Male Tf Stories

Martin had always been the quiet, unassuming type. A software engineer by trade, his days were spent coding, sipping black coffee, and meticulously planning every moment of his life. His evenings were reserved for gaming marathons, vinyl record sessions, or quietly nurturing his bonsai tree. Moving into a small flat on the outskirts of Birmingham was supposed to be a practical step, a chance to save money and focus on work.

The flat wasn’t much, but Martin liked its simplicity. The only peculiar thing was the landlord, a man he had never met. The lease was finalized online, and the key had been left in a lockbox. Every question Martin emailed received curt, almost cryptic replies signed simply, “J.”

One late night, after staying up to debug an infuriating piece of code, Martin collapsed into bed, still wearing his plain grey hoodie and jeans. He drifted off immediately, his laptop humming softly on his desk.

When he woke, his world had changed.

The first thing he noticed was the weight on his chest. Groggily, Martin looked down and saw a thick, gleaming gold chain resting against a black Nike tracksuit. The outfit was completed by a black puffer jacket and a pair of pristine white Nike TNs on his feet.

Panicking, Martin stumbled out of bed and caught his reflection in the mirror. His neatly combed hair was gone, replaced by a sharp buzz cut. His room, once spotless, was a wreck—empty takeaway containers, cans of lager, and scraps of paper were strewn everywhere. His laptop was missing, replaced by a battered Bluetooth speaker blaring grime music at low volume.

His heart racing, Martin snatched his phone off the bedside table, only to find it completely wiped. All his apps, contacts, and files were gone. The only thing left was a single number saved under the name “J.”

Trembling, he pressed the call button.

“’Bout bloody time,” a deep, gravelly voice answered on the first ring. “Come ‘round the back o’ the block. We need a word.”

“Who are you? What’s going on?” Martin stammered.

“Quit yappin’ and get yer arse down here, mate.” The call ended abruptly.

Martin didn’t know why, but he felt compelled to obey. Pulling on the puffer jacket, he stepped into the cold evening air and walked around the back of the building.

There, leaning casually against the wall, was a man in a black puffer jacket and trackies. He was smoking a cigarette, his buzzed head gleaming in the faint glow of the streetlight. His posture was relaxed, but something about him radiated authority.

“’Ere he is,” the man said with a smirk, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Sleep well, bruv?”

Martin stared. “Are you… J?”

“That’s what they call me,” the man said, tapping ash off his cigarette. “So, what d’ya think of yer new look?”

“I hate it!” Martin snapped. “What is this? I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this!”

Jay laughed, his voice rough and mocking. “Come off it, lad. Don’t act like you’re not buzzin’. I’ve seen yer socials, seen all them scally pages you follow. Don’t lie to me.”

Martin’s cheeks flushed. He had spent hours scrolling through photos of lads in tracksuits, admiring their swagger and confidence. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be one.

“This isn’t me,” he insisted, backing away.

Jay took a slow drag of his cigarette and stepped closer. His voice dropped to a low, commanding tone. “Stop pretendin’, mate. This is who you’ve always wanted to be. Now, take a drag o’ this cig and let it sink in.”

“I don’t smoke,” Martin mumbled.

Jay raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Didn’t ask if you did, did I? Now, stop bein’ soft and take it.”

Martin hesitated, but Jay’s imposing presence was too much. Slowly, he took the cigarette. He brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply. The smoke burned his throat, making him cough, but as he exhaled, everything began to shift.

A strange warmth spread through his body. His muscles tensed and grew, filling out the tracksuit. His back straightened, and his posture shifted to one of casual confidence.

Jay chuckled, clapping Martin on the shoulder. “There ya go, lad. Told ya it’d suit ya.”

Over the next few days, Martin’s life unraveled completely. He quit his office job without a second thought. “Desk jobs are for nerds,” he scoffed when Jay asked him about it. Instead, he took up a hard labor gig at a nearby warehouse. The pay was awful, but Martin didn’t care. He liked the physicality of it, the way it made him feel strong and capable.

Every night, Jay would knock on his door, and they’d head out together. They’d hang around the estate or outside the local chippy, blasting grime music and chatting with Jay’s mates. At first, Martin felt out of place, but as the nights went on, he began to embrace it.

He started rolling cigarettes with ease, perfecting his swagger, and adjusting his tracksuit to show off his gold chain. He even picked up a thick Brummie slang, finding himself talking more like Jay and less like his old, nerdy self.

His flat became a reflection of his new life—messy, lively, and filled with the sound of music and laughter. The Martin who once prided himself on his orderliness and ambition was gone.

One evening, as they leaned against a wall under a dim streetlight, Jay passed him another cigarette.

“Told ya, lad,” Jay said with a smirk. “This is where you belong.”

Martin lit the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke as he nodded. His gold chain glinted in the light, and his buzzed head shone faintly. “Yeah,” he said with a cocky grin. “You were right, mate.”

The transformation was complete. The quiet, bookish Martin was no more. In his place stood a confident scally lad, unbothered and unapologetic.

It’s my cologne.

