#black tf

Sighing as you pushed open the door to the music store, you tried to hide the conflicted expression on your face as you walked in. Lately, things have been feeling off for you. Even though you were still young and had plenty of things going for you, life just felt empty. Waking up every morning to go to a job that you didn’t care much for was slowly sapping away at your soul, and you felt trapped. Shouldn’t life be more exciting and enjoyable than this? Weren’t you supposed to be living up your life, especially in your youth? Such thoughts kept on racing through your head as you walked through the different aisles, idly flicking through and browsing different records. One of the things you liked doing was browsing through several of the shops in the Arts District. With various knick-knacks, cool trinkets, and unique figurines, the idle window shopping was oddly soothing for you.

It was rare for you to actually want to buy something, though. That was, until your fingers flicked over a rather worn-looking record. There were quite a few in the box, all featuring the same artist. Saint Sol was the artist’s stage name, a well-known musician. He was a staple of R&B, shooting to the top of the charts when he was only in his twenties. Now, he was a well-established musician and producer, having his own label and everything. Saint Sol was practically the epitome of being a self-made man, and the idea of him achieving so much fame and fortune at such a young age made you feel a bit jealous. Of course, it was hard for someone not to be a fan of him. He was charming and suave, confident and flirtatious, and good-looking to boot. There were plenty of tabloid stories of him being a generous lover, often having several people over at once to spend the night with the Saint. Men, women, he didn’t care.

You quickly pulled out your phone and searched for him, wondering where he was now. Otherwise known as Isaiah, he was in his late 30s now, and it seemed like, aside from releasing a few albums here and there, the musician was practically coasting through life. It was practically everything you could have hoped and wanted for in your own life. Your fingers brushed over the old record cover, clearly out of place among the newer and more recent albums of his. In fact, it had an almost iridescent sheen to the record as you pulled it out to stare at it. Whoever had this before must have really beaten it up, given the bumps and grooves you felt on the backside. But at least it would make the shop owner give it to you for a reduced price, and a few moments later, you were the proud owner of your own Saint Sol record.

Bringing your newly acquired possession back home, you quickly pulled off the sleeve and placed the disk onto your record player. The only other plan you had for the rest of the day was to clean up your apartment, so some background music would definitely help get you in the mood. The smooth, sultry voice of the singer began to crackle through as you moved around the space. It was impressive just how clear his tone came through from such an old disc, to the point where you found yourself standing still for a few moments as you lost yourself in the music. Isaiah had such a sweet, melodious voice, interlaced with a deep, bone-shaking bass; it felt like you were being swayed by the songs of a siren.

You barely noticed your eyes starting to flutter shut as the disc hit a particularly scratchy track. This one still had Saint Sol’s voice floating through, but it sounded like there was something else underneath the music layer. It was like some gravely, raggedy chanting, barely noticeable. Perhaps it was just a trick on your ear, given how worn the record was. You didn’t even have time to react before you felt yourself starting to float away. Levitate, more precisely, as your perspective started to rise up in the air. Your eyes widened in surprise, and your limbs shot out in an attempt to ground yourself. But your arms and legs passed through the solid objects like nothing, and you could see yourself still standing in your apartment underneath you. With such an uncanny perspective, you glanced down at yourself to see a translucent, glowing form of yourself in place of your physical body. You couldn’t even cry or scream for help, as your incorporeal arm felt around your face for a mouth. The out-of-body experience was quickly cut short as your soul was whisked away at high speed. It felt like one of those cinematic space warps, with light, sound, and space whizzing by you in some spiritual tunnel.

The frenzied travel ended as quickly as it began, with you hovering in the air above someone else’s body. From what you could see, there were plenty of people strewn about in the room, but there was only one whose eyes you had locked onto. Underneath you, resting peacefully in his bed, was Isaiah. The man you had been fantasizing about, not just a few moments ago. It was strange to see him like this, all peaceful as he slumbered on. There was no world in which you would have ever gotten to be this close to him, let alone in the privacy of his bedroom. But here, floating over him like this, you could practically reach out and touch him without anyone knowing. Curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to enjoy the strange experience. Without a clear explanation as to what was going on, you figured this was the one-in-a-lifetime chance for you to meet the man who seemed to be living all of your dreams.

As your hand reached down to shake Isaiah’s cannonball-sized shoulders, a pulling force seemed to drive your body forward. Your eyes widened in surprise as your spiritual hand was sucked inside the musician’s body. And before you could even brace yourself for impact, the rest of your body began to tumble forward. The last thing you caught a glimpse of was your face landing right into Isaiah’s handsome mug, and everything went black.

It took a few moments for you to gather your bearings, only dwelling in the darkness. This all seemed like such a strange dream, something that you were bound to wake up from. Forcing yourself to open your eyes, you blinked blearily as a wave of exhaustion seemed to settle onto you. There was just the sight of a rather lavish chandelier and bedroom ceiling above you. Flexing your hand carefully, you could feel the smooth texture of silk sheets and a plush pillow behind you. The feeling of something tangible and textured made you push yourself up a bit higher. And then things seemed to click into place for you all at once.

You only had a few moments of staring down at it before, but from your new field of view, there were a pair of heavy-set, muscled pecs staring back at you when you looked down. It almost covered the view of your clearly defined abs, with the last few muscles peeking out between the valley formed by your chest. You could see some aged tattoos on your dark skin, with fresher ones trailing along your arms and hands. A soft noise of surprise slipped from your lips as you naturally brought up your right arm to flex. The peaks of muscles that popped up when you showed off your bicep were intoxicating, to the point where it almost felt like second nature for you. The new position of your arm also offered up a fresh waft of your musk underneath your pits. It was ripe, but smelled more of testosterone and manliness than anything else. That, mixed with some cologne dotting your chest, caused your body to twitch in mild arousal at your scent. You brought one of your meaty hands up to rub and trace at your face, getting a feel of a chiseled jawline and a neatly trimmed beard. It didn’t take much to figure out what had happened, and you didn’t need a mirror to realize whose body you were inhabiting.

Before you had the chance to jump up in surprise or panic at the idea of inhabiting the famous artist’s life, you watched as two bodies began to stir next to you. By your sides were two rather beautiful and stunning women, each equally naked and staring back at you with lust in their eyes. “Morning, handsome… Waking up early without us already?” they purred as they began to pepper your neck with teasing kisses. Their manicured hands roamed over your muscles, exploring every inch of your new body for you. The feeling of their nails brushing over your pert nipples caused you to groan ever so softly. There was that thick, rich, velvety tone that everyone had grown to love.

Your moments of enjoyment with the duo were quickly interrupted by the stirring of someone underneath the cover. A third head carefully peeked up at you, a small and slim body positioned comfortably between your broad, beefy thighs. This time, it was a foxy-looking twink, whose eyes never left yours as his head dipped down to press his nose up against your cock and balls. There was a deep inhalation, and as far as you could tell, the other man’s rolled-back eyes clearly indicated just how much he loved your scent. His slender fingers began to tease and work at your cock, and you could only marvel at the size of your new package even when soft. There was nothing small about Saint Sol, it seemed, and you were getting the full experience firsthand. You shuddered as one of the busty babes began to kiss you, letting her tongue slip inside of your mouth as the other guided your hands onto her breasts. In the meantime, the young man was licking and teasing along your leaking cock slit, swiping up any stray droplets that started to spill from your hardening cock.

The sensual and erotic moment was interrupted by a soft knock at the bedroom door, although none of your partners seemed too bothered to stop what they were doing. The door opened to reveal a rather beefy, hulking man, who seemed to be just as broad-shouldered as Isaiah. He smirked at the sight of you sprawled out and naked on the bed, only pulling out his phone to tap away on it.

“Seems like you’re still having some fun from last night. I take it you’ll want me to push back the meeting for the afternoon then?” he mused as he didn’t glance up from his screen just yet. Unsure what was happening still, you could only offer up a soft grunt in agreement and approval as one of the ladies let her tongue suckle on one of your hardening areolas.

“You’re lucky you’ve got me as your assistant, dude. Going from your personal trainer to bodyguard and now the one who manages your whole life? I’m expecting a big raise this year,” the large man said with a laugh as he slipped his phone away. His eyes lingered on the stiffening mast between your thick thighs, with the small twink struggling to slip it inside his mouth. His slobbering efforts left growing trails of saliva trailing down your veiny shaft. It was a beautiful view, with your slicked-up, big black cock waving in the air like a mast. It was clear that your assistant was enjoying the view as well, with the growing bulge in his slacks showing just how aroused he was.

“...But I’ll settle for a little morning fun for now,” he mused as he began to strip out of his clothes, his eyes landing on yours with each button being picked apart from his dress shirt. “...Perhaps we can push everything out tomorrow. I don’t remember getting the invitation to join last night,” he chuckled as the naked man began to climb into bed with the rest of you.

The last thing you could remember before losing yourself in the orgasmic bliss of your companions was how much things were starting to look up for you. There didn’t seem to be any problems of being stuck in a rut anytime soon, at least.

The place smelled like stale beer and melted wax. Plastic cobwebs dangled from the rafters, and orange lights glowed dim through the haze of cigarette smoke that somehow always found its way inside. The jukebox moaned with a busted Halloween playlist—half “Monster Mash,” half blown-out bass that rattled the glasses.

You sat alone at the bar, elbows planted on sticky wood. You weren’t here for much—just a quiet drink, a chance to disappear into the crowd of costumes and shitty eyeliner. A rainbow pin clung to your jacket, half-hidden, but you didn’t care. This was your holiday.

The bartender, a wide-shouldered woman with raccoon makeup smeared around her eyes, slid a bowl across the counter. Plastic, orange, cheap. Inside: candy, wrappers crinkling under the neon. “Trick or treat,” she rasped, voice like gravel. “Pick one. Might show you something new.”

You gave a half-smile. “I’m a little old for—”

“Pick.” Her tone cut sharp, like a knife against bone.

Your hand dipped into the pile. Reese’s, Snickers, Smarties. But your fingers caught the heft of something bigger—a full-sized chocolate bar. The kind no one actually gave out anymore. It was heavy, warm almost, like someone had been holding it under their arm.

“Good boy,” the bartender muttered, turning away before you could ask.

You tore the wrapper with your teeth, half-drunk already, and bit down. Too sweet. Too bitter. Too… wrong. The chocolate melted like ash on your tongue, coating your mouth in something thick, oily, almost meat-like.

And then the room tilted.

The walls seemed to breathe. Your stomach lurched. Sweat prickled at the back of your neck, and a low buzz filled your skull like a swarm of flies. You gripped the bar, knuckles whitening.

“What the fuck—”

Your voice cracked mid-word. Deeper. Rougher.

The mirror behind the shelves of liquor caught your reflection. For a second, you didn’t recognize yourself. Your jaw clenched, broader, stubble pushing through skin in thick patches that darkened with every blink. Your nose widened, nostrils flaring. Your skin—pale moments ago—deepened into a slick, glistening brown, sweat shining across it like oil.

You staggered off the stool, clutching your chest. It wasn’t just your skin. Your body was swelling. Muscles tightening, popping, cords of sinew twisting under the surface as if something was knitting you into someone else. Your shirt stretched, buttons straining, seams screaming.

“F-fuck! What’s happening to me?”

A laugh slipped from somewhere close. The bartender? A man at the far booth? You couldn’t tell. The sound slithered under your skin.

Your pecs ballooned outward, heavy slabs of meat, flexing with every shallow breath. Ink bled through, crawling across your chest and ribs in crawling waves—tattoos that weren’t yours, dark jagged letters you couldn’t read, skulls and crowns, scripture in a language that felt dangerous.

Your arms thickened, veins bulging like snakes. Your neck shortened under the weight of traps rising like mountains. A gold chain you didn’t own slid heavy against your damp chest, glinting in the strobe light.

“Shiiit, bro,” the voice came again, this time from your own throat, deeper, meaner, slurred with an accent you didn’t recognize but somehow felt natural. “Feelin’ swole as a muhfucka.”

Your eyes went wide. That wasn’t you. That wasn’t how you talked. But the words came out anyway, lazy and cocky, like your lips had been stolen.

Your jeans sagged low, clinging only to your thighs as they swelled into thick trunks of muscle. Sweat poured down your spine, dampening gray sweats that hadn’t been on your body seconds ago, clinging tight around your crotch where something heavy swung, thick and obscene.

You stumbled forward, catching sight of your reflection again—broad chest, carved abs, black skin slick with sweat and ink, eyes half-lidded in a swagger you’d never owned. A stranger. A thug. A king.

“No… no, no, no, I’m not—”

But the words died. Your tongue felt swollen, thick with slang that wasn’t yours. The bartender leaned in, lips curling. “Told you the candy’d show you somethin’ new.”

You tried to scream, but what came out was a laugh—loud, arrogant, cruel.

The laughter wouldn’t stop. It rolled out of your chest, low and mean, bouncing off the fake cobwebs and plastic skeletons. You staggered back to the bar, shoulders wide, sweat dripping down your spine. Every step felt heavier, slower, like the room had bent itself to your swagger.

You slammed a hand down on the counter—thick, veined, tattooed fingers wrapped in gold rings you didn’t own ten minutes ago.

“Aye, gimme sum’ Henny, baby,” you barked at the bartender, voice slurred but full of lazy confidence. She didn’t flinch, didn’t question. A glass slid your way, and you downed it in one gulp, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

A twitch deep inside your pelvis, heavy, insistent. Not a thought, not a desire… a command. Your dick throbbed, thick and overwhelming, a beast locked in your body demanding release, a signal you didn’t even fully understand but obeyed instinctively. Your gaze swept across the bar—eyes lingering on the laughing blonde girl near the jukebox. Your mind screamed at her, a low growl, hot and animal. She didn’t matter. You didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the surge of muscle and lust coiling through your veins.

Blonde wig, devil horns, some slutty costume you didn’t even bother clocking. She was laughing with her friends, sipping a pumpkin-colored drink.

And your whole chest buzzed with hunger.

Not the kind you knew before. Not men, not warmth, not love. This was sharp, ugly, groin-first.

“Damn, shorty,” you muttered, the words rolling off your tongue like you’d said them a thousand times. “Thick lil’ snack sittin’ dere.”

You were moving before you knew it, sweatpants sagging low, chain swinging. The smell of your cologne—heavy, choking, musky—followed you, mixing with booze and sweat.

“Yo,” you grinned, leaning into her space, breath hot with Hennessy. “What’s yo name, lil’ bitch?”

Her eyes flickered with disgust, with fear even, but you didn’t see it like that. In your warped head, she was into it. She had to be. You flexed your pecs, bouncing them under the tattoos, flashing teeth in a grin too wide.

“C’mon, don’t play shy,” you slurred, hand brushing her waist, then lower. “Bet yo pussy wet jus’ lookin’ at me.”

She pushed you off, muttered “fuck off, creep,” but that only made the swagger bigger, meaner.

“Aw, you actin’ all high-class, huh?” you laughed, loud enough for her friends to turn. “Bitch, you know what it is. I fuckin’ own dis place.”

You slapped your chest—thick, sweaty meat that shook under your palm—then reached for your drink again. The bartender slid another shot without asking.

