#twinktf

Asher had always been that guy—rugged, tan, muscular, with a thick pelt of dark hair across his chest, arms, and legs. He had the kind of body that turned heads everywhere he went. Confident, cocky, and undeniably masculine.

That summer, standing shirtless on the rocky beach, he felt unstoppable. That is, until everything began to change.

It started with an itch—across his chest, down his stomach, even his calves. He thought it was just from the ocean water. But when he looked in the mirror that night, he nearly screamed.

His chest hair was gone.

Not shaved. Not trimmed. Gone. Smooth.

“What the hell?!” he growled, frantically rubbing at his bare skin. But no matter what he did, it stayed smooth. The next day, the hair on his arms and legs vanished. His stubble didn’t grow in. And his muscles began to shrink—his shoulders narrowed, his pecs flattened, and his thick thighs softened. His skin lightened to a pale cream, his jaw softened, and his thick, manly hands grew slim and delicate. He shrank—inch by inch.

He tore through his closet in panic. His shorts were too big. His shirts hung on him. “No, no, no,” he whispered, his voice cracking higher.

Days passed, then weeks. People started treating him differently. Men—real men—hit on him all the time. They called him cute. They grabbed his butt. They treated him like prey. Like a twink.

It made Asher sick.

He missed his manhood. His power. His hair. His size. Now, he felt like a toy. He refused to look in mirrors. He hated how his tight leggings clung to his bubble butt. Hated how he could never grow even a shadow of his old beard. Hated the way his smooth thighs and high voice made him feel less.

And worst of all—he had no idea why it had happened.

Until one quiet afternoon in the city. He was sipping a black coffee alone, hoodie pulled up, trying to blend in, when a deep, masculine voice called out: “Asher?”

He turned, and his stomach dropped.

It was Jacob.

But not the boy he remembered. Not the soft, skinny twink who used to cling to Asher’s arm like a decoration. No—this Jacob was tall, broad, hairy. His chest peeked from his tank top. He looked confident. Commanding.

Manly.

“Jacob?” Asher whispered, feeling small just being near him.

They sat. Talked. Jacob acted surprised at what Asher had become. But there was something… off. The way he smirked. The way he looked Asher up and down like meat.

One thing led to another. Jacob invited him over. Asher hesitated—but followed.

And then Jacob took control.

He bent Asher over. Dominated him. Gripped his tiny waist. Whispered things in his ear. And Asher hated how his body responded, how good it felt, how helpless he was in Jacob’s grasp.

Afterward, Asher lay in bed, his face flushed, still trembling from the intensity. Jacob sat beside him, brushing fingers through his hair.

“You know,” Jacob said casually, “this is exactly what I wanted.”

Asher blinked. “What do you mean?”

Jacob leaned in, lips close to his ear. “The curse. I did it. I made you like this.”

Asher sat up, frozen. “You—what?”

“I wanted to feel what it was like to be the man. To see you fall. To see you like this.” Jacob’s eyes glimmered. “And now you’re perfect.”

Asher didn’t know whether to scream or cry. He felt… hollow. His body no longer his own. His manhood stripped, stolen, handed over to the boy he used to mock.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t fight it anymore.

Dylan had always been the rough-around-the-edges type. Tank tops clung to his broad chest, dark chest hair curled out over the neckline, and his legs, thick with wiry hair, flexed with every heavy step in his beat-up sneakers. People noticed when Dylan entered a room — confident, earthy, masculine.

But Aaron barely noticed him.

Aaron was sweet, stylish, lean, and effortlessly twinky — with his soft laugh, pale skin, and boyish charm. Dylan had been his friend for years, but Aaron had only ever seen him as that — a friend. Never anything more.

Until Dylan decided to change that.

It started subtly. He shaved his chest and arms, then his legs. The first time he looked down at his smooth, pale skin, it startled him. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. But he imagined Aaron’s eyes tracing every curve and it pushed him forward.

