TF Central

Devin had thought January as Chris Evans was the peak, but February as Chris Hemsworth blew it out of the water. That massive, godlike body was a playground of power and sensuality. He spent the month dominating the scene in every way: crushing workouts in Sydney where fans gawked at his bulging muscles, filming intense action sequences that left him sore and satisfied, and endless nights exploring the perks of being a Hollywood heavyweight. The accent alone got him laid whenever he wanted, that deep Aussie rumble making guys drop to their knees. But the real highlight was Tom. Their secret daddy-boy thing was pure fire. Mornings started with Tom begging for it, afternoons stolen in trailers where Devin would pin him down and fuck him senseless, Tom’s tight hole clenching around his thick cock as he whispered “daddy” over and over. One weekend, they holed up in a beach house, Devin pounding Tom on every surface – the kitchen counter, the shower, even out on the deck under the stars, Tom’s moans echoing into the night. Devin came buckets each time, filling him up, then making Tom clean him off with that eager mouth. By the end of the month, he’d edged himself during solo sessions too, stroking that huge dick while watching his reflection, flexing those tree-trunk arms, but nothing beat the real thing. As February 28th faded, he collapsed into bed after a marathon fuck with Tom, body spent, the ring humming faintly on his finger.

March 1st dawned bright and disorienting. Devin groaned, rolling over in sheets that felt silkier than usual, the room unfamiliar yet again. Sunlight poured in from a wall of windows overlooking the Austin skyline – wait, Texas? He sat up, a strange fullness in his ass making him shift uncomfortably. What the…? He glanced around: a sleek, modern bedroom with cowboy chic vibes, framed movie posters on the walls, a guitar in the corner. His body felt different – leaner than Hemsworth’s bulk but still ripped, athletic and toned like a fighter pilot. He swung out of bed, wincing at the pressure between his cheeks, and made his way to the full-length mirror by the dresser.

Holy fuck. Glen Powell stared back, that boyish grin frozen in surprise, dark hair tousled from sleep, green eyes wide. His face was all-American handsome, sharp features softened by a dimpled smile, stubble accenting his jaw. The body was perfection: broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, pecs firm and defined under a light dusting of hair, abs carved like they were made for licking. Lower, his cock hung thick and heavy, even soft, with low-hanging balls that promised a good load. He turned, admiring the ass – perky, round, the kind that begged to be grabbed. But as he moved, that fullness shifted again, sending a jolt of pleasure up his spine. Reaching back, his fingers brushed something hard protruding from between his cheeks. A plug. A fucking butt plug, nestled snugly in his hole, vibrating faintly? No, just the sensation of it being there, stretching him overnight.

Devin’s new cock twitched at the realization. Memories flickered in – or maybe the wish filling in the blanks – of Glen’s hidden life. Turns out, in this version, Glen was a total bottom submissive cock slut, craving to be used, dominated, filled. He’d gone to bed with the plug after a late-night session, keeping himself ready for whenever the urge hit. Devin’s heart raced, arousal flooding him. He’d always been versatile in fantasies, but this body screamed submission, nerves lighting up at the thought of being taken. He gripped the plug’s base, tugging gently, moaning as it resisted, his hole clenching around it. “Oh shit,” he breathed in Glen’s smooth Texas drawl, voice laced with need.

He couldn’t resist. Sinking to his knees in front of the mirror, he spread his legs, ass up like an offering. The plug was black silicone, flared at the base, maybe three inches in, thick enough to stretch but not overwhelm. He pulled it out slowly, inch by inch, gasping as his rim stretched around the widest part, then popped free, leaving him empty and aching. His hole winked in the mirror, pink and slick from lube residue, begging to be filled again. Devin’s cock hardened fully now, curving up toward his abs, precum beading at the tip. He was a slut for this, he realized, the wish amplifying it – or maybe it was always there, buried in his nerdy self.

“Fuck, look at you,” he whispered to his reflection, voice trembling. “Such a needy bottom. Need cock so bad.” He sucked on his fingers, getting them wet, then reached back, pushing two into his hole easily, the stretch making him whine. It felt incredible, his prostate throbbing as he curled them, scissoring to open himself up. His other hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, base to tip, twisting at the head where it was most sensitive. But it wasn’t enough. He spotted a drawer half-open on the nightstand – toys. Crawling over, he rummaged: dildos, vibes, a collar even. Grabbing a thick, veiny dildo – realistic, about eight inches, suction base – he stuck it to the mirror at cock height, then slathered it with lube from the bottle nearby.

On all fours, ass facing the mirror so he could watch, he backed onto it, the head pressing against his hole. “Please, fuck me,” he begged aloud, imagining a dom top behind him – maybe one of Glen’s secret hookups, a rough guy who’d call him names and use him hard. He pushed back, the dildo breaching him, stretching wider than the plug. A loud moan escaped, his body shaking as he took more, inch by inch, until his ass cheeks met the mirror, fully impaled. “Yes, daddy, wreck me.” He rocked forward and back, fucking himself, the dildo hitting deep, slamming his prostate with each thrust. His cock bounced untouched, leaking steadily, balls drawing up.