And somewhere, deep inside, you felt a faint scream. A memory. A name. A rainbow pin on your jacket. But it was drowned in booze, in the pounding bass, in the stink of your own cologne.

The girl stormed off with her friends. You didn’t care. There were others. Always others. You scanned the room, eyes half-lidded, cock thickening in your sweats at the sight of every set of hips, every curve.

“Yo, shorty wit’ the wings!” you yelled across the bar, pointing at another costume. “Yeah, you—come sit on daddy’s lap!”

Your voice echoed, ugly and drunk, slurred with a hood drawl that wasn’t yours but now fit like skin.

You downed another shot, and the last piece of the old you cracked apart. You didn’t even remember your name. Didn’t remember being gay, or smart, or decent. Just sweat, swagger, pussy, and booze.

You leaned back on the bar stool, legs spread wide, thick cock outlined against gray cotton.

And you laughed again.

Because this was you now.

A cruel, straight, dumb-as-shit fuckboy, loud and horny, ghetto king energy dripping from every flex and slur.

The kind of man who never had to say much—because his body already did all the talking.

Why do I go to the gym? Not for training of course, but to see which body I’m possessing and taking home 🤭💪🏾🍆

The knock on your office door startled you. It was a rare occasion to receive anyone unannounced. And you weren't expecting anybody either.

You opened the door, not knowing what to expect. Probably someone who got lost. Or one employee who needed your opinion on the management of the gym. However, you were surprised to find a small kid. Probably around eight years old.

The poor boy struggled to carry a pink box. It seemed to come for a pastry shop. But it couldn't be the cake you ordered, could it? Your stomach twisted thinking you had unwittingly supported a company who used child labor. Sure, it had been free, so you didn't give them any money. Was that better or worse? You had no idea.

"Can I help you, little guy?" you said, taking the box from his arms. "Do you need to find the owner of this box?"

"Nope!" the kid said, with a grin. He was missing his front teeth. "It's for you, daddy!"

That made you pause. You looked at the kid trying to school your expression to not show the degree of your astonishment. Why would such a kid believe you were his father? After all, you were only in your mid-twenties. You would have been in high school still at the time this boy was conceived.

There was a more blatant issue, though.

The kid was clearly Black. Hair styled in twists. Large black eyes. And rather dark skin. Almost ebony. He was adorable, but that didn't make him yours.

You, on the other hand? You were Hispanic. No where near as dark as the boy. Features wise there wasn't any resemblance either. The nose differed. The lips were different in shape and width. Not even the shape of the eyes, or the ears were similar. Nothing suggested any biological relation whatsoever.

And, as far as you knew, you hadn't had sex with any Black woman. Or any woman, for that matter. Nor had you donated sperm. So how could you ever have fathered this kid?

"I'm sorry, little guy, but..."

"Shhh... Come on, daddy, let's eat cake. It's your favorite! Please? You'll really like it. I'm sure of it!" the boy said, pouting. His dark eyes shining with so much hope.

Your heart would have broken into pieces if you were to deny him.

With a tired sigh you opened the box from Mr. Hexum pastry shop. The cake made your mouth water. The chocolate shone, reflective in a way that made you appreciate its quality. And the aroma? Oh, it was so wonderful. It made your knees weak with anticipation.

Fortunately you had some plates and cutlery available. You served two slices, wondering when should be a good time to call the police. Not only because you were rightly against childhood labor, but also because this kid wasn't in the right state of mind. He needed help, and you would try to do the best you were able to provide it.

After all, you did respect parents. You longed to become a father one day. It may have been selfish, but, at least for this little while, you could pretend you and this kid were actually related.

"What's your name, kiddo?" you asked, hoping it wouldn't offend the boy.

"It's Deon, daddy! And don't you forget it!" Deon replied, with a toothy grin. "Now eat! You'll love it, I promise! It's life changing!"

With a chuckle, you obeyed. And began eating your slice of cake. The first bite almost made you pause. Never before had you tasted something so delectable. Chocolate cakes were almost always good... But this one was sublime! It felt like your tongue had discovered the true feeling of what chocolate had to taste like. Had you eaten bad quality chocolate all your life? How could this taste so wonderful?

Finishing the slice took no time. It was almost embarrassing. You worked at a gym, for fuck's sake! This was the opposite of setting an example. Especially because Deon had yet to touch his own slice. You had never been a glutton. Why did you behave as one?

"I knew you'd love it!" Deon said, grinning. "Now the magic can begin!"

The multiple questions you had didn't get to even be uttered, for you realized something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. While you didn't want to leave Deon alone, you had to run to the bathroom urgently.

And so you bolted. Deon laughing as he followed. Surprisingly there wasn't anyone around you could trust Deon with. The kid did say he would wait for you outside the bathroom. So you felt a tiny bit comfortable locking up the door, despite the guilt of leaving Deon on his own.

It was a bathroom for one person. Your private bathroom, actually. Benefits of being a manager. It didn't provide much reassurance in this instance. At least it was designed to be sound proof. Not that it'd be useful now, yet it had saved you from embarrassment a couple of times before. Maybe this would one more time to add to the counting.

But you were baffled to realize the ill feeling had passed. You didn't feel sick anymore. Perhaps you never did. Maybe it had been a sense of foreboding rather than a stomsch ache. Or an overwhelming need to be alone...

"The kid didn't need to witness what is going to happen," a disembodied male voice said, inside your head. The velvety deep sound felt like a caress. And despite it all, it soothed you. "Just relax... Your wish is coming true... He won't be able to see nor hear you until is done..."

Your calm was short lived. At that moment all your clothes disappeared. Leaving you completely naked. Fortunately, a clean pink rug appeared under your bare feet.

Looking around, you tried to find an explanation. None was there to be found.

"Hello? Could you explain what you mean?" you whispered. The idea of saying out loud was too embarrassing. Almost as if you were playing a game with a kid and got so into it you weren't able to differentiate it from reality.

No answer came.

You were wondering how to get out of here without indulging on public indecency when you heard it. Your spine cracking. Yelping, you rubbed your back. Was the room smaller now? Why did you feel you were suddenly so high inside this room?

Looking at your reflection it showed you what had happened. Somehow, in a few seconds, you had grown several inches of height. Your spine and legs longer than they had ever been before. Now you were definitely a towering presence. 6'5" if you had to make a guess. The rest of your body had also shifted, in a way that made you still look well proportioned.

Your eyes widened. How was this even possible? It had been years since you stopped growing. And it never had been this quick!

The next change was even more shocking. Looking down at your hands, which were now longer as they needed to fit your enlarged body, you noticed the tips of your fingers were darkening. The color advancing through your skin with worrisome haste.

"What is this?" you asked, voice quiet from shock. "Am I dying?"

For a moment you had believed it was a fast and sudden case of gangrene. Yet your fingers weren't withering, but growing stronger as they darkened. They were thicker. Meatier. They weren't dying. Just reshaping into a mightier form.

Understanding came once your hands were ebony in their entirety. Somehow, you were turning a completely different race!

That wasn't something you had ever expected to happen. You were rather proud of your Hispanic heritage. And while there were Hispanic Black people, you weren't one of them before today. So, this felt like completely unknown territory. Was this a way for the magic to destroy your identity? Or merely a wsy of reframing of it?

It took you a bit to notice that this new skin tone wasn't the only change you were experiencing. As the dark tone advanced, your body was growing muscle. Now, you were a rather average guy before. You were a gym manager, not a gym goer... So you weren't a huge guy by any means. Apparently this was about to change!

Your forearms looked huge. Completely disproportionate compared with the rest of your body. Still, you weren't mad. There was something erotic about the muscle, about the prominent vascularity. You traced one vein with your new hand.

As you did, your biceps inflated. Even without flexing they were huge. As big as some people's thighs. It was an incredible feeling. But they felt so heavy! You were slouching for a moment, as your body hadn't gotten used to your new muscular arms.

With a pop, your shoulders broadened. Almost too much. You knew that, when it came to ideal proportions, shoulders should be equal to around three heads wide. Yours were almost four heads.

Finding clothes will certainly by a nightmare now... Haha... You thought, awkwardly, not knowing yet if to be afraid or aroused by the changes.

Your back forced you into a proper posture, standing tall and proud. Muscles were growing in the process. At the same time, a new welcome weight made itself known. Large pecs developed in your chest. Expanding forwards as if it was the most natural thing for muscles to do. You grabbed one of them. Your nipple, which was bigger than it used to be, hardened from your touch. A gasp. It was so sensitive. Immediately you cupped your other pec. That nipple was sensitive too.

"Oh god!" you whimpered, moving your pecs up and down. Eyes closed, leaning your head back from pleasure.

You lasted this way for so long, you almost missed your abs popping out. Prominent, chiseled as if made of black marble.

Still, your attention was suddenly grabbed. The changes were reaching your crotch. Biting your lip, you opened your eyes, excited to know what would happen to your cock.

I hope I get a BBC... You thought, with a smile. Sure, it may be a stereotype. But didn't Black men deserve that win? And since you were going to be a Black man soon...

Your dick hardened. Almost jumping as it rose up. The ebony color had reached the base, and was slowly extending up towards the tip. Unlike before, this change felt like someone was caressing you, as if someone was stroking your cock. Not just with their hand, but with some sort of magic that intensified the pleasure to such an unbelievable degree... You couldn't even put a name to it. Shuddering, you had to rely on the mirror to see how your cock was shifting. Your pecs were too large, obstructing your view.

Yet, your cock wasn't growing.

No... It was contracting. Somehow intensifying the already pleasurable sensation. Gasping, you knew you were close.

You didn't want it to shrink. No men did. Something... You should do something... Stop it somehow... Right? No guy wants a small cock... You wanted to be hung... You didn't want to be small... So small...

Sluggish, your huge hand grabbed your cock. Maybe stretching it would make it grow? Maybe... Just maybe...

The simple touch of your fingers was enough to make you cum instantly.

You fell to your knees. Shooting cum copiously to the floor tiles. Thick, white, glossy cum. With it, your cock kept shrinking, accelerating on its decrease. You were too lost on orgasmic bliss to care, or to try to prevent further shrinkage.

Once you stopped cumming, your cock also ceased its dwindle. Now it was a beautiful girthy thing. Around three inches. It looked so small on your massive frame. Especially because it was so thick. Were it a tad more proportional, or if it was skinny, you may have been able to claim it was actually four inches long. Yet, with it being so girthy, it looked way closer to two inches than to three...

"Fuck... That was..." you said, breathing uneven. Partly because of the orgasm, and partly because your new muscles were a handle you weren't used to. "Wow..."

It was softening now, foreskin covering the pink head like an embrace. It was such a dark penis. Your skin was already so dark, but your cock? It was almost purely black. Thankfully it seemed you now were a shower. Your soft limp cock barely lost any length compared to its hard size.

Changes hadn't stopped, however, as anticlimactic as it may have sounded. Done with your crotch, the magic moved to your ass. As it had happened with your pecs, your butt cheeks ballooned outwards. They felt almost ridiculous. Almost pure muscle, yet they had such an appealing shape... Had your body kept a more significant percentage of fat, you were certain you'd had the biggest bubble butt you've ever seen. Some striation was inevitable, however, given how your bodybuilder new flesh was developing.

Whatever magic was changing you now accelerated. Expanding your thighs and calves as it quickly went down. It finished with your feet. Now larger, wider. Several times bigger than the show size you were using but a few minutes ago. Long, thick toes. Thick soles. Buying shoes would be so difficult now...

Standing up, your body finally felt stable. From the neck down, you were a Black Adonis. Or so you would think, given the massive growth of muscle. Even your micro cock was appealing in your eyes. A body this muscular always looked better with an almost invisible cock. You almost wished it was even smaller now... Wouldn't it be a vision if it lost even more length?

The reflection in the mirror still showed the face of a mid-twenties Hispanic man, however. You knew that wouldn't last long. Your neck was widening, growing the same ebony color the rest of your skin had acquired already.

Your jaw squared, widening. Lips thickened, especially the lower one. They were so kissable... If they weren't your own, you would have loved to kiss those lips... Your nose broadened, manly, determined and confident. Cheekbones rose high, giving your face an angular look.

Hair receded inwards. As if you had shaved it all. The same was true for your body hair. After all, it would have obscured your muscle gains if you kept it. Which was unacceptable. Your body was an ode to male musculature, and nothing should obstruct its mighty beauty.

The sclera of your eyes also changed. Your body produced so much melanin the sclera was slightly darker too. More yellowish. Instead of the white you were used to.

Your face was unrecognizable. For the world, and your own perception, you were a Black man. The Hispanic features that were till now so familiar were nowhere to be found. It didn't help your face had aged. It'd be hard to believe you were in your mid-twenties, anymore. If anything, you looked forty. A new certainty implanted itself in your mind: You were now forty seven years old. More than twenty years older than you were this morning.

As you realized this, a shimmering pink thong covered your crotch. A round plaque with a number attached to it. A familiar attire for a man such as you.

Memories assaulted your mind. You were now Lamar Orville. A professional bodybuilder with years of experience. Your name was recorded in history thanks to your continuous effort and success. And this was your last competition, after a successful career. One last chance to be honored, one last chance to show the world what you were capable of.

But your muscle building, as important as it was for your heart, it paled in comparison to your most important legacy: being a father. You had three children: the oldest boy was eighteen, and was now studying in Howard University; you daughter was thirteen, and a great player of soccer; lastly, there was your baby Deon. An eight year old boy who was your biggest fan, and always wanted to come when you competed.

Today was such a day. The last one ever.

The pink rug below your feet turned into flip flops, as you decided to leave the bathroom. Outside, Deon was waiting for you. Smiling with his missing teeth. You smiled at him back. Heart swelling with love and pride.

"Come on, kiddo. I have a last trophy to win," you said, offering your massive hand to Deon.

"I know daddy! Mommy is waiting for me. She saved me a seat. But I wanted to go with you! I waited for you, like I promised. Mommy will understand, right?"

"Yeah... Of course she will, little guy!" you said, your deep baritone voice confident, despite being somewhat puzzled.

Mommy? You thought, surprised for a moment. Wasn't I gay? Yet your confusion didn't last much. The idea of being gay wasn't wrong, exactly... Just not exact. Aisha... My dear Aisha... Your wife. Now you remembered her. She bad been your high school sweetheart. You had married her after college, however, in your twenties. She had supported your career, and you had supported hers. Aisha was an elementary school teacher, while you were a bodybuilder full time.

Both of you had been present parents, as much as the two of you were capable. You, specifically, were able to stay at home more than her. Since you really only had to leave the house to exercise, and you still had some machines at home just in case. There were also some periods when you had to travel for competitions, of course, but for the most part you were the stay at home dad. Your kids loved you. You had been with them each step of the way.

Was there anything else a man could ask for?

"I love you, daddy!" Deon said, hugging your enormous leg. "I'm so glad you're finally yourself! Forever my daddy! And no one else!"

You laughed. Kids could say such nonsense! You had always been Lamar Orville: father, husband, and successful bodybuilder. You had built a legacy and an impact, both with your body and with your family.

There was no world where you wanted to be someone else. You were so happy with who you were.

"I love you too, little guy." you told him fondly. "Now come on. We don't wanna be late. I'll make sure to win just for you!"