That’s where it begins for most of them — but especially for him.

The scent hits first. It always does. Leather and smoke, with warm notes of aged cedar, worn tobacco, musk that clings to the lungs like memory. But under it all — beneath the rich, masculine perfume I distilled over years of trial and private experimentation — there’s something that doesn’t come from any bottle. Something that wraps around the mind like a warm fog. Gentle. Heady. Opening.

I don’t need to touch. I don’t need to command. All I need to do is be there — and breathe.

He was straight when I met him. The real kind. The kind that walks around with a cocky grin, a worn baseball cap, and no real awareness of how much of his identity is just noise. His voice was always a little too loud. He always looked like he was performing for someone, though I don’t think he ever figured out who. Confident in the way young men are when no one’s ever made them doubt themselves — yet.

That gym was full of them. Shaved chests, neon tanks, cold stares. They glanced at me sometimes — older, heavier, hairier — then looked away like they hadn’t. He was no different. The first few times, anyway.

Until he caught my scent.

I was sitting on the bench near the back corner, toweling off, the cologne still fresh on my beard and chest. I saw him walk past, mid-conversation with a friend, mid-laugh. Then I saw him stop. A beat too long. Just a breath. That’s all it took. His laugh cracked. His eyes flicked to me, puzzled. I didn’t even smile. Just met his gaze. Let the scent do its work.

He wouldn’t remember that moment. I made sure of it. It would dissolve into the background of his day, like a skipped beat — like forgetting why you walked into a room. But his body remembered. His brain learned something, in ways his conscious mind couldn’t grasp.

That’s the trick of it. The cologne doesn’t shove. It seeps. It convinces.

He started changing his schedule. I didn’t ask him to. He just started arriving when I was there. He told himself it was coincidence. That he liked the quieter hours. But I watched him — how he lingered near me, how he seemed distracted, a little more uncertain around me than anyone else. That cocky smile softened when he talked to me. He forgot to perform.

He asked about my cologne on the third week.

“What is that stuff you wear?” he said, with a nervous chuckle. “Smells… I don’t know. Good. Strong.”

I just said, “Something I make myself.” And that was enough.

He didn’t notice the way his breathing changed when he got close to me. How his body leaned in. How his shoulders dropped a little. He didn’t question why he started listening to me more — why when I gave advice, he followed it, even when it contradicted everything he’d done before.

I told him he’d look better with a beard.

Two weeks later, he stopped shaving. He told me it was just laziness. He said it offhandedly, as if he barely noticed. But I saw him stroking it while we talked, tugging the edges while his eyes flicked toward mine, waiting for approval. When I reached out and touched his cheek — thickening with scruff — he didn’t flinch. He just smiled. Nervous. Flushed. Obedient.

He still thought he was straight. That was important.

He still dated girls for a while. Still posted their pictures, still made the occasional comment about “getting laid.” But there was something hollow in it. The way someone sings along to lyrics they don’t understand. He was going through the motions, but the heat was gone. The hunger.

Meanwhile, I was in his dreams.

He wouldn’t tell me at first. But it leaked out, slowly, as it always does. The confusion. The vividness. The way he could feel the heat of my body, smell my chest hair, the weight of it — heavy, masculine, real. He said it like he was confessing something. I just smiled and rubbed his shoulder.

He stayed longer each night. Claimed he lost track of time. We’d sit on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, his breathing slower when I was near. Sometimes his head would tilt, just barely, until it touched me. He never apologized. Never pulled away. And I never said a word.

By then, the changes were more than social. His clothes shifted. He stopped wearing flashy brand names. He bought flannel. Heavier jeans. Real boots. He told me he was “trying a new look.” He didn’t remember where the idea came from. I did.

I helped him cut his hair shorter, rougher. Said it brought out his jaw. It did. He looked good. He always had. He just hadn’t known how to be seen before.

He stopped waxing his chest. That was my rule. I wanted him natural. I wanted him mine. The first time he stripped off his shirt and I saw the new growth — darker, denser, thicker — he blushed. I stepped forward, placed a hand on his chest, and said softly, “Good.”

He didn’t speak. But he stood a little straighter.

He sleeps in my bed now.

I never told him to. He just… started. A few nights a week, at first. Then every night. His old apartment’s still out there somewhere, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He has a toothbrush here. A drawer. A place by my side. And in his mind, this has always been the way it was going to be.

He calls me “Daddy” now. Not with a wink or a smirk. Not in some playful, performative way. He says it like it’s my name. Says it softly when I brush past him. Whispers it when he wraps his arms around me at night, burying his face in my chest hair, breathing me in like he needs it to sleep.

And he does.

When he’s away from me too long, he gets restless. Fidgety. He doesn’t know why. Can’t explain it. But when I pull him in and press his face to my beard, I feel the tension leave his body. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

He never questions it.

Never wonders why his old self feels like a stranger now. Never wonders when exactly he stopped wanting women, or why the thought of obeying me feels so right, so natural. Why hearing “good boy” makes him close his eyes and smile.

Because he doesn’t remember who he was.