The gym came next — not for bulking, but toning. Slimming. He swapped out protein shakes for salads, grew leaner, tighter, more delicate, arms and legs lengthening as they slimmed. His tank tops were replaced with fitted white ones that clung to his now-slender frame. The thick plaid cargo shorts stayed, but now they hung differently — not over thick muscle, but over narrow hips, soft thighs, and hairless skin.

The last thing to go was his attitude. He practiced smiling more. Speaking softly. Crossing his arms less, tilting his head more. He even lightened his hair and trimmed his brows. Every detail mattered.

One day, he walked into Aaron’s apartment, heart pounding under his thin tank, now smaller, smoother, and sharper-featured — practically glowing. Aaron looked up from the couch and paused.

“Wow… you look… different,” Aaron said, blinking slowly.

Dylan smiled, stepping closer, body shaved and sculpted, soft in all the ways Aaron liked. “Different good?”

Aaron’s gaze roamed him, lingering just a bit too long at the waist. “Yeah,” he said, smiling back. “Different really good.”

Dylan exhaled — for the first time, seen.

Adam was a classically handsome man. Muscular, tall, with dark hair and a chest carpeted in thick, masculine curls. He carried himself with the easy dominance of someone who knew exactly what he liked—twinks. He loved their softness, their obedience, their quiet admiration. There was a thrill in watching them fold under his touch, in the power he held over them.

But one night, he went home with a twink who was… different.

The boy was pale, slight, with wide eyes and soft blonde curls. He didn’t flirt—he watched. And when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, quiet, but impossible to ignore.

Adam didn’t remember the Uber ride, didn’t remember walking through the front door. He remembered the twink looking up at him, tilting his head slightly and saying, “Undress.”

And Adam did.

“Bend over.”

And Adam obeyed.

There was no resistance. No snark. No dominant bravado. Just pure, inexplicable obedience. It was like something had slipped into his bloodstream, something warm and honey-sweet and paralyzing. The world blurred around the edges as the twink took his time.

The next morning, Adam woke in a haze. Light filtered through unfamiliar curtains. His body felt strange—lighter, maybe. His limbs, leaner.

He sat up slowly, head pounding, the memory of the night before slipping through his fingers like sand. Had it even happened? he wondered.

But then he caught his reflection in a mirror across the room—and froze.

He was… different.

Still fit, still attractive—but less. A bit smaller. His once-thick chest hair was mostly gone, reduced to a soft fuzz. His arms and legs, smooth. His stubble had thinned out, looking patchy and pale. His hair—blonde.

Blonde?

He staggered toward the mirror, staring. His face looked younger somehow. Like he was halfway between what he’d always been and what he most desired in his bed.

Panic gripped him.

“This isn’t me,” he whispered. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

But somewhere, deep in his chest, a faint flutter—an ache—whispered Isn’t it?

Adam backed away from the mirror, heart pounding. His breath caught in his throat. He dug through the room for his clothes—anything to cover himself—his favorite fitted jeans felt looser. His shirt hung awkwardly, no longer stretched across his chest the way it used to be. He felt like a boy trying on a man’s wardrobe.

His phone buzzed. He grabbed it like a lifeline—until he saw the message.

Unknown Number:

Still fighting it? That’s cute. I told you last night: you're mine now.

Adam’s fingers trembled. He stared at the screen, unable to move. Then another message came through.

A mirror only shows you the outside, baby. Look deeper. You’re almost perfect.

“No,” he muttered. “No, no, no—fuck this.” He hurled the phone across the room. It shattered against the wall.

But the moment it did, the air in the room changed. It grew thick—like humidity before a storm. Heavy. Charged.

And then… the door opened.

He didn’t remember unlocking it. Didn’t hear footsteps. But the twink was there—standing in the doorway, calm, graceful, eyes glowing gold in the dim light.

“Adam,” he cooed, “you’re even prettier in the morning.”

“Stay the fuck away from me,” Adam snapped, voice rasping with panic—but his legs wouldn’t move. His hands clenched into fists, but they wouldn’t lift.

