Steve Rogers stood at the podium in the packed New York University auditorium, his star-spangled uniform fitting perfectly over his super-soldier frame. The crowd of college students cheered as he spoke, but his expression remained serious. He had come here to talk about the future of America, and he was not going to sugarcoat it.
"I fought in World War Two for a country that stood for freedom and equality," Steve said, his voice carrying across the room without any need for a microphone. "But lately I have seen too many young people getting pulled into this right-wing nonsense. The MAGA movement, all this talk about going back to some imagined past. It is divisive. It is harmful. We need to promote a more liberal and accepting lifestyle. Tolerance for everyone, no matter their background, their gender, or who they love. That is the America we should aspire to."
The applause was loud, but not everyone was clapping. From the back row a burly man in a red hat stood up suddenly, his face twisted with anger. He was no major threat, just a small-time villain who called himself the Real American. His real name was Earl Jenkins, a disgruntled ex-military guy who had scraped together some experimental tech from a black-market deal. He had been waiting for a moment like this.
"You traitor!" Earl bellowed, pulling a strange-looking device from under his jacket. It looked like a bulky ray gun painted in red, white, and blue, with a small American flag sticker slapped on the side. "Captain America pushing woke garbage? Not on my watch. Time to make you great again!"
Security moved toward him, but Earl was faster. He aimed the device straight at Steve and pulled the trigger. A bright red beam shot out and struck Captain America square in the chest. The crowd gasped. Steve staggered back a step, feeling an immediate wave of heat spread through his body. At first he thought it was some kind of energy weapon, but this was different. It felt deeper, like something was rewriting him from the inside out.
"What did you do?" Steve growled, trying to stay on his feet. His shield felt heavier than usual in his hand.
Earl laughed, lowering the gun. "Just gave you a little dose of real American values, Cap. Or should I say, former Cap. Enjoy the ride, traitor."
Steve tried to step forward, but his legs felt unsteady. The heat inside him intensified, spreading from his chest down into his arms and legs, up into his head. He dropped to one knee on the stage, the shield clattering beside him. The students were shouting now, some calling for help, others staring in confusion. Steve barely noticed them. All he could focus on was the strange sensations crawling over his skin and through his muscles.
His super-soldier physique, the peak of human perfection built by the serum, began to soften. The incredible strength that had let him lift cars and punch through walls started to drain away like water running down a sink. His biceps, once rock-hard and enormous, lost their impossible definition. They stayed muscular, but now they were the kind of arms a dedicated gym-goer might have after a solid workout routine, nothing more. His chest contracted slightly, the broad plates of muscle shrinking until they looked like the chest of a fit everyday man who lifted weights a few times a week but also enjoyed a beer after work.
Steve gasped as the changes continued. His height, which had always been six foot two of pure power, seemed to compress just a little. Not enough to make him short, but enough to bring him down to a more average six foot even. His thighs thickened with practical muscle rather than explosive power, the kind that would let him chase down suspects on foot but not leap over buildings. His abs, once a perfect eight-pack, softened into a solid four-pack with just the faintest hint of softness around the middle from too many late-night shifts and not enough time worrying about looking like a god.
The uniform was changing too. The bright blue fabric with its white star and red stripes began to melt and reform. The colors darkened to navy blue, the star fading completely. Heavy tactical padding dissolved into standard police-issue material. The shield that had fallen beside him vanished entirely, replaced by a utility belt that clicked into place around his waist. A badge materialized on his chest, engraved with the name SHANE RICHARDS and the letters NYPD. His boots reshaped into sturdy black police shoes. The iconic helmet disappeared, leaving his head exposed.
His face was next. Steve felt his jawline shift, becoming a little less perfectly chiseled and more rugged, the kind of square jaw that looked good with a five-o-clock shadow. His clean-shaven skin prickled as stubble pushed through, dark and coarse. His blond hair darkened shade by shade until it was a short, practical brown cut that a cop would keep trimmed for regulations. His blue eyes stayed blue, but the expression in them hardened, losing the idealistic shine and gaining a cynical edge. His lips settled into a permanent smirk, devoid of all kindness and earnestness.
Steve clutched at his head as the mental changes began. No, he thought desperately. This is wrong. I believe in equality. I believe in acceptance. But the thoughts felt slippery now, like they were being pushed aside by something stronger.
A new voice spoke up inside his mind, deep and confident. Why bother with all that liberal crap? Women belong in their place, not pretending to be equal. And the gays? Disgusting. Real men do not act like that. Steve tried to fight it, but the new ideas felt good, natural, like they had always been there underneath.
His memories started to flicker. He remembered fighting in the war, but the details blurred. Instead, new ones pushed forward. He remembered joining the police academy right out of high school, working his way up through the ranks the old-fashioned way. He remembered voting Republican every single time because that was what a real American did. He remembered putting on a Captain America costume one year for Halloween, laughing with his buddies about how lame the real guy would be if he existed today. The memory felt so real, so solid. Of course he had dressed as Captain America for Halloween. It was a funny joke, nothing more.
The last traces of resistance faded. Steve Rogers was gone. In his place stood Shane Richards, breathing heavily but feeling stronger in a different way. Not super-soldier strong, but the kind of strong that came from knowing you had the law on your side and the right politics backing you up. He straightened up, adjusting the police belt around his waist. His body felt good, solid, the kind of build that turned heads at the gym and made perps think twice.
Earl Jenkins was still standing there in the back, grinning. The security guards had been too stunned by Steve's transformation to remove the villain from the premises. "How do you feel, officer?"
Shane looked at him and smirked. "Like I just woke up from a bad dream, partner. Thanks for the assist. Now if you will excuse me, I have some real work to do."
The crowd was still staring, but to Shane it looked like a bunch of confused kids who needed a good dose of traditional values. He stepped off the stage, ignoring the questions being shouted at him. His mind was already filling in the blanks of his new life. He was Detective Shane Richards, NYPD, thirty-two years old, married to a good woman who knew her role, and father to two boys he was raising right. Superheroes? They should answer to the government, especially when the Republicans were in charge. No more of this unchecked power nonsense. If they wanted to play dress-up and fight crime, they could damn well do it under proper supervision.
Shane walked out of the auditorium and straight into the parking lot where his squad car was waiting. It felt familiar, like he had driven it a thousand times. He climbed in, started the engine, and pulled out onto the street. The city looked the same, but now he saw it through clearer eyes. All those protests and marches for equality? Waste of time. People needed to know their place. Men like him, white men who worked hard and carried a badge, had privileges for a reason. It was time to start using them.
His first stop was a routine traffic pull-over on the way back to the precinct. A sleek sports car had been speeding. Shane hit the lights and siren, pulling the vehicle over to the side of the road. The driver was a young woman, probably in her twenties, with colorful hair and some kind of protest sticker on her bumper. Shane felt a surge of satisfaction as he approached the window.
"License and registration," he said, his voice deep and authoritative.
She handed them over, looking nervous. "Officer, I was only going five over the limit."
Shane glanced at the documents, then back at her. "You liberals are all the same. Think the rules do not apply to you. Step out of the car."
She protested, but he was already reaching for the cuffs. As he pulled her out and pressed her against the hood, he let his hands linger just a second longer than necessary. "You know, sweetheart, if you dressed a little more like a lady and spent less time shouting about rights, you might not find yourself in these situations."
The woman glared at him, but Shane just chuckled. He could already picture how this would go at the station. A few extra charges, maybe a night in holding to teach her a lesson. It felt good to flex the power that came with the badge and the right skin color. No guilt, no second thoughts. This was how things were supposed to be.
Back at the precinct later that evening, Shane sat at his desk with a cold beer he had snuck in from the vending machine. The other officers nodded at him respectfully. Everyone knew Detective Richards was old-school. He had the wall of his cubicle covered in American flags and a small framed photo of the current Republican president. When a rookie mentioned something about a pride parade happening downtown, Shane snorted loudly.
"Parade for what? Bunch of fairies parading around like it is normal. In my day we would not have stood for that crap. Keep that stuff away from my kids or there will be hell to pay."
The rookie laughed nervously and changed the subject. Shane leaned back in his chair, feeling completely at home. The old life as Captain America was nothing but a fuzzy Halloween memory now, a silly costume he wore once to a party. He was Shane Richards, through and through. A man who knew exactly where he stood on the issues. Traditional values. Law and order. America first. And if anyone tried to push that liberal nonsense on him again, well, he had the badge, the gun, and the mindset to set them straight.
He took another swig of beer and smiled to himself. Life was good. Real good. And it was only going to get better.
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On my way to the cospla y convention just a state over, and I am LATE!
Checking my navigation system showed me that I have to do this long stretch around some big empty forest, but then I see a road leading down that looked like it goes straight through!
Obviously, had to try it. If it isn't then I'll just do a u-turn.
The Reality Rewriter: Cosplayer To Cop
Jameson’s hands drummed the steering wheel of his car in a mix of frustration and nervousness as he drove down the deserted country road. His original plan, to drive all night to get from his house to the convention center, was now clearly a big mistake, as the road he thought would be a straight shortcut now seemed to be only wide open fields in the glow of his car’s headlights.
He knew that his decision to begin the long drive to the convention at the end of the day, instead of at the beginning like he had originally planned, was a horrible idea, but he had done it anyway. His ticket had been paid in full, and the first day of the convention was going to be prime time for the reveal of his handmade cosplay for the annual competition held there. He would have left earlier, but he had gotten so busy writing that paper earlier that he didn’t even notice the time. So he made the stupid decision of leaving late in the day, and the even stupider decision of taking this weird, mind numbingly long shortcut.