And so you two walked, holding hands. Father and son. Ready to confront anything together.

As an exchange student in New York, Henrik Nyström had imagined his first days very differently. Instead of stepping into student life full of energy, he found himself at the counter at JFK, being told that his luggage had gone missing somewhere between Stockholm and Newark. At least the airline had sent him a small emergency package to his Harlem apartment.

The journey there had been exhausting, but the neighborhood felt lively, the apartment tiny yet clean, and his landlord had placed the box neatly beside the bed. Inside were books, towels, bedsheets—but no clothes. Only his running shoes. Better than nothing.

With just his backpack and a one-time credit card loaded with a hundred dollars from the airline, Henrik set out into the streets. After drifting aimlessly for a while, he stepped into a cramped second-hand store.

Behind the counter leaned an athletic Black man, muscles filling out a tight tee, his posture easy, confident. His eyes locked on Henrik at once. “Yo, bro, lookin’ lost, huh? Need some gear, fo’ real?”

Henrik nodded awkwardly. “Yes… my luggage didn’t arrive, so… I need some clothes.”

“Aight, we gotchu. Old school drip, cheap an’ clean. Check dis out.”

He led him down narrow aisles, pulling out shirts, shorts, sneakers. Henrik felt awkward, out of place, but he didn’t want to offend. Finally, he picked some things: white socks, a couple packs of Hanes underwear still sealed from the eighties, and a pair of blue Adidas running shorts with the white stripes.

“Bruh, dat short fire. But ya need some ice widdit.” The shopkeeper held up a thick gold chain, heavy and gleaming. “Dis chain? Make you pop. Swear, you gon’ shine runnin’ through da park.”

Henrik hesitated. It felt absurd. Yet the man’s grin, his sheer presence—it was easier to nod. “Okay… I’ll take it.”

“Bet! And lemme put you on da newsletter, man. Gotta keep my fam in da loop.”

Out of politeness, Henrik agreed. With a plastic bag of retro gear, he left.

Back in his tiny room, he unpacked. He slipped into the shorts, laced up his running shoes, pulled on a black running shirt. His eyes lingered on the chain. It looked gaudy, ridiculous with sportswear—yet strangely powerful. He clasped it around his neck.

In Central Park, he started running. At first light and effortless, his breath syncing with the rhythm of his steps. The skyline burned gold in the late sun, the air alive with freedom. After an hour he rested on a bench, sweat dripping, lungs singing with energy.

His phone buzzed. A new message. Sender: Second-Hand Kingz. “Yo, Chinedu, chain lookin’ lit. Wanna activate? Link down: chronivac.com/?model=auto”

Henrik frowned, blinked. Chinedu? Who’s that? He clicked the link. Nothing happened. Shrugging, he pocketed the phone and started running again, assuming it was some marketing glitch.

But as he ran, something changed. Each step grew heavier, echoing like a drumbeat. A strange pulse crawled up from his feet, surging into his calves. His muscles thickened, swelling under his skin like molten steel poured into a mold. The thin legs of a Scandinavian student inflated into carved, vascular columns.

The Adidas shorts tightened, stretching over thighs that swelled with brutal force—quads rounding into slabs of meat, veins snaking across them. His skin darkened visibly, first bronze, then richer, deeper, until it gleamed like polished ebony.

His chest ballooned, ribs expanding outward. The running shirt stretched, seams screaming, until with a sharp tear it split across his shoulders. He clawed it off, gasping, and stared as his own arms doubled, tripled in size—biceps bulging like granite boulders, veins ridging across them like cords of steel.

A guttural sound escaped him, but the voice wasn’t his. It was deeper, rougher, resonant with power. His traps rose, his neck thickened, his shoulders rolled forward like mountains being born. His abdomen stacked into a brick wall of abs, every line hard and defined.

People stopped, watching in awe. Phones rose to capture the impossible. Henrik staggered toward a pull-up bar where two young athletes were working out. He leaned forward, palms pressing into his thighs—and froze.

The realization hit him like a hammer: the thighs, the arms, the chest… the skin. He was no longer Henrik Nyström.

“Yo, big man, you good?” one of the guys called out, eyes wide.

He swallowed, chest heaving, and finally found his voice—deep, booming, thick with slang: “Shee, I’m lit, homie. Dis body ain’t for runnin’. It’s built fo’ pushin’ iron, ya dig?”

The two grinned, nodding in respect. “Damn straight, bro! Selfie?”

He grinned back without thinking, posing, every muscle flexed, the gold chain gleaming proudly on his ebony chest. The camera flashed.

The polite Swedish exchange student was gone. In his place stood Chinedu Okafor, a Nigerian professional bodybuilder, newly arrived in New York for the next big competition.

Kai knew he was far above the rest. Born into money and power, he got everything he wanted, exactly when he wanted it. Women, cars, planes, food... all at the drop of a dime. He dressed in designer suits, which he constantly bragged about the price of. He wanted the whole world to bow to him, and worship the very ground he walked on.

This leads to Kai's 22nd birthday party, taking place in the Bahamas. He had invited five of his wealthiest friends, the only people he deemed worthy of associating with. They had spent the entire month on Kai's father's dime with women, watersports, booze, and dice, all leading up to one final drinking night on Kai's actual day of birth aboard his luxury yacht, moored to a private island. The party was too much: strippers dotted the decks, fireworks went off every half hour, loud music floated about, and poker chips poured like honey. Kai himself sat at the head table with his five rich friends.

"Here's to one more year of life!" Kai cheered, his voice slurring.

"Hear, hear!" His friends replied, and they all chugged down their liquor like it was water.

"Alright, guys, I've got the next round coming!" Kai shouted, as he dashed back to the bar... only something was amiss.

The scantily-dressed barwoman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, an absolute giant of an irishman stood behind the bar, dancing to the beat of the music. He wore no shirt, just a bowtie with a nametag reading "Dom," and short shorts, accentuating his enormous muscles. An easy smile sat on his face, accented by the enormous emerald earring in his right ear. Just by being in the room with the man, Kai felt a need to compete with him.

"Where's Chrissy?" Kai asked, a simmer of anger in his voice.

"Ach, she was feeling a tad ill, so she came to fetch me." The bartender replied in a soothing Irish accent. "Watcha looking for tonight?"

"Something powerful and special." Kai said. "You'd know a thing or two about that."

The bartender's smile twitched. "I think I got just the thing for a birthday boy like you. Little something from back home, you aught to enjoy it."

The bartender turned around, and started pouring a variety of liquors into a shaker, then dancing to mix it all up. Kai couldn't stop looking at his ass: while Kai was incredibly straight, he could easily tell that this man had a great, bouncy bubble butt. His pecs too were incredible, the girls should be all over him-- why weren't they?

The bartender brought the shaker right up to his enormous left pec, opened it up, and dumped something in it that Kai couldn't see. He then presented the drink into a tall tankard. It was a sparkling emerald green, unlike any drink Kai had seen before.

"What is this shit?" Kai groaned.

"Special recipe of mine. You'll learn to make it yourself, someday."

"As if. People make my drinks, not the other way around."

Kai took a big swing of the emerald drink, chugging it all in one go. Instantly, he could feel his insides bubbling.

"Did you poison me?!" Kai screamed, but was inaudible over the clamor of the party.

"Nope." The bartender said. "Enjoy." And with that, he vanished.

Kai ran to the restroom as his muscles began burning and pulsing with new strength. He could barely make it to the bathroom before he began to shake, shiver, moan, and grow.

As Kai grew, a single thought entered his head.

My behavior is not suited for a King.

----------

Kai's friends were starting to wonder where their leader had gone, when suddenly, a single text appeared on their phones.

Kai: Everyone, come down to the island. There's someone you need to meet.

The group stumbled to the beach, where a single man awaited them, carrying four drinks with him. He was enormous, seven feet tall, and was a stunning example of peak masculinity. He was clearly from the islands around here: his beautiful, dark skin reflected the setting sun perfectly, while saltwater trickled through his tight curls, mustache, and goatee. His gigantic, bouncy, fuckable pecs sat atop a tight muscle gut, indented with the turtle-shell pattern of abs. His biceps outsized his head, and were crisscrossed with a pattern of veins showing his strength. His legs would have been incredibly oversized on any other man, but on him, they were glorious, perfect cylinders striated with pure strength, able to cut through water with ease. His ass was a perfect breeding site for any cock able to work its way past his thick muscle cheeks. An inviting aroma of saltwater and musk wafted from him, beckoning the boys over. It assaulted their nostrils, the scent unimpeded by clothes, for this beach hunk wore only a speedo and a necklace of purest silver. It smelled divine, and although these boys were straight before, this musk was worth far more than any feeble heterosexuality. They almost climbed over each other to get closer to the man.

"Now, now," The beach hunk said. "We can take me in some other time; I'm not the important one here. What is important, is you."

"What do you mean?" One of the rich boys asked. "You're perfect!"

"And you can be too." The beach hunk replied. "You boys want a drink?"

"Yes?" Another rich boy said.

"I made them myself," The beach hunk said, gesturing to the drinks in his hands. They gleamed a pure silver, like liquid mercury.

"From this big boy down here." He continued, patting the massive cock straining to break free of his speedo.

By this point, every single boy had a raging-hard on. They needed to know what this man tasted like. They dashed over to the beach hunk, and each grabbed a glass from the man's enormous hands, and drank the whole thing in one gulp each.

Instantly, their bodies expanded. Their thighs grew from twigs to tree trunks, laced with power. Their arms mirrored their King's, bursting with strength the size of coconuts. Their abs, one by one, popped into existence, forming tight eight-packs on all of their cores.

Soon, one boy started noticing how hot his neighbor was getting. While the beach hunk was a true being of masculinity, his friend was definitely becoming capable of rivaling him. He reached over to his friend's chest, and touched his nipple--

And suddenly, his friend's chest ballooned past almost every letter of the alphabet with mass, growing larger and darker and more sensitive, until his pecs were just as bouncy and voluptuous as his King's.

"B-bro..." He moaned. "I... I need you to touch them..."

His fellow transformee showed no slowness as he latched his rapidly-expanding hands onto his friend's enormous muscle tits, pawing and kneading the muscle and nipple. His friend moaned with pleasure. How could his chest feel so good?

The other two had noticed what their friends were doing, and immediately joined in. One began worshipping another's ass, while the final one began giving his friend a blowjob. Soon, their asses and dicks had all expanded into pillars and beautiful mounds of dark flesh, sensitive and plush, perfect for kneading. The friends grew closer and closer together, their hair darkening and tightening as they went, until they had all become a massive literal clusterfuck. Each man was sucking a nipple, taking a dick, fucking an ass, all in the most intense pleasure any of them had ever felt in their life.

Though, eventually, it was all too much. They felt their load coming right from their new enormous bull balls... and they just couldn't hold it any longer. In a burst of cum, they all released each other, panting on the sand in their beautiful new forms.

“This new life of ours – it still amazes me, you know?” Rick remarked. Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Life takes some weird twists sometimes, brother. You never know what’s round the corner.” Mark chipped in “SO true!” All 4 laughed, ruefully, as Rick, Peter and Jonathan strolled through the outer parkland surrounding their club’s mansion and gardens. Baz & Nicky followed behind, carrying a picnic hamper.

Coming to a stone bench, Peter, Jonathan and Rick sat down, lit cigars and leaned back as Nicky opened the hamper. Mark sighed. “THAT is one thing I really miss, guys – the taste of a cigar.” Rick nodded. “Yeah – I bet you do, man. Those huge ones you loved were something else – we always used to joke that you were indulging a hidden sub streak by putting something so long and thick in your mouth!” Mark snorted. “Cheeky fucker!” Rick grinned.

Since the club had relocated to the mansion, Rick had been spending more and more time in Jonathan and Mark’s company – mainly to renew his friendship with Mark. The two were old friends, going back long before Nicky’s mischief had transformed Mark, irrevocably, into the pair of crotch high Wesco Big Boss Engineer boots that were now clamped on Jonathan’s feet and legs. The renewed friendship did Mark a lot of good... but also frustrated him as it reminded him of his human life, now denied him, and the things he could no longer access or enjoy.

Deeply aware of Mark’s frustration, Rick asked Jonathan “Is there REALLY no way to change Mark back? Some aspects of the way he’s stuck now just get to him SO FUCKING BADLY it’s not funny. I don’t like seeing a friend in that state.”

Mark sighed. “I wish there was, brother. Unfortunately, the spell Nicky used reshaped my soul too, so there’s no way back to my old form.” Jonathan nodded. “Also, the spell includes futureproofing to prevent us changing Mark into any other human form, so we can’t even craft a brand new human form for him. He could bodysnatch another guy – but refuses to do so, on principle.”

Nicky spoke up “Permission to speak, Sir?” Jonathan answered “Granted, boy. What’s on your mind?” Nicky replied “When I cast the spell, Sir, I left that futureproofing part out.”

Jonathan and Peter’s jaws dropped. “WWWHHHAAATTT???!!!” Mark yelled. Jonathan glared at Nicky. “You stupid, reckless, BLOODY FOOL!!! Partial spells can get fucking unstable. You could’ve DESTROYED Mark, carrying on like that! You IDIOT!!!”

Nicky flinched, cowering under Jonathan’s blast of fury. Mark muttered darkly “Seems I had a lucky escape there, huh, Boss?” Jonathan nodded. “Yeah. You did. Your form seems stable – which is why I assumed the spell had been fully applied, and didn’t look further than checking the spellbook.” Peter added “Think you’d better check Mark over, brother.” Jonathan agreed. “Definitely. Let’s get back to the lab and take a closer look.”

In the lab, Jonathan walked over to the holotank. “Scanning time.” He infused the boots with a shimmer of green fire, analysing their structure, nature, contents and the spells that had transformed Mark into them and empowered him to control the form of his wearer – then copied that analysis into the tank. Next, he took the old spellbook out of his safe and copied the correct structure of both spells into the holotank for comparison. Jonathan & Peter carefully studied the results, then sat back and conferred.

“Well... it’s not as bad as it could have been.” Jonathan remarked. Peter agreed, explaining “The part of the spell that reshaped Mark’s soul to prevent him being returned to his original form expanded to fill the section where the futureproofing should have been. It’s widened the scope of that reshaping – it stops Mark from being changed into any form SIMILAR to his original one now, rather than just to that exact original form – but that’s fixed the imbalance, which is fortunate, otherwise he wouldn’t’ve survived.”

Jonathan rumbled “So the good news, Mark, is that we CAN turn you into human form... but there are some limits, due to Nicky’s carelessness. Bottom line – as your original form was white, male and Caucasian, the similarity bar means you can now take any human form EXCEPT that of a White Caucasian male.”

Mark was thoughtful. “Boss – does that also mean I’m faced with the same type of limitations you were when you wanted to become a black guy? That you can’t make me anything except Black, because that’s what you are?” Jonathan nodded. “Yeah – correct. I can turn you Black unaided, but anything else – Asian, Indigenous etc. – would need external assistance from some of our brothers.”