The twink stepped forward. “You begged for this last night. Begged me to make you feel what they feel. To understand what it means to surrender. You said you wanted to be closer to them. Remember?”

Adam tried to shake his head. But he did remember. Vaguely. Half-drunk on pleasure and whatever magic this boy had worked into his veins. Whispering things he never thought he’d say. Giving himself up.

“But I never meant—” he choked.

The twink put a finger to Adam’s lips. “Shhh.”

He stepped closer. Touched Adam’s cheek. His other hand slid down Adam’s chest.

“You were always so rough,” the twink whispered. “So loud. So in control. You looked at boys like me and thought we were yours to play with.”

He leaned in, lips brushing Adam’s ear.

“But the truth is, you were always the toy.”

Adam’s body shuddered. Something inside him collapsed. His knees buckled, but the twink caught him, held him close, and whispered into his ear.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “This is the last time you’ll ever have to worry about control. I’ll take care of you from now on.”

CHAPTER 4 - THE FIRST CHANGES 

Ethan’s always been proud of his body hair. It was part of his presence — masculine, natural, a little wild. He was the kind of guy who wore it like a statement. It set him apart. So when he starts to notice some shedding that evolves into massive hair loss across his body, he begins to feel like he’s in for some kind of involuntary metamorphosis that leads him to become a bit more dependent on Nick emotionally. 

His Feet. It starts in the morning — nothing special. Ethan sits on the edge of the bed, pulls off his socks after a morning run, and pauses. He notices it: a light scattering of fine black hairs inside the cotton. Not just a few — a small clump, curled and loose, like shedding fur. He frowns, brushes it off his foot, and leans forward.

The tops of his feet, once covered in dark, confident hair, look… odd.. His toes, once proudly woolly, now hairless and soft. He flexes them. Rubs his big toe between two fingers. It used to feel rough — masculine. Now, his fingers slide easier. The skin there feels almost silky. Reaching for his other sock, he finds that one has hairs in it too.

He tells himself it’s just from running. Friction. Maybe new detergent. But that night after his shower, he steps out, wipes the mirror, and bends over to check again. The tops of his feet are smooth, oddly pretty. His ankles too — bare, like he’s shaved them. An image crosses his mind, it’s an ankle bracelet, pure silver, made up of carefully carved flowers, the initials N+E are engraved on it, “that would look nice on my pretty ankle, maybe Nick will get it for me”, Ethan thinks to himself. A thought like this had never been in his mind before. 

His Legs. A day or so later, Ethan goes to scratch his leg and notices the back of his calves — soft to the touch, almost slippery beneath his fingers. Hours later, he notices the same thing on his thighs. In the shower, he notices the hair is detaching from his skin and washing down the drain, not just on his calves or thighs, but everything from his ankles to his waist. He stands under the showerhead and watches the water bead and slide down his now bare skin, the follicles gone. He used to feel rugged and loved showing off his hairy legs, ever since they grew in. Now there’s a glossy smoothness to him — like he’s been waxed. The feeling is foreign, sensual, and feminine. Ethan is feeling awkward about this particular change because it’s more public, it will certainly be noticed when wearing shorts, the world will notice how fresh and smooth his legs look.. Will they think he’s doing it for Nick? Maybe Nick likes a smooth boy? 

The thought of Nick enters his mind, particularly his legs, covered in that thick golden hair… so masculine. Ethan becomes jealous thinking about Nick, how he gets to show off those furry limbs to the world and present in such a mannish way. Then his emotion shifts, he begins to feel desire, he desires to caress, massage, and tangle those hairy legs of Nicks with his own. Yes, only then can he feel what he has lost. 