He thinks he’s always been this way — mine. Submissive. Devoted. Gay. In love with his big, hairy Daddybear.

And he is. Because I made him that way.

All it took was a little patience. A slow hand. A warm embrace. And a scent that slipped into every crack of his mind, filling the spaces he didn’t know were empty.

It’s my cologne.

And he’s mine.

Have started vaping and saw your advice about hair cuts and think I will get a high fade but wondering if you had any other advice? Best clothing? Way to talk? Jewellery to have? Just need a lot of help really please

That would depend upon a lot of things. Like whether you’re suitable to be an Alpha or a beta. And no offence, I wager you’re a prime subject to be a beta chav. You’re a follower, not a leader. You copy what everyone else is doing like a sheep, adopting whatever is trendy at the moment among other lads. So yes, when you get your hair cut nice and brutally short, you will feel good despite how silly it might look. In fact, It looking stupid just means you’re closer to being a dumb chav. It’ll give you the confidence needed to indulge yourself further.

You’d need proper gear, and that usually means matching tracksuits and branded trainers. That and a thick gaudy chain around your neck. It’s even better if all your clothes are from the same brand, it just makes you look like a ‘propa lad’ to be decked out in Nike swooshes. Like a mannequin in a sports shop, a walking advertisement for cheaply made gear sold to gullible idiots. That’ll be you, like putting a sign above your head saying ‘dimwit’. Then everyone will regard you as a chav at a mere glance, will label you without a second thought. It’ll only become easier to talk like one now that everyone already thinks you are one. To play the role, to fit in. Emboldened to swear without remorse, just loading up every sentence with some vulgarity, slang or ‘fuck’. All that vocabulary is really just taking up unnecessary space in your head, why use a dozen words when you can just say ‘mate’ a dozen times a minute instead.

Thinking is something the old, smart version of you used to do, now you can act on instinct, without filter. Who cares what people will think. Sure, everyone will perceive you as a moron with no intelligence or manners, but you’ll find propa mates that understand your tiny thickheaded brain much better. Because other chavs will flock to you like catnip, seeing a beta who is so easily swayed and manipulated. You’re like a plaything for Alphas, for them to remould you into their image. To make them feel better about themselves while you feel like you belong.

Shit huff huff I’m close. C’mon there’s gotta be a good one around here somewhere.

Nah not this, I’ve already jerked to that one last week, this too... hmm maybe tumblr has something new.

Don’t think I’ve seen this writer before, let’s see.

#muscle tf, #cock growth, #himbo tf.

Yeah... this is the one. Hmm, I'll just skip to the good parts, I'm sure it wouldn't hurt.

He glossed over the contents of the link sent to him, not paying attention as the words magnified the ongoing transformation in his brain and body, each scroll speeding up the growth and slowing down his thoughts.

Heh, there it is, this guy’s not gonna know what hit him. All these muscle-obsessed writers sure love a good dumbing down, huh? Can’t blame them though, must feel nice to be a meathead. Growing big and worshipping yourself...

Oblivious to the changes, his pecs started to swell with muscle, forming a meaty shelf that accompanied his new big dark nipples. They were toned yet squeezable, a symbol of a good himbo.

Fuck. My chest feels pumped just reading that. Though, they do look huge as hell right now, ngh, my nipples also feel extra sensitive... but I guess they've always been like that right? So soft but hard... I can- a-ah! I can definitely get off with this. 

His thick fingers fumbled with the site, getting harder and harder to scroll as his arms bulged out. All the friction caused an intense musk to waft through the air, reeking of pre-cum and testosterone.

Mmpfh- feels a little different today, these calluses rubbing up and down my cock like that. Guess the gym's paying off huhu, can't get arms as huge as these without a little wear and tear. So fucking big.

Next were his back and shoulders, which widened themselves to perfect proportions, complementing his newly carved abs and obliques that begged to show themselves off to the world.

It's getting so hot in here, shit, I'm getting sweat all over. But it smells so... so ggooood. W-Why am I so horny... I just want to... need to flex.

A loud moan erupted as his thighs pressed together, threatening to compress his balls from their sheer size. His ass followed suit, rounding into a juicy bubble butt that sent chills up his spine and into his brain, relieving it from its duties of thinking and processing for pleasure and lust.

NgHHH - god I'm throbbing like hell down there, this dude sounds like an absolute beast. Mmmnhh that ass must be so grabbable, so fuckable. Just like mine. No room left to spread, everything's so tight.

He pounded his palm like a wild animal in heat, sending drops of pre-cum that drenched everything with its scent. Every pump only made his dick grow further, adding inches upon inches, as his balls dropped with heavy cum, becoming so long and thick until he had no choice but to cum.

Huff huff I can feel it coming, I'm close, too close, I'm gonna mmfph - just take every inch of my fat fucking cockkkkk UGHhh!

So much cummmm -Ooooughhhh - again and again, spilling everywhere, more fucking MORE-

Fff-ffuckkkkkkkkkkkk that was… that was fucking amazing bro… I gotta share this one with the rest, it felt soooo... uhhh, real yeah real. Dude in the story sounds just like me, huhuhuh, sexed up and horny for more.

