.

They’re warm. Wet. Clingy.

And they fit.

The second the waistband snaps tight, pain lances through your thighs. You double over with a gasp as your legs start swelling—no, thickening. Your pale legs stretch wide, corded muscle pushing out from your skinny frame. You clutch the bench for support, eyes wide as your calves bulk up, hair vanishing as your skin takes on a darker, warmer hue.

“Fuck—fuck, no—” you whisper. You try to tear them off, but your fingers feel clumsy, dumb.

Your shirt’s soaked with sweat now—your sweat—but it smells... wrong. Like locker room stench. Like his stench.

Pain surges up your spine as your ass balloons, thighs thickening into solid, muscled trunks. The sweatpants are riding low now, waistband dipping below your hips, exposing your deepening V-cut.

And then, worse than the pain, comes the heat between your legs.

You moan—loud, dumb, deep. Your voice cracks, not high and nasally anymore but gravelly, like you've smoked a pack a day. Your balls drop, your cock swelling in the damp fabric, fat and heavy.

“What—what the fuck—”

You stumble to the mirror. What you see isn’t you.

You’ve never looked like this.

Your arms are huge, chest pumped, pecs twitching under your shirt—which you tear off instinctively, revealing abs so sharp they look carved. Your skin’s a rich bronze now, sweat beading on every ridge, and your pits reek like dude, pure, unfiltered gym bro. You gag on your own scent—but your cock pulses at it.

Your face—it’s morphing. Hair darkens, curls tight. Your nose broadens. Your jaw juts out, heavy with a thickening beard. You try to think, to remember your old self, but there’s a fog settling in, thick and heavy, like beer foam and cologne.

You mutter— “Nah, nah, I’m…I’m Ryan… no, no, I’m…” Your accent’s all wrong now. New Jersey? Slurred, dumb. “I’m fuckin’ KASIM, bro, y’know? Like, real fuckin’ man.”

You groan, grabbing your chest as your pecs bounce. You can’t stop flexing.

You need to lift.

You’re stumbling, staggering through the gym, your thick thighs chafing—fuck, they’re rubbing so bad—but the sweatpants cling like a second skin, grey cotton soaked dark with your musk. Every step makes your juicy ass bounce, heavy now, fat in a way that no gay man should ever want. You groan, gripping the lockers as your back arches and your glutes pulse, swelling.

You feel your underwear snap— fuck, you don’t wear underwear anymore. You never needed it. That ass is too thick, too greedy. It’s not for cock. Not anymore. Not ever again.

“Yo, why da fuck would any dude be stickin’ his dick up there, bro? Fuckin’ sick. Dat’s for SHITTIN’, bro. And maybe rippin’ some FAT fuckin’ farts when I’m PUMPIN’ iron!”

The voice screams in your skull, your voice, but twisted, LOUD, dumb. Every word echoes in your head with that awful thick Jersey Shore bro accent, like it’s bubbling up from your balls, not your brain.

You scream—but it comes out a grunt, deep, heavy, stupid.

Pain lances across your chest as your pecs jerk, pulse, and bulge, twitching like meat on a grill. You watch, horrified, as they bounce up and down on their own, soaked in a sheen of hot, rank sweat, your nipples darkening and thickening like two dime-sized targets. You grab them—instinct—but your hands are massive, fingers thick and rough with calluses. You used to have nice hands. Typing hands. Writer’s hands.

Now?

Just dumb meat-paws, perfect for gripping weights and grabbing pussy.

“Yo, chicks love gettin’ groped by these mitts, bro. You see how much I can bench, huh? You see this fuckin’ chest, bro?”

The voice again. Your voice—but dumber, cockier, LOUDER. Like a constant frat boy douchebag in your skull, pounding on your sanity, beating it out of you like it’s a fuckin’ keg at a party.

You slap your face, trying to hold on, trying to think.

Your name—what was it? Something smart. Clean.

David? Eric?

But your mouth’s already saying “Yo, it’s fuckin’ KASIM, bro! Da fuck you lookin’ at? I’m gonna hit some curls ‘n’ then take a fuckin’ protein shit, y’feel me?”

You grab your head, screaming as your scalp tingles—your dark curls growing thicker, greasier, perfectly trimmed into a bro fade. The beard’s thick now, sharp at the jawline, framing your face like a goddamn fuckboi.

You try to think about politics, about literature, about anything real, but your thoughts are slipping, draining like cum down a locker room drain.

You remember a guy you liked—he had a soft smile, a gentle voice.

“Yo, fuck that gay shit, bro, that’s fuckin’ DISGUSTIN’. I don’t even think ‘bout dudes, bro, makes me wanna puke.”

NO. That wasn’t you. That can’t be you.

But your dick’s hard in the sweatpants—thick, fat, and useless for anything but fucking chicks raw and pounding out a load. Your ass quivers, heavy, a meat shelf for squats and nothing else.

It rips a loud, wet fart.

You moan, horrified—but the Jersey bro voice in your skull laughs, shouting:

“Yo, fuckin’ RIPE, bro! Let that shit OUT, dawg. This ass ain’t for takin’ dicks, bro, it’s for SHITTIN’! Fuckin’ protein bombs all day, bro!”

Tears roll down your face—but they sting, evaporating in your fevered heat. Your skin’s glowing now, bronzed, oily with sweat. Your armpits reek, soaked and hairy. You lift your arm—and you smile.

It smells like dominance.

“Yo, lemme hit da gym, fuck some bitches, get wasted, and fart in some fag’s face, bro! USA, baby! CHRISTIAN POWER!”

The words spill from your mouth, the voice now yours, loud, dumb, cocky, unapologetic. You want to scream—but all that comes out is:

“Yo, I gotta lift, bro—dis pump ain’t gonna grow itself!”

You bounce your pecs in the mirror. They obey.

Your brain slips, melting under the pressure, and your last thought is:

Never again… never again a cock… this ass just for farts, sweat… and shits.

You can’t stop flexing.

You’re glued to the mirror, watching your obscene, sweaty reflection pose like some douchebag god. Your pecs bounce, twitching uncontrollably every time you even think about control. And you can’t think, not really. Not anymore.

There’s too much noise—LOUD Jersey bro noise—inside your skull. Thoughts don’t form, they just come out like shouts, burps, grunts.

You feel like you’re melting from the neck up, brain sloshing, dripping out your ears as your jaw pops, broadens, locking into a permanent smug smirk.

Your head jerks with each final twitch, skull pounding with every beat of your now massive, hairy heart. You used to care—about people, causes, ideas—but now the only thing pounding in your chest is a need to dominate, to be seen, to get your fuckin’ dick sucked by some tight-ass chick who knows you’re better than her.

Because you are.

“Bro… I’m fuckin’ PERFECT. Look at dis body, bruh! Ain’t nobody out there touchin’ these gains, yo.”

You shout it, loud, to no one—just your own reflection—but it echoes like a sermon.

You grab your dick through the sweatpants—it’s massive, throbbing, fat—and you laugh, dumb and LOUD.

You can’t even remember what it felt like to be gay. That life’s gone, erased. What the fuck kinda pussyboy was that? Books? Protests? Feelings?

“FUCKIN’ BITCH-ASS SHIT, BRO.”

You say it without thinking, because you don’t think.

Your tongue’s too busy licking your perfect, white teeth. Your lips curl into a cocky snarl, your beard itches like fuck, thick and greasy, and you love it. You smell like testosterone, cheap cologne, ass crack, and victory.

And then you fart—a loud, wet BLAAARRRT—that rips through the gym like a foghorn. It echoes. It lingers.

You moan.

“AWWWW FUCK YEAH, BRO—DAT’S HOW A REAL MAN DOES IT.”

You’re pounding your own chest now, thumping it like a gorilla. Your juicy, fat-ass cheeks clap with each bounce. You slap it, laugh, and let another fart rip. There’s no shame. Just pride.

This ass don’t take cock, bro.

You strut through the gym like you own it, grabbing your fat crotch with one hand, chugging a protein shake with the other. Every chick stares. Every dude steps back.

And you LOVE it.

Your necklace—a thick black cross—bounces against your sweaty pecs. You grin, flexing in the mirror, raising your arms in a bro-blessing.

“ALL GLORY TO CHRIST, BRO. GOD MADE ME PERFECT. ALPHA MALE. MUSCLE. PUSSY. BEER. GAINS. AMEN.”

You’ve ascended, bro.

No more thoughts. No more doubts. No more gay. Just KASIM, the thickest, straightest, loudest Arab Jersey douchebag on Earth.

And all you wanna do now... is rip a few more nasty farts, flex, and fuck bitches ‘til your balls are empty.

You grab your cock, spit on the floor, and growl:

“YO, WHO WANTS TO GET BRED BY THIS FUCKIN’ BEAST, BRO?!”

You own this gym.

Not on paper—nah, that shit’s for fags and nerds. You own it by presence. Every dumb bro moves when you walk in. Every chick stares—and today, she’s here.

Blonde. White. Tight-ass leggings. Perfect tits.

You see her squatting near the mirrors, sweat dripping between her cleavage, her little white sports bra barely containing those jugs. Her ponytail bounces as she pushes out another rep.

You grunt, loud.

“Daaamn, bitch, that ass is lookin’ THICK today.”

She turns—wide eyes, a little shocked—but you’re already there, hand on her hip, the other sliding right over that tight, peachy ass. You grab it, full meat grip, fingers digging in like she’s your property.

“Ayo, lil’ mama, I’m gonna fuck your brains out after this set,” you growl, hot breath in her ear, your funk washing over her like a tidal wave—BO sweat, cologne, dick stank, and a fresh fart still clinging to your ass.

She gags—but her eyes flutter. Her face flushes. Her breath hitches.

You see it start.

Her hair—blonde, sure—but now it’s getting blonder, turning platinum, silky, like some porn star barbie. Her lips plump, glossed, mouth falling open in a dumb smile.

“Omigod… you smell like… so manly,” she moans, tits swelling, her tan deepening, her nipples rock hard against the fabric.

You laugh, low, cocky.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ love it, huh? Can’t fuckin’ resist alpha stink, bitch. This scent? That’s breeder power, baby.”

She whimpers, grinding back into your hand. You slap her ass, hard, leaving a red print.

Her leggings tighten, her waist shrinking, ass bubbling out bigger, rounder. She’s moaning now, needy, staring up at you like a dumb little bimbo slut.