His Groin. This is where it gets personal. Ethan used to keep it wild and natural. But now… he notices the hair around his pelvis has thinned. The dark masculine curls beneath his navel are gone. His balls look exposed, no hair on them at all. When he touches them, his fingers glide, nothing catching, no friction, just silky skin. In a way, it kind of seems nice, it feels clean, light, and naked down there. “Maybe this particular change isn't so bad” he thought to himself as he pulled on his black boxer briefs. A moment later Nick walks in, completely in the nude. Ethans eyes immediately dart down to Nick's dense patch of coarse, honey-blond hair that adorns his manhood. It is so natural and thick. Ethan places a hand over his own groin remembering how he too recently sported the same masculine trait - oh how good it felt to scratch, to let poke over the top of his waistband as a way of showing off and letting the imagination of others roam, and the smell… how the hair absorbs the sweat and odor while emulating an intoxicating scent, the scent of a man. Now, it’s all gone. 

Nick catches Ethan glancing down at his handsome honey haired manhood and begins to feel more power over Ethan, “it’s finally happening”, Nick thinks to himself, “he is finally jealous of something I possess - this will surely lead to further insecurity and eventual submission.”

His Pits. His Chest, His Arms. Ethan got home late. Long day. Too many meetings. His dress shoes come off with a practiced sigh, dropped neatly by the door. He loosens his tie with one hand as he moves through the apartment, heading to the bedroom to change. He doesn’t even notice it at first. The automatic part of the evening begins — unbutton the shirt, roll the sleeves, unbuckle the belt. The routine. The rhythm. He slips the dress shirt off, reaches to hang it—then glances at the mirror and stops dead. His arm freezes mid-air. His reflection is… wrong. He turns slowly toward it, the shirt hanging limp in one hand. And there it is. Undeniable. Complete.

His chest is bare — not a single hair left across the once-dark plane between his pecs or the sides where it used to fan out proudly. His armpits are bald — clean as glass, the skin beneath them glowing slightly under the bedroom lights. It’s not just the absence of hair—it’s the strange, supple sheen. Like he’s been lotioned. Maintained. Softened. And his arms, god—his arms used to carry a dusting of dark hair, nothing too thick, but confident. Masculine. Now? They look shaved. No, worse than shaved. Feminized. There’s nothing left.

His skin is still olive, still lightly tan from outdoor runs and city walks, but now it glows unnaturally — flawless, almost artificial. Like something manufactured, not earned. He stares at himself in disbelief. Runs his hands across his arms. His torso. His pits. There’s no bristle. No roughness. Just that faint silkiness, that too-perfect texture.

“What the hell is happening to me…” Then, he hears the door open. Nick’s home. Ethan scrambles to grab a T-shirt but freezes again as he hears Nick’s footsteps coming down the hall. And when Nick enters, dropping his bag, pulling off his own hoodie — it only makes everything worse. Because Nick still looks like the man Ethan used to be. His chest is dusted with rich, thick hair. His armpits full, dark. His forearms strong and coated in a healthy blond-gold that catches the light. He’s radiant in his roughness, his untouched masculinity. And he smells like it, too — all warm sweat and confidence. Nick’s eyes find Ethan, half-dressed, still staring at himself.

“You okay?” says as if Nick had no idea what was going on. Ethan swallows. “It’s all gone.” “What is?” “Everything. The hair. My chest. My arms. There’s nothing left.”

Nick glances him up and down, slow and deliberate. Then, in a voice that’s just a little too satisfied: “Yeah, I noticed recently. You’re getting… smoother, I thought you might have just been experimenting with some grooming.” Ethan looks away, burning with a mix of shame and confusion. Nick steps closer, brushes his fingers up Ethan’s now-bare arm. “It suits you, though. All that soft skin… you look good. You look clean.” Clean. Again with that word. Nick leans in, kisses the side of Ethan’s neck, then walks past him toward the shower, peeling off his clothes as he goes — revealing even more fur, more manhood, more of what Ethan isn’t anymore. Ethan stays behind, staring at himself in the mirror again. The stubble on his face is all he has left — and even now, he’s not sure how long that’ll stay.