Mmm... fuck I still got another load left, I wonder if there's anything else around.

------ ------ ------

“You know I love you right?” Malcolm reaffirmed his boyfriend. “And I’m here for you.”

It had been a difficult week for Shane. He had lived in the city for almost ten years now, having moved originally for college and then sticking around after graduation. It had been a scary transition, but thanks to the quick friends he had made, the journey was easier.

One of them, Shane’s freshman roommate who he had lived with and then nearby since they had first met, had received an eviction notice the week prior. Shane had been as supportive as he could through the entire process, but watching his dear friend pack up and leave was stressful. His friend would now be living hours away, no longer right next door.

Shane nodded his head, followed by a quick “Thank you.”

“I’m happy to be the shoulder you can cry on, I know this is hard,” Malcolm sympathized. “Would you still like to go out for dinner tonight? We can cancel plans if you need some time.”

“No, no I’ll be fine,” Shane smiled a bit. “Plus it’s our third anniversary–you’ve done more than your fair share and I'm thankful for that.”

Malcolm chuckled, quickly grabbing Shane from the behind, “Then perhaps you’ll have to show your gratitude later tonight.”

Rolling his eyes, Shane gave his boyfriend a soft peck before departing back for his apartment. After climbing a few flights of stairs, he was surprised to find the door to his friend’s former apartment wide open. Curious, Shane swung his head in, noticing boxes and other assorted items sprawled across the otherwise empty space. Before he could investigate further, a voice from behind ordered him to move aside.

“Get out of the way, bro!”

The rich baritone caught Shane by so much of a surprise that he visibly jumped a bit, scurrying as a large figure stomped through the doorway before dropping a few boxes down. At least above six feet tall, the buff, masculine intruder immediately intimidated Shane. 

“Mind being useful and helping me grab the rest of my stuff?” the man asked. Shane, a bit petrified by the pure masculinity in front of him, did not utter a word. The man did not need his response however, knowing Shane would help him in whatever means necessary. Shane could not explain what had come over him, his mouth unable to formulate words as cardboard boxes were dropped into his waiting arms. Before he knew it, two hours had gone by and everything had been brought into the man’s apartment.

“Martin,” the mysterious man finally offered his name, alongside a giant meaty mitt that crushed Shane’s. “Are you my new neighbor?”

“Uh…yeah,” Shane finally spoke, pointing to the wall that their apartments would share. 

“Cool bro,” Martin replied. “Wanna go sit out on the balcony with me for a bit?”

Martin checked his watch, noting that there was still a little time before he had to get ready for his dinner date. “Sure.” Following the muscular alpha outside, Shane took a seat on the wicker couch as he waited for Martin to grab himself a drink. He did his best to schedule out the remaining amount of his free time, and to finally register how hot his face was. 

“Sit over there,” Martin directed as he stepped onto the balcony. Shane did not stop himself from getting up and moving aside so Martin could sit on the couch. It was not until he had moved to the other side of the coffee table that Shane realized that Martin wanted him to sit on the deck.

“That’s right, faggot,” Martin responded, noticing Shane’s confusion. “Sit in front of my feet.”

Shane was shocked, offended by his neighbor’s sudden bigotry. Yet he did as he was instructed, taking his seat in front of the two massive soles that were placed in front of him. 

“You got any plans tonight, fag?” Martin questioned. 

In a flustered, embarrassed, and strangely lustful state, Shane answered, “Yes, I have an anniversary dinner with my boyfriend.”

Martin snickered. “And when is that?”

“I should start getting ready in 10 minutes,” Shane’s response was robotic. “I’ve got to shower, get dressed, wrap my present, and then travel.”

Martin considered this for a while, basking in the fact that Shane would await his next prompt. Shane could smell the man before him, Martin’s natural musk and body odor holding an authority over him like nothing else had ever before.

“Let me offer you a deal, faggot,” Martin finally said. “You can leave now, get ready and go have a great night with your loving boyfriend. Or you can stay seated exactly where you are, at the feet of a straight man, waiting for my next command and praying that I let you service me through whatever means possible.”

Shane did not reply, shocked by what Martin was insinuating. With casual indifference, Martin wiggled his casual toes in front of Shane, knowing the silence was already his answer. But in true alpha fashion, Martin made sure to drive his superiority home.

“Where would you rather be, faggot?”

They remained there without uttering a word: Martin laidback, comfortable, and minding his own business, and Shane at his feet. Neither got up as time ticked past. In his head, Shane’s plans slowly altered. He did not need to wrap Malcolm's present, he did not need to shower, he did not even need to change. But eventually, the anniversary dinner came and went, and Shane was still at the feet of the straight man.

Danny paced nervously in front of his fridge, hoping that in doing so it would magically fill up and not be so empty. He sighed as he moved to the front door, kicking off his slippers and putting some trainers on. He sighed heavily as he made his way out his door to walk to the shops. He wandered paying no attention when he arrived in front of his local Off Licence, though there was a bit of a commotion outside as a crowd of chav lads crowded the entrance.