An hour ago, he had been stuck in a horrible traffic jam, heavily considering just cutting it early and turning around to go home or to a hotel. Being a day late might be worth it, if it meant not having to spend the rest of the night fighting off exhaustion and risking a car accident. Maybe. However, Jameson had happened to see an off ramp that was being strangely ignored, and decided to take the shortcut and escape his traffic nightmare. For the last hour he had been driving on what he thought was a shortcut that others didn’t want to enter, simply because the GPS directed them elsewhere. It was only once he saw the glow of light in the distance he was flooded with relief that his decision wasn’t a waste, managing to vaguely make out the lights of a town, albeit a small one.
Jameson briefly glanced at the phone, seeing the GPS still showed no town up ahead, and that according to his phone all that was in front of him was a bare patch of green. It wasn’t completely abnormal for a small town to be ignored by GPS, but for some reason the whole thing made him feel oddly nervous. Whatever, he thought as with a simple swipe, the application was shut down and he continued his drive.
A town that wasn’t noticeable by GPS, in this part of the country, sounded weirdly familiar to the cosplayer, but he couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t until Jameson recalled the town sign that he had just passed that it clicked. ‘Now Entering the Town of Maxford.’ and, In an ‘oh shit moment’, Jameson slammed on the brakes. It was too late though. He had passed into the city limits.
The tires and the wards he had conjured onto his car screeched as he stopped dead on the dirt road. There was no time to switch to reverse and leave because the immense magical force right outside pressing in from everywhere began compressing the wards to break; his car shuddered with the changes wracking it everywhere all at once.
“Shit!” Jameson cursed as a rapid tingling feeling rose in waves all over his body, the magic of Maxford flooding and displacing his own, pushing itself deeper than he thought it could. His vision blurred, and the heat suffusing his body felt so good as if he was getting a heated massage. His vision cleared, the heat ebbed away, and Jameson sat in stupor.
You see, Jameson wasn’t an average person. Jameson was what's known as a reality warper, a human with the strange ability to morph reality to his whim, and one of the few magical entities in the world trying to lay low and keep his ability to himself. That was the only real limitation of his ability; he could only alter his own reality in a limited bubble of what he owned. The paper he had written, the reality warping spell that made him tireless for the night, was now burned up in the face of this magical behemoth.
“Fuck.” Jameson said, his voice now both familiar yet unfamiliar to himself. It was now deeper, both in octave and tone, almost performatively masculine. He looked down to see for himself what had happened, and it confirmed the number of similar stories he had already read online. He had been transformed, like everyone who entered the strange town of Maxford, into a sexy, traditional, conservative, athletic, straight version of themselves.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Almost transformed into a straight version of himself, he corrected internally. His awareness of the reality changes, his memories, and most importantly his mind, had been shielded from the changes by his own magic powers, compressed as of now. He had gone from an average cosplayer to a beefy straight man, a beefy straight cop if what he saw in the rearview mirror was anything to go by. His body had transformed, his clothing had transformed, even his beat-up second-hand car had been transformed into a sleek, state-of-the-art police cruiser.
He could feel the new memories stick to his consciousness like barnacles on a ship, vaguely staying outside his sphere of power, not invasive but vivid enough that he could easily recall them as if they were his own. The vague memory of his new identity rapidly became clearer as he focused; these new memories, in particular, were of him as a muscular, cocky police officer named Officer James, a man who loved to play the hero, abuse his power to uphold traditionalist conservative values, and had an insatiable libido for women, especially those who were sluts for the badge, and who fit his idea of a proper wife.
He should, and would, have been disgusted by his new memories and thought, if his body didn’t react to it favorably, the magnum sized cock in his pants thickening visibly. His magic managed to protect his mind, but everything that was physical about him had been reforged to fit Maxford to a tee. He could feel that his new personality was completely different in comparison to his true self, a cocky smirk forming as he inspected his handsome reflection in the rear-view mirror and felt the heat of his bulging muscles under his uniform.
Despite the urge to admire his new muscles and stay here, Jameson changed gears to reverse and sped back through the city limits. The weird feelings intensified, as if the town was trying to keep him there, and a small voice in his head said it didn’t matter that he’d miss the stupid convention, and that if he left he’d be unable to get a woman on his rod. Jameson ignored it, and in an instant his own power expanded back into its rightful vessel with a reviving flow; everything had reverted to normal again.
For a minute, Jameson pondered his choices. He could drive the two hours back to the main highway, get back into the traffic, which he knew would still be awful and still miss the cosplay competition anyways, which was his main reason for going to the convention anyways. Or… he could do something else for the day. There it was, right in front of him, a magical city rumored online that turned people into hot straight people, and Jameson grimaced at the idea of just turning his back on it. He had always loved hearing about other transformations, and had longed to investigate one up close. Plus, his power was able to protect his true self. Making his decision, Jameson steered himself back towards the town, and drove right back into the city limits.
The sensation of having sculpted muscles, overbearing testosterone, and a cocky, douchebag personality felt fucking amazing! It took him all his newfound disciplined self to not cover his dashboard with his virile seed while driving with one hand and instead wait a few minutes for him to drive into town. Fucking hell, he had stumbled into the magical goddamned town rumored online on his vacation. One that managed to, at least to some degree, turn him into a manly, muscular, straight cop, and a horny one at that. The gay Jameson had never even thought about women except in certain circumstances, but Officer James could tell his now much larger and definitely straight cock needed some fucking pussy.
Officer James tapped his phone to open the maps app again, surprised but not unexpected to see his own smug mug flexing on the lock screen. The password remained the same, but to his disappointment, there was no internet reception. His scowl was deep enough for irritation to stack with his incessant need fuck. Something attractive caught his eye, his drive coming to a crawl as he noticed a blonde woman in a tight pink crop top, a short skirt, heels, and thick makeup.
James’ eyes raked over the woman's body, his eyes landing on her massive tits. Fuck, being a straight meathead was so weird, but… good. It felt ridiculously good to be so cocky and full of unrestrained lust. His imagination ran wild as scenes of that stupid slut moaning like a bitch in heat while bent over the hood of the cruiser with him pounding her pussy. He tried to pull his mind out of the gutter, even though it was very hard, and reminded himself he didn’t actually want to stop. But he did anyway.
The blonde didn’t seem to notice him as he stopped his cruiser beside her and rolled down his windows, not until a wolf whistle escaped his lips before he realised what he had just done, coming out like an ingrained habit. Clearing his throat, Jameson asked a question to try and undo the awkwardness. “Hey there miss. Do you know where I can get a map of this town?”
The way the bib tittied blonde bit her lip told him very little about where to find a map, and a lot about what the woman really wanted. “Yes, Officer, I have a map you can explore~” she said with the sultriness of a succubus, her hands roaming across her body and down to her waistline as Officer James felt his eye undressed her without meaning to. He should have diverted his eyes, tried to steel the conversation back to getting a map, yet he licked his lips as his earlier lust came roaring back, filling him with the need for a good fuck.
“Is that a pistol in your pants or are you just happy to see me, Officer?” she says, leaning into the cruiser’s window with her tits now eye level with him. He knows he shouldn’t indulge, that he’d never do this to a woman. He had to find a way to stop this before he did something stupid. His hands roamed to his cuffs. Yes, he’d arrest her, put her in the back of the cruiser, and state her rights to remain silent. That made sense, right?
It was a haze of heated action that spurred him on. She was in the back seat, he was on top of her, unbuckling his belt. “I might have contrabands in my pants, Officer... You need to check me out…” She said with a slutty giggle that made the muscular cop almost growl with lust.
Officer James was already pulling her pants down, acting entirely on instinct that felt natural for this body, for this reality. His mind knows the truth, but his body says otherwise. The cruiser jumped and rocked, as the grunts of a dominant man and the moans of a satisfied woman echoed out from the cruiser.
He could always get back to investigating later. Maybe he’d even take the second day of the convention off so he could keep looking into things. But as for now, he’d give himself a moment to…indulge.
---
You might have noticed that this story is a little different from my usual stuff. The story I'm reporting on here was actually sent to me by James himself. He's a friend of mine in the TF Reporting community, and a really good guy. He told me he was planning on continuing his investigation into Maxford, and that he would be posting any updates he has on his own blog at @ghostwritesmuscles
I'm proud of my friend for being so adventurous, but I'm a little worried. Places like Maxford can be really dangerous, especially once you spend more time there...
---
OOC writer here! And with that, Maxford has officially spun off! Well we'll still have stories about Maxford and see more of Wally/Wallace and the other people in town, I am no long going to be the only person writing about Maxford. My friend, @ghostwritesmuscles , will be having his own character running around Maxford, and will be posting about it from time to time! I hope you guys enjoy his stuff as much as I do, especially since he helped me write this story. Ghost, this was so much fun, thank you so much! Everyone else, stay tuned for more!