“Fuck… need your dick… daddy…”

You spit on the floor, flex your pecs, let out a wet fart right in her direction.

“Dumb bitch. I’ll wreck you. But you ain’t my girlfriend. You’re just a tight hole for my meat, ya feel me?”

She nods, eyes glazed, tits bouncing, body now pure bro-girl perfection.

You grab her ponytail, growl in her ear:

“Let’s go breed, slut.”

And you drag her to the locker room—your domain.

Description

AE-786 presents itself as a plain 24-karat golden ring, 22 mm in diameter, with no visible engravings, markings or anomalous radiation under standard testing. When placed on the finger of a living human being the ring fuses to skin and bone, becoming a permanent part of the wearer's body. From that moment the wearer becomes the king and gains the ability to propagate the effect through any skin-to-skin contact. Each new instance becomes an exact physical and mental replica of the king but without a ring. Replicas retain the same propagation ability until the ring is removed from its host. The effect includes rapid physical overwriting, cognitive simplification and compulsive drive to obey the king.

The exact origin of AE-786 remains unknown. Moreover, proximity to AE-786 has been observed to cause unexplained malfunctions in nearby electronic devices. The effect is selective and not replicable under a controlled environment.

Thanks for your booking with FWK Vacations. Are you ready for the macho vacation of your life?

You wake up because your nose fills with a totally rancid, musky stench. For just an instant, you’re totally disgusted, and then you remember that’s just the smell of your armpits and balls after you sleep. You sweat so much that after just eight hours you’re overwhelmingly smelly.

You shift, and there’s a moan somewhere around your crotch level. You open your eyes and look down to see a bubble-butted Latino twink between your legs. Who is… that?

“Mi vida?” The door opens, and your fiancé enters, carrying a huge tray of bandeja paisa, the perfect breakfast for a manly Colombian stud like you. He looks so cute in his slutty little bikini, you think, stroking your beard.

That’s right, the twink between your legs is your bitch boy, your fiancé’s ex. How could you forget? He saw how manly you were and basically begged you to enslave him. You nudge him with one of your huge, smelly feet, and he jerks awake, fondling your big bull balls. Just like you trained him, he starts tongue-washing your balls while your fiancé lowers himself onto your leaking Latino cock. It’s the perfect way to enjoy your breakfast.

Enjoy your vacation!

Browsing through Sniffies, Maurice sighed gruffly. After six or seven weeks of coming up with zero responses, he was ready to throw in the towel. He was lonely, working a dead-end job downtown with no real trajectory or path to self-improvement, living alone in a house crumbling to debris around him. He was hoping one, just one guy would return his advances, just one little victory to put under his belt amongst the plethora of disappointments. He felt the ever watchful eye of his manager looming over him as he sat behind his desk, looking for any reason to have a "meeting" about his efficiency. Scrolling under the desk, he hoped that as long as his work was complete by lunch, he would avoid any unpleasant lectures. Under his breath, he muttered the names of the nearby guys looking for trade.

"BigDaddy69... Cockinator5000... Scatterino... TitsMcGeeTheGreat... Ugh, what the fuck, man. This is bullshit. None of these guys are even interesting to me, and I still can't even get a response." Frustrated, he slammed his phone onto the desk and continued typing away at his spreadsheets. More than anything in the world, he just wanted someone to be there by his side as he weathered the bullshit of the world, but be it his body, his face, his personality, something... there were never any interested parties. As he continued to plug away at the monthly expense report, his phone vibrated against the desk. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Surely his boss couldn't be ready to scalp him for not having an expense report ready before the last day of the month... Dreading the barrage of gaslighting and tedious sanctimony, he slowly grabbed the phone and turned it over, opening his eyes.

!!New Message from: BrotatoChip on Sniffies!!

His jaw dropped to the floor. Besides the ridiculous name, he was floored. This was the first message in months, and it wasn't even someone he'd contacted. He swiped his finger across the cracked screen, opening the Sniffies page immediately. There, in bold, was the message. He cautiously tapped on the profile, and when it popped up, he was even more dumbfounded. He was a hunk! One of those stereotypical dude bros he avoided eye contact with at the gym, naturally handsome, muscles with bulging veins, a bountiful beard, showing off one of the wettest armpits he'd ever seen. The tank top he wore looked equally as drenched, and the dominant scowl on his face immediately brought pause to Maurice. He was definitely emitting Alpha-bro vibes, surely amongst the BO that would waft around him.

Yet, to Maurice, it was immaterial. It was the first fish on the line in quite some time, and he wasn't going to let the moment pass. He scrolled through the profile: 24 years old, 6'3, 195 lbs, 9.5" uncut, fit, gay, vers, jock... quite the stats. Strangely, his bio only had a bunch of emojis one after another. Skeptical, but desperately hopeful, Maurice tapped on the conversation to see what he was sent.

BrotatoChip: Whassup bro! How you doin' today?

Maurice smiled warmly, eager to jump right into the fray. He responded meekly with a generic "Hey how's it going," in hopes that the neutrality of his statement would bely his true excitement. He moved his finger to the lock button, only to have the guy respond almost immediately to him. Maurice raised an eyebrow in intrigue and read the message.

BrotatoChip: It's going good, dude! I just finished going to the gym, working out with some of my bros and trying not to stare at their beefy pecs. Hahahah. What about you, bro?

Maurice grimaced, the guy spoke like a neanderthal. But, beggars can't be choosers. At least he was nice to look at. He crafted a careful reply.

Maurice1280: Ugh. I’m stuck at work. The daily grind, you know? Would much rather be there!

BrotatoChip: Aw, I'm sorry dude. The grind is the worst. I hope your boss lets you leave early to go hit the gym instead! But it sure is dope of you that you still took the time to chat with me! I'm Chip, by the way.

Alright, that was kinda cute. He was no Lord Byron, but at least he seemed sincere. At least, as sincere as you can be from typing behind a phone screen.

Maurice 1280: I'm Maurice! And if I could skip out I would. Feels like a better use of my time ya know? It sounds really nice to spend time with friends at the gym.

BrotatoChip: Oh fuck yeah, bud! We really get pumped! And after, I'm always sure to take off my worn-out tennis shoes that reeeeally stink, and then I don't bother to wash them because I know a bro will come and sniff them and love them! Do you like it when the shoes stink, bro?

Maurice sat at his desk, unsure of how to respond. It was rather forward of Chip, certainly. Though, perhaps from the sweaty profile picture and the simple fact that he was on an app called Sniffies would have prepared him for a guy into scentplay. He'd never tried it before, but it wasn't as if he'd had a lot of musky himbos knocking at his door to try it with. He wasn't against it by any means, but it was far from the top of his list of priorities. Yet, for the sake of pursuing the dim lug, he decided to play into it.

Maurice1280: Dude… I fucking love it. Kinda get off on it if I’m being honest!

BrotatoChip: Really? That's hot! I think I'll keep going to the gym without socks, so my feet can get really sweaty and gross, and the shoes are all rank with my hot stank. How does that smell sound to you, huhuhu?

Maurice1280: That sounds... mouthwatering.

BrotatoChip: Heh, thanks, bro… It's nice to know that another guy will be turned on just by sniffing my hot, ripe feet. Man, that's really hot, huhuhu. Maybe you should take breaks during the day and come meet me in the gym parking lot. It's private back there, and the bro air is gonna be hot and sweaty from me and the boys working out, you know?

Was this... Was this an invitation? Really? At last? Was it what he was expecting? No, absolutely not, but who knows what would happen. He sat back and reflected on how many times he'd been ignored, tossed aside, and never given a chance. Perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing to give a shot to the one guy who gave him a chance.

Maurice1280: Oh man… is that… is that an invitation?

BrotatoChip: Yeah dude! I'm gonna be in the parking lot for my one-hour rest break after I finish these deadlifts. I'm gonna be taking my worn-out, rank tennis shoes off after the workout, and I'm looking forward to having your feet slide into them. Think you'll be able to resist the temptation to sniff my bro toes? I know I'm gonna have you gagging with my stinky, sweaty puppies, huhuhu. If you're down, of course!

Maurice felt a strange sense of anticipation. He even started to like the sound of Chip's ideas. He'd try anything once, and if Chip was as friendly as he was on the app, perhaps it could be nice? After all, what's more intimate and sensual than indulging in some body worship? He found himself actually starting to believe the messages he'd exchanged with Chip. He'd read enough Tumblr smut to at least have an idea of what to do. With a blush-tinged smile, he replied.

Maurice1280: I think I could probably sneak away during lunch!

BrotatoChip: Fuck yeah, good idea bro! Nobody would think anything of it if you took an extended lunch break, especially if you're gone for a while…. That's an hour you could be gettin' some quality time if you know what I'm sayin!

Maurice1280: Fuck man, I don’t know if I’d wanna go back to work after something like that. Sounds too good to be true!

BrotatoChip: Heh, that's just cause you haven't had a bro! Or a couple of bros... Huhuhu! I'm sure after I'm done with you, you'll have a whole horde of thirsty, sweaty himbos who always want to sniff your hot, rank feet and worship your huge swole arms.

Maurice1280: Ah... You might be disappointed, then. I'm not really athletic or anything. Just a couple of cardio days at the gym every few weeks for me. I'm no beefcake.

BrotatoChip: You let me worry about that, bro. It's almost my hour break, and I'm feeling pretty worn out. I can't wait to take off my sweaty, stinky shoes and let you come sniff them and slide em on like I know you want to.

This guy was a freak... But it was a change of pace, it was exciting, and he was undoubtedly hot...

Maurice1280: Well, alright then. If you send me the location I'll meet up with you. See you soon!

He waited merely five seconds before a live location was shared with him. The gym was a stone's throw away from the office downtown, walking distance. Maurice shook off the nerves and hit 'plan route.'

---

The summer day was hot- blistering almost, as Maurice made his way down the side alley. The gym was in a warehouse by the docks, some sort of CrossFit specialization. It was a place he'd never venture if not for Chip's rather forward advances. As the alleyway cleared into a wider area covered in shitty, torn up astroturf and miscellaneous kettlebells & tractor tires. He was definitely in the right place. There, just beyond the plastic muscle garden was the parking lot; and hanging around a beat up Supra were four gigantic dudes laughing like hyenas. Among them, arguably the largest of them, was Chip.