"Where you goin' mate?" they laughed as they started to surround Danny. Clearly it had been a boring night and messing with someone like Danny was just the sort of entertainment they needed. "I just want some beers, no trouble yeah?" he said calmy trying to deescalate the situation, but he knew they were getting excited messing with him.

"Oh he wants some tinnies boys" one exclaimed as the others laughed, starting to circle him more. "Bro works out too, he's looking kinda shredded in that shirt" another chimed in. "Oi, Billy. Do that trick you were practicing on him." One shouted, he seemed to be the closest thing to a leader of the rabble. "You let Billy do his magic trick and we won't cause any beef yeah?"

Danny sighed but agreed, if he could get out of this with just watching a bad attempt at some magic he'd consider himself lucky. The lad he assumed was Billy came up behind him beginning to whisper in his ear, though Danny couldn't make out what he was saying, it almost felt like white noise.

"Haha he's got another one, look at his fucking eyes go." they laughed as Billy continued to work his magic. He told Danny how much he loves hanging out with his boys, how he loves wearing trackies and puffers, telling him he'll come back tomorrow for more training and reinforcing.

All Danny could do was nod as he was helpless to the conditioning from the boy, it felt so good to listen to his voice no matter what he was saying, taking it all in.

"Give him your puffer Andy" Billy shouted cladding him in it before stepping back to admire his work. Another chav drone about to begin their journey and join the crew he thought before they let him go with a few cans to ponder his new life. Danny woke up in bed with just the puffer on. Loving the feel of it he knew what he had to do. His tight fitting and fashionable clothes wouldn't make the boys happy, he had to go buy some new fits.

He rocked up that night in the puffer he was given and some new trackies, the boys cheering and welcoming in their new bro. Billy reinforced more habits into Danny every night through his "magic trick" about how he loved to help the boys feel good.

Now and then, we at PIG OUT get visited by groups of self-proclaimed "straight" guys. They usually want to make fun of "the fags" here. Luckily, our security knows exactly how to handle them.

They pick them out of the line at the entrance and guide them to the backroom. They offer them a cigar, which they usually offer - just being in PIG OUT has that effect on them. After that security helps them to release their inner pigs. Usually that happens halfway through the cavity search. After security is fully satisfied, they are let into the club, so that they can play with the other pigs. Usually they become our most loyal visitors: Once the pig is out it never gets back in again.

He approached you, clouded in smoke. His gaze was set upon you. You couldn't help but think that He looked like a god from an ancient world.

You didn't know whether you should run away or beg for mercy. You didn't have to make the decission. He did it for you. A small nod of His head was all you needed.

You fell on your knees. He smiled, not surprised by your reaction. You knew somehow that He had seen it happen before. That it was natural to Him. That He deserved it.

As these things went through your head, He stepped closer, still puffing on the cigar, enveloping you in a cloud of thick swirling smoke, creating a world where there was only you and Him. And it felt right.

He lifted your chin up. You looked him in the eyes. He looked back. He took a drag from his cigar. You saw the flaring ember reflecting in his dark eyes. He exhaled the smoke slowly. You breathed it in. You both knew the truth. You belonged to Him. All you needed to do was submit.

And you did. As he took out His manhood, both your head and heart told you to submit to it. You opened your mouth and accepted the gift you were offered. It was as if He was filling you with His masculinity. The more you tasted it, the more you wanted it. As you went deeper and deeper, you felt His masculinity spreading through your body. The feeling was indescribable. For the first time in your life you understood what true masculinity was. With each thrust, you yearned for it more. You felt blessed that He had deemed you worthy to share his masculinity with you, but at the same time you understood that you could never be like Him. You were not a man. Not in comparrison with Him.

When the tought came into your mind, He picked up the pace, as if He knew what youwere thinking. You were eagerly accepting it. You felt your cock soften. You didn't mind. It was not about you. Your cock started to shrink. You didn't mind. You live for His pleasure. Your cock disappeared. You disn't mind. You only needed His anyways.

When he was finished, he lit up another cigar and turned His back to you and walked away. You stood up and followed him, your head bowed in reverence.

In the dimly lit dressing room of a underground fetish club in London, Jake lounged against a mirror, his slicked-back hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights, tapering into a sharp skinfade that accentuated his cocky grin. At 22, he was the epitome of a scally lad—trackies slung low, trainers scuffed from street footie, always chasing the next adrenaline hit. Bored one night, he’d scrolled through shadowy apps and messaged Master Kane: “Think you can handle a lad like me?”

Kane’s response was immediate: “Dressing room 7. Now. Come alone.”

Jake sauntered in, the air thick with leather and anticipation. Kane stood there, tall and commanding in his gear, eyes locking onto Jake’s. “Strip,” he ordered, voice like velvet steel.

Jake smirked but complied, kicking off his trainers and shedding his clothes, standing bare under Kane’s gaze. “You’ll be my gimp slave,” Kane declared. “Obey every command, and the transformation begins.” He tossed over a glossy black latex body suit, tight and unforgiving. “Put it on.”