(Narrating character Tyler on the right, best friend Jake on the left)
The day I’d been waiting for all week had finally come. Friday, my first weekend off in a month and I was spending it with my best friend going out for some drinks at the gay bars downtown. We weren’t planning to pick anyone up, but hey, anything was possible. “It’s about time you got a weekend off man, I’ve been dying to come out here but I can’t come without my wingman!” He said patting my shoulder playfully. “Girl please, I know you have 20 other guys who you take out here stop lying.” I joked back. We both laughed, continuing to walk down the street until we saw a cop posted up outside the main gay bar everyone went to, and our next stop. “Tyler, look.” Jake said to me, pointing at the officer. A few days prior some homophobic asshole was harassing a gay couple outside the bar, when the gay couple retaliated they were swiftly arrested, and a constant police presence has remained outside the bar to “keep them under control” the police department worded it as. Everyone knew it was homophobia from the department, everyone just dealt with it and toned it down a bit. Jake leaned in close to me so the cop wouldn’t hear him “If I didn’t know why he was here I’d say he’s quite the handsome daddy.” He said in my ear. I was pretty agitated at the whole situation so as we got closer I decided to poke the bear and flirt with him. Jake was right, while he was a bit older than us, there was something rugged and authoritative about him that you almost couldn’t resist. We approached the bar and I wet for it.
“Well hello officer, you’re quite the handsome man aren’t you?” I said in a flirtatious voice. He ignored me at first, hoping I would just go away. “Tyler stop, let’s go inside.” Jake said softly to me not wanting things to escalate. I ignored him and kept pursuing. “You might need to keep me under control officer, with a man like you around here I might start to get rowdy.” I continued. “That’s enough son.” He said in an authoritative and deep voice. “Tyler come on” Jake said again, attempting to pull me away. I stood my ground, wanting to aggravate him more as payback for this unfair surveillance. “Son? If I’m your son I guess that makes you my daddy then, doesn’t it sir.” I said, placing my hand on his arm, which seemed to be the final straw.
“Get your hands off me, I am a police officer and I will place the BOTH of you under arrest if you don’t get a move on.” He yelled at me and Jake. “TYLER, let’s just go inside.” Jake pleaded. Now I was mad, it may have been my fault but I never liked people raising my voice at me, so I kept going. “Why so serious officer? Are those skeletons in your closet screaming to be let out? You don’t want the wife to think you’re one of us do you?” I said noticing his wedding ring. I seemed to have crossed a line. He grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me within an inch of his face. “How about you find out?” He said softly so that Jake couldn’t hear him. Find out? What did he-
Before I could even finish the thought something very wrong happened. The officers eyes lit up bright blue. I still can’t explain exactly what happened, but it felt as if my soul was being ripped out of my own body and stuff somewhere it didn’t belong. My vision became a blur and my body enveloped in a buzz so strong it felt like a rung bell. By the time it finally stopped I was looking at the impossible, myself. I had my own shit in my hands, looking at my body smiling back at me. “Enjoy the body, officer.” My body said to me in my own voice. I let go of my old body, my muscles nearly stopped working from how much shock I was in. I noticed Jake still staring at me horrified. I stammered over my words. “Uh- I- I apologize. You two go on about your night. Sorry.” I said, I should’ve pressed the officer now inhabiting my old body on what he had done, but I froze and didn’t know how to even start that interaction. Jake put his arm around my old body and guided him back down the street. Finally I was alone, to process everything that had just happened.
I couldn’t be out on the streets as a police officer like this, so I made a beeline for the first public restroom I could find for a little more privacy. I stumbled into the bathroom, boots echoing loudly on the floor, I nearly fell over trying to navigate in this hulk of a body. If I had to guess I was now 6’4 230lbs at least. Now alone and out of the prying eyes of others, I finally was able to examine my new body.
First things first, I was a lot bigger. My old body wasn’t small, I was average height and weight, this dude was just huge. As much as I didn’t want to admit, it felt very empowering to be this physically imposing. I mean hell, my arms were bigger than my old body’s legs. Then of course there was the uniform. I was wearing the lot, boots, uniform pants, utility belt, shirt, badge, and hat. It felt so strange to be able to walk around with all these things to use whenever I deemed necessary, a gun, ammunition, a baton, pepper spray, and a taser. There was also the wedding band. Memories were slowly coming in of a wife and 2 kids. Various memories raising the kids, getting married, the honeymoon, the anniversaries, the arguments. I felt like I was intruding on another man’s life. I guess I shouldn’t, I mean he did give this life to me willingly. I looked at the name tag pinned to my uniform, my new name was Matthew Pruitt. Last but not least, was my balding head. There was still a tiny bit of hair around the sides and back, but it looked more like the officer just hadn’t shaved it in a while and usually rocked the bald look rather than growing out the horseshoe hair. Then another thing presented itself. As I observed my reflection in the mirror, I noticed a slight bulge in my pants. I moved my large hand to my crotch and sure enough, I was hard as a rock. I tried to deny it, but I was becoming very attracted to my new body. The uniform was amazing to see on others, but to wear it and see yourself adorned with it? Heaven. And to look in the mirror and see a giant bald police daddy responding to your every move, pure ecstasy.
I began posing in the mirror. I know it was corny, but I excused it in my mind as practicing before going out on patrol. I stood in front of the mirror, put my hands on my utility belt, and put on the most intimating expression I could. I felt my new cock leak just from this. Then came the voice lines. “Do you know why I pulled you over son?” I said in my new deep voice, that had a slight southern drawl to it. “That’s OFFICER to you.” “You’re under arrest.” Then for the finale. I pulled my gun from its holster and belted out the classic “Put your hands where I can see them!” The last of which almost made me burst right there. I holstered my gun, and headed back outside to patrol. Every inch of my new body wanted to go into a stall and stroke my new cock til my balls we’re empty but I didn’t want the other officers to wonder where I was, and plus I’d be wayyy more intimidating with my massive bulge showing in my pants. I returned to the Main Street the officer was patrolling, picked a good spot, and stood there looking intimidating, trying to do my best to replicate my new body’s look.
As I stood my post, I noticed how differently people acted around me and even looked at me. People were on their best behavior around me. When people saw me, they looked at me with either nervousness or respect. Quite a far cry from being ignored in my average body or even ridiculed for my orientation. Smaller guys were intimidated by me and would look away. Bigger guys and older guys would smile and nod at me in respect, to which I would always nod back. Then you had the women and the guys coming from the gay bars who looked at me with flirty expressions. Weirdly enough, this new body seemed to respond to both men and women. I may have been onto something when I said the officer was hiding some skeletons.
Don’t get it twisted, my entire night wasn’t just standing on a corner getting my new ego stroked. There were some chaotic moments, I mean it’s downtown on a Friday night. Of course a few drunk guys from the gay bars and drunk women would come up to me and touch my arms trying to seduce me. I wanted to say yes, but this body’s strict adherence to its duties prevented me. Every time a cute man or woman came up to me, inside I was saying blow me in the alley, but all that came out was, “Get in your car and head home sir” in a strict manner. I even had to break up a few bar fights. I was scared for the first one, but realized when I intervened how much bigger I was than everyone else and that I could easily pin down anyone, sometimes even 2 guys at once. I tried not to arrest anyone, it was late and I was trying to take it easy in the first night. I mainly just gave warnings, and occasionally wrote tickets for anyone causing too much of a ruckus. It felt weird to intervene on these kinds of things. I was always a “fight the power” kinda guy. But here in this body I couldn’t think of anything more important than keeping my city safe and crime free. It was like this guys mind was overriding my own.
It was now 2am, I knew I was on the graveyard shift. I only had around 4 hours left til we swapped shifts. Most everyone had gone home for the night, so I decided to let the junior officers handle the downtown, and I would tackle the main roads. I stepped into my police cruiser and was amazed at all the tech at my disposal. Computer for looking up peoples records. Radio for communication with my fellow officers. Buttons for operating the sirens and PA systems. Various radars, and then of course, the infamous speed gun in the passenger seat. I immediately headed for the main roads and set my cruise control to the exact speed limit. It was wild how everyone immediately slowed down and drove perfectly the very second I turned onto the road. Having this much of a presence was still enough to keep me hard this entire time.
I was getting kind of tired so I pulled into a convenience store, grabbed some snacks and an energy drink, then found a side road along the main road to sit on, and set up my speed gun to watch for any violations. 4am rolled around, almost done. I had finished my snacks and energy drink, feeling much more awake now.
I thought I was gonna get my shift over with no issues, but then, one of the radars went off and I saw a car fly past. The speed gun indicated 120MPH. My heart raced with excitement. I immediately turned my siren on and floored it in pursuit. Every car pulled over to get out of my way, I could see the car straight ahead. He tried to speed up but he couldn’t outrun me. I got in the PA system. “PULL OVER NOW OR I WILL CALL IN BACKUP.” I said in as authoritative of a voice as I could. Once I said that he began to slow down and pulled over. I immediately got my flashlight and a breathalyzer, stepped out, and walked towards his window which was already down. The driver was maybe 20 years old, typical stupid kids, I thought to myself. “I’m assuming you know why I pulled you over son?” I said in my best authoritative voice. “Come on man just let me go. There’s no one on the road.” He whined. This pissed me off to no end. “That’s OFFICER to you young man. It don’t matter no one’s on the road, you’re drivin’ dangerous and coulda killed yourself.” I roared. He immediately stiffened up and became very respectful. “License and registration.” I demanded. “Yes officer.” He immediately handed it to me. “Son, if you run I promise ya I will have the entire county chase you down this road, you got that?” I snarled. He nodded silently. I took his documents to my cruiser and ran them through our system. Alex Harvey, 20 years old, 2 tickets in the last 2 months for speeding. This one would not only suspend his license but send him to jail for reckless driving, which would take his license and prevent him from getting a new one for quite some time. After my heart rate slowed from the chase, I noticed my cock was even stiffer than ever. I guess the thrill of the chase and being the hard-ass older cop really set me off. This gave me an idea of how I could finally relieve myself. I walked back to his car and handed him the documents back. “Well son you’ve got 2 options. I can either arrest you right now, impound your car, charge you with reckless drivin’, and suspend your license.” I paused, enjoying the look of horror on his face. “Please no officer, I can’t go to jail, my parents will kill me, is there any other way?” He begged. “Or, you can do me a little favor.” I said in a sinister voice. “What kind of favor?” He asked nervously. I put my hand on my cock, showing the imprint clearly through my pants, and flashed him a dirty look. “No way, you’re old enough to be my dad, there’s gotta be something else.” He pleaded. “Alright son I’m gonna have to ask you to step out of the car and put your hands behind your back.” I said firmly. “Alright alright I’ll do it.” He said in a defeated voice.