Mark’s reply was forthright. “In that case, being turned into dark meat is fine. You guys carry it off bloody well – no reason why I can’t do that too.” Jonathan grinned. “So be it.” He turned to Peter. “Brother, will you go and run our plans by the chief?” Peter nodded. “Sure.” And headed upstairs to find Angus.

Relaxing in their suite, Angus & Alan were chilling out, their boys serving as footstools. Angus listened with surprise to Peter’s news. “WHOA! Now THAT is fucking BRILLIANT news. And it’ll do Mark a world of good, too.”

He continued, “However, we need to keep the club under the radar – so we can’t leave Mark running around on his own after he’s changed. He’ll have to be initiated. That’s the only limitation I put on this – and it’s non–negotiable. Mark was a biker before his transformation, and he’ll be required to make himself one again as soon as his shapeshifting lock releases.” Peter nodded. “Makes sense. Come and have a word with them both – it’ll be quicker than me playing messenger.”

In the lab, Jonathan & Mark both agreed with Angus’ stipulations. Mark was cheerful “I was gonna ask to join anyway – so that’s grand. Thanks, chief.” Jonathan grinned. “That will work well. Mark’s existing powers can be utilised to help lay the foundation for his transformation to piskey form too. Let’s get started. Chief, would you let everyone know what we’re gonna do, and get the collective green light for Mark’s initiation?” Angus grinned. “Sure.” and summoned everyone to the drawing room.

Once everyone had gathered, Angus grinned at them all. “Guys – big news. We’ve found a way to change Mark into human form again. He can’t go back to his original form – but it turns out that Nicky bungled the spell, so we can craft a different human form for him. Jonathan & Peter are gonna turn him into a black guy. Are you all OK with initiating him afterwards?”

Jaws dropped across the room. Steve grinned. “Now THAT is the best news I’ve heard since Jack & I were put right. Mark’s already a brother in all but name – so definitely YES on my part.” Agreement from the others was unanimous – Mark was well liked and respected. Angus grinned. “Thanks, all.” Jonathan added. “He’ll create his own bike after his training’s complete.” Peter added “Chief – will you and Rick join us as witnesses, please?” With grins of anticipation, Angus and Rick did so.

Returning to the lab, Jonathan & Peter got busy crafting Mark’s new form in the holotank while Angus and Rick looked on. Peter, as he had done when designing Jonathan’s black form some time ago, used Mark’s personality as a base to construct the new Black Master he would become, while Jonathan made sure that the extra parts needed for Mark’s subsequent piskey transformation, and the incorporation of his current powers into his piskey abilities, were all present and correct.

Finishing off, Peter asked “Brother – what do you think?” Mark was radiating approval and excitement, full of dirty, eager anticipation. “Looks DOWNRIGHT FUCKING SEXY. Thanks, brothers!” Jonathan grinned. “Then let’s get started. Let go of me, brother.”

Leather creaked as Mark released his hold on Jonathan’s feet and legs. Removing the boots, Jonathan created a square platform, 8’ a side, 6” high, in front of the mirror and materialised a solid crystal cube, 8’ x 8’ x 8’, on top of it. Next, he transferred the template of Mark’s new form from the holotank to the crystal, dematerialised the boots and ‘ported them into the crystal, setting them so the template’s feet and legs were inside the boots; explaining “The crystal will assist the physical merge and transformation. Mark’s in two parts right now. Those need to combine into one.”

Peter approved. “Good way to do it.” Jonathan grinned. “But I’m not doing it in stockinged feet. First things first!” And with a net of green fire, a new pair of crotch high Wesco Big Boss Engineer boots appeared, encasing Jonathan’s feet and legs. A physical copy of Mark’s current form, down to the last crease, stitch and buckle. “Cool. Now let’s do this!”

Jonathan triggered the spell.

“YYYEEEAAAGGGHHH!!!” Mark yelled as the cube ignited, flashing instantaneously into white light. A light which began contracting inwards, concentrating in towards the template of his new form. The boots in whose form he’d been imprisoned for so long dissolved, fusing with the template, as the crystal recast him, body, mind and spirit, into the form of the template. As the process completed, the light dimmed.

“HALLE – FUCKING – LUJAH!!!”

A joyful, ecstatic roar rolled out from the charcoal black 6’10” musclebound giant standing where the heart of the crystal had been, fists high in the air in sheer exultation over his recreated humanity. Light gleaming over dark, glossy black skin, packed muscle rippling underneath. A thick 12” cock and bull balls hanging between his legs like a statement of manliness. Peter chuckled. “Yo, brother. Let’s get you suitably attired.” Black leather rippled over Mark’s body, forming a set of full BLUF gear – black leather shirt, tie, pants, boots, waistcoat, biker jacket, cap, gauntlets and aviator sunglasses – that hugged him in a snug, skintight embrace.

Jonathan grinned. “Yo, brother. Watch your step – you'll need to get used to walking again.” He stepped forward, reaching out a steadying hand to Mark, who was stumbling into motion with an amazed, incredulous look on his face. Angus grinned. “Get him to the mirror and let’s initiate him.” Jonathan agreed. “I’ll do the change – we need a few extra precautions this time, against the risk of any aftermath from that mess Nicky caused.”

Mark, leaning on Jonathan as he carefully got his legs, walked over to the mirror. “Yo, brother. This be a shock. Still not sure it’s real, you know?” Jonathan grinned. “It is real, brother. You’ll get used to it soon enough. Right now, the world’s gonna seem a lot bigger to you in a moment...”

Mark grinned as he stood in front of the mirror. Rick, in high spirits, became facetious and turned to rhyming. “From six feet ten, you’ll spin on a dime. It’s shrinky dinky piskey time!” Angus and Peter groaned; Mark rolled his eyes; and Jonathan just smirked, as he infused Mark‘s body with green fire and began converting flesh to magic, watching carefully as Mark shrank to a height of 1” tall, became immaterial and was changed, body and soul, into a piskey... a process which was completed by the application of a triple lock.

Jonathan spoke. “OK, Mark... you’ve got the usual permanent lock on your inner spirit, making you an immortal piskey, forever, on the inside, where it counts; and the usual temporary lock on your shapeshifting abilities, which keeps you in piskey form until it’s totally natural to you to be that way.”

He continued “I’ve also applied an extra permanent lock to prevent subversion of your form, nature, identity, powers or abilities by anyone or anything else. That’s a precaution against any mess that knock on effects from Nicky’s bungled spellwork might cause. I don’t THINK there’ll be any... but it’s wiser to be cautious.”

Jonathan, Peter, Rick and Angus all flipped their bodies into piskey form and joined Mark on the floor. Hugging his friend, Rick asked “How’s yourself, brother?” Mark grinned. “Miniscule, that’s how!” Turning to Jonathan, he asked “I guess it’s magic school time for me now?” Jonathan grinned as he confirmed it. “Definitely. Let’s get started, brother.”

After initial lessons, Mark joined the rest of the club on the balcony railing for cigars and brandy. Rick handed him a box of the huge Asylum cigars he preferred, downsized and dematerialised for him. “Welcome back, brother.” Mark grinned “Thanks!” Rick smirked “Had to redeem myself after that piskey rhyme, you know?” Mark snorted in laughter and agreed. “Your sense of ‘humour’ hasn’t changed... reassuring, in a way. Gotta have something from my past for an anchor amongst all my changes, you know – even if it’s just your lousy jokes!”

Laughing amidst clinking glasses and cigar smoke, Mark’s new brothers gathered round, welcoming their 106th member. All delighted at the transformation – even rebirth – of a friend.

In due course, as lessons progressed, Mark’s shapeshifting lock opened. With a grin, Mark flipped his body into human form and ‘ported out to the courtyard. Shortly afterwards, another Harley-Davidson flathead was parked amongst the bikes. Peter thoughtfully applied a reality rewrite. “Yo, brother... everyone Out There remembers you as the Black Master & biker you are now.” Angus added “If you want a night out in ‘Frisco, go ahead!” Mark shook his head. “Thanks, chief – but I think I’ll leave that for our next outing with the club. Something else on my mind right now.”

Walking back into the mansion, Mark sought out Jonathan. “Yo, brother. May I take your bitch downstairs and give him a good whipping? Bit of anger I wanna take out of his hide.” Jonathan gave him a long look. “Sure. I’m cross with the bitch as well over his recklessness – even though it left you a way out, it could just as easily have killed you – so take it out of his hide for us both.” With a hard smile, Mark agreed. “Sure – thanks, brother.” Jonathan summoned Nicky, who, trembling, followed both Masters to the dungeon.

In the dungeon, Mark eschewed the Saint Andrew’s cross, instead creating a heavy vertical wooden grating, secured to the wall, with restraints attached. He explained “This is better for a punishment beating – it holds the bitch immobile. The cross allows him too much leeway to sag and give under the blows, which lessens their impact.” With a hard, implacable expression, he fastened Nicky to the grate, facing the wood, with his back and ass exposed. Next, he strapped a square of hard, tough leather across Nicky’s lower back, adding “There are delicate organs down there, not protected by the ribcage, which need to be shielded. I want the bitch screaming in pain. I don’t want to cause him permanent harm or damage.”

Jonathan smiled. A hard, cold, implacably angry smile. And waved his hand, spreading a net of green fire round Nicky. “That will stop his masochist programming kicking in. Punishment isn’t supposed to be enjoyed, brother.” Mark smirked. “Thanks.”

Next, Mark created long coils of rope... and tied Nicky’s arms and legs to the grate, in multiple places. By the time he was done, Nicky was yoked hard and tight against the grating, unable to move a muscle. Jonathan was impressed. “You’re really skilled at the ropework, brother.” Mark grinned. “Bondage was always a big thing for me... Rick and I ran an unofficial bondage club back in the day. Some members of it are now our brothers too. Had some good fun!” Jonathan’s eyebrows rose. “Hmmmm... we’ll have to explore that further. Could be a lot of fun.” Jonathan was thoughtful as Mark selected a suitable whip, took position behind Nicky, and swung.

CRACK!!!

“AAARRRGGGHHH!!!”

Nicky screamed in agony as Mark cracked the whip – hard – and raised a red weal across his ass. The screams, cries and sobs increased and worsened, as Mark expertly dished out a brutal punishment beating. Jonathan stood back, silently, watching in appreciation of Mark’s skill as he covered Nicky’s ass and upper back in whip marks.

Some time later, Mark stepped back from the sobbing, quivering bloody mess on the grating. Quietly, grimly satisfied. Jonathan nodded in approval. “Chastisement well & capably administered, brother. Good job.” Mark nodded, his face calm and at peace. “Retribution also served. OK – let’s get the bitch off there and clean him up.”

Knot by knot, Mark removed the ropes and released Nicky from the grating. Jonathan applied cleaning, antiseptic and styptic treatments to wipe away the blood, cleanse and seal open wounds and prevent infection, then laid a slow healing spell on Nicky and locked him in a cell. Turning off the lights, both Masters closed the dungeon and returned to the drawing room.

Upstairs, Jonathan had a word with Peter and Angus. “Brothers – seems that Mark and others among us were running a sub rosa bondage club back in the day, before My bitch’s mischief wrecked it. Might be fun to revive that, hmmmm?” Peter was surprised. “WHOA!!! Sounds like fun, huh?” Mark laughed. “It was! Had some great nights...” Angus was thoughtful. “Nice idea. I heard whispers about it, ‘way back – reviving it sounds cool.” He looked at Mark. “Brother – reach out to those amongst us who were involved and let’s see if we can get it up and running again. I did hear a few glowing descriptions of your skill as a rigger – maybe try doing a few workshops for us all, and see where it takes us?” Mark grinned in joy. “With pleasure, chief. I’ll see how many of the gang are up for it, and we’ll get a plan together for you.”

Angus grinned in anticipation. Jonathan interposed “Let’s leave that for now, chief – Mark’s knackered from the beating he just gave My bitch. Dinner, chillout and a good night’s sleep first.” Angus agreed. “Can’t rush perfection, after all.” Laughing, they got their bitches started on dinner.

Later, back in piskey form on the balcony, kicking back with cigars and brandy, Peter looked down the railing at the group of guys gathering around Mark. “Looks like a serious conflab going on there.” Angus agreed. “And I see no dissent among them... looks like our riggers and ropers are agreeable to the idea. I’ll look forward to some fun there!” Jonathan & Peter chuckled. “Let’s see what comes of it!” Chief and lieutenants clinked their glasses, lit fresh cigars and relaxed. A few hours later, bed and a long night in the arms of Morpheus followed.

The following morning, after breakfast, Mark walked over to Angus. “Chief – myself and the other riggers are well pleased with the idea of restarting our bondage thing. Can you get everyone interested down to the dungeon?” Angus grinned. “Sure.”

Downstairs, in the dungeon, Mark – with several other members beside him – addressed the gathering. “Right. I’ve been talking with my fellow riggers, and the idea of restarting our bondage malarkey is one we’re all in favour of. Especially as we can now work magic into it – which adds a new dimension we like very much indeed.”

He continued “We’re going to start small, with rigging and roping basics – no magical stuff yet. We’ll use our bitches as test subjects. Michael has offered his boy Eddie to start with... over here, boy.” Nervously, Eddie walked over and stood before Mark.

“First, precautions. ALWAYS have a pair of safety shears to hand. It only takes one slip, or fall, to tighten a rope hard enough to harm or kill. Ropes are replaceable. Lives are not. You may need to free your sub from the ropes – fast – in the event of an emergency.” He held up a pair of large scissors with rounded tips. “These are designed so you won’t stab someone if you have to release them in a hurry. Don’t cut corners on safety.”

Mark began to tie a rope harness around Eddie’s chest and arms, pointing out salient points to his audience. “The rope is doubled, and straight. Nor is it too tight, to start with – always make sure that you can get two fingers underneath the ropes when they are first applied. The rope should restrict, but not constrict. You don’t want to cut off blood flow, so don’t let the rope twist either – lay it flat and straight against the skin, and make sure it stays that way.”

Gradually, he tied Eddie up in the rope, wrapping his chest, back and neck, then secured his wrists in rope cuffs and tied them to the harness. More rope was added to forearms and upper arms, until Eddie was immobilised from neck to waist. Mark added “It’s fine to tie, hitch etc. over the ropes laid on the skin, and to make the ropes tighten up by doing that – just don’t do anything that leads to rope cutting into the skin.”

He continued to work, adding rope to Eddie’s legs, working from thighs down to ankles. Finally, he stepped back. Eddie stood there, completely immobilised. Mark asked “How are you feeling, boy?” Eddie answered “Surprisingly good, Sir. I suspect my body may start cramping up after a while... but for now, I’m comfortably helpless!” Mark laughed. “That’s the whole idea!” He turned to his brothers. “Come up and have a look – examine the ropes, the knots, and ask questions.” A number of guys did so.

Peter remarked “That looks like nylon rope – am I correct?” Mark nodded. “Yes – it’s the best option for bondage when suspension is not involved. If you are going to suspend someone, use organic materials – hemp, jute or bamboo rope are best for that because they’re stronger.”

Jonathan asked “What about cotton rope? I don’t imagine that could work for suspension, but can it be used for non suspension bondage?” Mark shook his head. “No – it shouldn’t be used in bondage at all. It’s too stretchy – instead of breaking, it thins out to the point where it cuts into flesh almost like a cheesewire. A cotton rope with too much tension can be very dangerous to a sub. Safer to stay away from it altogether.”