As Jake slid into the suit, the material hugged his lean frame like a glove. Zipping it up to his neck, a rush of heat exploded through him—muscles convulsing, then expanding. His biceps bulged, chest broadened, abs rippled into definition, thighs swelling with power. He stared at his reflection, the slicked-back skinfade framing a face now atop a godlike body, the latex straining over his newfound bulk. “Holy shit…” he breathed.

Kane chuckled darkly. “The suit amplifies you—for me alone.” He pointed to the floor. “Kneel.”

Jake dropped instantly, the order irresistible. “Yes, Master,” he replied, voice husky with submission.

“Lick my boots clean,” Kane commanded, extending one foot. Jake obeyed, tongue working over the leather, a mix of shame and thrill coursing through his enhanced form.

The night blurred into commands—crawling across the dressing room floor, fetching implements from lockers, enduring teasing lashes that made his muscles flex in ecstasy. Kane collared him finally, whispering, “You’re mine now, gimp. Follow my orders, or lose it all.”

By closing time, the scally lad was erased, replaced by a muscled slave in latex, slicked-back hair disheveled from devotion, eternally bound to his Master’s will in that hidden dressing room.

price tags. His pale pink shirt – perfectly pressed – framed a face so composed, it bordered on sculptural. People moved aside without knowing why.

As he exited the Gucci store, the sharp scent of fresh leather still on his fingers, his gaze caught something in his peripheral vision. A man. Tracksuit. Medusa print. Glossy black puffer jacket. Timberlands.

Lennard didn’t stop. He merely slowed, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“Oh.” The syllable fell from his mouth like a drop of cologne on polished marble. “How festive.”

He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. His assessment was complete.

Dustin fell into step beside Lennard without invitation, a wide grin plastered across his face. His puffer jacket creaked with each swaggering movement, the golden Medusa glaring from his chest like a dare.

"Oi, Kev!" he said, nudging Lennard's arm with a matey familiarity. "Name's Dustin. You local, yeah? Thought I’d seen you at that cigar place near Cartier. You looked proper tidy, bruv."

Lennard stopped walking.

He didn’t turn immediately. First, he exhaled — slow, silent, measured — as though expelling toxic fumes. Then, with a subtle twist of the neck, he glanced at Dustin.

“I’m sorry — did you just… call me Kev?” The word itself tasted like industrial detergent.

Dustin beamed. “Yeh, like Kevin innit? Suits you. You got that look, proper geezer.”

There was a pause. Lennard blinked once, slowly. “My name is Lennard. With an ‘a’. Not a ‘Kev’. Not a ‘Kevvy’. Not a ‘geezer’.” He stepped half a pace away, as though afraid whatever Dustin was might rub off on his linen.

“And for the record,” Lennard added, his voice crisp as bone china, “I do not frequent cigar places. I have them delivered.”

Lennard stood at the glass counter, inspecting the fifth wallet with a sort of wilting disdain.

“This one’s... quite pedestrian,” he murmured, turning the navy calfskin over with two fingers, as though it might bruise. “And that one’s rather… vulgar, isn’t it?”

The sales associate, impeccably polite, nodded and tapped something onto a sleek tablet. “If I may suggest, sir, the python-trim cardholder is this season’s discreet signature piece.”

Lennard didn’t respond. He was distracted — not by the wallet, but by his own reflection in the chrome trim of the display case. His tan looked unusually deep today. Possibly the new lighting. His hair, meanwhile, seemed suspiciously… darker. Or perhaps it was simply the Dior ambience bringing out the contrast.

He signed the payment without looking. A flash of gold glinted at his wrist. Odd. He didn’t remember putting on a bracelet.

As he turned to leave, someone near the entrance let out a brittle little laugh.

“God, Paris is full of them these days,” a voice said, low but not quiet enough. “Lads with more wallet than sense… tanned like a Marbella fridge magnet, drowning in Versace attitude.”

The comment wasn’t directed at him. But it sliced the air like citrus. Lennard’s brow furrowed—elegantly, of course—as he stepped onto the street. He didn't glance back.

He did, however, catch his own reflection in the window of Chanel. And paused.

The man looking back wore diamond studs. A gold rope chain. Hair black as espresso and sculpted within an inch of satire.

And his Dior shopping bag?

It looked… absurd.

Lennard sat at his usual table — third from the window, with the perfect angle for being seen but never disturbed. A glass of Badoit shimmered beside a silver fork, untouched. The maître d’ had greeted him with familiarity. The sommelier had nodded in reverence. But something was… off.

He could feel it.

The glances. The smiles half-suppressed. Someone actually snorted.

He looked down — and froze.

Gold. Not one, not two, but ten heavy, chunky rings gleamed from his fingers like a display case from a mid-tier Dubai jeweller. His hands — once delicate, pale, and refined — now gleamed with a deep, artificial tan. His knuckles were broader. The veins pronounced. His nails… square-tipped?

“No,” he breathed. But his voice cracked on the word.

He reached for his water glass — only to recoil.