He stood a solid 3 or 4 inches above the rest of his comrades, and was just as attractive in person as his photos. That stringy purple bro tank of his showed off his wide, muscular back and massive arms dripping with the sweat of a long gym session. On his huge feet, a pair of extremely beat up Nike Free 5.0 trainers; formerly bright white, and now yellowed with sweat from daily gymgoing since at least 2014 when the shoe came out. Did Maurice know this? Of course not, to him the shoes were on a hot guy, and that's what mattered to him.

Chip was bursting at the seams laughing at Brody's gross joke, tossing his head back as he belched out his booming chortle. As he did, he saw Maurice standing by the gym, looking rather sullen in his cheap button up and khakis. Chip turned around and grinned from ear to ear. The little guy was cute, very much your run of the mill boy next door type, but endless potential. As Chip smiled and waved at him, the other guys around him chuckled to eachother; smirking and ribbing eachother as their leader strode towards the nervous little shrimp.

Maurice smiled and waved back, sheepishly walking toward the Greek God that was jogging at him. The closer he got, the difference in scale became clearer and clearer. Maurice felt like a child compared to Chip, he was at least a foot taller than he, and muscles that doubled him in size. The fact this guy was 24 was unbelievable. Maurice extended his hand to shake it, only to be met with a bear hug by the sweaty giant.

"Oh! Uh, hey there! Good to actually meet you!" Chip dropped Maurice back onto his feet. "Damn, dude that must have been quite the workout, you're drenched!" Maurice looked down at his cleanly pressed work shirt, now patched with sweat marks. Chip smirked and bounced his pecs.

"Yeah dude! I've been going extra hard today with the bros…I just can't stop pumping that iron. Like what you see, right?" Chip winked at Maurice, instantly flushing his face with a deep red. He would do what he had to do to suppress whatever insecurities arose from the difference in his perceived attractiveness, not that Chip would have noticed such shortcomings anyway. Maurice leaned a bit to the right, watching as the hunk's friends stared at them with jeering smiles.

"Yeah... I sure do... I didn't know you were with friends, though." Chip turned, only now realizing how intimidated his little date might feel around a hoard of sweaty muscleheads. He chuckled to himself, and ruffled Maurice's hair.

"Yeah, well, maybe all these guys would like a chance to get in on the action…but only if you want to, bro. If you want to have some time with my big, muscular body all to yourself, I can tell the other bros to take a hike and we can head across the parking lot to the car… If you aren't getting cold feet." Maurice read this for what it was; a challenge. A playful one at that, but he could tell that Chip was testing his boundaries, but leaving the ball in his court. He came to be with one hot guy for an hour of bliss, but now he had the opportunity for four? Was it dangerous? It was broad daylight, which he hoped would dissuade anyone from doing anything they shouldn't... and if he was being honest with himself, the idea of spending some time with four muscular dudes wasn't entirely unwelcome.

"I mean, as long as I get to be with you I don’t care what other sexy dudes come join in. I came to… hang with you. You take priority here." Chip stood back for a moment, seemingly touched by the earnestness in which Maurice presented himself there. The little guy was putting himself at Chip's mercy, and it was an opportunity he wasn't going to pass up. Though in the back of his mind, cogs began to turn.

"Yeah, the fact that such an attractive guy has such a clear attraction towards me and my big, buff, stinky body… well, that kind of has me feeling like the best thing since bottle preworkout. Huhu…." His dim laugh really spoke volumes besides the decibel, Chip wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack. It was somehow endearing to Maurice, and making him feel more secure in being around guys who may have been as sweet as this dumbass. Chip threw his arm around Maurice; the hot, wet hairs in his pits sitting just to the right of his face, as the duo strutted toward the car. Chip's friends started high fiving and whispering amongst eachother: to them, another fun little conquest under their jockstraps. To Chip, on the other hand, perhaps something more.

The crowd parted as they arrived at the car, moving their quiet cheering a foot or two away from the car. Maurice smiled and waved at them, which had all three of them winking, flexing and puckering their lips. Idiots, all of them, but harmless for now. As Maurice opened the car door, the intensely hot and humid air from inside seeped out like molasses from the car. The scent was ripe, like an entire NBA locker room condensed into a little Supra sedan in the baking summer sun.

Maurice took a seat in the car, and Chip plopped down in the driver's seat. He turned to his puny Sniffies date awkwardly smiling at him. Smirking, Chip shut the door, and began to slip off his beat up sneaker. Almost immediately, the stink in the car intensified. Like a mixture of blue cheese and camembert after being microwaved. Chip lifted his sweaty bare foot onto the dash, flexing his massive bicep.

"Fuck, bro. Those puppies are ripe! Here, take a whiff!"

That smile… Those huge arms… Those size 15 monster feet… And that smell… Maurice couldn't have a single coherent thought outside of 'please let me have them.' With Chip grinning his pearly whites, Maurice brought his face just close enough to feel the heat radiating from the meaty sole. Just as he was preparing to take his breath, he felt Chip's calloused fingers on the back of his head, and his face soon collided with the sticky sole of his foot. Outside of the car, the three other jocks watched intently, pawing at their growing bulges as Maurice began to feverishly sniff their bro's ripe foot. They were all too familiar with the scene, as they all savored their moments not just with Chip but eachother as well, and they were drooling to get in on that action.

"Fuck yeah, bud! Get some of that good shit. Stick your tongue out!" Maurice did as he was told, letting his tongue gently slide up the sole of Chip's foot. Over callouses, between his toes, suckling on every fragrant inch of the foot, Maurice had never felt more alive than in that moment. The hours… no, days spent wasting away at that shitty office, when he could have been savoring Chip's flavorful body. As Maurice savored the salty, funky flavor of his feet, Chip leaned back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head and taking in the smell of his own ripe pitsweat. By the time Maurice had come up for a breath of air, he turned to the window to see the three jocks leaning in against the window of the car, their sweaty dicks all being out and in hand. Chip smirked, "What do you think, bud? Think you're ready for a party?" Maurice turned and smiled.

"Let's go." Those two simple words were enough to send Chip into a frenzy, as he grabbed Maurice by the head and pulled him into a deep kiss. The bros outside start cheering, and pulling at the door. Chip took no time in pulling both himself and Maurice into the backseat, while the other three piled in the car: two in the front and one joining them in the back. Maurice was so enamoured with Chip's sensual kisses and firm gropes, he was oblivious that the jocks began to strip their gymwear from their sweaty, muscular bodies, tossing them into a pile in the back as they began to swap spit and sniffs.

The car windows were fogging from the heat, and in the dead of summer that is tough to do; but the humid stink of four massive sweaty jocks and one normie was enough to make the interior of the car feel like the Amazon Rainforest. Sticky, hot, sweaty, wet, and musky, the jocks began to pry the clothes right off of Maurice as he continued to suck Chip's tongue. Before long, he was bare ass naked, with meaty hands all over his body; roaming, groping, squeezing, and pumping. Chip pulled away from the kiss for just enough time to let Maurice moan from the pleasure.

"Whaddya think, bro? Wanna roll with us?" Maurice could only squeak out an affirmative, as he began to suckle on one of the jock's fingers. Chip let out a hardy chuckle. "Fuuuuuuuck yeah, bro. I'm gonna make you one of us. I wanna show you just how good and manly it feels to be a gay meathead like us! I wanna get you dripping with sweat and smelling like a man. I wanna see your muscles pumped, your body pumped, your brain pumped……all with man musk, huhu…." Chip nodded to the other jocks in the car, it was time for some initiation. One by one, the jocks picked an article of their gym clothes from the pile in the backseat. Maurice suddenly felt a warm, wet fabric being shoved down his arms. He opened his eyes, and one of the bros had slipped their sweaty white tank top onto his slim frame. Before he could protest, not that he would have at that point, Chip had taken the liberty of straddling him, pulling down his shorts and yellowed jockstrap to reveal his thick, musty uncut dick. Maurice had little time to admire the easily 11 inch cock before Chip plowed it straight into his mouth. The taste was tangy, salty, cheesy, and irresistible as Chip made easy work of the man's throat and mouth.

As the rhythmic face fucking continued, another jock slipped their ripe jockstrap and black shorts onto Maurice, leaving just enough room up top for his cock to be sucked by the hunky lug. The last one pried the sweaty cap from his head, slamming it down onto Maurice's head as Chip thrust forcefully into his mouth. The scene was surreal- this normal guy decked out in four dude bro's nasty gym gear as they pleasured him: his mouth gagged by Chip's musty cock, his own cock being sucked, his own ass being eaten, his own pits being huffed... A pervert's dream. Chip's pace began to hasten, his breath becoming bated and shallow.

"Ohhh fuck, bro... You ready? Fuuck I'm gonna blow one big ass load into you. You want that? You want my seed inside you, bro?" Maurice could only say yes with his eyes, looking Chip directly in those sapphire eyes with the faintest gleam. Huffing as he finally began to climax, Chip let out one final grunt: "Welcome to the club, bro!" Immediately, the floodgates opened. The first torrent of Chip's potent spunk went barreling down Maurice's throat, a gush that lasted a total of 10 seconds uninterrupted. More and more cum came flooding into Maurice's gut, Chip's sweaty balls still slapping against his chin as they pulsated. It started in his belly, as it inflated fairly quickly with the spunk, expanding like a water balloon filled with cum. The jocks began to knead at it, smirking as the seed started flowing out into his muscles and bloodstream.

From the bulbous gut, a firm six pack of abs popped out one by one as the cum squeezed into their muscle fibers. Two prominent cum gutters quickly followed suit, along with a quickly inflating ass beneath him. Maurice could feel himself being inundated, taken over by Chip's essence, but he was so in the thralls of euphoria and gleeful at the prospect of this being his new life that it couldn't matter any less. Two juicy pecs pillowed out, as his back expanded with thick, carved muscle. His fingers began to swell, and callouses began to develop on his palms while his biceps and triceps quickly swelled with jiggling muscle and bulging veins. His legs swelled quickly, his calves becoming hard as rocks and his thighs firm with a nice layer of fat just as bristly hairs began to sprout from his skin.