Bill asked “I’ve seen shibari before, with folks suspended in weird postures – just how safe is something like that, and are there any dangerous postures that should be avoided?” Mark replied “The same rule about not constricting blood flow applies – but also, you mustn’t keep the body in a position where blood can pool in places that can’t handle it. Our bodies are designed for long periods in upright positions, so the blood vessels in our legs are stronger than the ones in our heads. Our feet can handle a higher concentration of blood than our brains. Tie the body so the head is always highest up – otherwise you risk causing a brain haemorrhage.”

Steve asked “Are there any other postures that should be avoided?” Mark nodded. “Apart from the blood flow rule, don’t constrict or limit the operation of vital organs. Particularly, be careful with the chest. For example, don’t pull the arms back and up – that stretches the chest in such a way that the lungs become compressed and breathing gets very difficult... with fatal results.”

Angus asked “Like all sex toys, I guess the rope has to be cleaned after use – right?” Mark confirmed it. “Yes, it does. Nylon rope is easy to clean – you just soak a towel with disinfectant, wrap the towel round the rope and pull the rope through it. Organic ropes like hemp, jute, bamboo etc. take a bit more effort – you have to loop the rope into daisy chain format, stick it in a cotton bag or pillowcase, and put it in the washing machine on a delicate wash cycle.”

After the question & answer session, Mark untied Eddie and returned him to Michael. Mark and the other riggers each took a group of their brothers and started separate workshops. A widespread buzz of excitement, pleasure, teasing, fun and humour permeated the dungeon, counterbalancing the serious lessons, training and education taking place. By the time the workshops ended, every slave in the mansion was tied up.

Looking at the display of slaves tied to grates, slaves in hogties, slaves suspended from the ceiling, all with hard cocks and blue balls, Jonathan laughed. “Brothers – isn’t this a marvellous art installation? I swear I’ve never seen a better!” Mark laughed. “It is indeed, brother! However, now we need to release them... unless you’re up for cooking dinner?” Jonathan snorted. “No fucking way. OK, let’s untie them and get upstairs.”

In the drawing room, everyone regrouped while their bitches got busy in the kitchen. Turning to Mark, Angus thanked him. “Brother, that was a bloody good session. Informative and fun – and with a LOT of potential for future development. Thanks!” Mark grinned. “My pleasure! Just SO glad I can do it again, you know? This transformation is practically a reincarnation for me – and I fucking well LOVE it!” Ostentatiously, Jonathan & Peter breathed on the backs of their fingers and polished them on the lapels of their jackets. Angus raised his eyebrows... but Mark tipped his cap at them both. “Well merited, brothers – and thanks.”

After dinner, back in piskey form on the balcony railing, Jonathan, Peter, Mark, Angus & Alan sat down and talked. Jonathan was thoughtful. “Next step is to see what we can do to enhance the bondage with magic. I’ve been thinking about possible permutations – here’s a few thoughts. How do these sound...” a long, thoughtful discussion ensued. By the end of it, eyes were alight with lust, cocks had chubbed up inside leather, and everyone had their heads full of very kinky, smutty daydreams.

Mark chuckled. “Some marvellous ideas, brother. Not that I expected anything less from you. You’ve got the most perverse, inventive mind I’ve ever come across!” Laughing, he & Jonathan lit fresh cigars and relaxed.

Peter added “Might be a good idea to start looking around the kinky side of the internet too – find a few guys who’d be up for some of that malarkey.” Jonathan agreed. “High time we got out and about for some more fun – let’s do some experiments on our bitches first, then make plans.”

Alan grinned. “Here’s a thought, brothers – maybe tie our bitches up in rope harnesses and do Folsom? Should trigger a good amount of interest...” Peter snorted. “Brother, you just hit the jackpot there! Plenty of like minded guys – we should be able to hook quite a few guys who want to get tied up!”

Angus nodded. “Folsom would work well – gives us a lot of flexibility to take time for further practice first. Despite the training, ropework is still very new to most of us. We’d better take it slowly as we find our feet – so let’s not rush anything. More experiments and trial runs have to come first.” The others all agreed.

In line with that intention, more bondage sessions followed... play and learning continued for quite some time, with increasing use of magic as everyone got comfortable enough with bondage work. Jonathan’s inventive and kinky mind brought some startling ideas out to play, and a LOT of fun ensued.

Eventually, when everyone had properly learned the ropes, Jonathan & Peter brought the ark across the timestream, anchoring it to the start of the next Folsom Street Fair. Angus called everyone together. “Right. Those of you who want to go recruiting for guys to tie up, get your slaves roped up now. Once you’re ready, we’ll head to Folsom and show off, see how many guys we can pull in.”

With a dirty grin, Angus added “Mark – you have special dispensation to go screwing around and do some slave hunting, if you want... you’ve only been back in human form for a short while, and I’m sure you need a nice tight ass to split open. SOON.” Mark grinned. “Thanks, chief... gotta admit I could do with a nice ride – and I don’t mean one with wheels!” Peter laughed. “Dirty fucker.” Mark just smirked. Jonathan handed him a slave chain. “Just in case you find a bitch worth keeping, brother.” Mark pocketed the chain with a dirty smile. “Thanks, brother.”

Jonathan & Peter took their boys to the dungeon, put them in leather shorts, vests and short bondage boots, then tied them up in black nylon rope harnesses. Others followed suit. Shortly afterwards, trussed slaves riding pillion, they all soared out over the rainbow bridge to San Francisco.

Walking into Folsom, the biker Masters and their roped slaves drew instant attention. “WOW. Nice rope work there, guys!” a young guy called out, in appreciation. Jonathan grinned “You want a test drive?” With a grin, the guy came over. “Sure! I’m Adam, by the way.” They shook hands. “I’m Jonathan.” Talking away, Jonathan discovered Adam had a serious kink for rope bondage.

“Try this out.” With a grin, Jonathan started tying a harness round Adam, gradually restricting him further and further... finishing with Adam helpless and immobilised from the waist up. Jonathan grinned. “I get the feeling you want more, huh?” Adam nodded his head. “Yes Please, Sir.” With a smirk, Jonathan discreetly added a spell to prevent the ropes coming undone. “Then here’s the deal. If you can get out of the ropes in the next 30 minutes, you’re free. If you can’t, you’re coming back to my dungeon tonight to be used and abused. Deal?” Adam grinned. “Deal.”

Over the next half an hour, Jonathan derived endless amusement from watching Adam struggle to get free. In vain. “SHIT! You really know what you’re doing, Sir. I’m impressed!” Adam exclaimed as the stopwatch reached 30 minutes. Jonathan smirked. “Thanks for the compliment, boy. Time’s up. You’re spending tonight in My dungeon – and I’m keeping you in the ropes for today. Just because I can.” Adam bent his head in submission. “Yes, Sir.” and followed Jonathan through the fair... with a quiet light of pleased anticipation in his eyes.

Browsing the stalls, paying particular attention to those selling bondage gear, Peter ran into a few guys wearing grey hankies... some on the right, some on the left. Among the former, he spotted an old friend. Walking over to Ray, he greeted him. “Yo, brother. You getting tied up tonight?” Ray grabbed his hand “Brother! Long time no see! Haven’t seen you since you turned biker and fucked off to the mountains. Not that I blame you – things here went to shit after the big one. You did right to get out and stay out.”

Ray continued “No plans for tonight – yet. You offering?” Peter grinned. “Yeah – been getting some rope training in, wanna put it to use. You interested, brother?” Ray was. “Sure. Let’s talk it over, huh?” Peter laughed. “Sure – laundry list time, huh?” Ray nodded. “For this, it’s mandatory. Has to be.” The “laundry list” – the requisite discussion of do’s and don’ts, likes and dislikes – followed, after which both guys finalised plans.

Scanning the crowd, Russell zeroed in on a young leather boy – a definite stud – in shorts and harness. “Hey, kid. You looking for some fun?” The young hunk winked at him. “Always, man. I’m new to the scene and looking for new experiences. Very much a kink rookie, looking for someone to take me on.” Russell smiled reassuringly. “Good to hear you’re that forthright about it. Most newbies try to pretend they know more than they do, and get into deep shit as a result. I’m a rigger and dom. You up for trying a bit of bondage tonight?” The kid’s eyes widened. “Yeah – sure. Please!”

Russell grinned. The kid grinned back. “I’m Ronald – call me Ron, OK?” Russell chuckled. “OK, Ron – I’m Russell. Other forms of address – like ‘Sir’ or ‘Daddy’ – can be saved for later.” Helplessly, Ron blushed. Russell laughed and winked at him as the two got talking. As the afternoon went on, something extra began building between the two. Something special, which both guys left unexplored, deliberately. Tonight was about having fun. The deeper stuff could wait.

Angus & Alan scouted the available beef. “Bondage boy at 3 o’clock. Grey hanky on the right. Fit little stud. Shall we?” Angus asked. Alan looked and grinned. “Well spotted, man. Let’s go and say hi!” Walking over, they greeted the guy. “Hey, man. I see the hanky – you up for a bit of roping tonight?” The guy gave them a look of appraisal, which turned to definite interest as he decided he liked what he saw. “Sure – always ready to consider it. What’ve you got in mind?” Angus & Alan introduced themselves. The guy responded “Hi. I’m Fred.”

As the three got talking, it became apparent that Fred was quite experienced, and adventurous. Laundry list sorted, they all finalised plans and settled down together for the afternoon.

Thomas, Evan, Stuart and Anthony joined forces and started scanning the crowd. Thomas spotted a pair of likely targets. “Guys – two o’clock. Two skinheads browsing the sex toy stall. Grey hankies, right hand pockets. Fit & sexy fuckers, both. What do you think?” Stuart agreed, as did Evan and Anthony.

Walking over, they engaged the pair in conversation. “Hey, guys – anyone up for a bit of roping tonight?” Stuart asked. With a gleam in their eyes, the two skins responded “Sure – what’s on your mind?” Talk continued, getting both detailed and filthy. The skinheads introduced themselves as Clive and Caleb. Clive elaborated “Ropes are our thing – but the guys able to do that safely can be a bit thin on the ground these days. Too many alternative restraints, which are easier and safer. Alas!” Anthony grinned. “Well, this might be your lucky day... ropes ARE our thing. We’re open for some fun, if you are?” Caleb grinned. “Always – but we need to talk through some shit first, if you get our drift?” Evan nodded. “Of course – that’s just common sense.” A discussion of bondage practices followed – establishing trust, safety protocols, preferences and limits. By the time the talking was done, all 6 guys were in accord, and Stuart & Thomas were formulating plans.

Other members did likewise, finding and hooking up with various guys who were in to being tied up.

The only exception to the bondage hunt was Mark, who split off from the others and went hunting for a nice tight ass to jackhammer. Chasing, flirting and having fun, he was more interested in fun and fornication, and was looking forward to the afterparty. He’d spent years stuck as a pair of boots – albeit very sexy boots – with no fucking whatsoever, and that urgently needed to be compensated for, now he was in human form again. And there were plenty of white guys who wanted a big dark rod of man meat inside their asses. Keeping an eye out for “the one”, for whom the slave chain in his jacket pocket was intended, he settled into a nice horny manhunt.

Later, as the fair ended and the afterparty began, the club members gathered their slaves and new bondage subs together and headed for the mansion. Mark was notable by his absence. Angus grinned. “He’s balls deep in that little twink I saw him chasing, I bet... good for him!” With pleased, dirty grins, they left Mark to his fun. Angus spoke to the various bondage subs that members had caught. “OK, guys. Getting to our place involves a very special bike ride. We’ve all got sidecars available, so strap yourself into one. Don’t get freaked out over the ride – you’ll be fine. Just sit tight until we tell you it’s OK to get out.”

With pillions and sidecars occupied, they all roared out of the city. Riding up into the hills, every bike and sidecar was wrapped in green fire and lifted over the rainbow bridge to the mansion. Landing on the flagstones, engines were killed. Angus turned round and spoke to the guests. “OK, guys – safe to debark. Welcome to our home!”

Shakily, all the visitors climbed off pillions and out of sidecars. Adam, his voice trembling, asked Jonathan “Where the fuck ARE we? What is this place?!” Ray, Ron, Fred, Clive, Caleb and all the other visitors echoed that sentiment. Angus smiled reassuringly, as he and every other member broadcast an aura of calm and trust to soothe rattled nerves. “This is our home. It’s a mansion, with its own grounds and parkland, on an extradimensional ark floating outside space and time. Welcome!” Jonathan winked and added “You’ll find our dungeon very spacious. Let’s get downstairs and enjoy ourselves!”

All the new arrivals were stunned. Ray looked at Peter. “Man – you never said anything about THIS!” Peter grinned. “Would you have believed it, if I had?” Ray shook his head. “Good point. Not even sure I believe it NOW!!! Like, did you spike my drink? Am I hallucinating?!” Jonathan answered. “No, none of you are seeing things – this is real. Our mountain clubhouse is our official address for the mundane world. This place is our real home.”

Peter added “We’ve gained significant arcane gifts and abilities. Those have been put to use creating this place, and in bringing you all here. Don’t worry... you won’t be harmed. You were promised bondage fun, and that’s what you’ll get. No strings attached, and you all get to go home afterwards.” Everyone was thoughtful.

Adam asked Jonathan “Are you going to use magic in our bondage play?” Jonathan smirked. “Already have done. Why do you think you can’t get out of those ropes?!” Adam’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?!” Jonathan laughed. “Nothing major... just a discreet spell that stops your ropes coming undone. Gotta say, it was a battle keeping a straight face when you were trying to get free!” Adam looked rueful. “Guess I was outmatched from the start – wasn’t I, Sir?” Jonathan smirked. “Indeed you were, boy – and are. Enjoy the experience.” Getting horny at the extent to which he was being restricted and controlled, Adam bent his head to Master Jonathan.

The other new guys all listened, and asked further questions of their own. Once everyone was comfortable with their surroundings and their bondage doms, they followed them indoors.

With eager, horny anticipation, the visitors were taken straight to the dungeon. All were stunned by the facilities. Fred, the most experienced of them, was very appreciative. “This is something else, Sirs. I’ve been in a good few playrooms before – but none of this standard. I’m impressed.” Angus & Alan chuckled. “We don’t do half measures, boy. Let’s have some fun!”

As Fred and the others stripped naked, everyone else removed the ropes from their slaves and got ready, sorting out ropes and plans.

Jonathan was the first to get busy. After untying Adam and stripping him naked, he levitated him about a foot off the floor and started a new rope harness on him. Adam’s eyes went wide – the ropes were shimmering, and Jonathan was tying him up in a very unusual pattern. Once finished, he was trussed in rope from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, with only eyes, ears, nose, mouth, fingers, cock and toes exposed. Getting desperately horny as Jonathan talked dirty in his ear.

With a dirty, satisfied laugh, Jonathan laid hold of the loose ends of rope that ran out of a rope circle in the centre of Adam’s chest, and began to pull. “Now it’s magic time, boy.” Jonathan told him. “You told me about your shrinking fantasy – so prepare to be downsized!”