The reflection in the curved surface was grotesque: raven-black hair, diamond studs, a gold rope chain thick enough to anchor a jet ski. The face that stared back was glistening with bronzer and panic.

Not me. Not me. Not me.

He shot a glance to the adjacent table — a woman in Chanel gave him a look of amused pity.

“Excuse me,” he said sharply to the waiter, already rising from his chair. “I— I need to use the facilities.”

But his voice wasn’t right. There was a rasp, a depth, a… swagger.

And as he stood, one of the rings caught the edge of his napkin. It fluttered to the floor.

He didn’t pick it up.

He ran.

Lennard stumbled out of the café, the echo of stifled laughter and clinking cutlery still burning in his ears. His breath was shallow. His silk loafers clicked furiously over the designer cobblestones of Rue Saint-Honoré—though, wait—were they still loafers?

He dared not look down yet.

Instead, he reached instinctively into his pocket for his phone—to call Clémence, his stylist, his last hope. But his fingers didn’t close around a phone. They curled around something rectangular. Familiar. Slightly crushed.

He pulled it out.

A pack of Marlboro Reds.

His face twisted in horror.

“No, no, no, no—this is grotesque—” he muttered, then glanced down at his own reflection in the boutique window.

And nearly dropped dead.

A sheer black Versace shirt clung to his oiled, bronzed chest. Gold chains glittered under the Parisian sun. His manicured hands were weighed down by vulgar gold rings. His wrist sported a diamond-crusted timepiece the size of a croissant. His trousers were skin-tight white jeans, and they screamed nightclub in Marbella.

He fumbled the cigarette pack, his lips already trembling with some deep, unfamiliar craving.

“This isn’t me,” he gasped. “This can’t be me.”

And yet, behind the panic in his eyes, a darker realisation began to bloom—like a flash of neon light reflected in a gold grill.

He hadn’t even hated it.

Not entirely.

He caught sight of himself in the boutique window.

This time, he did look down. And nearly screamed.

The transformation was complete.

His hair—gone. Clean-shaven, clipped, brutal. His once carefully coiffed waves had vanished without a trace, replaced by a skin-fade that made his ears stick out like cheap diamond studs.

And the studs—oh god, the studs—he reached up, fingers trembling. Real. Heavy. Ostentatious.

The sheer Versace shirt clung to his chest, now bronzed and broad. A thuggish gold chain rested above the garish Medusa logo. His manicured fingers, now thick and vulgar, were laced with golden rings. And in the corner of his lip: a cigarette, already lit, hanging loose like it belonged there.

Lennard—formerly Lennard Fitzroy-Bramley of St. James’s Park—clutched his head.

"No—nonononono—this isn’t happening," he muttered, but the words came out coarse, gruff. And with an unmistakable Estuary sneer.

“Oi, bruv…” He froze.

He’d just called himself bruv.

The cigarette glowed brighter as he sucked in sharply. His breath caught.

He liked the taste. He liked the buzz. And the sound of his voice—it didn’t sound posh anymore. It sounded real.

And that terrified him more than anything.

He stopped dead in the street, the cigarette trembling between his lips.

This couldn’t be. This absolutely could not be.

Lennard stared at the car key in his hand. It wasn't the brushed leather Aston Martin fob he'd had since Oxford. No—this was cheap, plasticky, with a gaudy golden bull emblem on it.

He looked up.

Parked where the Aston should have been was... that.

A gold-wrapped Lamborghini. Matte gold. Tinted windows. Oversized rims. The kind of car a footballer’s cousin might lease for the weekend. The kind of car that revved just for attention.

“No. No no no no no,” he muttered, staggering backwards.

But then he caught himself. Not just the reflection in the window—though that was bad enough. It was the words. The way they came out.

No longer clipped and polished.

He’d said “nah, nah nah nah…” Just like a geezer.

He stared at the key again.

DUSTIN: "Oy, Kev! Been lookin’ for ya, bruv! Thought you’d dipped with me fags ‘n’ all—man’s been gaspin’!"

LENNARD (gasping, pale, eyes wide): "I—I’m not Kev. I’m not—I don’t know who you think I am but—"

DUSTIN (laughs): "Stop actin’, mate. Look at ya—fresh fade, gold all over, Versace like you own Milan. You’re Kev all right."

LENNARD (voice faltering): "I—I went to Harrow. I have bespoke suits. I drink Pouilly-Fuissé, not... whatever this is..."

DUSTIN: "You got a cig in yer gob, a Lambo behind ya, an’ you’re wearin’ more ice than a rapper. Stop lyin’, bruv."

LENNARD (desperate): "This is... this is your fault! I was at Dior! I don’t even know where I bought this shirt! You—you did something to me!"

DUSTIN (smirking): "Reckon you just found y’self, fam."

LENNARD (muttering, clutching his head): "I ain't... I'm not... I’m not Kev..." (beat) "...am I?"

DUSTIN (grinning): "You tell me, bruv. Keys in yer hand, cig in yer lips, drip for days... You lookin’ proper, Kev."

LENNARD (half-whispers, half-believes): "...Bruv?"