"Ahh, bro, your legs are getting huge, huhu…. those tight shorts are almost cutting off your circulation bro! Ahh man, you look so damn good now, huhu……your body looks huge and muscular and sexy as hell…" Chip's dim-witted voice soared over the moans and sounds of wet kissing and stretching skin as more cum shot out of his musky rod like a geyser. Maurice's feet began to swell and crack, growing and expanding quickly. Size 10... Size 11... Size 13... Size 14... Finally filling up with as much seed as possible at Size 15, they immediately began to emit a ripe funk of their own, one that did not go unnoticed. Maurice felt tongues lapping at the sweat dripping from his meaty soles, a feeling that began to feel so right and so empowering. He grabbed the back of Chip's firm ass, pushing his face harder against his groin, milking every drop from his bro's ripe cock.

The spunk had filled every possible crevice and fiber of him, so as it started to slowly rise up his throat, pooling in his mouth, he could feel the pressure growing in his head. His cheeks started to swell as the cum had no where else to go, the pressure growing and mounting against the top of his palette. Chip smirked with one final and extremely rough thrust. Something popped in the back of his head, and the cum rushed up into his skull. His head started to feel tight and malleable, as his features began to shift and change. His brows lowered and thickened, his lips swelled into plump kissers, his nose widened and the veins in his muscular neck prominently bulged out. As Chip slowly removed his cock from Reece's dripping mouth, his dim witted, empty brained bro could only smile and pant.

"Shiiit, bro. Lookin' fine as fuck, aren't we?" Chip smirked as he looked down at his creation with pride. Reece smiled as he panted.

"Yo, bro. That shit was fire! Look at me, bro!" Reece slid upright, flexing his new muscles with that trademark emptyheaded look on his face.

"Lookin' like a real bro now, Reece! Just one thing missing." Chip turned to their bros in the front seat, grinning from ear to ear as his stanky sneakers were placed in his hands. "From me to you, bro." Chip slid the sweaty sneakers onto Reece's feet, a perfect fit.

"Awww, bro!" Reece chided, as he pulled Chip in for a kiss. The two locked lips, pulling eachother tightly together while their friends went to town on eachother.

---

The gym attendant had plenty of experience with the group of dipshits plowing eachother in the parking lot. It wouldn't be the first time someone came in to complain about the car rocking from side to side with an orgy of men inside. He trudged across the hot asphalt toward the Supra, windows completely fogged up. He sighed as he knocked on the car window, watching as the rocking of the car quickly subsided and a guffaw of dim witted chuckles quietly rang out inside the car.

"Okay, Chip. Hope you got your nut, but the neighbors are complaining again... Open up." The window slowly rolled down, and a thick haze of manscent gushed out of the opening. Inside, five ripe, ripped dudes all smiling and snickering- one of which was unfamiliar. "New guy, then Chip?" Chip smirked.

"Yeah, Clint. This is my boy Reece. He's probably gonna join the club. Right, Reece?" The massive stud of a man in the drivers seat leaned over the armrest, licking the cum off of his moustache.

"Yeah, bro. This place seems tight. I'll be in to sign up in a second, unless..." Reece's sultry gaze stared holes into Clint's soul, as he leaned in closer, gripping Chips prominent bulge in the passenger's seat. "Unless you wanna hop in with us, bro? Bet I'll get you sweating before the sun goes down."

Cameron looked away from the TV screen as his phone indicated a new message.

"Xavier"... he muttered under his breath. Cameron hadn't heard from Xavier since high school. Well, to be honest, they didn't have too much contact even then: Xavier had been more or less the exact opposite of Cameron: Where Cameron had been lazy, Xavier had always been studying. Xavier graduated with top grades, while Cameron managed not to flunk anything.

Naturally, after high school they didn't have much contact anymore. While Xavier was pretty successful by now and was head of a small research company - or so he heard-, Cameron worked several jobs, never staying long enough to make something of himself.

Curious, he picked up his phone and opened the message.

"Hey Cam! Xavier here. I heard you're looking for a job?"

Cameron frowned. He *hated* being called 'Cam', at least after that comedy show with the gay fatty who went by 'Cam'. Given, Cameron was not exactly *fit* either, but at least he was straight. And at some point, women would recognize his true value and be all over him.

The rest was true though. Cameron was "between jobs" again, after he got fired from the local supermarket for taking too many breaks and "slacking".

"Yeah?" he replied, not really sure why Xavier was contacting him now.

"I might have an opportunity for you." was the prompt answer.

Cameron sighed and removed some Cheeto crumbs from his dirty undershirt. He didn't like Xavier very much, but this would at least allow him to skip applications and interviews this time.

"I'm listening." he wrote back.

"Great. How about I explain everything to you in person? Are you free tomorrow at 9?"

Cameron groaned. 9 am? That was really early. However, if it was the only time Xavier had, then so be it.

"Sure." he wrote back.

Xavier sent him an address in the industrial area of the town and Cameron confirmed the meeting.

Having exhausted the amount of effort he was willing to put into the day, he grabbed a soda from the fridge, settled on the sofa and returned to watching TV.

Cameron arrived a little late the next morning. He didn't really have any proper clothes, so, he was dressed in his least dirty t-shirt that hung onto his potato-shaped body. It had some obscure gaming reference on it, but the colors had already begun to fade, and the shirt was missing the neckband.

Xavier's workplace was a modern office building, and although the secretary at the reception looked at him critically, she had no objections to let him in.

Xavier's office was spacious, with a large window and a comfortable looking sofa and desk.

Cameron had to admit that Xavier had done well for himself, but the effort required to maintain this lifestyle was obviously not worth it.

"Hey Cam!" Xavier greeted him and shook his hand.

Cameron nodded and greeted his former classmate, who didn't look too different, only older and somewhat fitter.

Xavier took a good look at Cameron and smiled. "Perfect", he said more to himself before gesturing for Cameron to sit down.

Cameron slumped down on the couch and cut straight to the point: "You said you have a job for me?"

"That's right." Xavier answered. It is kind of a multi-job, actually. You see, we are working on some high value products here, and that makes me a valuable person, so I need someone to offer some personal protection for external meetings."

Before Cameron could interject, Xavier continued. "Also, for other times, I need a personal assistant for my every needs. And, finally, the beforementioned product needs to be tested in a long term evaluation, so this is where you would come in, too."

Cameron frowned. "A bodyguard? And an assistant?" He had never done something like that, and he didn't really feel qualified for it.

"Don't worry." Xavier explained. "I am sure you are the perfect candidate for the job."

"The job*s*." Cameron stressed. How much do you pay?

Xavier smiled a thin smile and wrote down a number on a piece of paper. As he gave it to Cameron, he added: "I am well aware that these are three jobs, really, so I'm prepared to pay thrice the usual amount."

Cameron looked at the number and felt dizzy. That was a high number. Really, really high.

"What about the testing thing?"

"Don't worry about that. It will not require too much work from you."

"Okay." Cameron agreed. "When can I start?"

The job sounded like a lot of work, honestly, but the pay was just too good to pass on it. And if it turned out to be too much of a hassle, he could always quit or slack off until he was fired.

"Right away! I have already taken the liberty of preparing the paperwork. Here it is."

With that, Xavier produced a stack of paper with loads of narrowly printed text.

Cameron frowned. "Do I need to sign this all?"

"Of course. Don't worry, it's nothing special. Just some basic agreements about confidentiality and so on. Take your time to read it, of course."

Cameron thumbed through the surely 100 pages of text and shook his head. "Na, no need, just tell me where to sign."

"Are you sure?" Xavier smiled. "I don't mind waiting until you have read it all."

"All good. I trust you." Cameron said, although he really didn't. But he couldn't be bothered reading a fricking novel, too.

Xavier shrugged and directed Cameron to five places to put his signature on. As he did, the papers disappeared in Xavier's folder.

"Alright. Now, we just have to administer the product and we're done."

With that, Xavier produced a small syringe. Cameron recoiled. "Whoa, hold on. What's that supposed to be?"

"Oh, this?" Xavier held the syringe casually between two fingers. That's the product you agreed to evaluate. Don't worry, though, it has already successfully passed several studies. Think of it as a long lasting cup of coffee."

Cameron reluctantly agreed and rolled up his sleeve. Xavier administered the drug with a practiced gesture.

"Now, that's done." he said, packing away the empty syringe. "Please wait a few minutes here to be certain that there are no side effects."

Cameron nodded and stayed where he was - a discipline he was most proficient in.

After some minutes, he was starting to feel hot and dizzy.

Just as he was about to say something, Xavier asked him:

"Alright, I'm just gonna ask you a few questions to check up on you. First question: What's your name?"

"Cameron." he replied, slightly slurred.

"Correct. Do you mind if I call you Cam?"

"I hate being called Cam. Please don't." Cameron said, surprised by his own honesty.

"Incorrect. You actually like being called Cam, especially by me. Now, do you mind if I call you Cam?" Xavier asked again.

"No. Please, do." Cam answered, even more slurred.

"Perfect. Next question: Do you think I am sexy?"

"What? No!" Cam replied, without even thinking.

"Incorrect. You find me extremely sexy. I am the most handsome man you have ever seen. Now, do you think I am sexy?"

"Y-yes..." Came mumbled, unsure where these thoughts were coming from. But it was true. Although he was straight, Xavier was looking incredibly handsome, now that he thought about it.

"Wonderful. In fact, you find all men hot, but I in particular am the definition of sexiness. Women don't do anything for you, do you understand?"

"Yeah..." Cam moaned, and he noticed that his cock was slowly becoming erect.

"Great. Stand up, please."

Cam complied and stood up from the couch, his hard-on straining against his pants.

Xavier nodded and stood up, too. After a critical look all around, he asked: "You're not very fit, Cam, are you?"

Cam looked down on his belly. "No." he answered.

"Incorrect. You are the epitome of fitness. You work out regularly, and your body shows. You are proud of your abs and the bulging muscles. And, you are a top, not a bottom. Show me your sixpack."

Cam took his shirt off. Miraculously, he watched as his upper body changed to fit Xavier's expectations: His stomach became flat, then ribbed with abdominal muscle while his chest hardened into two slabs of muscular pecs. His face cleaned up as well, and his hair styled itself into a perfect modern style. Cam's arms and legs ballooned out with muscle and grew further apart as his stance widened and his shoulders grew broader.

Xavier nodded in appreciation.

"Good. So much about your torso. But as a personal assistant, I expect you to take care of my every need. Do you have a big dick?"