He got out of the car and followed me behind a tree in the woods off the side of the road. I pushed him to his knees and undid my utility belt, then undid my pants and pulled my cock out. I was shocked at how big it was. I guess I didn’t really notice from how big the rest of my body was, but this thing was pushing probably 12 inches. The guy was shocked, “I have to suck that?” He asked in shock. “That’s right boy.” I said in a stern voice. “Now use your spit and get to suckin son.” I demanded. He looked defeated. He spit on my cock, spread it around with his hands, before taking the entire thing in his mouth. I let out a deep grunt. I had never felt anything more pleasuring in my life. “You’re a natural son.” I said in a shaky voice as he continued to suck, using his tongue to try and get it over with quickly. “You must be one of them queers, you’re takin daddy’s cock like a champ boy.” I say in my deep drawl. He tried to speed up to finish, but I was having way too much fun to allow that. I grabbed his hair. He let out a groan. “Slower boy, I know you’re tryin to go quick, you finish when I say you’re finished or you go to the slammer. Got that son?” I threatened. He nodded. “Good boy. Now go slow and you better use that tongue of yours boy.” I ordered. He did exactly as I said. I enjoyed getting my massive cop cock worshipped and did my absolute best to not burst, not only to make it last but to make him have to suck me off for longer. Finally after 10 minutes I couldn’t hold it any longer. I began to stiffen up and moan. I felt him try to pull off but stopped him quickly. “Oh no you don’t.” I saunas I grabbed his head again and forced it all the way to the base of my cock. I heard him gag but couldn’t care less. “You wanna speed on my streets, you’re gonna take my seed til I’m done.” I said. I let loose the biggest load I’d ever released in my entire life. “Oh. FUCK. Yeah swallow my cum boy.” I yelled. As I began to mercilessly fuck his throat. After 20 seconds I was finally done, and I released him. I wiped my cock off on his face before stuffing it back in my pants. And doing up my belt. “See that wasn’t so bad was it.” I said calmly. “You’re nuts” he said in a defeated voice. “Oh don’t be so dramatic. Think of it as a double service. You kept yourself out of jail. And you performed an honorable service for law enforcement.” He started to walk away but I grabbed his shirt, turned him around and got real close. “Now if you EVER tell anyone I will end you. And if you EVER speed on my streets again, your life will be over kid. You got that?” I threatened. “Yes officer.” He replied. “Good, you better go straight home and lord help you if I catch you going even 1 mile over the limit.” We both headed to our cars and went our separate ways.
I let out a sigh of relief. I looked at the clock and it was almost 5:30. Time to head back to the station and turnover. I got back to the station, and all the cops I used to be disgusted with were now my best friends and I could only look at them as such. I got various greetings. The older officers all greeted me as Matt, which was weird to hear these seasoned officers be so casual with me. Meanwhile the younger officers were more formal, usually something like “good morning Sergeant.” Again, it was weird to hear an officer show respect to me, but I loved it. I headed to the back office and began talking to some of the other officers about our nights, telling my story about a rowdy gay couple and a guy speeding. Of course keeping the finer details a secret. 6 o clock rolled around and the morning shift came in. The sergeant of the shift came up to me, I could tell we were good friends just from this body’s natural memory. I even somehow knew his name. “Jim!” I say in a casual voice. “What’s up Matt.” He replied. We engaged in small talk home life, as my new body and him were of similar age. “Whatcha got for me Matt.” He said ready to start his shift. I put on my best impersonation of him, hiding my true beliefs and the sketchy stuff I had just done. “Well we kept an eye on those queer clubs downtown, I had one couple try to mess with me, probably should keep someone posted there, seem they’re not ready to be responsible members of society yet those queers. And I had a speeder off Old Smith Road.” I reported. “Those damn queers, when will they learn.” Jim said disapprovingly. “Well thanks for the info Matt, go home, get some rest, and see your family man” he said going me a pat on the shoulder. “Thanks man, see ya in 2 days.” I somehow subconsciously knew I didn’t have work tomorrow, I had the whole night off which I had big plans for. I gave my new friend a hug and pat on the shoulder before leaving in my patrol car and headed home.
I had never even been in this house yet somehow it still felt like an oasis, my salvation of relaxation that I knew the ins and outs of. I opened the door and my new wife and kids were up getting ready for school. “Dad!” The kids exclaimed. The kids and my wife all gathered around me for a group hug. I was never one to want a family, but I’ll admit I was kinda heat warmed by this whole thing. “Hey kids, you behaved while I was gone right? Didn’t give your mother any trouble?” I asked in a friendly dad like tone. “We were angles” my new daughter replied. My wife nodded in agreement. “All right, go eat your breakfast, daddy’s tired and you guys gotta get to school.” She said, and they obeyed. I hugged and kissed my wife, her presence felt like a warm blanket. “I missed you hon.” She said as she kissed me on the cheek. “Alright go get some sleep and a shower, I’ll see you later this afternoon. Love you.” She said. “Love you too.” I replied before heading to my new bedroom.
I heard my wife and kids leave for school and knew now dad had the house to himself, I could do whatever I pleased. I noticed the hamper in the corner and grabbed a pair of my new body’s dirty underwear and headed to the mirror. I began sniffing this body’s musky scent. My head spun in pleasure, inhaling this manly scent and seeing my hulking cop body in the mirror. I was already rock hard again, so I took out my bull cop cock and began to slowly stroke it while sniffing the dirty boxers and even tasting the leftover cum in them. With how much I had held in on my shift I busted another load after only about 5 minutes of playing with myself. I cleaned up my mess, hung up my uniform, and got in the shower. I enjoyed exploring my new body with no barriers. I fondled my new body from top to bottom, feeling every inch of my massive frame, loving every hair that passed through my fingers. I let the hot water soothe my aged and aching body til the hot water ran out. I dried off, put on some sleeping clothes, and finally drifted off to sleep after what felt like an eternity of a night.
I woke up the next day at 3pm. I hopped out of bed, went to the closet and picked out something to wear. It was mostly suits, dad attire, or jeans and cowboy boots. I went for the dad attire of a polo shirt, khaki pants, and tassel dress shoes. A mile away from my normal dress style, but this suited my new body and somehow seems exactly right.
I got downstairs and made myself some lunch. I had a plan for tonight, I just needed to kill some time til the evening. I pretty much just lounged around the house til my wife and kids got home around 5pm. I greeted them with the typical hugs and kisses, like I had been doing this for years. “Oh honey, Jim wanted to go out tonight, I’ll be back real late, so t wait on me for bed time or anything. “Ok hon, thanks for telling me.” She responded as she began to make dinner while I made sure the kids did their homework before joining helping in dinner. Once it was done I used my loud and authoritative dad voice to call the kids downstairs to eat. I sat down with my family at the dinner table, said a prayer before eating (thankfully the instinct kicked in before I just started eating), and began to chow down, discussing everyone’s day around the table. I hated how much I was enjoying the closeted straight dad life. I despised these people and now was the exact image of it. A closeted, married, church going, right wing, police officer, with multiple kids. Once we finished dinner, I helped clean up before telling my wife I was heading out.
What was my plan you ask? Well I was heading back to the gay bar where I knew my old body would be, and I didn’t want yo beg him for my body back. Quite the opposite, I loved being a cop, being a boring suburban dad and husband, dressing like one, and abusing my authority to get favors from anyone I wanted. My plan was more sinister. I wanted to show the cop in my body what he was missing, to see his body in action. I made sure to get to the bar before my old body would. The evening rush hadn’t started yet, there were only a few guys in the bar. I slowly sipped on whiskey, something I hated but this manly body loved, until the moment came.
I saw my body walk in, he noticed me and stopped dead in his tracks. I patted the seat next to me with a devious smile. He sat next to me, ordered a drink, then asked “what are you doing here?” In a slightly annoyed tone. “Well I wanted to show you how closeted you were, don’t worry I’m not here to ask for my body back, you can keep it. But I have your sexual desires, so you must have mine.” I said mockingly. His eyes went wide as he realized I now knew he was bi and that his new body liked this one. “Come on, don’t deny yourself anymore, be free. You’re in a new body. Come on, put your head on my shoulder. I know you want to.” I said seductively. “But, you’re married. It’s- I” he gave up trying to protest and put his head on my shoulder. The smile in his eyes showed he was finally free for the first time in his life, I knew at that point we couldn’t switch back. I liked this body, and he was finally able to express himself, who was I to get in the way of that.