His Face. Ethan woke up like he always did: tangled in sheets, half-facedown in his pillow, the morning sun drawing soft lines across the floorboards. He yawned, stretched, blinked the sleep from his eyes. Instinctively, he reached for his jaw — fingers dragging up to give his usual morning scratch across his stubble. But instead of the familiar rasp — the coarse bristle, the proud grit of three-day growth — his fingers met something else. Nothing. He froze. Then tried again — slower this time, running his fingertips along his cheek, his chin, under his jaw. No resistance. Just skin. Warm, soft skin. Like polished silk. “What the…” He bolted upright, throwing the blankets off, heart pounding. Bare feet slapped the floor as he stumbled to the bathroom mirror, flicking on the light with a shaky hand. And there he was. Clean-shaven. Completely.

Not even a shadow of hair remained on his face — no sideburns, no jawline grit, no upper lip fuzz. Not even that faint trace of darkness under the skin that showed his beard was coming in. Just smooth, olive-toned skin, fresh and delicate. Boyish.

His lips looked fuller. His jaw somehow narrower. He leaned in, squinting. “No. No, no, no!” He rubbed furiously at his chin, hoping for that familiar scratch. Nothing. It was like he’d been waxed. Or worse—like he’d never grown facial hair at all. He reached into the medicine cabinet, pulled out his beard trimmer in a panic. Switched it on. Held it under his jaw. No sound. No resistance. The buzzing head skimmed over his skin like it wasn’t even touching a man. The silence was deafening. This isn’t just hair loss. This is erasure. He stared at his reflection — his face looked years younger. Softer. Less like him. It wasn’t rugged. It wasn’t mature. It wasn’t masculine.

He heard Nick’s footsteps approaching behind him and quickly turned the water on, pretending to wash his face. But he knew Nick would notice. How could he not? Nick entered, leaned on the doorframe, watching. “Morning, babyface.” Ethan didn’t turn around. Nick walked up behind him, wrapping his arms around Ethan’s now-bare torso, pressing his hairy chest to Ethan’s smooth back. He kissed Ethan’s freshly hairless cheek and whispered: “You’re getting cuter by the day.” And Ethan, for the first time, didn’t know what to say.Because he didn’t feel cute. He felt stripped.

By this point, Ethen feared the worst. He knew something major was happening to him. He feared some type of freak illness or condition, drop in testosterone, and even humored the idea of a possible curse. He does a brief internet search but comes up with a bunch of information that seems even more confusing or unlikely. He decides to make an appointment with his doctor to seek out medical advice or even a cure (if that’s what was even needed). Nick offered to help (since he normally scheduled such things for them both) but lied to Ethen saying his doctor wasn’t available until next month. Ethan suggested seeing someone else who might be available sooner but Nick told Ethan to just wait. Oddly enough, Ethan listens to Nick, feeling a strange need to obey and honor him. 

His Hair. The morning was already strange enough without the silence of the razor or the eerie smoothness of his face. But as Ethan stood in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting his collar and combing his hair, something else caught his eye. A glint. A shimmer. He froze. Right at his temples — just above the ears — a soft wash of pale blonde had appeared. Not new growth. Not roots. The actual strands of his thick black hair were just… lighter. He leaned in, rubbed at it like it was dust. It wasn’t. “No way…” It wasn’t a highlight or a trick of the light. It was his hair — just bleached. Naturally. Quietly. Like someone had slipped peroxide into his bloodstream overnight. He considered calling in sick. But what could he say? "My hair is changing color on its own and I have no idea why?" So he went in, wishfully hoping no one would notice. But of course they did. By 9:30 a.m., after his second meeting, two coworkers had already said something. 

“Hey, new look, Ethan?” 

“Dude, are you going blonde?” 

“Kinda makes you look younger!”