"Not really." Cam admitted.

"Incorrect. Your cock is gigantic, and the biggest and thickest you have ever seen."

Xavier didn't need to tell him twice: As Cam was looking down, he saw that his jeans were now bursting with a thick shaft. The bulge that was snaking down his right leg left absolutely nothing to imagination, and he could see the outline of his massive balls.

"Good. Get rid of your pants so I can see properly."

Cam quickly undid his belt and pulled his jeans down. The outline of his huge, rock-hard member was clearly visible in his tight boxer shorts.

"Impressive." Xavier decided.

"Now, one last thing. Are you an independent thinker?"

"No? I guess not?"

"Incorrect. You are, in fact, the exact opposite of an independent thinker. You don't think much, and you only do what I tell you. I am your superior in every sense of the word. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" Cam replied, a bit too eager.

Xavier chuckled. "Sir, huh? Alright, that is the proper way of addressing me, I suppose."

He gave Cam a critical once-over and nodded.

"I think that's about it. Remember, you are here to serve my every need, understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Great. Now, your whole transformation made me horny. I want you to fuck me, hard. Have you understood that, Cam?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then, do it."

Xavier turned around, pulled down his pants and leaned over the sofa.

Cam quickly discarded his boxers and positioned his hard cock at Xavier's hole. It was already wet, but Cam still took a moment to lube it up generously before pushing his meat into the offered asshole.

Both men groaned from pleasure as Cam entered, and as soon as he bottomed out, he began to move his hips in a powerful thrusting motion that would have been way beyond his physical capabilities half an hour ago. Cam didn't think about it - in fact, he didn't think much at all - but every fiber of his being was devoted to serve his new boss, in every sense of the word.

Cam fucked his boss, and he knew that this was exactly what he wanted to do. Xavier was moaning from the powerful motions, and Cam was groaning from the sheer effort.

After a while, Cam's powerful thrusts made Xavier cum. Only then he withdrew from his bosses ass and allowed himself to cum as well, all over his sculpted body.

"Wonderful, Cam." Xavier said, exhaustedly. "Truly wonderful."

Round of applause to @mrrharper

I dumped my uniform and bag into the locker, my partner John doing likewise beside me. After a graveyard shift, the two of us had decided to hit the gym bright and early in the morning before sleeping through our day off. John and I had been partners since we had first joined the police force. As officers, we had done a lot together; rode together, drank together, laughed together. One time we were even in a foursome together with two chicks we had picked up at a bar.

Now in our early thirties though, we had begun to take life a little more seriously. Start choosing wisely, acting responsibly. Working out had been my idea, and after six months it had already shown some results. Both of us were average height and had gained some pudge over the years, but now we both had notable definition. I could not help but flex a little in the mirror, impressed by the beginnings of my triceps.

“Looking fire, broski!”

My eyes shifted over to one of the three football jocks who sauntered into the locker room. I was immediately annoyed by the trio of obnoxious meatheads, and I could tell John was as well.

“Have you been coming here for long?” the first asked. “We haven’t seen you around.”

“We come when we can,” I replied. “Working for the law gives us busy schedules.”

“Woah…so are you guys like, officers or something?” the second guffawed.

“Officers, yeah.” John was irked.

“Huhuhuh…cool bruh!” the third jock inserted. “You two should totally join us!”

Before we could respond, the first jock piped back in, “Yeah dudes! We could have a great sesh between the five of us. Brock here is stellar at arms, and Duke is the best at working those legs and glutes.”

“Jalen’s a pro with chest,” the second jock, Brock, finished. “And you two officer bros, what are you good at?”

I grunted, “Knowing how to refuse an offer.”

It took Brock and Duke, the third jock, a second to process what I had implied, their mental capacities obviously slower than the average male. Jalen was a little faster however, putting on a dumb smile. 

“Your loss bros, but totally understandable,” he shrugged. “In case it wasn’t obvious, we’re on the football team at the local college, so let us know if you need any workout tips or exercises.”

I barely nodded my head, offering a blunt, “Ok, thanks.” John and I then made our way past the bulky jocks, the three of them each larger than either of us. I took a breath as soon as we exited their collective earshot.

“Three cocky dicks,” I snorted. “No better way to start the morning.”

John mockingly agreed. Our workout was brutal, our bodies already tired due to our unusual sleep schedule. This, along with the occasional stare from one of the jocks, only encouraged us to work harder. Nothing was spared from our exercises, we utilized machines that hit multiple areas at once. Arms and chest, legs and back, abs and quads. At the end, we hit the treadmills for a thirty minute run, sneering back at the trio while they stood in front of one of the many mirrors and flexed their pumped arms, taking pictures for social media.

Eventually, we were back in the locker room cleaning up, both expecting the jocks to ambush us again. Fortunately, the lumbering footballers never arrived. John had joked they were probably still drooling over their own muscles in the mirror, and I had replied better they were drooling on themselves then us. I did not want their narcissistic, dim-witted reek all over me, and neither did my partner. We both opted to skip showers; we could take them back at our respective apartments before crashing into our own, cool beds.

As we left the locker rooms and headed towards the exit, we were immediately swarmed by our unwanted acquaintances. 

“You know, bros,” Jalen swung a beefy, sweaty arm around both of us. Brock paced behind me, and Duke followed suit with John. “We never caught your names? We’d like to thank you for your service, officers, whatever it is you do."

His tone was a little menacing, but I knew he would not try to pull something in broad daylight. “Darren,” I responded. “and John.”

Jalen grinned, moving his arms to pat the back of our necks. I felt a little sting at his touch, almost like an electric shock.

“Now c’mon bros, how about you come join us at the frat house where we can properly use your services.”

John frowned, and I retorted with, “I think you boys have had your fun.”

Brock chuckled, “Fun’s not even started broski.”

Duke’s response was even deeper and dumber, “Huhuhuh...dudes aren’t even ready.”

We had finally made it outside, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon. I noticed our squad cars parked up front, we would be out of this mess in just a moment.

“Alright, this is our stop,” I exclaimed, making sure the three got my message. Suddenly, a piercing jolt was sent across my spine, traveling all the way from my brain to my toes.

“Our stop is actually over there, officers.” Jalen pointed to the two trucks past their cruisers. “Darren, you can come with me and Brock, Duke here is gonna take John.”

Robotically, my body followed Jalen’s command, tracing behind the first two jocks to their obnoxiously big vehicle. Although I could not turn my head, I could tell John’s body was following the orders as well.

“Disengage Operation Mode, security bypass JALEN, sleep.”

— —

“Engage 25% Operation Mode, security bypass JALEN, wake.”

My eyes fluttered open. I was standing in an empty room, not rigid but not slouching either. To my right, I could sense my partner’s presence, familiar with John’s aura. We were still in our dirty gym gear, although our body odor was nothing compared to the three jocks standing proudly before us. Through the windows behind them, I assumed it to still be some time in the morning, but that was the only piece of the situation that I could try to fathom.

“Bet you’ve never had a mind control chip implanted, have you, officers?”

I tried to respond with something snarky, but my mouth wouldn’t let me.

“We were just trying to be friendly, help some bros out, but you two insulted our kindness.” Jalen stepped a little closer, even from a distance I could feel his large, masculine presence. “Maybe next time you won’t mess with the son of a government-funded millionaire.”

Jalen pointed his fingers at his two goons. Brock and Duke each stepped forward, crossing the distance between them and John and I. They removed our shirts, and although I could see or move my feet, I realized my shoes had already been taken too.

“My dad gifted me some leftover mind-control chips he had built for the military, said I could use them if I ever needed them. Something along the lines of "accessing the nervous system" and "reprogramming capabilities". Didn't matter to me bros, it was all nerd-speak. I just needed the commands.”

If I could have, I would have gulped. Jalen stepped closer as the other jocks discarded our clothes.

“MC 1001, 50% Operation Mode.”

Suddenly, the feeling was restored throughout my body. I did not bother with attempting an escape, recognizing my body was still glued to the floor. When I turned to my partner, I realized John had not been released.

“What’s the plan, Jalen?” I spat.

“You were so rude to us back at our gym when you are employed to be of service” Jalen smirked. "The bros and I thought we should remind you of your duty, and what better way then by dispatching you as our new security guards who obey our every wish and command?”

“So what, you’re going to 'reprogram' us?”

“How about you see for yourself?” Jalen then turned to John. “MC 1002, engage Modification Mode, security bypass JALEN.”

“MC 1002, Modification Mode engaged, security bypass confirmed." It may have been John’s mouth that had opened, but I knew it was not him who was speaking.

“Brock,” Jalen invited. “How about you take the first swing?”

Brock laughed and scratched at his crotch, “Get him jacked bro.”

Jalen turned to Duke, “Anything specific you’d like to add?”

To my surprise, Duke did have something to add–a lot to add: “Make them former rugby players bro, cause rugby is for idiots and rugby players should serve football jocks, the real alphas.”

Jalen raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised too. “Works for me. MC 1002, enter in keywords ‘Rugby’ and ‘Jock’ to the personality frame and set both at 88. Raise ‘Muscle’ by 40 base points and remove any post-secondary education from the mainframe.”

Watching the football neanderthal list off a series of programming commands put our situation into a new perspective. My eyes grew with fear as the changes installed into John’s body. It was like watching a horrible balloon inflation, his body contorting as it expanded. John’s once meager chest bloated into two massive pecs supported by two trunks of legs. His arms cartoonishly bulged until they were practically circular, his pits filling with hair as a tattoo wrapped itself around his right bicep. His face thickened too, adopting a square shape along with a wider nose and thicker stubble.

“Keywords ‘Rugby’ and ‘Jock’ successfully installed.” John’s voice was now deeper, gruffer. “‘Muscle’ upgraded, post-secondary education deleted.”

Jalen nodded, “MC 1002, add 10 base points to his age as well.”

“Adding 10 base points to ‘Age’.” To my shock, I helplessly observed my partner grow older beside me. The skin around his body tightened, pulling in to reveal the more delicate details of his veins and tendons. Wrinkles began to develop across his body along with other age marks. It was painful to watch his hairline slowly pull back, his scalp thinning out into a well-maintained crew cut.