As we continued drinking I started to get more flirtatious. Putting my arm around him, on his leg, on his inner thighs. Before whispering to him “lucky for you, I know your biggest kinks and fantasies.” He immediately blushed. “Would me calling you son get you hard?” I said teasing him as much as I could. I looked down and saw my former cock immediately start to rise. “That’s what I thought. It’s ok son, dad’s here to take care of you.” I said putting my arm around him and pulling him into me. He immediately clung to me. I knew from here on I had him in the palm of my hand. I continued to tease him until 11 o’clock rolled around. He was looking sad because the night was getting closer to being over. “Come on, dad’s got a surprise for you.” I said to him as I laid our tabs and led him to my car. I pulled into a hotel parking lot and walked towards the door. “Wait I don’t understand, what are we doing?” He asked confused. “Well I’m buying us a room, we can have fun for a few hours, cuddle, then I can head back before my wife wakes up and you can stay in this hotel til checkout time.” I said smiling. “But, but you’re married.” He said trying to think of an excuse. “It doesn’t if it’s not a woman” I said to him. I decided to play on his fantasies even more. “Plus, it’s just father son bonding.” I said quietly. He immediately blushed. “But if we- there’s- ugh. Here’s the thing, if we each cum in each other’s bodies it’s permanent.” He explains. “Ok and?” I asked. “So we’ll be stuck forever. You’ll be stuck in that old dad bod forever and I’ll never see my family again.” He added. “Well I actually prefer this. Sure I’m older, but being a cop is so satisfying, mentally, physically, sexually. I love being an intimidating cop keeping the city safe then going home to be a family man. And besides you’re finally free to be yourself. I’ll still keep contact and introduce you as a friend so you can still have a relationship with them, promise.” I say reassuringly. “You’re sure you don’t mind?” He asked. “This body swap is the best thing that ever happened to me.” I said. “Now, let dad show his boy some fun.
I walked inside and ordered a hotel room for me and my “son”. Within 15 minutes we were in the hotel room kissing, holding each other, and all other kinds of foreplay. “Come here son, let dad hold you.” I said softly. I guided him into the bed, and pulled him in close, kissing his forehead like he was my own son.
“I love you dad” my former body said softly, now fully committed to the role play. “I love you too son, now let dad see his boy.” I said as he stood up and followed my orders. Slowly stripping off the clothes I had bought for myself, exposing the body I had taken care of for 30 years. “My boy is so beautiful. Now undress dad.” I ordered. He complied, slipping off my shoes, then my socks. He moved to my torso, slipped off my shirt, and began to rub my chest, and play with my nipples. “Oh wow” I whispered, this body’s nipples never having been played with before. He finally down, unbuckling my belt, and sliding off my pants. My cock was standing straight up, the front of my boxers were soaked. He slowly slipped them off, my cock hitting him in the face when the boxers finally went over it. He sat kneeling in front of me waiting for instructions. I grabbed my cock and began slapping him in the face with it. “You’re gonna do what daddy says right?” I asked in a stern tone. “Yes dad.” My former body answered. “You’re my toy right, dad can use his boy how he pleases?” I continue. “Yes dad, you made me so you own my body.” He answered obediently. “Good boy. Now open your mouth.” I ordered. He obliged. I put my large hands on the back of his hand and began to slowly push it forward. “Oh wow, your mouth feels amazing son.” I say with a shaky breath. It was so strange, almost wrong, to be in this married man’s body, making him suck his own cock, me getting sucked off by my own body. But I didn’t care, that’s what made it amazing.
I let him keep sucking me off for a few more minutes before I pushed his head back gently, laid him on the bed, put his legs on my shoulders, and prepared to take my former ass, and for him to get fucked by his own cock. “Are you ready for dad’s cock son?” I asked. “Yes dad, show me how a man fucks.” He practically begged. I spit on my dick before sliding it slowly into my former ass. It shouldn’t have felt this good to fuck what was, in reality, myself. Being in this huge body, dominating myself was too good to be true. I knew I wouldn’t last long so I would have to make it worth it. I began to speed up, my former body began to moan almost uncontrollably. “You want dad to show you how a real man sucks cock son?” I asked. Between breaths I could hear “yes…..dad……please.” While continuing to dominate my former ass, I also took my former cock in my new mouth. Being a man this big and sucking cock was a massive turn on, making it even harder to not blow inside my old ass, sealing is like this forever. We continued this for a few minutes before I noticed he was struggling to keep it in, and so was I. I took my cock out of my new mouth, “you ready to be my boy forever son?” I asked in a lustful voice. “Yes dad, make me yours.” He begged. I engulfed my old cock in my mouth again and went as hard as I could while fucking my former ass. I felt myself finally let go, pounding as hard as I could, moaning while still having a cock in my mouth. My old body could no longer hold it either, shooting my own cum into my new mouth and down my throat. It was possibly the best orgasm I’d ever had, whether it was us getting locked in each other’s bodies influencing it or just pure lust, I wasn’t sure. But what I was sure about was that I was now, and forever, Matthew Pruitt.
“How was it TYLER?” Making sure to use new names as we were now permanently each other. “The best sex I’ve ever had MATT.” Come here, let me hold you in my big arms before I have to leave. He smiled the biggest smile of the night, got as close as possible to me, while I wrapped my big arms around him, pulling him close to my bear body. As I rubbed his back and head, he fell asleep quick in my arms. I set an alarm for 5 am, so I could be home before my wife would wake up. I was looking forward to my new closeted, straight, Christian, right wing, cop life on the surface, while on the side I have a friend named Tyler who will do anything I ask him to.
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Streamers everywhere have a chance to try out Auto Larceny: IV before it drops. After being forced into playing as a police officer in game Ethan Davies finds himself fitting the shoes more by the second.
Back to a longer story here's my take on a Cop TF- Sorta sucked into a video game Ethan rapidly becomes an ephemeral everyman of a cop! MG, mental change, and corruption abound! Hope you enjoy! -Occam
Auto Larceny: IV was supposed to be the game of the year. It wasn’t Ethan Davies’ standard fare but the streamer simply couldn’t miss out on the revenue bubble that’s sure to occur when the game first drops. Honestly he wasn’t sure why he got an early access copy of the game but he’s so early in his career that any shortcut to get ahead had to be taken. Still, he’d need to familiarize himself with the game before going straight to streaming it, which is where things began to go off kilter.
The intro cinematic to the game was fairly rote, the franchise was so massive that even disinterested parties were aware of the tone and gameplay. Ruffians driving down the sidewalk being chased by helicopters, wide shots exploring some amalgam of every city in California, drag racing down every major thoroughfare, Ethan was well familiar with the action movie parody tone of the world despite having not picked up the remote to play any game in the franchise before now.
Expectecting to click through menus and make his character, Ethan is surprised to instead be greeted by roulette wheel and a message: ‘In this edition of AL player characters and story modes will be randomly assigned to keep the game fresh! After completing story mode feel free to start New Game+ where you can choose from any of the hundreds of hand-crafted player characters!’ Ethan grimaces, quite a lot to ask of the player to jump into a rpg with absolutely no choice as to who you’re playing. It really doesn’t seem on brand to take player agency totally out of the players hands and there are certainly a good number of roles that he personally would prefer not to play.
Still, contract signed, he does need to stream the game at some point. Tired of being waylaid from playing the game proper he quickly clicks through terms of service and gameplay warnings, accidentally mashing himself right into rolling the wheel of AL:IV characters. Druglords, regressive women, and larger than life drag racers rush past in a circle as the wheel begins to slow with an sonically unpleasant clicking sound. Almost stopping it slowly twirls past Mike Malone-Midtown Vigilante before it slowly rolls onto, Emile Brighton-Billionaire Playboy. He purses his lips thinking how both of these experiences sound pleasant enough before the wheel clicks forward one final time. Ethan immediately clicks his own tongue and complains, “Oh what the fuck. Literally who is this in the game for…” Ethan has been assigned the role of Peter Clarkson-Cop.
Before the game has a chance to explain who his character is Ethan decides in no uncertain terms that he’s not playing as a pig in AL:IV. This game is infamously about playing criminals and ruffians. Even ignoring his IRL issues with the police he wasn’t about to spend any amount of his life walking in their shitty shoes. He resets the system and waits for the game to power back on so he may take another spin of the wheel. They know their fanbase, there literally has to be a way to game the game to play as who you want.
In the meantime Ethan browses his phone while the system begins starting up once more. Oddly enough he sees a few fellow streamers already tweeting about their time in the game which is more than a little surprising. Even more peculiar, a few of them seem to be putting on affectations to shill for the game? Even some of the straighter shooters are getting into characters Ethan couldn’t imagine them choosing to do. Seeing his friend and fellow streamer Chris Walters tweeting like a surfer bro Ethan scratches his chin wondering if he accidentally missed some bizarre lines in the contract he signed to do promo for the game.
No time to worry about that now though, as his game is finally spinning up once more. The AL:IV logo flashes red and blue as a siren blares and the intro begins once more. Only this time, the whole cinematic seems to have a decidedly more cop-forward tone. Opening in what is unmistakably a police cruiser there's a laptop jutting out from the dash with lines of text soaring past. The thick, suspiciously veiny arm of the driver clenches at a wheel as he chases a speedy scofflaw down the road before following the reckless driver onto the beach. He hears a deep raspy voice bark orders from a receiver on his belt which he quickly yanks to his mouth to shout his own mumbo-jumbo into.