Sweat beaded on his skin, making his muscles glisten. He reached back, spreading his cheeks wider, watching the dildo slide in and out, his hole gripping it greedily. “I’m your slut, take it all,” he panted, speeding up, the wet sounds filthy and echoing. Switching positions, he lay on his back, legs spread eagle, holding the dildo now, plunging it in deep and fast. His free hand pinched his nipples, twisting hard, the pain mixing with pleasure. “Cum in me, breed this hole.” He stroked his cock furiously, syncing with the thrusts, edging closer. Fantasies flooded: being passed around at a party, multiple cocks filling him, cum dripping down his thighs; or tied up, blindfolded, used relentlessly.

Devin couldn’t believe how fast January flew by. Waking up in Chris Evans’ body that first day had been a shock, but once he got over the initial rush, he dove headfirst into the life. The ring on his finger gleamed subtly, a constant reminder that this was temporary, but for now, it was all his. He spent the month in Los Angeles, navigating Chris’s schedule with surprising ease, like the wish had implanted just enough knowledge to keep things smooth. Red carpet events, photoshoots, gym sessions that left his muscles pumped and aching in the best way. Fans screamed his name, paparazzi flashed cameras everywhere, and the hookups? God, the hookups were endless.

He’d hit up exclusive parties where Hollywood’s hottest mingled, and more than once, he’d end up in a private room with some eager guy who’d been eye-fucking him all night. One memorable evening, he brought home a twinkish actor from a club, the guy’s hands all over his broad chest as they stumbled into the bedroom. Devin flexed for him, peeling off his shirt to reveal those perfect pecs, and the guy dropped to his knees, sucking him off like it was the role of a lifetime. Devin thrust into his mouth, gripping his hair, moaning in that deep voice, cumming down his throat while staring at his reflection in the window. But he always came back to solo sessions too, jerking off in front of mirrors, showers, even once in a limo on the way to a meeting. He’d stroke that thick cock slowly, building up, whispering praises to himself. “Fuck, Chris, you’re a god.” By the end of the month, he’d explored every inch of that body, from fingering his ass while edging to humping pillows imagining it was some co-star.

Life as a celebrity was intoxicating: private jets to New York for talk shows, where he’d charm the audience with Chris’s easy laugh; dinners at spots where the bill ran into thousands; and the constant admiration that made him feel invincible. He even nailed a workout video shoot, his sweat-slicked muscles gleaming under lights, fans later flooding social media with thirsty comments. But as January 31st wound down, he crashed hard in his LA mansion, body exhausted from a day of hiking and a quick fuck with a delivery guy who’d recognized him. He drifted off thinking about what February might bring, the ring warm on his finger.

February 1st hit like a thunderbolt. Devin stirred awake, sunlight filtering through unfamiliar curtains, the bed beneath him softer than Chris’s usual setup. He blinked, disoriented, the room spinning a bit. This wasn’t his bedroom. The walls were painted a soft gray, modern furniture scattered around, and out the window, he caught a glimpse of a private beach, waves crashing gently. Where the hell was he? He sat up, heart racing, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His body felt different again – heavier, taller, even more powerful. He glanced down: massive thighs, a chiseled torso dusted with light hair, arms like tree trunks. Panic mixed with excitement as he stood, padding across the plush carpet to the mirror on the opposite wall.

Staring back was Chris Hemsworth. Those stormy blue eyes, the long blond hair tied back in a messy bun, the rugged beard framing a jaw that could cut glass. His body was a masterpiece of bulk and definition – shoulders impossibly wide, pecs that heaved with each breath, abs like cobblestones leading down to a thick, heavy cock nestled in trimmed pubes. Devin reached up, touching his face, feeling the stubble, then down to flex his biceps, watching them peak hugely. “No way,” he whispered, the Australian accent thick and commanding, sending a shiver through him. The ring had shifted him again, interpreting his wish in a new way for the new month. From Evans’ all-American charm to Hemsworth’s godlike Aussie power. He turned, admiring the ass – round, firm, powerful enough to thrust for hours.

But then he heard a soft murmur from the bed. He spun around, eyes widening. Curled up under the sheets was Tom Holland, his lithe body half-exposed, messy brown hair tousled from sleep, those big eyes still closed. Tom’s chest rose and fell gently, a faint smile on his lips, like he was dreaming something sweet. Devin froze. What the fuck? Memories trickled in, courtesy of the wish maybe – flashes of secret meetups, stolen kisses in hidden spots, a relationship kept under wraps from the prying eyes of Hollywood. Tom and Chris – or rather, this version of them – had been hooking up for months, a daddy-boy dynamic that made Devin’s new cock twitch just thinking about it. Tom idolized him, called him daddy in private, begged for his attention like a needy pup.

Tom stirred, stretching with a cute yawn, his eyes fluttering open. He blinked up at Devin – no, at Chris – and his face lit up with a sleepy grin. “Morning, daddy,” he murmured, voice husky from sleep. He shifted under the sheets, revealing more of his toned, compact body: smooth skin, perky ass peeking out, his morning wood tenting the fabric. Tom’s hand reached out, groping playfully at the air. “You look so hot standing there. Come back to bed?”

Devin swallowed, stepping closer, his massive frame towering over the bed. The role felt natural, the wish pulling him into it. “Hey, kid,” he rumbled in Hemsworth’s voice, sitting on the edge. Tom’s eyes roamed hungrily over his body, lingering on the bulging biceps and the semi-hard cock starting to rise.

Tom whined softly, scooting closer, pressing his face against Devin’s thigh. “Please, daddy? I’ve been dreaming about you all night. Need you to fuck me. Like, right now.” His hand slid up, fingers tracing the veins on Devin’s arm, then down to palm his growing erection. “You’re so big. Missed this.”