“Here’s the fun part,” Jalen mocked, noting my face of terror. "Lower cognitive abilities by 20 base points and independent identity by 30 base points. Install the ‘Security’ package to the mainframe and boost the ‘Obedience’ category to max potential."

Although there were no visible alterations, I could have sworn the light went out behind my partner’s eyes. “All actions executed, please confirm modifications to MC 1002.”

Jalen smirked, making direct eye contact with me. “Confirm MC 1002, disengage Modification Mode, reengage total Operation Mode.”

To my delight, I watched as John’s body reanimated completely, indicating he now had full control over his body. But any hope I had was immediately crushed as soon as he stood at command, dumbly  grinning with his arms crossed over his chest.

“How can I be of service, sir?” John asked Jalen.

“Go do a full sweep of the yard of something, bro.” Jalen tossed John a pair of sunglasses, not even bothering to hand him any other clothes. Apparently his now too-tight joggers were enough. “Oh, and by the way, you go by Hammer now.”

“Hammer…” John processed. “Yes sir, thank you sir.”

I watched as my former partner stomped out of the room, out of our reality.

“Why ‘Hammer’, bro?” Brock piped in from behind me.

“‘Cause he’ll be laying down the law of the land.” Jalen then shifted back to me. “Our other friend here will be ‘Brute’.”

I heard two empty-headed laughs from the two empty-headed jocks behind me.

“He’ll be nothing more than a wall of meat,” Jalen taunted. Before I could insult him back, he instantly shut me up. “MC 1001, engage Modification Mode, security bypass JALEN.”

“MC 1001, Modification Mode engaged, security bypass confirmed." My mouth was out of my control. I tried to fight back, reanimate myself by any means possible.

“Alright Duke, it’s your turn.”

“Same thing as last time, bruh.”

Disappointed, Jalen shifted back to Brock, “Got something else?”

I prayed Brock would not say anything too damaging “Make him huge dude,” he requested, putting me at ease before following up with: “And make him like a butler too.”

Jalen laughed, and if I could have I would have cried.

“Oh MC 1001,” Jalen merrily instructed. “Copy MC 1002’s personality frame and mainframe, and enhance body and clothes proportions to 1.5. ”

“Modifications downloading,” I stated, a sudden sinking emerging in my stomach. In moments, I sprung upwards towards the ceiling, my height soaring above the jocks to an astonishing six and a half feet. Muscles exploded out of my body, bloating me thick with bulk. My arms were plump and my hands meaty. Two juicy pecs larger than my head were now carried by my absolute barrel of a chest, stretched out and taut. My legs were colossal, so dense that I would permanently be forced to take wide, swaggering steps. Even my neck thickened, supporting my newly masculinized skull.

“Copy and paste procedure successful.” My voice was husky, low, deep and booming. “Body and clothes proportions at 1.5.”

“Look at his socks, bro,” I heard Brock snigger behind me. “Whattya think those stompers are?”

“Huhuhuh…I don’t know dude…maybe Size 15?”

“Looks like I missed something,” Jalen appeared disappointed. “MC 1001, reduce reproductive size to 3.”

“Redacting 4 base points from ‘Reproduction’.” I screamed, pleading for this to stop. But no words exited my mouth. Instead, I remained painfully silent as I felt my cock and balls shrivel down within my shorts. 

“Helps with the obedience factor” Jalen stated. “Now, let's lower cognitive abilities by 40 base points and independent identity to 15 base points. Install the ‘Security’ package to the mainframe, boost the ‘Obedience’ category to max potential, and add in keywords ‘Respect’, ‘Humility’, and ‘Subservience’."

I would not give up, I would not cave in. “Please confirm modifications to MC 1002?”

Jalen was finished with his game. “Confirm modifications, disengage Modification Mode, reengage total Operation Mode.”

After a moment, I blinked. My head felt fuzzy, empty, as if some great weight of responsibility had been removed. I dumbly chuckled to myself.

"Feeling good there, bro?” Jalen smiled. “Excited to serve us jocks?"

"Uhhhh, yeah bruh…be of service."

"Well said, Brute."

"Brute?" I smiled lazily. “What can I uh…do bro?”

"First, let’s get you in uniform.” Jalen signaled to Duke, who then tossed a black cap to me. I secured it backwards onto my head proudly.

“Now, clean the frat house from top to bottom. I’m talking dirty laundry in the machine, trash taken out, floors scrubbed–the whole deal. I want this place looking slick before the party starts tonight. Once you’re done with that, you can go patrol the lawn for any feds. Got all that?”

It took a while for me to process everything, but eventually the dumb grin came back to my face.

“Yeah bruh…whatever you need.”

Benji peered down at his phone, 12:03 PM, “I hope the car gets here soon Im gonna be late for lunch with my boyfriend” he thought to himself. Just as he thought that, Benji watched as his Uber pulled up to the curb. Benji stepped up to the car and the passenger side window rolled down, “Uber for Benji” the driver said out of the window. As soon as Benji opened his mouth to confirm he smelled an awful stench rushing from the car, it smelled like used gym clothes, cum, foul-smelling shoes, and strong B.O. which has fruitlessly tried to be covered up with A.X.E Body Spray. Benji held back a gag as he told the driver “Yea, that’s me”.

Benji got into his driver’s car, “So Yahya, how long have you uhhh been doing this for?” Benji asked, trying to make some small talk, “I’ve been doing this only for like a week or somethin bro, gotta pay for my gym membership somehow” Yahya remarked. As Benji and Yahya continued to exchange basic info about their lives through the small talk they were having, Benji began to slowly slur his words a bit, “Yo-… youuu do anythi-…anything else for work?”. Yahya excitedly responded “Oh yea bro I make gym content for my Tiktok”, it made sense to Benji given that his car smelled like the inside of an unwashed gym bro’s armpit. At a certain point in the ride Yahya asked where Benji was specifically going, “Oh, I am goi-…goin over to my bro-… uhh boyfriend’s place”, Yahya jokingly asked “A boyfriend? I didn’t think guys like us were fairies and shit!”. Benji, reasonably offended, said “What do you mean guys like us?!” to which Yahya said “You know dude…big beefy Muslim boys like us are supposed to have wives and girlfriends, not fooling around with other men!”, “Big beefy Muslim boys? I don’t kno-…know if uhh you are like blind or…uhh something but I am white…” replied Benji. “Not for long…” Benji heard Yahya say under his breath as he pulled over. Looking around Benji realized that somehow Yahya had driven him to a secluded area and it was quickly starting to get dark out. Benji asked himself how he didn’t notice that he had essentially been kidnapped and how had it gotten so late?!

Benji reached for the door handle to find that it was locked, he looked at the door handle just to immediately have his face grabbed and forced into a kiss with Yahya. “WH- WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!” snapped Benji as he pushed Yahya away, “It’s okay just calm down no need to be so fiesty, soon this and your gaybo life will be just a fuzzy memory” Yahya said as if it he didn’t just kiss his passenger. Yahya grabbed the back of Benji’s head and expected to be forced into another kiss Benji squeezed his eyes shut. Suddenly his lips weren’t met with the slightly funky breath and chapped lips of his straight Arabian driver, they were instead met with the slick and sweaty forests of malodorous hair inhabiting the source of why the car smelled so foul. Caught off guard Benji gasped which let in a torrent of Yahya’s spicy B.O. rush up Benji’s delicate nose. Pulling Benji’s face out of his foul pits Yahya looked at Benji and said, “Nice and dazed, just how i like em” and shoved Benji back into his pit for just enough time to hear Benji take a deep whiff. “Awwww” Yahya said to the now drooling Benji, “You like this don't you bro?”, Benji slowly and silently answered with a weak nod. Yahya spoke again “Now, if you want more of my masculine musk, you are gonna have to listen to me bro and follow my orders”, again all Benji did was barely nod his drooping head. “Good Arab boys are gym rats”, Benji felt as suddenly he felt too big for his clothes. He could hear the seams of his pants and shirt ripping as his muscles grew but he couldn’t comprehend why. Yahya said it again but more stern this time, “Good Arab boys are gym rats”, and Benji felt as his clothes strained a little bit more as his body grew. “Good. Arab. Boys. Are. Gym. Rats.” Yahya said one last time and suddenly as if his clothes popped off of his body, Benji was sitting in just his sneakers, socks and underwear looking yearningly with his muscular body at Yahya’s stinking armpit.

Lifting up his arm to reveal his pit, Yahya placed Benji back inside but pulled him out only a handful of seconds later and said “Good Arab boys have olive skin” and as like magic, from the center of Benji’s chest spread a splotch of light olive. After it had enveloped his whole body Yahya looked at Benji and said “Tsk…Good Arab boys have olive skin” and again from the same spot, the epicenter of his chest, spread a darker coating of olive colored skin. Giving Benji what he wanted, Yahya rewarded him with half a minute in his pit. Quickly after he was pulled out Benji heard, “Good Arab boys have hairy armpits and big, hairy feet”, and as soon as Yahya stopped talking Benji felt his armpits grow incredibly itchy and his feet did the same as they also started to cramp. Yahya looked on proudly as Benji reached his right hand up into his right armpit like a caveman and began wildly scratching at the hair coming in.

Yet again rewarded with the malodorous prison that would be tortured to any sane person, Yahya gave another command, “Good Arab boys are dumb and dominant” Benji suddenly, after hearing this command tried to push away again, but Yahya said it louder. “GOOD ARAB BOYS ARE DUMB AND DOMINANT”. Just as quick as his resistance started it suddenly stopped and Yahya watched as Benji’s beautiful brown eyes grew a little duller with every passing second signaling the improvements Benji was making. “Good Arab boys are close minded” Yahya said, Benji felt in his hardly working brain his whole political and social ideology do a full 180, going from a self-described hardcore leftist to a right wing Trumpy. Yahya heard Benji let out a little grunt showing that he had listened to Yahya, as a reward Benji got more time in the bushy abyss. Taking Benji out again Yahya commanded “Good Arab boys only like to conquer pussy”, Benji began to have a stream of drool flow out of his mouth as his homosexuality evaporated and turned into a bad memory. To test if it had truly been followed, Yahya said “Cock”…nothing, then he said “Tits” and BOOM Benji’s dick sprang to life, “Huhuhuh good” Yahya quietly said to himself. “Good Arab boys are always horny” as soon as he said it, Yahya felt as the dazed and dumbed down Benji began mindlessly humping the air with his hard-on standing at full mast. As he kept humping, Yahya saw as a lustful look overtook Benji’s eyes as his brain was flooded with images of bouncing boobs and wet pussy. Yahya, almost finished with Benji’s transformation said

“Good Arab boys touch their cock whenever they want” and within seconds Benji’s hand shot down into his underwear and he began ferociously fist fucking his big manly hand. As Benji began to fuck his hand faster and faster and as the car began to shake back and forth do to Benji’s violent thrusting, Yahya watched as Benji grew closer and closer to beriding the world of Benji and birthing into the world Basir, a new Arab bro for Yahya to workout with. “mmmmmmuuuUUUGGHHH” and with one last thrust and a deep guttural moan, Benji was just a cum splatter on Yahya’s dashboard.