Before the second frame hits Ethan is filled with a desire to shut the game down yet again. Unfortunately, before he can act on that instinct of self-preservation his attention is irrevocably drawn to the cinematic as if he’s possessed. Finding it more engaging than any piece of copaganda he’s seen before, Ethan is completely rapt as he sees the patrol car slide to a stop on the beach, somehow creating a steam trail against the sand. The camera twirls before zooming in onto a figure eating a donut sitting on the hood of his car. Ethan can’t quite make out any details of the man’s face, it’s ephemeral and yet every shifting angle and foggy detail is unmistakably masculine and powerful. He hears the officer’s voice shout Auto Larceny VI, Officer Peter Clarkson reporting for duty.
“Okay. Well I’m not playing this.” He says, shaking off his delirium as he wanders through menus and looks for the way to delete whatever paltry save date that has him pegged to play Officer Clarkson. He pauses for a second slightly shocked that he’d refer to the character by his title rather than take another jab at the pig, er, cop. He exhales from his nose and chides himself, joking about how taken his subconscious must be with the vaguely hot parody of a parody of a cop. Ethan then scoffs as he successfully navigates through the deliberately obfuscated settings to find the ‘Erase All Data’ button greyed out.
Growing rapidly irate at the game doing everything it can to put him in the leather shoes of a man he’d never deign to play as, Ethan dials the customer support number given to him by the developers in the hopes they’ll help him out. He taps his foot impatiently as he hears jarring ambient noise from the game, rather than kitschy hold music. Eventually as sirens blare he groans and accelerates his tapping, unaware that he has begun to sweat as the temperature begins to unnaturally rise in his room. The noise from his phone similarly begins to increase, or at least it seems it does which only exacerbates the man’s nerves. Feeling his shirt begin to grow damp from sweat and stick to his back he discards it and begins whinily cursing to himself.
“God why did I even agree to play this shit! I knew it was a bad idea.” Head in hands his glasses begin to steam as his body grows warmer with each passing second of irritation at the game and himself for agreeing to stream it. Before his sour mood could develop any further he flinches back like a loaded spring at the sound of a representative from the company. Shouting once more in shock as his body releases tension he was shocked to find himself carrying at such a low-stakes moment, “Fuck!”
There’s a moment of pause before the voice on the other end speaks up once more, her voice robotic and uncaring, “Excuse me Sir, this is Kayleigh Moore with AL:IV did you need assistance with your copy of the game?” Ethan’s face tinges red with embarrassment, coupled with his already burning body his eyes almost water as he clears his throat to answer, “Uhm so sorry about that, Miss.” He tilts his head at reflexively calling her Miss, “I was wondering if there was a way to start over, I think my copy’s glitched out or something?” Kayleigh quickly responds, “Of course, for the record is this Pethan Clavies?”
Ethan pulls the phone away from his ear, her calling him Pethan was unmistakable. Still it’s not like she’s going to pull his leg right? She’s on the clock, it must just be a genuine mistake, “So sorry Mi- Kayleigh, did you say Pethan?” emphasizing the out of place P. “That’s right sir.” Ethan rolls his eyes, obviously that’s not a name, let alone his name, he clears his throat again to hide his still present irritation, “No, my name is Pethan, Pethan Clavies.” Tonelessly she responds, “Right sir. That is what I said.” Pethan’s voice catches in his throat. That’s not. He’s not? God it’s so fucking hot in here.
Getting lost in his head for a few seconds Kayleigh, ever cordial and acting on information Pethan clearly doesn’t have, she gets back to work. “So sorry Mr. Clavies but unless you have a genuine problem with your game I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. Enjoy your day officer.” Mr. Clavies. Officer. Pethan fights the urge to throw his phone against the wall before realizing how out of sorts he must be right now. I mean, he forgot his name Pethan after all. Even now thinking that to himself, his neck reflexively clenches and one of his eyes slams shut as a headache stings.
Then it hits him. He’s burning up, drowning in sweat and has hair trigger rage. All signs suggest that he’s just come down with a fever. One he wanted to take out on that poor chick, er. God what’s up with him. Still, he sighs in relief at figuring it out, some tension leaves him though he is still racked with soreness. Stretching an arm he finds the pleasurable burn that usually follows workouts. Or that would follow his workouts, he’s not really one to workout. He thinks. Walking to go sleep off the fever he scratches at his chest and halts as he feels muscle at all where there should be none. Furrowing his brow he sprints to the restroom and clasps at his mouth when he sees his figure.
God he looks fucking hot. Something swimming through his mind knows this can’t be right, it must be the fever. But as he feels rows of sweaty abs under his fingers how could he dispute the evidence. Scratching at chest hair spreading towards his nipples and a treasure trail now inching well past his belly button he struggles to understand how his fever is also making him hairier. Nor too does he understand the dark green stains on his arms that seem like tattoos he’s never gotten. Mmm they must just be bruises he’s missed, convincing himself just enough as he flexes a new bicep at himself in the mirror and begins to chub up.
Somewhere in his fever-ridden head a streamer still kicks around and, unsure if he can trust his own eyes, he takes out his phone to snap a pic of his hard new body. He groans as he wonders who he should send it to. Stumbling to his bed his mind produces an answer, who else but his fellow streamer Chris Walters. He mumbles as his body temp continues to rise, “Chris’ll- huh?” Checking his contacts he struggles to find his friend. In fact a number of his online friend’s contacts seem to have changed, he shakes his head and his clumsy fingers accidentally click on the number for Chase Waves. Oh duh. He laughs at himself, embarrassed for having forgotten his friend’s name, before sending the shirtless selfie off and collapsing into his bed. Swiftly conking out in a pool of his own sweat and snoring as drool snakes out of his mouth onto a cheek that will be itchy by morning.
Indeed he woke up scratching a sweat and drool covered beard that he shouldn’t be able to grow in a million years. His hand briefly gets stuck in the thick new tangle on his face before he wrenches it out with a crunch. Before his eyes are open he stretches, moaning as his bones have put on years of aging and over a foot of height overnight. Consciousness slowly loading into his heavier new body he feels his meatier hands bump against the wall and his sock-torn feet hanging off the edge of the bed. “Bwugh, wuzzat!” He shouts alarmed at nothing as he sits up with a start in his bed, rubbing his thinned hairline and scratching at a treasure trail as thick as his pubes.
Pethan stumbles to his feet, his head throbbing with a headache as he adjusts to his new height and struggles to ignore new instincts boring their way through his mind. His hand yearns to reach for something on his belt only for him to scoff at himself. He’s of course not wearing a belt, having only gone to sleep in his compression shorts. He ignores his bulging dick and heavy balls to instead check the phone sitting on his bedside table, barely remembering he texted Chase through the haze of his mind.
Checking again he smirks as he sees the picture of himself he sent, “Heh always a stud.” Pethan ignores that he apparently sent this message in a dating app rather than as a standard text. So too is he unable to realize the picture displays him a completely different man than when he went to bed, and even further away than what any image he should recognize as himself. Any conclusions on the matter that could be made however are shelved as he tears his eyes away from admiring himself to see Chase’s response, “Heyyy Brah~ Huhuh, u know what i think fckr!! ACAB LMAOOO good luck finding sum other sucker 2 fuck pig”
Indignation burns bright in Pethan’s chest as he grumbles at the message, anxiety at getting this message from his, uh his friend? He thought they were friends? Pethan furrows his brows and groans at the mismatch, his voice sinking lower as his eyes keep rereading the surfer’s dimwitted message. His hands clench and veins pulse larger as his arms threaten to grow even larger in his rage. Two diametric ideas vie for dominance in his mind, the former just falling short, an angry yet self-pitying ‘upstanding citizens can’t get any dick anymore!’ loses out to the realer concern burning through Pethan Clavies’ mind. One that he shouts at the top of his larger lungs, “I’m not a fucking cop!” Forcing his hands down to his side in a petulant manner he springs up yet another inch in height and is struck lightheaded from the vertigo.
Pointedly moving on from his being shot down by a degenerate he isn’t sure he could label a friend anymore, Pethan stumbles into his living room in search of something. What exactly? He isn’t quite sure. Digging through his mind what for only brings confusion to the forefront, just need a cup of joe and a donut, he shakes it off and grimaces. Need a protein shake before the gym. Need my uniform and my service pist-. Jaw cramping from how hard he’s clenching it to put down these thoughts the, perhaps still, streamer turns on a speaker to blare out the voices in his head as his deeper breaths begin to give way to hyperventilation. Pethan turns into his streamer room which unfortunately brings him no peace.
His eyes glaze over as they alight on the game, AL:IV still playing. Somehow in the meantime it has abandoned the looping intro video and begun playing proper. The officer he was penned to play as idles in the lobby of the police station as Pethan unconsciously meanders towards the screen. He is less than aware of his movements as he goes to pick up the controller, his clumsier sausage fingers accidentally pause the game, bringing up the character’s stats menu. The first thing he reads is the character’s name: Officer Petan Clarison. His whole body twitches as he instinctively reads it and feels it overwrite his identity once more. That’s not what it said yesterday was it? Well of course it is, he typed in his own name didn’t he?
His head twitches to the side as a wave of old memories are now locked behind his new reality. Unaware of this Pethan endeavors to grasp something hard of his past self to hold onto. Unfortunately any attempt just releases a brief stabbing pain, almost to deliberately discourage Petan to dig deep enough to remember himself. Looking across his stats he finds himself quickly losing interest in the game despite his being unnaturally drawn to it. His eyes glaze over as he looks at his low intelligence, something inside him says he usually maxes that out. After a pause he questions that. When would he have ever even done that before? He’s not even that much of a gamer is he? His neck twitches again as if some neuron tries to fire but can no longer connect.