By noon, the blonde had spread — not just at the sides now, but crawling across the top of his head in subtle streaks. A brownish-blonde, soft and warm, completely at odds with the dark, authoritative black he once had. His reflection in the conference room window looked… foreign. He kept tugging at his hair, checking his phone camera every chance he got. But by the time he was pulling into the driveway after work, the sun caught his reflection in the car window and he nearly gasped. His hair was now a clean, bright blonde shade. Unmistakably twink-coded. It framed his smooth, youthful face, clashing violently with the image of himself he’d spent years curating — confident, sharp, masculine. He stepped out of the car slowly, still staring at his reflection in the window. 

He looked like he’d gone through a phase — like some 22-year-old figuring himself out at gay clubs, still learning what it meant to be a man. And worst of all, people would just assume it was intentional. Some bold new aesthetic choice. But he knew the truth.He hadn’t chosen this. As he walked up the path to the apartment, a neighbor glanced up from their garden and called out: “Love the new color! Feeling flirty, huh?” Ethan forced a smile, waved, and kept walking. His hands were shaking as he reached for the doorknob. He didn’t even feel like he was walking into his own home anymore.

Feeling overwhelmed and defeated, Ethan collapsed on the couch for a bit. He began to contemplate the changes he’d experienced over the past few days, particularly with his hair. Everything that occurred was a tough and shocking adjustment. He felt less masculine, less confident, and insecure in himself. The smooth body and bleach blonde hair wasn't him at all - it was a prison he now lived in. He never felt attracted to men like this nor imagined he’d one day become one. 

Deep down, Ethan felt it, this was a new version of him, the changes unstoppable and eerily irreversible. His intuition told him this was something more than a medical crisis or condition, it might be the universe reshaping him. 

Continuing to get lost in his thoughts, Ethan leans into what remains of him. At least he still had his lean yet muscular physique, strikingly handsome face with a strong jawline, he was still tall standing at 6 '2, and of course he still had his impressive 9” dick complete with a matching set of heavy, low-hanging balls. He was still a man with qualities that commanded respect and attention. Sure the world might see his soft, hairless skin, youthfully clean face, and beach boy hairdo, but that didn't mean he was any less of a man - maybe just a preppier one. A man who is confident enough in himself to smooth out some of his rugged edges and polish up a bit. And besides, Nick was his other half who possessed the wildly hairy qualities he no longer possessed, so at least there was that. Not to mention how supportive Nick has been regarding my changes. Happier even. And there is nothing better than the feeling of earning your man's praise and happiness. 

Hey Everyone! This is my first story I am putting out there. It's about an alpha turned twink, against his will. I will be releasing it a few chapters at a time. Hope you like it! Please feel free to share your thoughts.

THE SHAPE OF HIS DESIRE - CH. 1-3

CHAPTER 1 - THE HANDSOME BEGINNING

Ethan and Nick looked like the kind of couple you’d see in an ad — impossibly handsome, effortlessly in sync, and almost unfairly well-matched. Each brought their own brand of allure: Ethan with his sharp, sculpted intensity, and Nick with that rugged, farm-boy warmth. If either one was your type, you’d have a hard time looking away — and if both were, well… good luck.

They first crossed paths on a dating app, a modern spark that ignited something real. What started as a swipe turned into something solid — and now, three years in, they’d built a life rooted in shared success, deep connection, and a chemistry that still sparked like it was day one.

Ethan stood at 6'2", his presence effortlessly commanding attention. He had the kind of classically handsome face with an ultimate masculine definition. His olive-toned skin contrasted strikingly with the jet-black hair he kept neatly parted and cut short, a style that gave him a sharp, deliberate look. A perpetual 3-day stubble shadowed his jaw, not out of neglect, but cultivated — intentional, like most things about him. He was impressively endowed below the belt — long and uncut among an unshaven forest of dark curls, with heavy, low-hanging balls that matched his size. Even clothed, the bulge between his legs was impossible to ignore—prominent, tempting, and utterly magnetic. 

His body was lean but unmistakably muscular, built more for function than show, every movement efficient and grounded. Thick body hair covered his chest, arms, and legs, something he wore like armor — unapologetic and proud. There was a refined rawness to him, an earthy masculinity that didn’t need polish to shine.

