#originaltf

May 20

The speed of my development is starting to spiral out of control—or rather, it’s a mutation. Those few isolated black hairs have now expanded into a dense, chaotic black jungle. I can clearly feel those bushy pubes squirming under my skin. Every time a thick, stiff hair violently pushes its way out of the follicle, it brings a maddening, piercing itch. Like lecherous living vines, they are slowly swallowing the base of my cock. The thick, black tips keep growing upward, acting like countless rough rasps with every step I take, viciously scraping and teasing the base of my developing meat pillar. Every single rub feels like a direct injection of the strongest aphrodisiac right into my crotch; the corpus cavernosum is forced to engorge and expand under the suffocating grip and violent friction of the black hair. The friction from these black pubes has become the nutrient ripening my flesh, forcing my dong to grow thicker and longer every single day, pushing my previously loose underwear into a massive, scalding hot, obscene silhouette that threatens to tear the fabric.

What disturbs me the most is that lewd “nourishing sensation.” This thicket of black hair is now absurdly dense, like a heavy, unbreathable wool blanket draped over my crotch, sealing all the intense heat and bodily fluids tightly inside. In this constant, humid roasting, I feel the organs underneath undergoing a qualitative mutation. My once-docile meat pillar is relentlessly ravaged inside this pile of hot, prickly black hair every single day. It has become hyper-sensitive; the tip of the purplish-red glans has started uncontrollably spewing pre. Sticky, transparent prostatic fluid leaks out drop by drop, making the newly grown, coarse curly hairs surrounding it all soaking wet and sticky. All it takes is pulling back my waistband, and a thick, raw stench—like a dog in heat—bursts out.

That pair of balls is making its presence known more and more, like two lead balls filled to the brim with thick cum, hanging heavily in the center of the hairy bush. With every step I take, that extreme, dragging weight tugs at my nerves and directly pulls at my spine. Every morning when I wake up, my joints pop and crack. I am growing taller; in just two months, I’ve shot up three inches. My line of sight is higher, and my shoulder frame aches like it’s being forcibly stretched apart. My once-ribbed chest is actually starting to bulge with two slabs of hot, dead meat, stretching my clothes tight. I find myself getting too lazy to think about geometry problems. My brain is getting emptier.

The first time I met Mark from the rugby team, he spread his massive, black-hair-covered legs wide and brazenly shoved his huge hand deep into his sweatpants, violently digging and scratching at that dense, sweat-soaked black forest of pubic hair. The scritch-scratch sound of his nails ruthlessly scraping against the coarse hair roots, accompanied by a faintly sticky, wet sound, echoed shamelessly in the air. He wore an expression of almost sacred, unapologetic shamelessness, letting that salty, musky stench—a concentrated mix of sweat and sebum—explode from his waistband.

Stay away from men with fully grown hair.

Even though Grandma’s words screamed in my head, it was like my soul had been hooked. My eyes were dead-locked on his large hand pumping inside that black bushy thicket. My own palms began to sweat, and I wanted nothing more than to copy him right then and there, tearing at my own wildly itching crotch in front of everyone. During every class break, I have to suppress the urge to imitate Mark—to sneak my hand into my waistband, dig into those scalding, wet, sticky hair roots, and feel the rush of having my hands covered in that thick, unmistakable scent of a man.

May 28

English class. The room is dead silent, save for the hum of the fan and the scratching of pens on paper. But I can't sit still.

My crotch is a literal furnace right now. That fully-grown, incredibly thick bush of black hair has completely stuffed the gap between my thighs. Sweat mixes into those coarse, curly hairs, brewing a piercing itch that makes me want to lose my mind. Every time I slightly shift my ass, those steel-wire-like pubes viciously scrape against my swollen, throbbing cock, which is only getting bigger and heavier.

“Fuck... so itchy...” I mutter under my breath, my voice unbelievably rough and raspy.

I spread my already thickened, muscular thighs as wide as possible, trying to let a little AC draft slip into my pants, but it's no use. That heavy “weight”—those two massive balls, swollen and hanging heavy, and that thick, purplish-red meat pillar threatening to bust through the fabric—are crammed inside that wet, hot, sweaty black hair. Every pulse rubs against the coarse curls; it’s so heavy it’s driving me crazy.

I finally can't take it anymore. Right in front of the entire class, I plunge my huge hand straight down the waistband of my sweatpants.

Scratch... scritch-scratch...