Devin groaned, the touch electric on his new skin. He grabbed Tom’s chin gently, tilting his head up for a kiss – deep, possessive, tongues tangling as Tom melted into it. “You begging already, huh? Such a good boy.” Tom’s whine turned into a moan, his body arching up, grinding against Devin’s leg.

“Yes, daddy, please. Fuck me hard. I want to feel you stretch me.” Tom pulled back the sheets, fully naked now, his cock hard and leaking, smaller but perfectly proportioned to his athletic build. He rolled onto his stomach, ass up, presenting himself like an offering. “See? All ready for you.”

Devin’s cock throbbed fully erect now, thick as a wrist, veins pulsing, the head slick with precum. He climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress, hands gripping Tom’s hips. The size difference was intoxicating – his huge hands spanning Tom’s waist, making him look even smaller. He leaned down, kissing along Tom’s back, nipping at his neck. “Gonna make you scream, baby.”

Tom pushed back eagerly, ass cheeks spreading. “Do it, daddy. Pound me.”

Devin reached for the lube on the nightstand – apparently a staple here – squirting some onto his fingers. He teased Tom’s hole first, circling the rim, pushing one thick finger in slowly. Tom gasped, clenching around it, his body trembling. “More, please.” Devin added a second, scissoring them, stretching him open, curling to hit that spot that made Tom buck and moan loudly. “Fuck, yes! Right there, daddy!”

Satisfied, Devin slicked his massive cock, lining up. He pushed in inch by inch, the tightness gripping him like a vice, heat enveloping him. Tom whimpered, fists clutching the sheets. “So big… oh god, fill me up.” Devin bottomed out, balls against Tom’s ass, holding still to let him adjust. Then he started thrusting, slow at first, building rhythm, his powerful hips slamming forward.

Tom’s cries filled the room, high and needy. “Harder, daddy! Fuck me like you own me!” Devin obliged, pounding faster, the bed creaking under them. He reached around, stroking Tom’s cock in time with his thrusts, thumbing the head. Sweat dripped down his back, muscles flexing with each drive. The sight of Tom’s ass taking him, rippling with impact, was mesmerizing.

“Take it, boy. All of daddy’s cock.” Devin growled, flipping Tom onto his back without pulling out, hooking his legs over his shoulders. Face to face now, he kissed him sloppily, thrusting deep, hitting his prostate relentlessly. Tom’s eyes rolled back, hand clawing at Devin’s chest, nails digging into the pecs.

“I’m gonna cum, daddy! Please, let me!” Tom begged, body shaking.

“Cum for me,” Devin commanded, stroking faster. Tom exploded, ropes of cum splattering their abs, his hole clenching rhythmically around Devin’s cock. That pushed Devin over the edge – he roared, burying deep, flooding Tom with hot seed, pulse after pulse until it leaked out.

Devin had always been the kind of guy who blended into the background. At 22, he was a computer science major at a mid-tier college, spending most of his days hunched over textbooks and code, his skinny frame hidden under baggy hoodies and jeans that never quite fit right. His glasses were perpetually smudged, his hair a messy mop of brown curls that he never bothered to style, and his social life was pretty much limited to online forums and the occasional awkward dorm hangout. New Year’s Day was no different; the campus was quiet, everyone else nursing hangovers from the night before, but Devin was out for a walk, trying to clear his head after pulling an all-nighter on a project.

The streets were empty, a light drizzle making everything glisten under the gray sky. That’s when he spotted the antique shop, tucked away in a narrow alley he’d never noticed before. The sign above the door read “Curiosities of Time” in faded gold letters, and something about it pulled him in. Maybe it was boredom, or maybe it was the promise of something old and mysterious to distract him from his mundane life. He pushed open the creaky door, a bell tinkling softly as he stepped inside.

The place was crammed with dusty shelves overflowing with oddities: ancient clocks, tarnished silverware, faded paintings of stern-faced people from another era. Behind the counter sat an old lady, her white hair pinned up in a bun, her eyes sharp and knowing behind thick spectacles. She looked up from a book and smiled, wrinkles deepening around her mouth.

“Welcome, young man,” she said, her voice like rustling paper. “Looking for something special on this fresh new year?”

Devin shrugged, adjusting his glasses. “Just browsing, I guess. Never been in here before.”

She nodded, as if she expected that. “Ah, but perhaps something has been waiting for you.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a simple silver ring, etched with faint symbols that looked like they might be runes or something ancient. “This, for instance. A ring of wishes.”

He chuckled nervously, thinking it was a sales pitch. “Wishes? Like, genie stuff?”

“Not quite,” she replied, her tone serious. “It grants one singular wish, but only for a year. After that, it fades away, and so does what it gave. But be careful what you ask for; the ring has a way of interpreting desires in its own… creative manner.”

Devin picked it up, feeling a strange warmth in the metal. It was cheap, she said, just ten bucks, so he bought it on a whim. Why not? It was New Year’s, a time for silly resolutions and fantasies. He slipped it into his pocket and thanked her, heading back out into the drizzle.

As he walked home, the ring felt heavy in his jeans. The campus loomed ahead, but his path took him past a busy intersection where a massive billboard towered over the street. It was an ad for some action movie, featuring Chris Evans in all his glory: chiseled jaw, piercing blue eyes, that perfect smile, his muscular body straining against a tight shirt. Devin stopped, staring up at it. Chris Evans was the epitome of hot celebrity life, the kind of guy who had it all – fame, fortune, an endless parade of admirers. Devin had always had a crush on him, scrolling through fan pages late at night, imagining what it would be like to be that confident, that desired.