As Jonathan pulled on the ropes, the lines wrapping Adam’s body rolled and tightened. But instead of squeezing him and cutting off his blood flow, the tightening ropes made him shrink. The more Jonathan pulled, the smaller Adam became. Jonathan rumbled “Gonna make you into the tiny man you dream of being, boy...” as he kept pulling.

The smaller Adam became, the harder and hornier he got.

At 5 feet tall... “Aaahhh...”

At 4 feet... “AAAHHH!”

At 3 feet... “HHHAAARRRHHH!!!”

At 2 feet... “RRROOOWWWWRRR!!!”

At 1 foot, it finally got too much.

“HHHRRROOOWWWHHHRRR!!!” Helplessly, the little guy shot his load. Jonathan smirked. “Well done – you held out a good long while there! Now, time to tie you down.” Grinning, he tied the ropes into a big round knot – too big to fit back through the rope circle – and let go. The ropes tried to roll back as Adam’s body sought to regain its lost size, only to be stopped as the knot prevented the ropes moving... and kept him 1 foot tall.

Jonathan smirked. “There you go, lil’ fella. Let’s put you in storage.” Using the excess rope, he suspended Adam in a small box frame, then placed him on a shelf. Horny, helpless and leaking man cream over the ropes, Adam floated in a haze of lustful fantasy. Jonathan added a spell to keep him that way, another spell to maintain, preserve and protect his body, and let him drift.

Peter looked at Ray and rumbled “Your turn, boy.” Ray grinned as Peter took him over to a rather special sling, the usual leather replaced by a wooden board, long enough to support Ray’s back and head, padded in contoured leather, attached to the thick, solid frame by heavy chains. At Peter’s direction, Ray laid himself on the board, fitting his back, ass, head and shoulders to the padding. Peter took the rope and began tying Ray down to the board. Eventually reaching a point where only his limbs were free... at which point Peter roped Ray’s arms and legs, lifting them up and forwards, attaching them to the frame, leaving Ray spread-eagled.

It also left Ray’s tits, ass, cock and balls exposed. Which Peter took advantage of. Rubbing and pinching Ray’s tits, he saw his cock twitch and chub up. “Yo, boy. See you’re still hardwired there, huh?” Ray chuckled. “Yes, Sir. Though it’s not as intense as it used to be – dunno why.” Peter had a naughty light in his eyes. “Let’s fix that...” and with a ripple of green fire, Ray’s tits became hyper sensitive. More than they’d ever been.

“AAARRRHHH!!!” Ray moaned as Peter started working his resensitised nipples. It felt like an electric shock, cracking down all the way through his body to his genitals. His cock chubbed up and began to rise. Peter laughed. “Rewiring complete.” And kept on going. Ray groaned. “Fuck me, Sir – what’d You just DO to me?!” Peter smirked and rumbled “Never mind that, boy – it’s what I’m GOING to do to you that’s important.”

Moving down to Ray’s ass, Peter lubed himself up and pushed in.

“HHHAAARRRHHH!!!” Ray’s moans got louder as Peter’s thick shaft was rammed up his ass, sending his prostate into overdrive. As the pounding increased in speed and intensity, the groans and moans became more desperate.

“AAARRRHHH!!!”

“HHHRRRGGGHHH!!!”

“HHHAAARRRGGGHHH!!!”

“HHHRRROOOWWWHHHRRR!!!”

Peter roared as he shot his load up Ray’s ass, flooding his insides with man cream. Ray’s eyes rolled back in his head as he shot his own load and was propelled into a horny, fulfilled haze. Peter pulled out, inserted and inflated a butt plug in Ray’s ass to prevent leaks, then grinned at Ray. “You look like a trussed up, well used bitch. Just the way you should be.” Ray grinned. “Thanks, Sir.” With a wave of his hand, Peter strengthened the horny haze, locking Ray into it, and added a maintenance spell to keep his body comfortable, warm, safe and in good health... then let him drift.

Russell took Ron over to a large wooden grating, vertical against the wall. “Stand here, with your back to the grate.” Ron did as instructed... then started chubbing up as Russell roped him, line by line, securing him to the grate. By the time Russell was finished, only Ron’s head, hands, feet, tits, cock and balls were exposed. Every other part of his body was hidden under ropework.

Chuckling, Russell began playing with Ron’s tits, talking smutty & dirty in his ears as he did so. “So who’s his Daddy’s good boy, huh? Such a sexy fella, all tied up and helpless...” as his other hand crept lower, cupping Ron’s balls with a gentle squeeze.

“AAARRRHHH!!!” Ron moaned. “Don’t stop, Daddy. PLEASE!!!” Russell chuckled. “No worries there, boy...” as he began gently stroking Ron’s cock. Bringing him towards climax – then, as Ron cried out “Daddy – I – I’m gonna –“, Russell smirked, and laid a blocking spell on Ron’s perineum. “Oh no you’re not, boy. Not yet. Daddy decides when you cum. Not you. Get it?” Trembling in ecstasy denied, Ron cried out “Please, Daddy. PLEASE let me cum!!!” Russell smirked. “You want it, you earn it first, boy. Open wide.”

Keeping his cum block on Ron’s perineum, Russell snogged his boy, then pulled back, walked up to him and pushed his cock up into Ron’s ass. The noise skyrocketed.

“AAARRRHHH!!!”

“HHHAAARRRHHH!!!”

“HHHAAARRRGGGHHH!!!”

As Russell reached climax, he removed his blocking spell from Ron’s perineum... and with roars of ecstasy, both guys shot their loads. Pulling out and standing back with a groan, Russell pushed an inflatable butt plug up Ron’s ass to block leaks and laughed, dirtily, as he kissed his boy, laid spells on him to keep him in a horny haze and preserve & maintain his body, and stood back, leaving Ron’s mind to drift.

The gentle gleam in Russell’s eye caught Angus’ attention. Speaking in the back of Russell’s mind, he asked “Something building there, brother?” Russell confirmed it. “You bet there is, chief.” Angus grinned. “Cool – but rules are rules. If it goes permanent, he has to be either chained or initiated. Understood?” Russell agreed. “Absolutely, chief. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, OK?” Angus nodded. “Fine.”

Angus & Alan took Fred over to a heavy wooden box frame. “OK. Stand in the centre, here.” Angus came over with a long coil of rope. “Harness time.” He bound Fred in a hope harness that covered his torso from neck to groin, then extended the bonds to add rope cuffs to wrists & ankles, brought his feet together and raised his hands and arms to a Vitruvian Man position, level with his shoulders and pointing out to either side of his body.

Fred was impressed, and interested. “Wow. You’re very skilled, Sir – and this configuration of ropes is something else. I’ve never been tied up like THIS before!” Angus laughed. “Enjoy the experience, boy. There’s a bit more to our ropes than usual. It’s like this...” and he pulled on the ends of two ropes hanging loose behind Fred’s upper back. Fred gasped as the skin over his shoulders rippled and his arms began to retreat into his shoulders. Alan chuckled. “Our harness has some advantages, boy. You got the guts to be REALLY helpless?” Tingling in excitement, Fred moaned “Yes Please, Sir!” Angus smirked. “So be it.” He kept pulling. As the rope cuffs reached Fred’s shoulders, his arms now absorbed into his body, the cuffs stretched, allowed his hands to slip through them and be likewise absorbed... then closed in and flattened out, becoming rope discs and preventing his hands and arms re-emerging. Angus tied the ropes on Fred’s back, holding the discs in place. “That’ll keep your hands & arms out of the way. Now for your legs & feet.”

Alan stepped in front of Fred and grasped his torso, as Angus pulled on two other ropes hanging loose from his lower back, at waist level. Fred gasped & staggered as his legs began to retract into his ass. Alan steadied him “Easy – I won’t let you fall.” Gradually, Alan lowered himself down, keeping supporting hands on Fred’s torso as Fred’s legs were absorbed into his body. The ankle cuffs widened to let Fred’s feet slip through and be absorbed, then flattened out and closed in, again becoming discs and preventing his feet and legs re-emerging. Angus tied the ropes on Fred’s lower back. “Done. How are you feeling, boy?” Fred, looking incredulous, feeling desperately horny and leaking precum, answered “Stunned, Sir. I never expected THIS!” Alan laughed. “We’re not finished yet. You up for going further, boy?” Fred nodded “Yes Please, Sir.” Angus grinned. “OK – here we go.”

Angus brought a heavy leather harness over, with a padded base to support Fred’s ass and plenty of heavy metal rings attached to facilitate suspension. Carefully, he and Alan lifted Fred into it and fastened it... after which they ran four chains, one from each upper corner of the frame, through the rings on his shoulders. Pulling the chains tight, they lifted Fred off the floor and suspended him in midair, in the centre of the frame. Then attached another four chains from the rings on the bottom of the harness to each of the lower corners of the frame, pulled those tight and secured Fred in immobility.

Next, Alan fastened a pair of padded VR goggles onto Fred’s face and head. “You’ll need these – they’ll protect your eyes and facilitate external vision.” Angus fitted a gag with a long, trumpet shaped breathing tube into Fred’s mouth and secured it in place. “This will ensure your air supply.” Next, pads were placed round his head, and padded medical grade supports were strapped round his neck. “These will protect and support your head and neck.” Both guys placed maintenance and monitoring spells on Fred. Alan spoke in Fred’s mind. “These will keep you safe. We’ll know if you get into trouble – and we’ll ‘port you straight out of the ropes if that happens. No worries there – we won’t put you at risk.”

Both guys began roping Fred up further, continuing until he was wrapped in a rope cocoon, with no flesh, skin, harness, pads, goggles or anything else visible, except his breathing tube. Only the VR goggles allowed him to see what he looked like from the outside... the sight of his cocoon reinforced his sense of helplessness and made him thoroughly horny.

Chuckling, Angus & Alan added more rope around his head and shoulders, filling in the spaces until the cocoon had become a vertical rectangular box. Next, more rope was added to front, back and sides, building the box into a cube. A grid of leather straps followed, enclosing the cube and its occupant... the breathing tube being the only orifice present. Angus and Alan high fived each other, laughing. “Nice work!” Angus grinned. “Finishing touches...” and cast a spell on Fred.

Bound, cocooned and buried deep inside the cube, Fred slowly got hornier. And HORNIER. The last straw came when Angus flipped a switch on the remote control for Fred’s VR headset, switching the external vision off and activating a hypno file in its place. As Fred fell deeper and deeper into a horny bondage trance, leaking precum, Angus and Alan smirked. “Wonder how long he’ll last?” Alan asked. Angus chuckled. “Not that long, methinks...”

Sinking deeper into a hypnotised horny haze, Fred found it harder and harder to hold back. Eventually, as the two guys who’d put him there expected, he surrendered. With a soft “Aaarrrhhh...” he shot his load over rope and harness. Angus laughed. “There he blows...” He and Alan smirked, cast a spell to keep Fred in his horny haze, and let his mind float away.

Thomas & Evan, Stuart & Anthony brought Clive & Caleb over to stand beneath two racks suspended from the ceiling, then started tying each of them into a suspension harness. Once harness and cuffs were all ready, Clive & Caleb were laid face down on the floor and the racks were lowered until they hovered a few inches above them. Thomas and Evan tied Clive to one rack; Stuart and Anthony tied Caleb to the other rack. Both were spread-eagled for fun and ease of access.

Once both guys were trussed up, the racks were raised, ascending until Clive and Caleb were suspended 5 feet above the floor. Cocks and balls exposed. With a smirk, Stuart looked at Caleb. “Nice sausage and nuts there, boy...” as he began gently stroking and massaging his cock and balls. Caleb moaned at the sensations, as his cock stiffened and his balls filled. Stuart playing with Caleb’s tits was a step too far... and Anthony putting a spell on his perineum to stop him cumming was unbearable.

“NNNOOO!!! PLEASE LET ME CUM. PPPLLLEEEAAASSSEEE!!!” Stuart chuckled at Anthony. “Good one. Keep your spell in place until I say otherwise, OK?” Anthony nodded “Sure.” Caleb howled in frustration, as Stuart kept on playing with him and Anthony, relentlessly, stopped him cumming.

Clive’s experience began differently, as Evan created a featherduster and started tickling him in sensitive spots.

“Tee Hee Hee!!! Hee Hee Hee!!! HHHRRR!!! AAARRRHHH!!!”

“STOP! PLEASE STOP!!! OH HEE HHEEEE HHHEEE!!! HAW HAW HAW!!!”

Thomas laughed, deeply, as Clive desperately squirmed under the featherduster’s touch. He winked at Evan. “You evil man... I like your style!” Evan smirked... then softly flipped the featherduster around Clive’s genitals. The shrieks and helpless giggles reached a crescendo. Evan grinned at Thomas. “Your turn...”

Clive’s giggles morphed into moans as Thomas began teasing his cock and balls – with Evan attending to his perineum. It didn’t take long for him to start howling in frustration. Just like Caleb.

Stuart stepped back from Caleb. “Hoo! I need a moment.” Evan smirked... and to Caleb’s horror, passed his featherduster to Anthony. “Have fun...” Anthony gave Caleb a mischievous look. “Hmmmm... now where shall I start?” Caleb shrieked as the featherduster teased the soles of his feet.

“HEE HEE HEE!!! STOP, YOU MON – TEE HEE HEE!!! HA HA HA HHHAAARRRHHH!!!”

Anthony sniggered as he worked Caleb over with the featherduster.

Finally, with both Clive and Caleb exhausted, their teasers allowed them to cum. With tired, ecstatic sighs of relief, release and satisfaction, they relaxed into a horny haze, supported by maintenance and euphoria spells. Like every other guest in the dungeon.

All the other members’ guests were in similar condition... aware that their guests were tired, everyone released said guests and helped them clean themselves up.

Jonathan removed Adam from the shelf, untied him from the box frame, placed him on the floor and untied the blocking knot in the centre of his chest. As he released the ropes, they rolled back; Adam’s mass returned, and he grew from 1’ back to his original 5’6”. Jonathan untied him. “How are you feeling, lad?” Adam answered “Like you’ve ruined me for any other bondage dom... for the rest of my life. I don’t think I will EVER have another experience the equal of this. THANK YOU!!!” Jonathan grinned. “My pleasure.”

Peter untied Ray from the sling and helped him up. “Yo, brother – you OK there?” Ray nodded. “Yeah – my brain is broken, my ass is sore, my tits are buzzing, my cock is like a limp dishrag and my balls are hurting. But I’m OK. Just!” Peter laughed. “You’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.” Ray agreed and sat back to catch his breath. “Wow, man. Just WOW. You’ve really become something else, brother. This magic shit... it’s as amazing as it’s scary.” Peter nodded. “It brings a lot of fun, when used properly. One adapts to it, over time. Nothing else one can do, man. It is what it is.”

Russell released Ron from the grating. And as Ron relaxed, the fun part over, the deeper shit kicked in. Russell gently took Ron in his arms and kissed him. Then held Ron tenderly as he whispered “Who’s Daddy’s good boy, then? I love you, babe...” in his ear. The two settled down onto a seat, quietly snuggled close. No need for words right now.