He shrugs moving on to see low charisma as well. Petan grimaces before deciding who needs charisma when you have authority. Pride burns in him as he puffs up his chest. Were he wearing a shirt the noise of straining fabric would surely sound as burgeoning pecs begin to bulge. He doesn’t need to persuade or to sway, he simply needs to state. His words are. He is the Law. Or, god. No. He groans as he finds his ability to dispute the assertion increasingly tenuous, “I’m not a fucking pi- not a p- not an, urgh, police officer.” He clenches his jaw finding himself not even able to call himself a pig. Or no, cops at all pigs. Not himself. Cause he’s not, he’s not a cop.
Petan forces his attention back to the game with a good deal of effort as the loud sounds and bright lights begin to actively deter his interest. His investment absolutely does a 180 however when he sees his strength stat not maxed out. Seeing red and exhaling in indignation he looks down at his own body compared to the one slowly spinning on the screen and sneers. Why does he look like a shrimpy little punk. Ignoring the dozens of pounds of muscle he’s put on thus far, Petan quickly tosses the controller down, done with stupid games forever as he makes for the nearest gym.
Keys in a bowl on the counter shine and glisten, somehow asking to be picked up and he thinks about grabbing them before feeling existential fear at discovering what they might unlock. He convinces himself it’s better to get cardio in on the way anyway, god knows he’s not going to step foot on a treadmill. Sprinting out the door he sees a black and white Challenger and his cock pulses at the sight. Before any further thoughts, or other substances, can spill at seeing the vehicle. His vehicle? He grunts and tears his eyes away from the pristine cruiser and sprints away, clearly hard cock bouncing in his athletic shorts. Off to the races Petan purses his lips wondering if he knows where the nearest gym is actually?
Oh, well there’s the one at the station? Groaning to himself at how quickly that idea sprung to his mind he picks up speed running towards a building with a massive veiny bicep hanging over the door. Hands adroitly cutting the air in front of him as if he were chasing a perp, ugh, running for fun, expertly. As one does. He forces his lips into a tight line as a mustache grows thicker out of his beard and tattoos stretch further across his large arms. He feels something shift in himself as he crosses the threshold into the gym. His beard thinning into stubble as his face shifts and hardens. More importantly his body begins to surge larger, straining his workout attire before he even touches a weight.
Petan stretches at the entrance, seemingly deliberately blocking the doorway as his body rapidly puts on weight simply from entering the gym. Once again immediately damp with sweat his chest packs on weight. Hitherto present but undefined mounds on his chest become two massive muscled pecs, apparently recently shaved. Scratching at his now stubbled face he wonders where his beard went, mumbling something to himself about regulation before he saunters into the gym. Taking wide steps as he adjusts his gait for the heavier package dangling loosely in his athletic shorts.
He takes a deep sniff in the air which makes his cock even more noticeable as the musk of the gym brings him pleasure immeasurable. The massive man ambles around the place, hooking his thumbs into the elastic band of his shorts, sneering as he feels there should be something harder there, something leather keeping his pants tight above his admirable defined ass. Grumbling to himself as he meanders about the gym as if he owns the place, ogling at the other burly men working out. All of them seem vaguely familiar, and jarringly stereotypical. Burly men wearing oil stained wife beaters arguing at the free weights, playboys with platinum blonde hair pouring water over themselves on ellipticals, some greasy hackers in the corner seemingly out of place, though they’re decidedly more shredded than any man in the van should be.
Petan fights the urge to assert himself over these groups. His chest thrums as he forces his legs to still as there’s a desperate pull to go brawl with the rowdy men. To force the suave white collar criminals if they don’t fork over some cash to him. To just go shout at the mousy sure to be cybercriminals and hope they piss themselves. He sneers at the idea and is really only held back from doing any of them by the desire to do all of them. The rising lust for action, to dominate and enact his rotten will trips whatever sense of self, whatever shreds of Ethan remain and he shakes his head, eyes widening at how much he seems to be losing himself as he feels a weight growing in the pocket of his athletic shorts.
His eyes then light on another perp, er, civilian. One he knows without a doubt. He sees Chase Waves and nods his head. Keys jingle in his pocket as he swiftly heads over to the man, something deep within him, growing deeper by the second, suggests that is a man he can trust. Seeing the hulking figure saunter over, chest forward, Chase rolls his eyes and puts up his guard. Head down and smile uneasy he speaks up before Petan can issue an order, “Heyy brah, er officer.” Flinching back as he feels treating the man before him with anything but respect would break bad quick.
Petan furrows his brow at this odd intro. Why is this man so on edge? His lips twitch as instinct swirl, he’s my friend, or was my friend, right? Why does he not trust me. Various muscles within the no-longer streamer twitch and grow as he begins to lose whatever ground remains. The surfer must have done something wrong. Petan’s body inches taller, wider, veins bulge down arms as they bulk. His chest presses against his workout shirt as it begins to darken.
Sleeves quickly appear as the garment shifts black. He grunts as a collar presses out of the neckline before performatively clearing his throat and speaking up, his voice dry and perpetually on edge, “Why’re you so nervous son?” His hair straightens into station standard as he sneers down at the surfer who audibly gulps. He feels his shorts begin to hug his ass and crotch as the fabric grows rigid, thickening as they expand and lengthen down his defined calves.
Waves responds, “We’re just uh, surprised you’re here is all uhhh, sir? Usually your type keeps to the station unless there’s trouble.” Trouble. Petan’s jaw hardens and widens as he looks down at the man, his tennis shoes rapidly thickening into a dark shined leather as the heels raise him even higher over this obvious delinquent. He clears his throat as he feels the cotton sleeves of his workout shirt grow firm and hug his massive biceps. Flexing just to hear his arms strain the tight sleeves he hears fabric tear down the whole front of his shirt as his pecs burst it wide open. Just as soon as his now hairy chest is exposed, buttons pop into existence and struggle to close it back up, still hugging impossibly tight. Trouble. What is there in this gym other than trouble.
Still wordlessly staring he can’t help but feel delight at the discomfort he has evoked in the typically chill surfer bro. Living a life almost deliberately to avoid men like Petan and yet, face to face what can he do. His memory lights to this morning when this twerp DM’d him ACAB, is he just going to let the punk say that to him? Petan’s brow hardens as his shoulders hunch and his back widens. One hand clenched at his side ready to reach for something on his waist that’s not there, the other scratching at his stubbled, or no, bearded face?
Seeing sweat trail down the blonde’s tanned face as he almost shivers in fear of the cop backing him into a corner, some impossibly frail shred of conscience cries out and fills Clarison with disgust at his domineering actions. Fear in his own eyes Petan steps back which only sets Chase more on edge. The surfer bumps into some equipment as he backs away. Hands raised as he speaks up and eyes an escape route, “Ah sorry for the trouble officer! Hope you have a pleasant day!” He sprints off into the locker room and Petan turns to see the commotion he’s raised, every patron in the gym now turns to look at him scowling. His hands once more go to his waist only this time he finds the leather belt he has been so craving to wear.
Biting his lip as weight begins pulling the belt down at every angle he struggles between pleasure and fear as bulky black items begin to appear from nowhere on his belt. Each new yank on the belt fills him with contentment as he finally has the tools of his trade, pepper spray, his trusty taser, his receiver. He audibly moans as he feels the weight of his service pistol finally arrives on the scene. Anyone keeping even half an eye on the officer would see his cock throb through his uniform pants as he does so.
Standing in the gym moaning in delight and struggling not to fondle his crotch only draws more attention to the out of place cop. Men as large as himself begin to rise across the gym and eye the officer with suspicious and disdain. Knowing when it’s time to beat feet Petan makes a note to rub one out later, when he uh? Gets back to the station? Twitching larger as he lets that slide without dispute he shakes off his masturbatory plans and sets to the crowd. Petan shouts over the din of clanking weights with bluster and authority that shall never leave his tongue again, “Yew all can return to yer business. Keep it clean and we’ll have no trouble.” He makes a decidedly not commanding expression as he looks so uncomfortable at the volume and weight of his words. Despite this everyone seems to listen and obey, cock throbbing once more as he sprints out the door, new car keys already in hand.
He clicks the keys and his pristine patrol car sounds off, he hops in the Challenger the station yoinked from some drag racer and speeds off. There’s a badge hanging from the rearview, P. Clarkson. Peter without a thought or hesitation yanks it off and throws it on, comfort filling him as he feels he just found the final missing part of himself. Leather seat creaking under him as his huge form shifts larger yet again, clearly unhealthy veins bulge down his arms as he speeds down a thoroughfare, unconcerned with the other drivers as he goes to the only place he can think of. The only place that matters to him. The station.
His face shifts yet again as he enters a different part of the city, smiling as he nears what may as well be his home. It is his home. Tattoos shift in the same ephemerality that apparently encompasses the whole of his form. Some other scofflaw runs a red light and his hand flashes to press a button that activates his sirens. Shaking head to stay on target he instead uses the sirens to run the red light himself before simply keeping on his way to the station. Each inch closer he finds himself drifting permanently away from the streamer he once was. Good riddance he thinks, twerp probably pirated games anyway.