The sound of my nails digging into the coarse roots is exceptionally loud in the quiet classroom. The sensation of my fingers being swallowed by those thick curls is too damn good. Like clearing a path through a forest, I ruthlessly and aggressively dig and churn through that wet, black grass radiating a suffocating, musky stench. I grab ahold of the massive cock that’s been rubbed half-hard by the hair, yank it upward, and peel it off my sticky thigh. The moment I lift it, the sheer weight and carnal lust of it make me gasp. It’s a full size thicker than yesterday, coated in a layer of its own slippery pre—it’s practically a scalding, vein-bulging weapon.

“Nngh... ahh... heh...”

I actually involuntarily let out a heavy, vulgar moan from deep in my throat. The rush of pure pleasure from violently scratching those hair roots shoots straight into my increasingly empty brain, feeling so good my lower back goes weak. At the same time, I feel the blood in my body burning. That primal pleasure brought on by the friction of my pubes converts directly into pure, high-concentration testosterone, flooding my limbs like boiling magma and forcibly fueling muscle growth. I can hear the low hum of my bones growing; my legs involuntarily stretch out under the desk, my knees slamming directly into the bottom of the drawer. The fibers of my biceps and triceps slowly swell inside my T-shirt like rising dough, strangling the sleeves tight.

The meat on my thighs becomes as hard as rock, almost bursting my pant legs. Immediately after, a wave of maddening, piercing itch erupts from the hair follicles on my inner thighs. The black thicket previously confined to my crotch seems to take on a life of its own; the coarse, curly hairs rapidly breach the borders of my groin, spreading downward like wildfire. They violently pierce my pale skin and take deep root in my powerful thigh muscles. When the black hair on my thighs completely merges with my dense pubic hair into one seamless, pitch-black carpet, the tension of the pulling hair directly yanks at my deep nerves, causing my balls to slam heavily against my inner thighs like two lead balls full of thick cum, letting out an obscene smack of meat. As for my dong, being smothered by this rough “blanket” causes it to instantly swell up an entire size, forcibly breaking its previous size limits and stretching out another hard inch, pitching an exaggerated, massive tent in my sweatpants.

The girl sitting in front of me turns around, staring in horror at the sight of me: a massive hand buried in my crotch, face flushed red and dripping with sweat. But I don’t give a shit. I just bare my teeth at her in a wild, idiotic grin, my hand movements getting even rougher, frantically churning out blush-inducing, wet, sticky sounds from inside that black forest.

I pull my hand out, my fingertips coated in that salty, heavy musk. Right in front of her, I bring my hand right under my nose and take a deep hit.

“Smells fucking incredible, heh.”

I feel another massive chunk of English vocabulary die in my brain, but my shoulders seem to have broadened another inch. The second wave of muscle growth begins. It’s a slow, barely noticeable, yet wildly savage feeling. The bones get thicker; the meat gets denser. I can clearly feel the two meat pads on my chest fermenting and burning under my shirt; my thick pectorals expand slowly but firmly like water-logged sponges, stretching the collar tight. My two nipples are pushed into hard points right through the fabric, rubbing up a numb, electrifying pleasure with every breath. The once-flat lines of my stomach are forcefully remodeled by wildly proliferating, thick fibers under the skin. Six rock-hard abs violently push out one by one, accompanied by the deliciously painful sensation of the fascia being brutally stretched. With every inch of dead meat I grow, my IQ seems to evaporate with my sweat. My brain has completely turned into a blurry lump of muscle, leaving only the most primal urges: “mate,” “fuck,” and “go into heat.”

The skin under my armpits starts to itch. Tufts of coarse, black armpit hair aggressively invade like weeds, piercing the once-clean skin. A potent male musk, mixed with sweat, explodes directly from my rugged pits. My brain tells me this is wrong, but all I want to do is bury my face deep into those two patches of black hair and, like a beast in heat, greedily lick the coarse roots soaked in sweat and male musk.

August 15

It’s summer break now. I’ve completely become Mark’s wingman.

My pubic hair has thoroughly grown in, and it’s even started to invade outward. It trails up my V-lines, forming a dark, glossy Treasure Trail that cuts through my rock-hard abs and connects with the swirling hair around my belly button. Whenever the tips of these hairs pierce through the skin of my stomach, the abs underneath act like they’ve been injected with growth hormones, madly thickening as the hair spreads. Downward, they are firmly covering my inner thighs.