Angus & Alan removed the leather strap grid round Fred’s rope cube, then gradually removed the ropes, knot by knot. Eventually, they got down to the cocoon, removed it, released the harness from the chains and lowered it to the ground.

Removing Fred from the harness, Alan held on to him again as Angus untied the ropes at the back of his waist and released them, keeping Fred upright as his feet and legs re–emerged from his ass and he grew taller. Alan continued holding Fred, who was a bit shaky on his feet, as Angus released the ropes on his upper back and his hands and arms re–emerged from his shoulders.

Then, once Angus finished untying him, all three sat down, Angus and Alan with their arms around Fred. “That was something else, guys. I doubt any other experience I might have in future will come close to it. Thank you, both.” Fred murmured to Angus and Alan, who both chuckled appreciatively. “Believe me, we enjoyed it as much as you did.” Angus grinned. “Indeed we did.” Alan added. “Bloody good fun!”

Thomas & Evan, Stuart & Anthony each lowered Clive and Caleb to the ground, untied them from the grates, raised the gratings back to the ceiling, and released their bonds. Sitting in a huddle afterwards, Clive gave Evan a dirty look. “I will NEVER be able to go anywhere near a featherduster again, for the rest of my life, thanks to you. You’ve made me featherdusterphobic!” Evan and Anthony both laughed as Caleb rolled his eyes. “That makes two of us... and you two just sit there and laugh. Monsters, the pair of you!” Stuart and Thomas laughed. “We’ll have to look into tickle torture a bit more, I think.” Thomas remarked. “Yeah – that was a LOT more fun than I expected.” Stuart agreed.

Once everyone had recovered, they closed down the dungeon and headed upstairs to the dining room for food, drinks and smokes... sending their boys to the kitchen en masse once their needs were met. Amidst the chat and easy, relaxed banter, Jonathan suddenly grinned. “Hear that, brothers?” The roar of a motorcycle was audible. Distant, but getting closer and louder. Peter chuckled. “Only one person that can be. Hope he’s enjoyed himself.” Angus laughed. “He deserves it.”

Everyone heard the bike land on the courtyard and come to a stop. Two voices were heard. Mark, deep and commanding. A lighter, softer voice obeying. Angus called out via mind speech “Welcome Home, brother. We’re all in the dining room with refreshments. Come and join us!” Mark chuckled. “Sure.”

A few moments later, Mark entered the room. With a young white man behind him, a slave chain, in tattoo form, encircling his neck. “Yo, brothers. Meet My bitch, Brett.” The slave boy bowed to the Masters. “Nice catch, brother.” Peter grinned. Mark smirked “He certainly is.. tight where he should be, soft where he should be. Fits on me really well, if you get my drift?” Jonathan responded with a dirty laugh. “Looks like he’s made a good start in his new life too, brother. Your loss of tension is palpable... and a man only gets rid of such tension in one particular way!” Angus laughed. “Well deserved, too. Good to see!”

Mark smirked as he turned to look at Brett and inserted a full map of the mansion and grounds into his head. “Boy – take my bag to my rooms, then join your fellow bitches in the kitchen. I’ll summon you when I need you.” Brett bent his head. “Yes Sir.” As His bitch picked up the duffel and departed, Master Mark joined His brothers. Talk ran on as everyone shared their stories of the night.

Mark was impressed by Angus and Alan. “You cubed this guy?!” he exclaimed. “How’d it go?” Fred answered “Good enough that I doubt anything will ever match it, for me.” Looking at Angus and Alan, he spoke in quiet respect. “You two gave me the bondage experience of my life. Thank you.” Angus grinned. “Our pleasure, man.”

Clive and Caleb’s treatment made Mark laugh. “Oh MAN. Brothers, that is just FUCKING BRILLIANT! Wish I’d seen that!!!” Evan and Anthony smirked. “There’ll be a repeat performance sometime...” Clive shuddered. “With someone else, I hope! That was fun – but NO WAY can I face it again!” Thomas chuckled. “Don’t be such a sissy!”

Jonathan was quiet, lost in thought. Earning him an enquiring look from Mark. “Brother... you’ve got that look on your face again. Despite seeing it from a different vantage point now, I still recognise it.” Peter agreed. “He’s planning mischief. I can tell!”

Jonathan smirked. “Thinking about ways to enhance bondage yet further, is all... this was just the start.” Turning to Angus, he added “Chief – can we get our guests to stay a while? Got some new stuff I want to try out, once we’ve had a good night’s sleep.” Angus grinned. “Sure!”

Catching everyone’s attention, Angus informed their guests “Guys – this place floats outside time and space. We can return you to ‘Frisco at any time you want – we could spend years here, then have you back home the morning after we left. Fancy staying over and having some more fun after a good night’s sleep?”

Clive and Caleb spoke out. “Only if you GUARANTEE nobody will bring a featherduster within ten feet of us! EVER. AGAIN!!!” Evan and Anthony smirked. Angus gave them both a long look. “Brothers... respecting a sub’s limits is de rigeur amongst us. No featherdusters. Got it?” Reluctantly, Evan and Anthony both nodded. “OK, Chief.”

With that condition agreed upon, agreement to stay over was unanimous. Peter smirked at Jonathan. “Looks like you’ve got a nice little coterie of willing candidates, brother!” Jonathan just grinned in response... with a naughty light in his eyes.

Once everyone was done with refreshments and talk, they all headed upstairs to bed. Who went to bed with whom was nobody else’s business.

The following morning, recovered, rested and cheerful, they gathered in the dining room for breakfast. With a few exceptions. Angus looked around. “Where’s Jonathan? And Diego, Steve, and Rolling Stormcloud?” Peter rolled his eyes. “Downstairs, crafting some heinous device. I don’t know any more than that... but it will be interesting to see what sort of contraption they bring into being!” Angus laughed. “Well... whatever it is, it should be worth the wait. That perverse, inventive mind of Jonathan’s hasn’t let us down yet!”

A deep laugh sounded behind them as Jonathan entered the room, followed by the aforementioned respective Latino, White and Native American brothers. “And it won’t disappoint this time either, Chief. The gadget is ready, in the dungeon – our brothers have been assisting me by letting me access their forms and inner natures to program it. Imagine a bondage device that can change the imprisoned person into anything desired...?” Eyes widened. Peter chuckled. Angus and Alan grinned. Jonathan smirked. “I just need to recruit a few test subjects, is all.” Looking at their guests, he grinned. “Who wants to try transformative bondage?” Curious, everyone finished breakfast and followed Jonathan down to the dungeon.

Gathering in front of Jonathan, who was standing beside a long black box – more than big enough for any of them to lie down inside – they all paid careful attention as he explained “Brothers – this is our transformation box. It restrains its occupant, helplessly, while it enacts a shapeshift upon him.” He pointed at the controls and monitor on the side of the box. “These dictate the form into which the occupant will be transformed, and track their transformation. They also determine the length of time the transformation will last. Put someone in, set the controls and activate it. Release the person afterwards, and their shapeshift will remain for the set time period, after which they will automatically revert to the form they were in when they were first placed inside.”

Chuckles of interest rippled across the room, quietening as Jonathan added “There is, however, one danger – Soul Affinity.” Rolling Stormcloud agreed, explaining “Behind the mask of our physical form and experiences, our soul has a true shape all its own. If your body is changed into a form identical to that, your soul will bond with it – and such a bond is so strong that it will prevent your physical form ever changing again. In other words, you’ll be stuck in your new form for the rest of your life – which will be far longer than expected, as the affinity bond extends the body’s life, quite significantly.”

Diego added “There’s also Soul Modification to be aware of. It’s a lesser issue than affinity, as it’s subject to personal choice – but it needs to be mentioned, on principle. If somebody chooses to have their change made permanent, and displays a high degree of affinity for their new self, the box can decide to reshape their soul to fit their new form... which again, means they have no way back.”

Jack was thoughtful. “It sounds like an alternative form of Russian Roulette, frankly. With the box as the gun and the irreversible change as the bullet.” Jonathan replied “Not quite. In this game, you get to choose the firing chamber.” Steve laughed. “Sounds good fun!” Jonathan nodded. “Just a pity it won’t work on us... our piskey powers prevent it changing us.”

Turning to Adam, Jonathan asked him “Adam – will you be a willing test subject? I’ll set a 12 hour time period for you...” Grinning, Adam came forward “Sure!” Opening the lid to reveal a padded interior, Jonathan directed him to lie down in it. Once Adam was in position, Jonathan grinned. “Now... what shape do you want to be?” Adam grinned again... and plucked up the nerve to ask for his greatest fantasy. “I want to be a beefy, hung, hairy, dominant Latino muscle daddy, please!” Jonathan laughed. “So be it!”... and closed & locked the box before setting the dials and switches on the side, then punching the activation button.

The monitor beeped and displayed several messages.

SUBJECT READY.

TARGET FORM CALIBRATED.

INITIATING TRANSFORMATION.

“Aaahhh!” A faint cry was heard, creeping out from the breathing tubes on the sides of the box. Inside, Adam gasped as his body began to change. In the leathery darkness of the magical womb of rebirth Jonathan had created, invisible to all, his body began reshaping.

First, his legs and arms lengthened. His spine popped as his torso extended, and he grew from 5’6” to 6’7”. Next came the bulk, his skin bulging and stretching as muscles pushed themselves into manifestation. His back widened. Shoulders beefed up into cannonballs. Traps sprang out of nowhere. Biceps and triceps swelled his arms. Hands grew into thick meaty paws.

Next, his pecs pushed their way out, bulking into two slabs of meat. His abs rippled into a gorgeous washboard. Then his glutes expanded, his thighs beefed up, his legs turned into treetrunks of muscle, and his feet grew, expanding from size 8 to size 16.

Outside, the monitor beeped again.

SKELETAL AND MUSCULAR EXPANSION COMPLETE.

COMMENCING GENITAL ENHANCEMENT.

The last physical expansion took place in his groin. “Hhhaaarrrhhh...” Outside, Jonathan chuckled at the horny groan coming out of the breathing tubes. “Sounds like the new daddy’s getting a suitable endowment!” Which was quite correct, as Adam’s cock became longer & thicker, his balls larger and heavier.

On screen:

GENITAL ENHANCEMENT COMPLETE.

COMMENCING RACE CHANGE AND MATURITY ENHANCEMENT.

Inside the box, Adam’s body toughened up and rolled forward in years, going from 29 to 43. His last physical change manifested with a combined burning and itching, as his skin darkened and his hair turned black & thickened up, sprouting all over his body. His face cracked and morphed into a strong square jawed visage, then disappeared behind a thick beard and moustache.

RACE CHANGE AND MATURITY ENHANCEMENT COMPLETE.

COMMENCING INTERNAL TRANSFORMATION.

While Adam’s physical changes were done, his transformation was not. The last changes turned inwards, and his eyes widened as Spanish poured into his head, English became his second language rather than his first, and his mindset switched from submissive white Caucasian to dominant Latino.

LINGUAL SUBSTITUTION COMPLETE.

FIRST LANGUAGE: SPANISH

SECOND LANGUAGE: ENGLISH

SUBMISSIVE WHITE CAUCASIAN MINDSET REMOVED.

DOMINANT LATINO DADDY MINDSET INSTALLED.

MINDSET ALTERATION COMPLETE.

Observing the changes via the monitor on the side of the box, Jonathan grinned. “Looks like he’s finishing up. This should be interesting!” Everyone else grinned in anticipation. However, fate had a little something extra in store... for Adam’s fantasy, all unbeknownst to him or Jonathan, was also his soul’s true form. With a surge of deep, profound joy, Adam’s innermost being embraced his change and bonded, irrevocably, to it.

“WHOA!!!” Jonathan’s exclamation of surprise echoed through the dungeon, as the monitor displayed new messages.

SOUL AFFINITY TRIGGERED.

SOUL BONDING TO NEW FORM, NATURE AND IDENTITY COMPLETE.

SUBJECT REVERSION PROHIBITED.

TRANSFORMATION STATUS: PERMANENT AND IRREVOCABLE.

A stunned silence filled the dungeon. Jonathan murmured to Rolling Stormcloud “This is what you warned us could happen.” His brother nodded. “Guess there’s at least one reality rewrite to do, huh?” Jonathan shrugged. “None of us went into this blind, brother. Adam knew the risk as well as you and I did. He’ll learn to live with it.”

SUBJECT TRANSFORMATION COMPLETE.

MENTAL AND PHYSICAL STABILITY CHECKED AND VERIFIED.

RELEASING SUBJECT.

With a snap, the locks holding the box lid down opened. Everyone crowded round as Jonathan lifted the lid. “Sal de ahí, Adam” (Out you come, Adam). And held out his hand. Which was grasped by the olive skinned dark haired monument of masculinity who emerged from the box.

Gasps, grins, and appreciative leers greeted the new latino daddy as, slowly and carefully, he climbed out of the box. Fred let out an appreciative lustful “PHWOAR!!!” at the sight, and tried not to drool. Clive & Caleb let out dirty wolf whistles. Jonathan grinned. “Acércate al espejo y mira lo que piensas de ti mismo, hombre.” (Come over to the mirror and see what you think of yourself, man). Nervous and eager, Adam leaned on Jonathan, slowly getting used to being taller, larger and heavier, as he was brought in front of the floor to ceiling mirror to see himself.

Staring at the mirror, Adam’s jaw dropped. “¡Dios mío! ¡No me reconozco! ¿Qué me hiciste? Y... ¿por qué se siente tan bien? ¡Como si por fin fuera yo misma, de verdad, auténticamente yo!” (My GOD! I don’t recognise myself! What did you DO to me?! And – why does it feel so RIGHT? Like I’m finally, truly, authentically ME?!)

Jonathan grinned. “Preparé la caja para convertirte en el papi latino musculoso y dominante que pediste ser, amigo mío.” (I set the box to turn you into the musclebound, dominant Latino daddy you asked to be, my friend.) He added “En cuanto a que se sintiera bien, tu fantasía resultó ser la verdadera forma de tu alma.” (As for it feeling right – your fantasy turned out to be the true form of your soul.)

Adam’s eyes widened. “Entonces, ¿eso significa que es permanente?” (So – does that mean this is permanent, then?) Jonathan nodded. “Sí, lo hace.” (Yes, it does.) And raised an eyebrow, looking at the new man beside him, as he stepped back and gave Adam space to admire himself.

Running hands and eyes over his new body, Adam was stunned... then stopped to sniff his own pits, rubbed his groin and brought his fingers up to his nose. The heavy, sexy daddy musk triggered the final response, as he realised his fantasy was now his forever reality... and got horny over it. Helplessly, before lustful and approving looks, Adam began stroking his 9.5” cock, groaning as it became engorged and started rising... and the last scraps of old Adam were sucked into his balls and refined into man cream.

“AAARRRHHH!!!”

“HHHAAARRRHHH!!!”

“HHHAAARRRGGGHHH!!!”

“HHHNNNGGGHHH!!!”

“HHHRRROOOWWWHHHRRR!!!!!”

“HHHRRROOOWWWHHHRRR!!!!!”

“HHHRRROOOWWWHHHRRR!!!!!”