He pulled the ring out and slid it onto his finger, the metal fitting perfectly. “Man,” he muttered to himself, “I wish I could experience what it’s like being a hot celebrity like that, even if just for a little while.”

The words hung in the air, and then everything flashed white. A surge of heat rushed through his body, like electricity buzzing under his skin. The world blurred, sounds warping into a distant roar, and when his vision cleared, he wasn’t on the rainy street anymore.

He was standing in a lavish bedroom, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the sprawling hills of Los Angeles. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, the city skyline shimmering in the distance. The room was huge, with a king-sized bed draped in silk sheets, modern art on the walls, and a scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air. Devin blinked, heart pounding. What the hell?

He turned and caught sight of a full-length mirror across the room. Stumbling toward it, he froze. Staring back at him wasn’t his nerdy face, but Chris Evans’. Those famous blue eyes, the strong jawline dusted with stubble, the broad shoulders and ripped physique under a simple white t-shirt that hugged every curve of muscle. He raised a hand – Chris’s hand – and touched his face, feeling the smooth skin, the slight roughness of beard growth. His body felt different too: taller, stronger, heavier in all the right ways. He flexed an arm, watching the bicep bulge, veins popping under tanned skin.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, but it came out in Chris’s deep, velvety voice. A grin spread across his new face. The ring had worked. For a year, he was Chris Evans. Or at least, in his body, in his life? The wish had been to experience being a hot celebrity, and here he was.

Excitement bubbled up, mixed with a rush of arousal. He’d always fantasized about this, about being someone so undeniably sexy. His hands roamed over his chest, feeling the hard pecs, the nipples hardening under the fabric. He pulled off the t-shirt, tossing it aside, revealing a torso that was a work of art: defined abs, a trail of hair leading down from his navel, shoulders broad enough to carry the world. He ran his fingers over the ridges of his six-pack, shivering at the sensation. This body was sensitive, responsive, like every nerve was dialed up.

His gaze dropped lower. A bulge was already forming in his pants, the outline of a thick cock pressing against the denim. Devin – or Chris now – licked his lips, staring at his reflection. “Fuck, you’re hot,” he murmured to himself, voice husky. He unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down along with his boxers, kicking them off. There it was: Chris Evans’ cock, hanging heavy between his legs, semi-hard and impressive even at rest. It was thicker than Devin’s had ever been, with a slight curve, veins tracing along the shaft, the head pink and inviting.

He wrapped a hand around it, gasping at the warmth, the weight. It throbbed in his grip, growing harder as he stroked slowly, base to tip. In the mirror, Chris’s face flushed, lips parting in pleasure. Devin pumped a little faster, his other hand exploring: pinching a nipple, tracing the V-line of his hips, cupping his balls which felt full and heavy. Precum beaded at the tip, slicking his strokes, making obscene wet sounds echo in the quiet room.

“Oh god,” he groaned, eyes locked on the reflection. He imagined fans drooling over this body, gay guys like him jerking off to pictures, but now he was the one in control. He flexed his abs, watching them ripple, then turned sideways to admire the ass – firm, round, the kind that could take a pounding or give one. He reached back, squeezing a cheek, fingers dipping toward the cleft, teasing his hole which clenched in response.

The strokes quickened, his hand flying over his cock now, twisting at the head on each upstroke. Sweat glistened on his skin, making his muscles shine. He leaned closer to the mirror, breath fogging the glass, whispering dirty things to himself. “Look at you, Chris. Such a fucking stud. Bet you’d love to get fucked, huh? Or fuck some twink senseless.” The words fueled him, his hips bucking into his fist.

He slowed for a moment, edging himself, wanting to draw it out. His free hand roamed up to his neck, then his face, tracing those perfect lips. He sucked on his fingers, tasting salt, imagining it was someone else’s cock. Then back down, pinching his nipples harder, tugging until they ached deliciously. His cock was rock hard now, leaking steadily, the shaft pulsing with need.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he panted, but he held back, dropping to his knees in front of the mirror for a better view. On all fours, he stroked with one hand, the other propping him up, ass in the air as if presenting it. He watched his balls swing, his cock strain. Switching hands, he reached back, fingering his hole, pushing a spit-slick digit inside. It was tight, hot, sending sparks up his spine. He moaned loudly, Chris’s voice echoing deep and needy.

In and out, fingering himself while jerking off, the dual sensations building. His prostate throbbed as he curled his finger, hitting that spot, making his toes curl. Precum dripped onto the floor, his strokes frantic now. “Yes, fuck, worship this body. Cum for me, Chris.” He imagined a crowd watching, cheering him on, or better yet, joining in – hands all over him, mouths sucking him dry.

The orgasm hit like a wave, crashing through him. He cried out, ropes of cum shooting across the floor, splattering the mirror base. His body shuddered, muscles tensing and releasing, hole clenching around his finger. He milked every drop, stroking through the aftershocks, cum dripping from his hand. Finally, he collapsed back, sitting against the bed, chest heaving, staring at his reflection with a satisfied smirk.

The Magic Shorts

Alex was your typical college nerd—skinny, pale, with messy brown hair that always fell into his glasses-covered eyes. At 19, he was deep into his computer science major, spending most nights hunched over his laptop in his cramped off-campus apartment, coding or binge-watching anime. He was gay, sure, but his social life was basically nonexistent. Hookups? Forget it. He was too shy, too awkward, and honestly, too twinkish for the kind of guys he fantasized about—big, muscular hunks who could pin him down without breaking a sweat.