Basir dumbly asked “Broooo…what just like uhhh happened?” and Yahya just threw some dirty gym clothes at him and said nothing. They got back on the road and headed to the gym.

He came into the gym a skinny little twig, quite literally skin and bones. Never really able to gain any weight, Gordon was known around the neighborhood as the ghost: deathly pale and skeletal. For the past 5 years since he graduated from medical school, he tried strategy after strategy to try and bulk up. From high carb and high protein diets to vegan plans to just eating fast food for an entire month, nothing seemed to work for him. Thus, this new gym membership was yet another rung on his ladder, another step on trying to get swole.

The gym had been a staple of the neighborhood for decades, becoming a well established conveyor belt of successful athletes. The place supplied wrestlers, boxers, bodybuilders of all types to the industry: always winners, always huge. Thus, in the hopes of becoming their next success story, Gordon put pen to paper on the membership form, and struggling to carry his limp gym bag over his shoulder, he drudged toward the locker room.

While the impressive history of the place seemed to be a matter of fact, evidence toward their incredible efficacy in their training methods, there was a more clandestine underlying truth behind closed doors. Since the gym's opening, hundreds of studs left into the world, and many return. Some, however, linger. Past their dying breaths, they still return to the gym for the same reason they patroned it in life: getting huge. It would be fair to say of 200 successful athletes, about 80 of them are... recycled. Inhabited by the spirits of their predecessors, reliving life as they did in their time. And on that fateful day, the emaciated young man had caught the eyes of a number of such spirits. As he entered the well-maintained but rather fragrant locker room, the first such spirit laid his eyes upon Gordon.

---

In 1987, Dacre Dallas became the youngest title holder in the WWE. The "Pretty Boy from Texas" was a fan favorite, especially with the ladies. His trademark mullet, bushy moustache and masculine good looks made him quite the Don Juan in his day. At 5'9 and only 9% body fat, he was the 80's Adonis.

Everyone that knew him would recall him as the good-natured dipshit who all seemed to love. He'd be the first one to laugh at a bad joke, the first to offer training tips and branding ideas, the first to buy the round of drinks, and the first to offer a quickie in the sauna. Beautiful, sexy, stupid, and loveable, Dacre was the guy everyone wanted to be around.

---

As Dacre flexed into the mirror, admiring his own good looks, his nose twitched. He turned his head, following the unfamiliar scent of Irish Spring soap until he saw him.

He was perplexed. Many a guy had come through the doors looking to build muscle from nothing, but this was quite the find. Gordon's lanky figure had even shocked the spirit world: the ghost had surprised the ghosts! As he opened his locker, Dacre strode toward him, the ethereal sound of his squeaking Adidas high tops ever so faintly echoing in the room. Gordon began to take off his shirt, stripping it to slip on his tank; a sight that had sealed his fate. Dacre stood awestruck behind him, the sheer difference in size was more than evident. Even at relatively similar height, it only highlighted just how frail the young man was. In that moment, Dacre felt it. He felt the calling, the beckoning of life itself. Flesh is wasted on the living, when the dead have so much more to offer. He furrowed his bushy brows, a sly grin crept beneath his thick moustache.

Gordon felt a cool breeze between his legs, goosebumps trailed down his spine. The ac must have been strong, he dismissed it in his mind. Shrugging it off, he dropped his pants and revealed his baggy black briefs. A stronger, colder breeze blew again, enough to elicit a shiver from the lanky young man. He looked down, immediately met with the translucent grinning face of Dacre Dallas.

"Fuck, this will be fun. Coming in!" Before Gordon could even say a single word, Dacre took his massive ectoplasmic hands and quickly plunged them upward, right into his hole. A squelch rang out in the room, as Gordon's hole stretched to the rubbery forearms of the ghostly hulk. Chuckling as he began to force his entire gigantic body into Gordon, the young man desperately grasped at his invader, only feeling the slightest slimy resistance before phasing right through. He watched as belly started to bulge outward, growing as more and more of Dacre slithered inside of him.

"Heheh, oh shit, man! I forgot how good this felt!" Dacre chirped from within the twink, just as his ankles slid in, his size 10 Adidas kicking back and forth before slipping in completely. Gordon began to thrash about the locker room, slamming into walls and doors while Dacre slipped him on from inside. He slid his arms into the skinny tunnels of Gordon's body, swelling them with his thick plasmic muscle before his hands popped into his hosts, exploding them into calloused strong fists. Pecs and abs started to bubble out as they were filled with Dacre's, his underwear grew tighter as the ghostly cock thrust into his own, his balls swelling with Dacre's seed.

His legs burst with thick forests of hair atop his hilly quads, his feet quickly burst from his size 7 trainers, and as pressure mounted up his throat and against the palate of his mouth, a single pop rang out. The thrashing stopped, 'Gordon' stood still for a moment before cracking his neck and smiling. Turning to the left, Dacre sauntered over to the mirror, admiring his new fleshsuit. The kid looked good on him, he couldn't deny it. He flashed his pearly white teeth beneath his moustache, running his hand through the wavy mullet that had sprouted from Gordon's scalp. It was undoubtedly Gordon to the naked eye, just 100 pounds bigger and possessed by the bulky ghost of an 80's wrestler.

"Aww yeah! This I can work with!" Dacre's booming voice poured from Gordon's lips, as he flexed his sizeable biceps. "You doin' okay in there?" He knocked on his head, the faintest purr deep inside the voids of his brain the only reply. He chuckled, adjusting his bulge in the straining briefs before strutting out onto the lifting floor. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together with a dim laugh: eager to feel the rush of a good pump once more. Walking toward the bench press, he tossed 35 pount plates onto the barbell like they were nothing, and continued to press 10 reps without so much as breaking a sweat. He turned between sets, winking at one of the ladies across the room on the cable machine; a gesture that was accepted and reciprocated from the Amazonian woman. From behind the counter, the attendant smirked. Well aware of each of their residents and their tendencies to slip into the gym's clients, he always enjoyed seeing the before and after with each and every new stud that exited the locker room. It didn't happen every day, but when it did, it was a sight to behold. It was even enough to snatch yet another wandering eye.

---

Justin Drake was the influencer to watch in 2024. With every TikTok and Instagram, viewers could see his growth from the everyday fuckboy twunk to the jacked stud he became. Standing 6'0 with the looks and build of a model, he fit naturally into the realm of fitness modeling. Every thirst trap got thousands of impressions, an equal amount of interaction. This quickly led to product deals, podcasting gigs, sponsorships and content collaboration. Even at one point joining a Big Brother-style bro house series on YouTube, Justin was unstoppable. Though, if you dug a little deeper, you'd find these weren't the only accolades he was receiving.

Top .01% of creators on OnlyFans as well as JustForFans, Justin was well known in the adult industry as the dumb himbo that got off on his musk. Pit stink, sweaty ass, musty cock, and most popularly his ripe size 13s. He was likeable on camera, dumbly laughing at any terrible porn joke on set, and he was popular with his scene partners; even corrupting several guys into scentplay with his addictive aroma. Every horny Tumblr page had his ass, cock, and feet plastered over their feeds, and those big green eyes graced the dreams of ever bater on the site.

---

As Dacre hopped to his feet, he turned to head toward the gorgeous woman, only to be met with the drooling face of Justin.

"Bruh. Like, fuck. Is that you in there, Dac?" Dacre grinned from ear to ear, leaning over the warm, musky specter sitting on the bench. The minty green vapors that wafted from the ghost rather ironically reeked of buttery sweat and musk, tickling Dacre's nostrils as he inhaled his friend's scent. Sighing in satisfaction, he patted Justin's gooey shoulder.

"In the flesh, man. Or, in his flesh... hah!" The duo dumbly laughed, just as they would when they floated around the gym, chuckling at the poor form of their successors. "Nice find, right?"

"Dude fits you like a glove! Here, just let me..." Justin leaned in to Dacre's chest, taking a deep whiff. The scent was subtle, slightly salty, like ocean waves rolling onto the beach. Pulling away, the ghost shrugged his shouldes. "Meh. I could do better."

"Sure, man. Sure. Huhuhu!" Just as Dacre began to walk away, he stopped in his tracks. Justin watched with a raised eyebrow as he slowly turned around, with a devilish smirk on his face. With a quick glance around, making sure no stupid mortal was waddling around, he began to beckon Justin toward him. "C'mon! Jump in while no one's looking!" Justin scoffed at the whispered invitation.

"Bro, there's no way I'll fit! I'll get the next one." This did little to dissuade Dacre, whose beckoning became more grandiose. Sliding down his shorts and briefs, his sweaty cock flopped out and hung limply in the air. Dacre grasped it, furiously pumping it as he continued to keep watch.

"Get in here! I'll make some room! Squeeze in, man, it'll be fun!" The ghost stared at the cock; so shiny, so inviting, yet so boring. He could do much better, he knew he would do much better. Besides, who better to share a guy with than your best friend? Smirking, Justin hopped to his feet, smirking as he broke into a sprint. Dacre smiled, bracing himself as Justin launched himself forward, diving into his dick. A wet slurping sound radiated out as Justin squeezed himself into the semi erect dick, stretching the slit wide as it swallowed him whole. It grew thick and hard in a matter of seconds, before the rubbery ghost shot downward into his balls. Inflating quickly into the size of basketballs, the last of Justin squirmed into the undulating dick. Dacre fell backwards from the masterful invasion, panting and mindlessly pumping his cock.