Nick had the kind of handsomeness that didn’t feel curated — it just happened to him. Standing at an even 6 feet tall, he carried himself like someone who knew how to work — broad-shouldered, solid, every muscle earned through labor rather than a gym routine. He looked like he belonged under a wide sky, dirt on his boots, sweat on his brow — yet his face was almost too striking for the life that raised him.

His skin was fair and sun-brushed, and his dirty blonde hair had a natural fullness to it, combed to the side like he made an effort without overthinking it. His beard was a warm, reddish-blonde, trimmed with the same kind of quiet care that defined everything about him. And beneath his clothes, his body was thick with golden hair — a soft pelt of sun-bleached fur that felt as much a part of his strength as the muscles underneath. Nick’s manhood was just as you'd expect from a guy like him — thick, heavy, and cut. It hung confidently between his muscular thighs, resting against a dense patch of coarse, honey-blond hair. His balls were large and low-hanging, the skin lightly dusted with that same golden hair that trailed up his stomach in a thick line. They swung when he moved, full and heavy, as if always ready — like the rest of him — to take what he wanted.

Nick had that “homegrown” look, like he’d just walked in from baling hay — but one glance, and it was obvious: he was built for something more and would go on to live a very different life from the one he was raised in. 

Together, they had built a pretty nice life together. 

But beneath the surface of their seemingly perfect relationship, there was one small — but steadily growing — complication: both Ethan and Nick were dominant by nature, especially in bed. They liked to lead, to take control, to top. And while they’d known this about each other from the start, it hadn’t felt like a dealbreaker. They were too compatible in every other way to let bedroom preferences ruin a good thing.

At first, they made it work. Ethan, more flexible between the sheets, was willing to switch things up now and then. And on most nights, the two had turned their shared dominance into a playful ritual: they’d wrestle — bodies slick with tension and anticipation — and whoever won got to top. The loser had to bottom... and do his best to play the part of the submissive lover, no matter how unconvincing it might be.

Nick, however, had grown tired of compromise. The novelty of switching things up had long since worn off — he didn’t enjoy bottoming, and he didn’t want to pretend otherwise anymore. What he wanted was clear: to be the full-time top, the dominant one, the “man” in the relationship — at least by his own definition. Anything less chipped away at his sense of self, needling at his pride in quiet, persistent ways.

But it wasn’t just about control in the bedroom. Lately, Nick found himself consumed by fantasies he’d never explored — darker, more possessive, more carnal. He imagined being with a submissive twink he could fully dominate, someone he could break in, reshape, own. The idea thrilled him more than he was willing to admit. He’d never had that kind of power dynamic, and now, he found himself craving it. Desperately.

CHAPTER 2 - THE FANTASY

Nick didn’t want to lose Ethan. That much was certain. For all their clashes in the bedroom, they still had something rare — undeniable chemistry, deep affection, a shared rhythm that most couples never even find. But over time, that wasn’t enough to quiet the gnawing hunger in him. The fantasies weren’t going away — they were getting louder, more specific, more consuming.

He knew it was extreme. He knew trying to mold Ethan into something he wasn’t crossed a line... but to Nick, it didn’t feel like manipulation. It felt like survival. Why throw away years of love and loyalty over sex, over roles, over pride? Why start over with someone new when Ethan was already so close to being everything he wanted?

Maybe, Nick thought, he could bring Ethan there — slowly, deliberately. Not just to bottom more often, but to change. To soften. To submit. After all, Ethan was adaptable. He’d already shown flashes of surrender — during those wrestling matches, in the moments he lost, when he played at being the submissive one. Maybe that wasn’t just play. Maybe it was potential.

And more than anything, Nick didn’t want to fail — not as a partner, not as a man. He wanted power, yes, but he also wanted reassurance. Control gave him that. Dominance gave him that. And if he could keep Ethan and finally live out the fantasy he’d denied himself for so long... why not try?

Even if it meant breaking the man he loved, piece by piece, until Ethan fit.