One rainy afternoon in September, Alex was coming back from class, his backpack slung over one shoulder, when he spotted something weird on the steps outside his apartment building. A pair of bright red shorts, just lying there, soaked but looking brand new. They were short, like running shorts, with a shiny fabric that caught the light even in the gloom. No one around, no lost and found nearby. Curiosity got the better of him. He picked them up, wrung out the water, and shoved them into his bag. “Free shorts,” he muttered to himself with a shrug.

Back in his apartment, he tossed his wet clothes into the hamper and eyed the shorts on his bed. They were dry now, weirdly enough, and they looked way too small for anyone bulky. But Alex was slim, 5’6” and barely 130 pounds, so maybe they’d fit. Out of pure boredom and a little thrill—he’d always had a thing for trying on clothes that didn’t belong to him—he stripped down to his boxers and pulled the red shorts on.

The fabric felt electric against his skin, warm and tingling. He adjusted them over his hips, and that’s when it started. A rush of heat spread from his waist downward, then upward, like fire in his veins. “What the fuck?” he gasped, stumbling to the full-length mirror on his closet door.

His legs were changing first. His scrawny calves ballooned with muscle, veins popping as they thickened into powerful pillars. His thighs exploded outward, quads and hamstrings ripping into definition, like he’d been squatting heavy for years. The shorts stretched impossibly to accommodate, hugging his growing ass as it rounded out, firm and bubbly. Alex’s heart pounded as the transformation crept up. His abs etched themselves into existence, a six-pack—no, eight-pack—carving deep lines across his once-flat stomach. His chest puffed out, pecs swelling into meaty slabs that bounced with each breath. Shoulders broadened, traps rising, arms bulging with biceps and triceps that flexed involuntarily.

He grew taller, too, his spine stretching as he shot up to at least 6’2”. His face shifted—jawline sharpening, cheekbones rising, his messy hair darkening and curling into thick, wavy locks. Olive skin tone washed over him, replacing his pale complexion, and a light stubble dusted his chin. His eyes turned a deep brown, smoldering. He looked Italian now, like some Mediterranean god, ripped and handsome in a way that made his old self look like a ghost.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, his voice deeper, richer, with a faint accent he didn’t recognize. He flexed an arm, watching the bicep peak like a mountain. His cock, already half-hard from the weird rush, tented the shorts obscenely. But panic hit hard. This wasn’t right. This was impossible. Freaking out, he yanked the shorts down and kicked them off, tumbling onto the bed in a heap.

The heat reversed instantly. His body shrank back—muscles deflating, height dropping, skin paling. In seconds, he was back to his twink self, panting and staring at the discarded shorts on the floor. “What… the hell was that?”

He sat there for a minute, catching his breath, his mind racing. Magic shorts? Some kind of prank? But no, it felt real. Tentatively, he reached for them again, holding them up. Nothing happened until he slipped one foot in, then the other, pulling them just up to his ankles. The tingling started immediately, but slower this time, like it was waiting for more contact.

Alex bolted to the mirror, heart thumping with a mix of fear and excitement. He wanted to see it happen, to watch every detail. The shorts dangled loosely around his skinny ankles, but as the warmth spread, his feet grew first—larger, stronger, toes lengthening. Then calves again, inflating like balloons filled with steel. He pulled the shorts up a bit higher, to his knees, and the change accelerated. Thighs bulked up, his dick twitching as the energy pulsed through him.

“Fuck, this is insane,” he murmured, but his voice was already deepening. He hiked the shorts all the way up, snapping them over his hips, and the full transformation hit like a wave. Height shooting up, muscles piling on, face reshaping. In the mirror, the Italian hunk stared back, smirking with full lips.

But he didn’t freak out this time. Instead, a horny grin spread across his new face. His cock, now thicker and longer in the shorts, throbbed hard. “Oh yeah,” he growled, flexing his pecs, watching them dance. The fear was gone, replaced by raw lust. He was hot. He was powerful. And he was gonna enjoy this.

Alex—no, in this body, he felt like Alessandro or something—posed in the mirror, turning side to side. His ass looked incredible in those red shorts, round and perky. He slapped it, feeling the firm jiggle, and moaned. “God, look at me.” His hands roamed up, tracing the deep V-lines leading into the waistband, then up to his abs, fingers dipping into each ridge.

His dick was rock hard now, straining against the fabric, a wet spot forming from precum. He cupped it through the shorts, squeezing, and let out a deep grunt. “So big… fuck.” Slowly, he peeled the shorts down just enough to free his cock, but kept them hooked around his thighs so the transformation held. It sprang out, thick as a wrist, veiny, with a fat head already leaking.

He wrapped one massive hand around it, stroking slowly, eyes locked on the mirror. “You’re a fucking stud,” he told his reflection, voice husky. His other hand pinched a nipple on his huge pec, twisting it until he hissed in pleasure. The sensation shot straight to his balls, making them churn.

Stepping closer to the mirror, he licked his lips, admiring the tattoo that had appeared on his shoulder—some script he couldn’t read, but it looked sexy as hell. He flexed his bicep, kissing the peak, tasting the salty sweat on his skin. “Mmm, yeah, worship this body.” His strokes picked up speed, hand gliding slick from all the precum.