Theme music from AL:IV begins playing from his game stereo and he smacks it until it begins playing the theme of Officer Peter Clarkson, that of the police force as a whole. Shifting in his seat as his bulge hardens and fills his pants and his butt forces him to sit higher in the seat. Officer Clarkson swerves across lanes and finally pulls into the station, expertly drifting to a stop. His eyes take a few seconds to adjust as he hops out of his car, as if the world were loading in around him. He gets out to sit on the hood of his car and his form shifts again. Body mind and face becoming one of a million combinations that Peter Clarkson is to embody. In the game Officer Clarkson doesn’t quite matter. He’s a grunt. He’s a sheriff, he’s the chief. He is whatever the role the force needs to fill, and some unfortunate sod had to take that bullet.
Uniform shifting military green as his torso alone bloats heavier than the whole of Ethan Davies’ body once took up. He thoughtlessly shoves his pistol in his pants for easy access as he goes to sit on his hood and eat a donut as prophesied in the officer’s intro, rather, his introduction cinematic. He sits and waits as the cracks of who Officer Peter Clarkson is begin to fill just enough that he can indeed become anything demanded of him within the world of AL:IV. Oozing authority and dripping with unearned condescension his mind goes blank enough be anything from intro mission cannon fodder grunt to the stogy commander of the department as a whole.
Flashes of his programmed life, of his shifting lives, sear through him. Basic enough to fit any dreamed role as needed, thorough enough that anyone who cares enough to inspect the officer would find substance. Officer Peter Clarkson leans back on the hood of his car as he feels his potential, smirking and fondling his bulging package as the hood creaks underneath him. Bad cop, ‘good cop,’ new blood, hardened detective. Brawny, bulky, wiry, wounded. Officer Peter is a blank slate for the programers to work like putty. Each one of course having the chauvinism and fragile masculinity that they saw fit for the character to embody.
Officer Clarkson feels in his the roles that he is perfect to fulfill. Overtly virile officers to spar with vigilantes and players who prefer to play as seedy criminals. Goody-two-shoes fresh faced straight shooters who step in to apprehend those the good guys wish to see behind bars. Perhaps preferably for the man he once was, the game was rated M for a reason after all and on the more erotic side of things Peter steps in to be the cop stripper that any male-interested players can see fit to ogle or play with to their heart’s content. Perfectly sculpted body speckled with as much or as little body hair as they so choose.
AL:IV is at the cutting edge, a truly living and breathing game. One that is made more perfect with each and every player. Thanks to fame seeking steamers like Ethan eager to immortalize themselves online, the developers have ensured that even the least compelling characters and storylines are teeming with personality. When time comes that the litany of waivers and contracts signed by any parties involved in the making of the game are up, any content creators ready to move on are absolutely free to return to the lives they lived before. Though who knows, at that time AL:V is sure to be right around the corner.
Jean-Luc was happy. He had found exactly what he was looking for at the flea market: an old brown corduroy jacket. It was a perfect fit for his bohemian style. Yes, it was a little big, yes, it smelled a bit strongly of sweat, but he could have it altered and taken to the dry cleaner's when Jean-Luc was flush with cash again. At the moment, he was broke once more. After giving the flea market dealer the 12 euros he had asked for, he had about 3.80 euros in small coins left in his pocket. That was it. Well, an espresso standing up cost 1.20 euros, and after that he would see if he could scrounge a few euros from one of his friends. Or if he could find a job somewhere today to earn a little money. The rent was due the day after tomorrow. He needed a little money...
The waiter greeted Jean-Luc particularly warmly. But he didn't even know the café here. “The coffee is on the house, of course!” said the waiter. Jean-Luc could hardly believe his luck. Was it the jacket? Yes, it was cool and had a really dominant masculine effect, perhaps because of the smell. Jean-Luc drank his coffee, left a euro tip on the table, and left.
When he passed the next café, the waiter greeted him and asked if he didn't want any coffee today. Jean-Luc smiled and said he had to go to the barber first. He ran his fingers through his hair. Too long, too unkempt. The waiter smiled back. With a wink. And said he would keep Jean-Luc's regular table free.
At the barber's, he was welcomed like a regular customer who hadn't been there for far too long. Jean-Luc was embarrassed. Pierre had been cutting his hair for years. While... That's right, he had done his training here in the neighborhood. He had been a patrol officer here before switching to the criminal investigation department. He took off his jacket and sat down directly in a barber's chair. Jean-Luc didn't have to wait here. He didn't have to pay either. When in doubt, he got a tip when he came here. It was good for the shop and good for the neighborhood when he showed up regularly. Pierre asked about any exciting cases he was currently working on. Jean-Luc just grinned. “Secret, you know!” Pierre shaved the sides of the commissioner's angular skull.
The table had indeed been kept free for him. The waiter came with a coffee and an envelope. Jean-Luc discreetly slipped the bribe money into his inside pocket. His jacket fit like a glove. His colleagues smiled at Jean-Luc for his bohemian style. The other employees at the police station were more the “leather jacket” type. But Jean-Luc didn't need that. He got the respect he needed even in a corduroy jacket, even if it was from the flea market. Although he did like to browse there. There was often interesting information about stolen goods and other things at the flea market. But to be honest, he rarely found clothes in his size there.
At the police station, Jean-Luc awkwardly took off his jacket. It was an heirloom. His father had been a cop and was certainly an impressive man. But Jean-Luc weighed at least 20 kilograms more. The jacket had accompanied Jean-Luc through his first years as a police commissioner. It had earned him sympathy and respect in the neighborhood. But now it was somehow time to adopt a new style. He was on the verge of being promoted to Commissaire divisionnaire de police. Thanks to his good contacts and various sources of additional income, he had a cool apartment from which he could even see a bit of the Eiffel Tower. Eric idolized his boss. Being allowed to give him a blow job after work was an absolute highlight. When Jean-Luc stood in front of him and hung the corduroy jacket over the back of the chair, he could hardly believe his luck. “Those are big shoes to fill,” Jean-Luc grunted with a grin.
Eric wanted to wave the waiter over when they had finished their coffee to pay. Jean-Luc laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “My little friend, you still have a lot to learn!” The waiter came over. Jean-Luc put the envelope in his pocket and said that they would like two pastis on the house.
My husband keeps trying to convince me to take the red pill with him. He says it will be easier than being a gay couple in the new America. But I'm not sure it is the right thing to do.
You sit in the passenger seat of the car, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the endless sprawl of buildings lining the city streets and the steady, determined grip of your husband’s hands on the wheel. The tension in your chest hasn’t dissipated since election night. The weight of disappointment clings to you, making every conversation feel heavier, every news update on your phone more unbearable until you finally put it in the cupholder next to you.
Your husband had suggested the road trip as a way to clear your mind, to put some distance between yourselves and the endless cycle of online arguments and news coverage. At first, you had been hesitant, but as the days passed, the idea of a brief escape became more appealing. A few days away from the city, from the protests and the headlines, sounded like the break you needed.
The car hums beneath you as the two of you leave the city behind, the skyline shrinking in the rearview mirror. The further you drive, the more the world around you begins to shift. The towering buildings give way to open roads flanked by fields, the air becoming clearer, the sky stretching endlessly above. There’s something oddly soothing about the rhythmic motion of the car, the way the miles pass without effort.
That's when you first notice the change in your hands. Your fingers, once slender and deft, now feel thicker, stronger. The veins stand out more prominently against your skin, the muscle beneath firm and unfamiliar. You glance at your husband, startled, and see the same transformation in him. His frame, once lean, has broadened, his shoulders squared with a presence that feels both foreign and oddly natural. You two trained together six days a week, so of course you were going to see results! You weren't some weak little nerds, now were you?
A glance in the mirror reveals more. Your face looks… different. Sharper. The soft curls you’ve always had are gone, replaced by a short, practical crop of blonde hair. Your reflection stares back at you with a gaze that seems more authoritative, more assured. There is a flicker of something—concern?—but it is brief, melting into the steady calm that has begun to settle over you.
Your clothes, too, have changed. The casual hoodie and jeans you left the city in are gone, replaced by the crisp white of a uniform shirt, the stiff press of a black tie around your neck. The dark blue of your pants matches your husband’s, the badge pinned to your chest gleaming in the midday sun. You press a hand to it, a swell of pride filling your chest. The weight of it feels… right. Natural. As if it had always belonged there. And it does.
The car beneath you is no longer the same, either. The dashboard gleams with the polished precision of a patrol vehicle, the radio crackling to life with familiar voices calling out dispatches and unit updates. You adjust your seat without thought, the motions practiced, instinctive. The interior smells of leather and coffee, a scent that sparks an odd sense of nostalgia. This is your patrol car. Your partner sits beside you, a presence you have relied on for years. You feel like there might have been something more between you, but why would there be? Neither of you were into that queer stuff. You were best friends and partners, each with a wife and children who shared their own bonds.
The road leads you into town, a small but proud community where you’ve lived and served for years. You and your partner exchange a look, a silent understanding passing between you. You are here to do your duty, to protect and uphold what is right.
The election? You smile thinking about it now. Trump was going to uphold law and order in the government and at the border, just like you do at your job. You'd never been a liberal in all your years of voting and had no plans of starting now. Not when they want to defund your department for doing its basic duties!
The radio crackles again, and without hesitation, you respond, your partner already turning the wheel in the direction of duty. You have a job to do now. Criminals to arrest, peace to uphold. You wouldn't have it any other way.