With a roar of sheer ecstasy, Adam shot a huge load. All over the mirror. To the whoops, cheers and encouragement of his audience. Jonathan laughed in joy as he performed a reality rewrite. Adam blinked, then grinned as the new memories settled in. As Adam turned away from the mirror he’d just coated so liberally, Jonathan told him “Adam, todos los demás comparten los nuevos recuerdos, y tus registros oficiales y tu identidad también cambian. Esta es tu nueva vida. ¡Disfrútala!” (The new memories are shared by everyone else, Adam – and your official records and identity are also changed. This is your new life. Enjoy it!)

Adam smiled and hugged Jonathan. “Gracias, mi amigo.” (Thank you, my friend). Jonathan grinned as he released his hold on the new Latino daddy, stepped back and clothed him in jeans, boots, shirt and jacket. “Por ahora, esto servirá; dejo que tú elijas tu futuro guardarropa.” (These will do for now – I’ll leave your future wardrobe for you to choose). Adam grinned and stepped back, joining the others. Giving Fred a lustful look that made his cock twitch.

Angus laughed. “Now THAT was real fun to watch!” Peter chuckled “Told you he wouldn’t disappoint!” Alan grinned “He never does!”

Russell smiled at Ron and whispered “Go on – ask.” Swallowing, Ron approached Jonathan and asked him “Can you turn me into a beta leather guy, please? Daddy and I have been doing some talking, and that’s the way we’d like our dynamic to be.”

Jonathan grinned. Angus looked at Ron & Russell. “If you two are getting that serious, this is turning permanent. Correct?” Both guys nodded. “Yes – it is, Chief.” Angus was resolute. “That’s no surprise... I’ve seen it building between you. The fact that you’ve chosen your dynamic says everything. So be it.”

Turning to Jonathan, Angus added. “You can proceed with Ron’s change, brother – on the condition that you make it permanent, and initiate him into the club immediately afterwards.” Nobody was surprised at the restrictions applied. Ron grinned. “Daddy and I are both fine with that, chief – he warned me to expect it, so no worries.” Receiving unanimous assent from all their brothers to Ron’s initiation, Peter laughed. “What are we waiting for?!”

Jonathan took Ron over to the box and got him settled inside, then closed the lid and set dials & switches. Ron gasped as his change began. On screen...

APPLYING PARTIAL MATURITY.

Inside the box, Ron’s body rolled forwards, out of its twenties and into its early thirties. A goatee sprang out and his hair darkened and thickened up.

PARTIAL MATURITY APPLIED.

ENHANCING HEIGHT, HEALTH AND FITNESS.

Ron murmured as his body fat melted away and his muscles grew. Not massively bulked. Neither boy nor Daddy territory – in between. A perfect beta. A few inches of height – from 5’8” to 6’0” – were also added... making him shorter than Russell, but taller than most subs.

HEIGHT, HEALTH AND FITNESS ENHANCED.

COMMENCING GENITAL ENHANCEMENT.

Ron’s cock grew to a respectable 8”, and his balls enlarged.

GENITAL ENHANCEMENT COMPLETE.

COMMENCING INTERNAL CHANGES.

Ron felt his mind dissolve as the transformation turned inwards and turned him from sub to switch... then expanded his kinks, knowledge and abilities.

BETA MINDSET INSTALLED.

KINK ENHANCEMENT COMPLETE.

Then some unexpected messages appeared.

HIGH DESIRE DETECTED FOR APPLIED CHANGES.

PERMANENT STATUS OF CHANGES CONFIRMED.

APPLYING SOUL MODIFICATION.

Russell gasped. Jonathan’s eyebrows rose. From inside the box, Ron’s low moan of yearning... as his inner being was reshaped into the beta he’d chosen to be.

SOUL MODIFICATION COMPLETE.

CONVERSION COMPLETE.

RELEASING SUBJECT.

The lid popped open. Russell walked over and reached down. “Hey, boy. Come to Daddy...” as he helped Ron to his feet. Jonathan grinned. “Time to gear up...” he waved his hand – and Ron gasped as he was wrapped in a biker’s skin. Boots encased his feet & legs. Gauntlets covered his hands. A lid appeared, clipped to his belt. Inside, his mindset morphed into that of a biker, with skills to match. A Harley-Davidson knucklehead appeared on the courtyard beside Russell’s bike.

Jonathan grinned. “First step complete. You ready to be initiated, lad?” Ron nodded. “Yes. Definitely!” Jonathan waved his hand. “So be it.” A net of green fire wrapped itself around Ron, and he started shrinking. Seeing only the proud smile on Daddy Russell’s face as His boy turned into an immortal, immaterial 1” tall piskey and the usual double lock was applied. Jonathan smiled. “Welcome to our fellowship, brother.” Russell flipped his body into piskey form and hugged Ron, in sheer joy. The others followed suit, gathering round to welcome their new brother.

Ron’s face was shining. “Thanks, everyone.” Angus grinned. “Our pleasure!” Peter spoke up. “Now, it’s training time.” Russell agreed, but added “I can do the basics – I think you’re needed elsewhere.” Seeing looks of interest on the faces of Ray, Fred, Clive and Caleb, Peter agreed. “Good point. You get started with your number 2, then catch us after the malarkey is all over for further training. OK?”

So, Ron’s education in all things magical began. In time, his shapeshifting lock would open – for now, Daddy Russell stayed in piskey form with him, teaching him the basics of his form and abilities. Everyone else flipped their bodies back into human form and left them to it.

Peter turned to Ray. “Yo, man. You interested in being transformed?” Ray was thoughtful. “Yeah... but not too much, y’know? Kinda happy with myself, but have got a few things I’d like changed – permanently.” In response to an enquiring look from Peter, Ray continued “I’ve dreamed of being a big, muscled dom biker daddy most of my life – but my body’s let me down and held me back. I’d like to fix that.” Peter grinned. “Fitting. I always thought you had far more potential... be good to see it realised.”

Ray was drawn into a discussion with Jonathan, then climbed into the box. Jonathan grinned as he set dials and switches, then triggered the transformation. Inside the box, Ray groaned as his fat dissolved, his body rolled forward a few years to the age of 42, his height grew from 5’4” to 6’6”, his body bulked up with muscle and gained a nice pelt of body hair. Beard and moustache followed... then the dominant and biker mindsets replaced those of the submissive car driver, and his cock and balls were enhanced to match. Peter & Jonathan grinned as the permanent change was imposed and locked down.

As Ray climbed out of the box, Angus laughed, snapped his fingers and clothed him in biker gear, then created another Harley on the courtyard for him and rewrote reality. “A small token of appreciation, man – gear, bike, and a reality rewrite so every person and every official record Out There is adjusted to the person you’ve become. Enjoy your new life!”

Ray, his face split with a huge grin, received hugs and handshakes from all 3 guys.

Fred, Clive and Caleb wanted a few minor adjustments, nothing more – all being quite happy in their own skins, just wanting to be “sexed up” a bit. After each had emerged from the box as fitter, sexier and better hung permanent versions of themselves, the dungeon was closed up and everyone returned to the drawing room for refreshments.

Sitting down with drinks, snacks and smokes, Angus called for everyone’s attention and spoke. “Guys – now the fun’s over, it’s closedown time. Bottom line, our club has to stay under the radar Out There – so before you visitors go home, we have to take certain precautions.” Fred nodded. “That’s understandable. Just please don’t strip us of the memories!” Clive and Caleb agreed. “Featherdusterphobia or not, we want to remember this!” Angus grinned. “No worries – all we’ll do is bind your tongues.” He wove a net of green fire over Adam, Ray, Fred, Clive and Caleb. “There you go. Your memories are intact – but you’re unable to speak, write, indicate or communicate anything of the club’s real nature, magic or mansion. You can tell others about the mundane aspects of the club, and our clubhouse in the mountains, but that’s all.” Fred and the others agreed. “Understandable – and a sensible precaution.” Fred remarked. The others nodded in agreement. Ray remarked “Not that many would believe us anyway – but rumour can twist a story beyond recognition. Better nipped in the bud like this – less fuss all round.”

With smiles, jokes and laughter, everyone gathered on the courtyard. As Adam, Clive and Caleb climbed onto pillions behind Jonathan, Stuart and Thomas, and Ray swung into his own saddle with Fred on his pillion and Peter beside him, the others waved farewell as the visitors were lifted back home to San Francisco... arriving the morning after Folsom.

Returning to the mansion afterwards, they found everyone dispersed around house and gardens, chilling out... with Mark, Brett, Nicky and Baz waiting for them in the gardens with a picnic. Mark greeted them. “Yo, brothers. All good?” Jonathan grinned. “Definitely. All delivered home, safe and sound.”

Later that evening, after dinner, everyone gathered in piskey form on the balcony railing. Peter laughed. “Look at those two canoodling lovebirds!” Russell & Ron, sitting in each other’s arms, just smiled. Jonathan grinned. “Good to see, brother. True love brings its own light. They’ve lifted the atmosphere round here no end!”

Nearby, Mark laughed, sitting beside Rick, as he stretched out and sent a series of smoke rings out of his mouth. “MAN, this feels so good. I just LOVE being alive, you know?!” Rick grinned, pleased for his old friend. “Yeah, brother. Being de–booted agrees with you...”

In April, a new family moved into Denis' neighbourhood. It was an African family and Denis had already seen them a few times from afar. One day during the summer holidays, when he went to the school grounds to look for his friends, he spotted the boy from the neighbouring family. The boy was sitting all alone on a bench, staring sadly in front of him. Denis wanted to keep walking, but something held him back. The boy looked really lonely. So Denis made a decision.

He walked up to him, boldly introduced himself and said: "Hey, I'm Denis, your neighbour. What's your name?"

The boy looked up and replied quietly: "I'm Adil. I come from Africa."

"And what are you doing here all by yourself?" Denis asked curiously.

Adil shrugged his shoulders and replied: "I'm training. What do you want from me?"

Denis smiled: "I saw that you were alone and thought you might need a friend."

A small smile flitted across Adil's face. "That would be nice."

From that moment on, Denis and Adil were inseparable. They met every day in the school playground or in the park, and Denis even started training with Adil. He realised that Adil was incredibly ambitious and disciplined, and that inspired him. They spent the summer together and the friendship between the two boys grew deeper and deeper.

One evening, when it was already late, Adil invited Denis to his home. Denis, who was curious about Adil's family, gladly accepted the invitation. Adil's family greeted Denis warmly, as if he had been a friend for a long time. They cooked African dishes that Denis had never tried before and he fell in love with the exotic spices and flavours. From then on, he spent alternate days with Adil's family and Adil with him. They shared everything from secrets to dreams about the future.

But one day, Adil came to Denis with sad news: "My family is moving back to Africa," he said quietly.

Denis couldn't believe it. The idea that Adil was leaving made him incredibly sad. He spoke to his parents about it and, to his surprise, they agreed to let him travel to Africa with Adil's family for six months to get to know a new culture.

So began a whole new adventure for Denis. He went to school with Adil in Africa and lived as part of his family. Denis immersed himself deeper and deeper in the culture and learnt about the customs, language and everyday life. The more time he spent with Adil and his family, the more he felt part of this world.

It was a hot day in Africa, and Sinan, who used to be called Denis, felt more like a part of Adil's world than ever. After a hard day's training, they walked back to Adil's house together. Adil handed him a bottle of shampoo as they entered the bathroom and grinned. "Here, this is our family secret - 'Blackskin'. We all use it, give it a try."

Sinan looked curiously at the shampoo. "Sounds exciting," he said and took the bottle. "It'll smell good, won't it?"

"Sure," Adil laughed, "it's the best. You'll see."

Sinan showered as usual, but as he massaged the shampoo into his hair, he felt a slight tingling sensation on his scalp. It was pleasant and he liked the exotic scent that enveloped his senses. When he had finished and was drying off, he noticed something strange. His hair seemed darker than usual. It was only a small difference, but he noticed it immediately.

"Hey, Adil," Sinan called out from the bathroom, "I think my hair has darkened!"

Adil laughed and said: "Maybe the shampoo will work faster than you think!"

Sinan laughed along and didn't think much of it. But over the next few days, he noticed even more changes. His skin gradually seemed to take on a darker tone. At first it was only a slight change, almost imperceptible, but over time it became clearer. His once blue eyes seemed to slowly take on a brown glow and his hair became jet black. Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw more of Adil in himself.

"Hey, the shampoo is really cool," Sinan said to Adil one evening, laughing, "I'm looking more and more like you!"

Adil grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe one day we really will look like brothers, Sinan."

Sinan loved the change. It felt like he was immersing himself deeper and deeper into this new world that he cherished so much. He and Adil were becoming more and more alike not only through their friendship, but now also through their outward appearance. Sinan began to really see himself as part of Adil's family, as if he had been there from the beginning.

But with every change, a quiet question grew inside him. What exactly was it that changed him? Was it just the shampoo or perhaps something deeper that was drawing him more and more into Adil's world? Sinan wasn't too worried, because for him this transformation was nothing more than a symbol of his close friendship with Adil.

The two boys now not only looked like brothers, but also felt like them.

The hot summer days in Africa passed quickly and Sinan settled in more and more with Adil's family and culture. He now felt completely at home in this world. But one evening, while they were training together after a long day, Sinan let out a frustrated sigh.

"What's wrong?" Adil asked, looking at him with concern.

Sinan ran his hand through his now jet-black hair. "No matter how much I train, my muscles just don't grow like yours. You look much stronger, even though we do the same thing."

Adil grinned sympathetically. "It's not just the training, brother. It's also about what you eat and drink." He pulled a small bottle of a thick, dark green shake from his pocket. "I drink this shake every day. It's a secret recipe from my family, with special African spices. It will help you."

Sinan hesitated briefly, but then gratefully accepted the bottle. "Do you really think it will help?"

Adil nodded. "Trust me, you'll feel the difference."

From that day on, Sinan followed Adil's diet. Every morning and evening he drank the shake, which consisted of exotic ingredients that he didn't recognise but was happy to try. The flavour was unfamiliar at first, but after a few days he got used to it. At the same time, he continued to shower with the special "Blackskin" shampoo, and the changes in his body and mind became more and more noticeable.

With each passing day, Sinan's body became stronger, his skin darker and his hair thicker and curlier. But it wasn't just his appearance that was changing - something seemed to be happening inside him too. The memories of his former life in his home country gradually faded. The images of his old school, his parents and his former friends became fainter and fainter, as if they were disappearing into a mist.

New memories took their place. Sinan began to feel more and more like Adil's twin brother. It was as if he had always lived here in Africa, in this family, as if he had always been part of this world.

After six months of showering daily with "Blackskin" shampoo and drinking the African shake, the transformation was complete. Denis, the boy who once lived in a distant neighbourhood, no longer existed. He was now Sinan, the African, traditional Muslim, Adil's twin brother.

One evening, as they sat together on the roof of the house and watched the sunset, Adil looked at his brother and smiled. "You look like me, Sinan. Your transformation has turned out really well."

Sinan returned the smile and felt a deep sense of satisfaction. "Yes, Adil. I really am your brother now - in everything."

Their friendship, which once began as a small gesture of kindness, had turned into a deep and unbreakable bond. Sinan had not only adopted Adil's culture and religion, but had become a real part of Adil's world - a twin brother, not only in heart but also on the outside.