Nick couldn’t stop thinking about it — the idea of Ethan, proud and masculine Ethan, being changed. Not just made to submit, but reshaped entirely. Turned into the kind of twink Nick always fantasized about owning. There was something intoxicating about imagining the process: Ethan resisting at first, confused and tense, trying to hold onto his identity — that hard-edged confidence, that masculine presence.

But it would fade.

Nick would watch it fade. Slowly. Deliciously. The struggle would be the hottest part — Ethan fumbling with softness, with obedience, with the humiliation of surrender. He’d be awkward at first, angry, maybe even ashamed. And Nick would be right there, whispering praise and control in his ear, guiding him into something smaller, something prettier, something less.

And when they finally fucked — when Nick took him — Ethan would have no power. No say. Just a body, re-trained to open up, to serve, to please. He’d be a hunk trapped in a twink’s frame, every thrust a reminder of what he used to be… and what Nick had turned him into.

That wasn’t just sex. That was ownership. And Nick had never wanted anything more.

CHAPTER 3 - THE PLOT 

After weeks of research and thought, Nick finally decides upon something he thinks is manageable to turn Ethan into the twink of his dreams; futuristic nano-therapy. He stumbled across it through the kind of channels only the deeply curious — or deeply desperate — explore. He was reading about hormone hacks, body sculpting, neurolink optimization… and then he found it. A private biotech firm. No name, no branding — just a landing page with a dark UI and a single phrase: “Tailor the one you love.”

He clicks. Inside is a pitch for Adaptive Nanocellular Rewriting Therapy — a boutique-level gene modulation system originally developed for trauma survivors and body dysmorphia cases. Now? It's been repurposed. Quietly marketed to wealthy clients with very specific desires. One of the promises reads:“Don't find your ideal partner. Build them.” Nick looked no further and began the start of something evolutionary for Ethan, unbeknownst to him of course.  

How it works: 

1. Sample CollectionNick collected Ethan’s biological material required: hair with root, saliva swab, skin cells (from a used razor blade), blood sample (collected while drugging Ethan with a heavy sleeping aid), and semen sample (this one required some erotic creativity from Nick but he managed). He mails it in. The lab uses the samples to create a “biological blueprint” — mapping Ethan’s natural structure, hormone levels, physical limits, and personality traits.

2. Customization Interface

Nick is sent access to a private UI with sliders, toggles, and even predictive modeling:

Height: Reduce by up to 8 inches

Hair Color: Bleach Blonde 

Muscle Mass: Slim down to lean

Voice: Light Tenor

Body Hair: Suppress completely

Male Genitalia: Slim, short, small testicles

Libido: Increase, but only in submissive states

Emotional Response: Soften, increase need for approval, insecure 

Aesthetic Gender Coding: Shift to more androgynous/mild feminine presentation

Dependency Index: Increase arousal when submitting to Nick specifically

Nick spends hours perfecting it. He doesn’t just want Ethan smaller, smoother, more passive — he wants him to want it.

3. The Delivery Mechanism - A Customized Digestible Formula                                                            The lab offers several options for administration, but Nick chooses a flavorless, dissolvable powder, specially engineered to blend seamlessly into food, drinks, or supplements. It’s called VX13-MicroBlend — designed for full absorption through the digestive system, with nanocapsules that cross the blood-brain barrier and embed themselves in target cells.

Nick’s formula comes in a discreet foil pouch, unmarked except for a symbol only he understands. 

The nanotech is designed to activate slowly, syncing with Ethan’s biochemistry and emotional states. It doesn't force transformation all at once. It waits for cues such as Nick giving orders, Ethan being dominated or praised, and other emotions such as feeling helpless, aroused, and obedient. The more Ethan submits, the more his body shifts.

How Nick Uses It:

He mixes it into Ethan’s protein shake after workouts.

He adds it to smoothies on lazy Sunday mornings.

He stirs it into coffee with a smile, handing the mug to Ethan in bed.