He turned around, craning to see his back—wide lats tapering to a narrow waist, dimples above his ass. He reached back, grabbing a cheek, spreading it slightly, imagining getting fucked in this form. “Bet I’d take it like a champ now.” Turning back, he dropped to his knees in front of the mirror, like he was blowing himself, but instead, he jacked harder, balls slapping against his thigh.

The room filled with his grunts and the wet schlick of his fist. “Fuck, look at these abs… this chest…” He bounced his pecs again, then ran his free hand all over them, squeezing the muscle. His cock pulsed in his grip, swelling even more. He edged himself, slowing down when he got close, wanting to drag it out.

Standing up, he posed like a bodybuilder—double bicep, most muscular, abs and thighs. Each pose made his dick throb harder. “You’re a god,” he panted, stroking faster now. He spat into his palm, lubing up more, the slick sound echoing. His balls tightened, the pressure building.

He imagined a hot guy on his knees, sucking him off, but no—this was all about him, this perfect body. “Gonna cum all over you,” he growled at the mirror, aiming his cock at the glass. His hand blurred, twisting at the head, thumb rubbing the slit.

The orgasm hit like a truck. His muscles tensed, veins bulging everywhere. “Oh fuck, yes!” Rope after thick rope shot out, splattering the mirror, dripping down in white streaks. He milked every drop, shuddering, knees weak. Cum pooled on the floor, his chest heaving.

Alex was your typical ditzy twink. At 22, he had that slim, smooth body that turned heads in the clubs back home, with his bleached blond hair always perfectly tousled, his tight little outfits showing off his perky ass, and a giggle that could melt ice. He wasn’t the brightest bulb, but he didn’t need to be. Guys loved spoiling him, and he loved the attention. This summer, he’d convinced his rich daddy-type boyfriend to take him on a fancy vacation to Costa Rica. Beaches, resorts, and maybe some light adventure. But the boyfriend, Mark, was more into lounging by the pool with cocktails, so Alex decided to go on a solo hike through the rainforest one afternoon. “It’ll be fun,” he chirped to himself, slipping on his tiny shorts and a crop top that barely covered his nipples. “Like, totally Instagram-worthy.”

The trail started easy enough, all manicured paths with signs warning about monkeys and snakes. But Alex, being Alex, got distracted by a shiny butterfly and wandered off the path. Before he knew it, he was deep in the thick of it, vines tangling around his legs, the air humid and sticky against his skin. Sweat beaded on his forehead, making his makeup run a bit, but he didn’t care. He was lost in the fantasy of being some explorer babe. Then, pushing through a wall of ferns, he stumbled into a small clearing. There, half-buried in the mossy ground, was this weird stone statue. It looked ancient, like something from a movie. Carved into the shape of a massive, muscular man with a huge cock jutting out, balls heavy and full. Symbols etched all over it, ferns growing around its base like pubic hair.

“Oh my god, what is this?” Alex squealed, his voice echoing a little too loud in the quiet forest. He knelt down, brushing dirt off the idol’s chest. It felt warm under his fingers, almost pulsing. “This is so cool. I bet it’s worth a fortune.” Without thinking, because thinking wasn’t his strong suit, he wrapped his manicured hands around the stone cock, giving it a playful squeeze. A jolt shot through him, like static electricity but way hornier. His body tingled, and he let out a gasp, falling back on his ass. The idol seemed to glow faintly, and a deep, rumbling voice echoed in his head. “You have awakened me, mortal. I am Xochipilli, god of masculinity and fertility. For eons, I have waited for one worthy to carry my essence.”

Alex blinked, his brain short-circuiting. “Wait, what? Like, a god? That’s hot.” But before he could process, the tingling turned into a burn, a delicious, aching heat spreading from his core. He moaned, clutching his stomach as his abs started to tighten. No, not tighten. Grow. His flat, smooth belly rippled, muscles pushing out like someone was inflating him from the inside. “Oh fuck, what’s happening?” he whimpered, but it didn’t hurt. It felt good. Really good. His crop top stretched, then tore at the seams as his chest expanded, pecs ballooning into thick slabs of meat, nipples hardening into sensitive peaks.

His arms followed, biceps swelling, veins popping along his forearms. He flexed experimentally, watching in awe as his once-skinny limbs turned into powerful guns. “Holy shit, I’m getting buff.” The heat dipped lower, and his cock, which had always been cute and average, throbbed against his shorts. It grew, pushing against the fabric, thickening and lengthening until it tore through, slapping against his new abs. Nine inches, ten, eleven, a monster now, leaking precum like a faucet. His balls churned, growing heavier, fuller, like they were filling with something potent. His ass plumped up too, but in a firm, muscular way, thighs quadrupling in size, calves diamond-hard.

The voice boomed again. “You will be my vessel. Alpha among men. Your seed will bring fertility to the barren. Impregnate the males, spread my power. Seed as many as you can, and my strength will grow with each life you create.”

Alex, or whatever he was becoming, groaned as his face shifted. Jawline sharpening, stubble sprouting, his ditzy features turning rugged and handsome. His hair darkened a bit, curling wildly. He stood up, towering now at 6’4”, his shredded clothes hanging off him like rags. He felt powerful, horny as hell, his new cock bobbing with need. “Fuck yeah,” he growled, voice deeper, more commanding. The ditziness was still there, but overlaid with this alpha confidence. He was Alex no more. He was… Alejandro now? Nah, still Alex, but Alpha Alex. And god, he needed to fuck.