Mark and I sit in his basement all day playing video games—two muscular men filling up the couch, both wearing nothing but loose gym shorts. Our hands practically never leave our crotches. It’s an instinct; your hand just involuntarily buries itself into that scalding, thick forest to scratch that suffocating itch. It radiates an intense, salty scent—an aggressive, male mating scent fermented from sweat and sebum inside thick hair follicles.

I realize I’m getting dumber and dumber. I can’t remember complex words; my brain only holds the instinct to mate. Just smelling that suffocating musk on my fingertips and from my armpits fills my body with an inexplicable sense of superiority. Mark slaps my shoulder, his massive hand grabbing a handful of the shiny edges of my forest. “Bro, your bush is growing in fucking great. If it itches, you gotta scratch it.” I just chuckle idiotically, feeling that this life—covered in muscle, hands reeking of musk, mind full of primal lust—is way better than studying. My skeletal structure has completely mutated; I’m pushing 1.9 meters, and my weight is purely contributed by beastly muscle and a pair of balls the size of bull nuts. Whenever my hand roughly rubs that black bush inside my pants, that constantly leaking giant cock jumps wildly in my palm, engorging and swelling to the bursting point. The glans constantly spits out thick, lewd fluids, gluing my fingers and pubic hair together. The endless carnal pleasure completely drowns me.

October 2

This morning, the last patch of pale skin vanished.

My pubic hair, stomach hair, and leg hair—these three black territories finally held their grand summit at my crotch. In that instant, I felt this body, built like a bull, finally complete some sort of “circuit connection.”

As the last few follicles linked up, an electric surge of ecstasy shot straight from my perineum to my brain. My bones let out one final, violent crack, my height brutally breaking the 1.95-meter threshold, and my chest muscles expanding so much they ripped my T-shirt. My consciousness is now a blurry shade of gray. I stand in front of the mirror, looking at my massive pecs, thick arms, and the impenetrable, black occupied zone between my legs. That giant cock, which used to be somewhat contained, has fully mutated into a vicious mating organ the moment the hair completely connected. It doesn’t need any external stimulation; just relying on the extreme, suffocating heat and rough friction from the absurdly thick layer of black hair surrounding it keeps it in a heavy, half-hard state, constantly on the verge of popping a blood vessel and violently thrusting.

The weight of it is staggering. It hangs in the dense bush like a scalding iron pillar. I can't control my cock at all; it engorges and erects. The purplish-black pillar is wrapped in thick, earthworm-like veins, throbbing wildly. This is a standard, absolute beast of a massive cock—a full nine inches long, so thick I can't even wrap one hand entirely around it. The giant, purplish-red glans swells until it’s shiny, the piss slit stretched open, uncontrollably spewing thick, clear slime. Drip, drop. The pre constantly leaks down, dripping onto the hair, turning the thick, heavy black bush underneath completely slick, sticky, and glossy.

“Heh...” I let out a simple, idiotic laugh at the mirror.

My hand once again dives into my pants uncontrollably. I forcefully scratch at those prickly hair roots and start frantically jerking off. Through that thick, wet layer of black hair, I pump vigorously up and down, not even wanting to touch the bare meat directly. The coarse, curly hairs act like countless little mouths lined with barbs, viciously scraping against the hyper-sensitive, purplish-red pillar. This sensation of violently brutalizing my cock through the rough hair acts like the strongest aphrodisiac, feeling so good I’m panting heavily and practically drooling. I cup the two ridiculously heavy balls underneath—swollen with thick cum and ready to burst—weigh them in my hand, and stroke along the grain of the hair on that absurdly thick meat pillar, smearing all the leaked pre right into the black pubic hair.

That thick, salty, wet, heat-inducing musk, heavy with raging male hormones, completely floods my nasal cavity now.

“Yo, Mark...” I pull out my phone and record a voice memo, my voice deep, raspy, and carrying a sloppy, brute roughness. “Come out and lift, bro. I feel like I’m bursting with energy right now, literally can't take my hand out of my pants... heh, feels fucking amazing.”

Grandma, you were right. When a man’s hair fully grows in, he really does turn into a meat-headed bro who only thinks with his crotch.

But I'm not sad about it at all right now. Mark and I spend every day like dogs in heat, just looking for holes to fuck. The feeling of coarse pubic hair grinding hard against a meat hole, accompanied by the slapping sounds of bodies colliding and ruthlessly scraping... it feels so fucking good. Heh.