"Fuuuuuuuck, bruh. It'll be a tight squeeze, but it'll good to rub up against you again, bro!" Justin chided as he spread throughout Gordon's body. The host yet again began to flail and shake, twisting and turning as he was filled yet again. Dacre felt his best friend's massive legs and feet slide into his own, bloating intensely down his thighs, then his calves and forcing their way into his feet with a quick burst of Justin's sweat bursting out of his soles. A familiar funk wafted out from his now size 13 feet, stretching the bulky sneakers out with his toes and inundating them with his ripe footmusk.

His chest and abs stretched upward as Justin pushed his long torso against the cramped interior of his vessel's shoulders. The body contorted as it grew taller and taller, his mass growing with every inch of height. A sharp stink began to pour from his hairy pits, which grew wetter by the second. The cock distended further: 6 inches, 8 inches, 9 inches before the skin started to constrict around his head. The foreskin restored, the tangy scent of his hooded dick drifted out from his groin while his balls dropped into the size of kiwis.

Dacre moaned and stroked from the sensory overload, feeling Justin's head slowly push up his throat and pressing against his own spectral head. In the blink of an eye, and rather loud crack, seizing once again ceased. Laughing wildly, the duo sat up in their swollen host.

"Bruh! Fuck! This guy is tight!" Justin chimed out of their shared lips, Dacre quickly responding.

"But man, it feels so good to have you in here, though!" They jumped back up, quickly adjusting to their new size. Their muscles jiggled as if they were balloons filled with molasses. With each step, dimly chuckling as they did, the muscles began to firm up until they were rock hard. The duo flexed, eagerly sniffing the wet musk that radiated from their dripping pits, Justin in particular reveling in the scent of life once again. Gordon's inflated body strutted across the gym, hopping down onto the leg press. Placing their massive, ripe sneakers onto the press, they easily moved the 375 pounds of iron.

Behind the desk, the attendant took a double take. He'd seen his fare share of possessed, inflated studs, but to see the Adonis that so effortlessly annihilated 20 presses of such an impressive weight was a first even for him. Perhaps in the back of his mind, he realized that Justin had squeezed in with Dacre, which at least explaining the monumental size. But as he stared at the chiseled man jovially pal around with the other men, showing off his muscle, joking about his musk... the attendant couldn't help but feel a stirring in his shorts.

"Ahhhh yeah, dude. That was nothing! You should see us on circuit days! I mean... See me on circuit days!" Dacre quickly caught Justin's flub before anyone noticed. The other jocks laughed, slapping the possessed hunk's firm ass before wandering back to their weights. "Bro, you gotta be careful! The two of us is already a fuckin' tight fit in here. We don't need anyone else lookin to squirm in!" To any onlooker, it was as if Gordon's body was having a full on conversation with himself, turning his head right and left with two seemingly distinctive voices coming from his lips as he did. Unfortunately, such a display did indeed catch yet another specter's attention.

---

Devonte Jackson was the gymnast to beat in 1995. Top of his career, towering over the competition at his mind numbing 7’2”, and an attitude that would kick your ass with a single glare. He had a reputation for being a little rough, both on the rings and when shoving his massive cock into whatever hole presented itself. The man was the textbook definition of the alpha male: jacked, confident, combative, and a jackhammer in the sheets. His unaffected and apathetic demeanor for whatever reason had the bizarre effect of making everyone he met thirsty for him. Sure, he was handsome. Sure, he was huge. Sure, his cock felt like a flagpole ramming inside your guts. But it was that completely dominant persona that made the drool flow freely.

Leaving a trail of broken hearts, bruised egos, and gold medals in his wake, Devonte was the king of the kings with a domination kink to match. Whether it was having his locker room boys lick the sweat from his feet, his sauna boys cleaning his cock, or tying his various girls to the bedframe as he went in... If Devonte was down, you knew that you would be submitting, and submitting it all. You might end up wearing his cheesy creamed condom on your dick for the rest of the week, purely because he thought it was hot. You might end up getting face fucked on the gym floor as he did his pushups, because it he thought it was hot. You might end up walking around on a leash with him at the helm... and yes, because he thought it was hot. He was in charge, and there was never any doubt about it.

---

"So, you two jock sniffers rubbing dicks together in there?" Dacre and Justin turned to see the king himself hanging on his ring set, ectoplasmic sweat dripping from every pore. The two were intimately familiar with Devonte's personality and his... predilections. Even in spectral form, the dominating spirit had that notorious cock deep in their holes nearly every week. There weren't ever any complaints, mind you, the duo were about the only two otherworldly creatures that got along with the dominant gymnast. So, as he hung there from his ring with that characteristic flat affect on his gorgeous face, the two occupying ghosts smiled with their borrowed lips, feeling their sizeable bulge stir in their shorts.

"Devonte! What's good, man! What do ya think?" Justin flexed their body, chipper as always. The mocha ghost dropped to his feet and walked toward the two, towering a foot above their already stretched height. He circled them, taking in every aspect of their handiwork, and after a moment he nodded in approval.

"Yeah. You did good, boys. Y'all will fit perfect on me." The two shot their head toward their domineering friend.

"Whoa, Dev. It's already tight enough in here. I don't know if you're gonna fit, man!" Dacre couldn't imagine a third presence inside of this twig of a guy, let alone the biggest one at the gym. Plus, knowing Devonte, they'd be relinquishing a fair amount of their autonomy in this vessel to him. The ghost scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Oh no, man. That wasn't a request. I'm not sticking around while the only two bros I fuck with skip off into the sunset. Besides, don't you want this in there with y'all?" Devonte grabbed his gigantic bulge, slowly massaging it as it grew. This had never been attempted before. Three in one? Would it even be possible? The kid would probably burst! Though, inherently, they both knew. There wasn't a choice being offered. "Turn around, boys. Do it now."

The duo smirked, if they were gonna have a third in there with them, it was going to be Devonte anyway. The trio were known for pushing the boundaries, forging new ground, excelling: it was a no brainer. Time for one more. They did as instructed, turning around to face the mirror in front of them. Eagerly watching, the two watched as Devonte strutted toward them. Placing his thick hands on their shoulders, he raised his size 17 sneaker and gingerly placed it on their calf.

"Step aside boys, master is coming in." A searing volt of ecstasy rang out from their leg as Devonte shoved his foot into their calf. Veins bulged immediately from the invasion, muscles tore and warped while the foot stepped into theirs. The leather from the high top began to buckle, stretching wider and wider, until their now gigantic size 17s burst from the seams. "Yeah, baby... I know you like that shit, Jus." As the possessed hunk continued to moan from the dominant ghost's invasion, the various lingering spirits around the gym began to gather around. Floating above the hullabaloo below, they all watched leaking and thirsty as Devonte thrust his groin into Gordon's body, immediately eliciting a growing wet spot on the host's growing bulge. Cheers rang out in the ether as Devonte's cock slid into the already engorged member, snaking downward until his musky, hooded monster peeked its head out of the bottom of the shorts.

The spirits began looking at the patrons with hungrier eyes. Watching the sexy corruption taking place below had done more than get them hot and bothered- it had inspired them. Within seconds, a star sprinter had begun to slither into the cock of a twink on the elliptical, across the gym a bodybuilder was squeezing down the throat of a skinny wannabe model, a leather daddy was chest deep in a college student's quickly bubbling ass, a gold metal hockey player was trying his luck at cramming into the college dropout stoner who cleaned the locker rooms... Moans and sounds of squelching and elastic stretching rang out in the cavernous gym, just as Devonte licked the neck of his soon to be vessel before slipping his head into the crowded skull.

For the poor attendant behind the counter, he watched with horror and lust as his patrons were inflated, invaded, and possessed by his spectral tenants, slowly becoming musky star athletes that would take over their respective sports. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for him, his under the desk jerking at the sights, sounds, and smells before him had distracted even him- allowing him to be completely unaware of the 6'3 ripe basketball player that had crept up behind him, quickly diving head first into his open slit.

"Oh, fuck... Diego... yeah babe, get in here!" The basketball ghost made quick work of slipping into the attendant's member; eager to claim a home for himself, his big sneakers slipped into the kid's cock just as the chair gave out. The bubbling, squirming, warping body collapsed onto the floor as the player stretched his limbs out within him, all the while the host crying out in euphoria as his skin began to tan and a foreign, tangy sweat began to seep from his pores.

---

'Gordon' had opened his eyes for the first time as the man he would remain for the rest of his life: 7'2, size 17 feet, forever wafting his irresistible sweaty musk for anyone that strode too close to the hulking giant. His thick beard, hairy muscles, tanned complexion and various tattoos exuded the strong image of an alpha, more than prepared to stick his uncut eleven incher into whatever hole you provided. Though, as there were three in one, each inhabiting spirit bestowed a different facet to their beloved host: Dacre's carefree and fun attitude, Justin's immense kinkiness and delicious musk, and Devonte's dominant personality and sheer size all mixed together to form the epitome of the master. He stretched upward, grinning from ear to ear watching his friends squirm around as they made the mortals their personal rides back to the land of the living, recreating them in their own image to boot. Soon, he'd have no shortage of ass to pound into oblivion, nor a shortage of bro's to kick it with. He picked up his water bottle, striding toward the counter, tossing his key on the desk as the former attendant slowly stood up from behind the desk- now shirtless, ripe, gorgeous, and piloted by a good friend. He stretched upward, throwing his arms behind his head as he cracked his neck and back, smirking at 'Gordon.'

"Good to see you, boys! Hitting the court in a minute if you wanna join? Or... if you wanna come get a taste of this dick, it's nice and seasoned for ya!" 'Gordon' laughed, Diego always knew how to please the boys, and he was always so damn good looking.

"Throwin' my bag in the car, then I'm gonna be balls deep in your throat. Better get that tongue ready, my bad boy needs a cleaning." Diego smirked, flexing his new body's gorgeous muscles as Gordon turned and headed toward the lot. He strolled up to the tiny car that the former tenant of their body had owned, scoffing in disgust. "Welp, boys, we're buying a new car tomorrow." Gordon comically squeezed into the tiny little hybrid, slamming the door before tossing his bag into the back. He leaned back, watching in unfettered glee as the parade of jacked, studly bros made their way out of their prison and into the world once more. All because three dipshit musclesluts decided to squeeze themselves into one tiny body. Once the new class of spirits made their way back to the gym, he'd be the first one to show them the ropes- as long as they were on all fours for him by the end.