The directive burned in his mind. Seed men. Impregnate them. His cock twitched at the thought, balls aching with fertility. He ripped off the remains of his clothes, standing naked in the clearing, muscles glistening with sweat. Birds chirped overhead, but all he could think about was finding someone to breed. Mark. His boyfriend was back at the resort. Perfect start.

He crashed through the forest, instinct guiding him back to the trail. His body moved with ease now, powerful strides eating up the distance. By the time he reached the resort, the sun was dipping low, casting golden light over the pools and cabanas. Heads turned as he walked in, naked and unashamed, his massive cock swinging between his legs. Whispers and gasps followed him. “Is that… Alex?” someone said. But he ignored them, zeroing in on the suite.

Mark was lounging on the bed, scrolling his phone, when the door burst open. “Babe, where have you been? And what the fuck happened to you?” Mark sat up, eyes wide, taking in the transformed hunk.

Alex grinned, predatory. “Got an upgrade, baby. Now get on your knees.”

Mark hesitated, but the pheromones rolling off Alex were intoxicating. He dropped to the floor, mouth watering. Alex’s cock was right there, thick and veined, head glistening. Mark leaned in, licking the tip, tasting the salty precum. It was like a drug, making his hole twitch with need. “Fuck, Alex, you’re huge.”

“Suck it,” Alex commanded, grabbing Mark’s head and thrusting in. Mark gagged, but took it, throat stretching around the girth. Alex face-fucked him roughly, balls slapping against chin, grunting with pleasure. But this wasn’t enough. He needed to breed. Pulling out, he flipped Mark onto the bed, ripping off his shorts. Mark’s ass was exposed, pink and eager. Alex spit on his hand, slicking his cock, then pressed in.

“Oh god, yes,” Mark moaned as the head popped past his ring. Alex sank deep, inch by inch, until his pubes ground against Mark’s cheeks. He started pounding, hard and fast, the bed creaking. Mark’s cries filled the room, pleasure mixing with the stretch. Alex felt his balls tighten, the god’s power surging. “Gonna fill you up, make you mine.”

“Do it,” Mark begged, pushing back.

With a roar, Alex came, pumping rope after rope of thick cum into Mark’s guts. It was more than normal, flooding him, and something magical happened. Mark’s belly warmed, a faint glow as the seed took root. He gasped, feeling fuller, changed. “What… what did you do?”

Alex pulled out, cum leaking from Mark’s hole. “Planted my seed. You’re gonna carry my kid now.” He smirked, cock still hard. The directive pulsed: more. He needed more.

That night, Alex prowled the resort. The pool bar was packed with hot guys on vacation. He spotted a group of twinks like his old self, giggling over drinks. “Hey boys,” he said, striding up naked, muscles flexing. They stared, jaws dropping.

One, a cute blond named Tyler, blushed. “Um, hi. You looking for fun?”

Alex grabbed Tyler’s hand, pulling him close. “More than fun.” He kissed him hard, tongue invading, while his hand slipped into Tyler’s speedo, stroking his little cock. The others watched, aroused. Soon, Alex had them all in a cabana, clothes off, bodies writhing.

He fucked Tyler first, bending him over a lounge chair, slamming into his tight ass. Tyler screamed in ecstasy, cumming hands-free as Alex bred him deep. Then the next, a brunet named Jake, on his back, legs over Alex’s shoulders. Alex pounded him mercilessly, whispering dirty promises. “Gonna knock you up, make your belly swell with my baby.” Jake came twice before Alex flooded him.

By the third guy, the cabana reeked of sex, cum everywhere. Alex was insatiable, his god-given stamina endless. He lined them up, breeding each one, their moans blending into a symphony. Bellies warmed, seeds planted. The god’s voice approved: “Good. Spread my fertility.”

But the resort wasn’t enough. The next day, Alex hit the beaches, picking up surfers and tourists. He fucked a ripped lifeguard in the dunes, the guy’s muscular ass clenching around his cock as he begged for more. “Fill me, dude, make me yours.” Alex did, pumping him full, watching the glow take hold.

In the evenings, he ventured into local gay clubs, a beast among men. Dressed in tight shorts that barely contained his bulge, he danced, grinding against bodies until they followed him to back rooms. One night, he took three at once: one riding his cock, another sucking his balls, the third fingering himself in wait. He bred them all, cum overflowing, their bodies accepting his gift.

Weeks passed, Alex’s vacation turning into a breeding spree. Mark, now sporting a small bump, stayed by his side, horny and devoted. “I love what you’ve become,” he’d say, rubbing his belly while Alex fucked him again.

The god’s power grew with each impregnation. Alex felt stronger, his cock even bigger, loads thicker. He impregnated dozens: twinks, jocks, daddies. Some resisted at first, but his alpha aura broke them down, turning them into eager sluts.

One memorable encounter was with a group of backpackers in the rainforest, near where it all started. Four guys, all fit from hiking. Alex appeared like a god himself, naked and hard. “Wanna feel real power?” he asked.

They nodded, stripping. He fucked them one by one under the canopy, rain starting to fall, slicking their bodies. The first, a ginger, took him doggy-style, ass up, moaning as Alex’s cock reshaped his insides. Cum shot deep, seeding him. The second rode him, bouncing on that massive pole until he came, then got bred. The third and fourth shared, Alex alternating thrusts until both were filled.

As he came in the last one, the idol’s voice thundered: “You are my champion. Seed the world.”

Alex knew this was just the beginning. Costa Rica was fertile ground, but the world waited. His balls churned, ready for more. Horny, powerful, unstoppable.

Alex was the epitome of a high school nerd; skinny, awkward, with thick glasses perched on his nose and a backpack full of comic books and calculus textbooks. At 18, he spent his afternoons in the library, avoiding the jocks who teased him relentlessly. But one fateful day, during a mandatory gym class field trip to an old, abandoned fitness center from the 1980s, everything changed.

The place was a time capsule: dusty weights, faded posters of muscle-bound hunks, and a forgotten locker room that smelled like sweat and nostalgia. While the class wandered around, Alex snuck off to explore, hoping to find a quiet corner to read. In a dusty corner, he spotted an ancient bottle labeled “Muscle Juice – Pump Up Your Potential!” It looked like some gimmicky protein shake from decades ago, but curiosity got the better of him. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he muttered, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. It tasted like chalky vanilla with a weird, tingling afterburn.

At first, nothing happened. Alex shrugged and headed back to the group, but as he walked, a warm heat spread through his body. His heart raced. “Oh god, what did I do?” he whispered, clutching his stomach. Suddenly, his limbs started to ache; no, grow. His scrawny arms ballooned with muscle, veins popping as biceps swelled like inflating balloons. His chest expanded, ripping his oversized t-shirt at the seams, revealing a chiseled torso that could have graced the cover of a bodybuilding magazine. Abs etched themselves into his midriff, a perfect six-pack glistening under a sudden sheen of sweat.

His legs thickened next, thighs and calves exploding with power, stretching his baggy jeans until they tore apart, reforming into tight black shorts with white stripes; straight out of an 80s workout video. Sneakers morphed into worn Adidas trainers, and tube socks pulled up high on his calves. A mustache sprouted on his upper lip, thick and retro, while his hair grew longer, wavy, and perfectly styled like a mullet dream. His glasses vanished, eyes sharpening with a confident gleam. By the time it was over, Alex; no, he felt like “Alec” now; stood there, a towering 6’4” hunk of pure 1980s bodybuilder perfection, clad in a cropped black tank top emblazoned with “Retro World Athletics” and a golden eagle logo.

The transformation wasn’t just physical. As Alec flexed his massive bicep, a rush of new thoughts flooded his mind. Books? Nerd stuff? Who cared about that crap when you had guns like these? He smirked, feeling a cocky swagger take over. “Damn, look at me,” he growled in a deeper, huskier voice, his hand sliding down to trace his rock-hard abs. The gym mirrors called to him, and he struck a pose, one leg propped on a bench, arm curled in a classic flex, just like those old-school pros. His body was a temple now, and he was ready to worship it.

But there was more; a stirring heat in his groin that made his tight shorts bulge. As he admired his reflection, flexing his pecs and watching them bounce, a wave of desire hit him. Not for girls, like the straight jocks back at school. No, his mind flashed to those posters on the walls: ripped men oiled up, posing together, their bodies pressed close in competition. “Fuck yeah,” Alec murmured, his hand grazing his thigh, feeling the power there. He imagined other guys like him; strong, sweaty, grinding in the gym, hands exploring each other’s gains. His cock twitched at the thought, hardening as he worshipped his own form, lips parting in a moan. “This body’s made for flexin’ and fuckin’. Gonna hit the weights, pump up, and find some bros to share the pump with.”

The old Alex was gone, buried under layers of muscle and machismo. Alec sauntered out of the gym, ignoring the shocked stares from his classmates. He was a retro god now, obsessed with his physique, craving the admiration of other men, and ready to live the bodybuilder dream; pumping iron by day, and exploring his newfound desires by night.

Its been a week since my first encounter with the Hoop. That first day after my transformation I went out to a local gay club. Standing in line, I looked down at my id to see my new face had replaced my former one and a new name had appeared, Jason Bowker. That night I hooked up with probably a dozen guys. Moaning as they caressed my god-like frame and took my 10-inch monster cock in their tight asses. Now I stood back in front of my bathroom mirror admiring my frame. I looked over to see the yellow hoop leaning against the wall. I had done a little experimenting over the week and from what I had gathered, the Hoop changes the very fabric of reality, based on what its holder wants to change. And if a change is not specified in the user's mind, a random one occurs, I learned that the hard way when one night I slipped the Hoop over my cock and it grew to almost 3 feet as it took on a shocking blue color. Now I stood in front of the mirror looking back at my reflection as I dropped my underwear and held my cock in my hand. I admired its slight curvature and beer-can-sized girth, and the veins that travel on the underside of my shaft. I grab the hoop and think of my next transformation before positioning my cock and balls through it. Immediately, the tingling sensation returns and I grow to full hardness. My cock reaches its full 10 inches of glory and just as it did previously, it continued to grow. I moan out as it reached 11 inches, precum dripping like a leaky faucet onto the tile below. My whole body seemed to glow in a bright sheen of sweat that dripped off my body as my cock neared 12 inches, while my balls drop lower. They grew and swelled to the size of avocados, black hair enveloping them as the stench of musk and sweat reached my nose. I pull back the hoop right before what feels like gallons of cum pours out of my foot-long cock, coating the mirror in strands of my thick baby batter. I brace my hands against the counter as a ride out my almost minute-long orgasm. I stare up at my gorgeously handsome face as sweat drips from my hair. I begin to wonder what else this hoop could do.