DUSTIN (grinning, wrapping an arm around him): "There ya go, bruv. Didn’t need no posh nonsense holdin’ you back. Just drip, muscle, and me."

KEV (formerly Lennard, lips parted, gold shining on every finger): "I was... somethin’ else once, weren’t I?"

DUSTIN (kissing his cheek): "Yeah. A right uptight twat. Now look at ya. Pure gold. You ain't lost y’self, Kev—you just found the boy you were always meant to be."

KEV (slow smile): "...Guess I did, innit?"

Two kinky geared up bondage loving scallies rob a victim and take him back to their abandoned warehouse as their captive play thing.

His wrists were tied behind his back, followed by a layer of duct tape around them. His feet, ankles and lower legs were wrapped in duct tape as well as his mouth tightly wrapped in tape. His chest was wrapped in black climbing rope in a Shibari chest harness fashion. John laid on the bedroom floor of his flat in Leeds England with his dick hanging out of his boxer brief underwear and watched as the geared up scally robbers dressed in their hot Adidas Chile 62  scally gear grabbed their Adidas backpacks and slung them over their shoulders. He was glad he signed up for consensualkidnap.com where kinksters could find others to engage in kidnap roleplay.

He had chatted for months with a hot 23 year old who shared some of his darkest kidnap fantasies; just from the other side of wanting to tie guys up.

When they were texting he asked John for his address. He gave them a cross street and description of his house and a date he’d be at home “waiting” for him. The guy asked if he could bring a friend and sent him a picture of an equally hot 20 year old who was a student at the university of Leeds and a link to his profile on the site. He had a variety of pictures of himself.

The pics of him geared up in bad ass scally gear, in one picture on his profile flicking off the camera, were juxtaposed with pics of him from his university soccer team and smiling in front of the Colosseum in Rome wearing khaki shorts and a tee shirt. The duality was hot since you’d never know that cute clean cut college student liked to transform into a scally thug and do sexy evil things to willing guys in his free time.

“Of course!” John enthusiastically agreed. “I’ll leave the backdoor open ;)” For a second he thought he was being catfished since the guy was hot but he remembered they were verified users on the site- it would be hard for a catfisher to get verified he reassured himself.

When the day came he had been waiting all day and into the night when he was about to go to bed figuring they surprise him while he slept. He had changed into some light blue cotton boxers getting ready for bed and as he returned to his room they grabbed him, wrestled him to the ground and striped off his shirt. All within a minute or so. It took him by surprise ho fast they did it. Somehow they had entered the house- adding realism to their scally robber role play they had loosely planned a week ago. They must have quietly snuck in the back door coming upstairs without making a sound while he was in the bathroom. John couldn’t make out who as who since they were wearing ski masks as he turned around.

“Make a fuckin’ sound an I blow yer head off. Undah'stand?” On of them threatened with a bit of a northern accent straddling his chest and holding a fake but realistic looking handgun to his head. Each proceeded to tied him up as one slipped his boxers off got a butt plug and lube out from his backpack. He was fully hard already and his dick bounced out as one slid his boxers down as he took in his “kidnappers”

One of them wearing a puffy nylon hooded vest jacket with black sagging Adidas basketball shorts teasingly showing his red satin boxers with black Nike Shox shoes and athletic performance gloves.

The other had on a black unbranded baseball cap,  black Nike backpack, black Adidas Chile 62 jacket with a custom made parody Nike performance hoodie underneath that said “Just Do Him” with a cumming dick as the famous Swoosh logo black shiny Adidas Chile 62 track pant sagging to show off his black satin boxers with various evil face emojis on it. He as also wearing black Nike Shox sneakers and athletic gloves. Both of them had on ski masks. John got harder admiring their sexy scally gear. They ere athletically built and looked so hot in their scally gear.

“Eh!…. one said pretending to be surprised by his erection. “Check it out! He’s getting’ off on this. You’re a fucked up fag. Yea?” He taunted as the other got off his backpack and got to work wrapping his mouth in duct tape and taping his hands.

“Well we got just the thing for you then.” A nice big butt plug to shove up yer arse- you’re going to like this you fuckin’ poof.” He said holding it up to his face. He pulled Johns butt checks apart, lubed it up and slide it up between his butt checks and pressing it firmly into place and then duct taping it so it wouldn’t slide.

“Mmppfff mmm mmmmm…: John moaned in pleasure.

“Oh yeah- you like that faggot” He taunted giving him a few slaps on his butt cheeks before sliding his boxers back on. Even though John as supposed to play struggle during all of this he forgot; instead moaning in pleasure as they bound his ankles and legs with duct tape breaking the realism of the role play.

Laying shirtless on the  floor, with precum leaking from his dick he watched as the ransacked his bedroom from just outside in the hallway.

One opened his dresser drawers and pulled out several pairs of underwear with one hand giving them a sniff. “You smell good mate” He said visibly hard and tenting through his trackies.

The other grabbed John’s laptop off his desk and put it into his Nike backpack to “so they could see what kind of porn he had on it.”

“Can’t forget you- you’re coming with us.”The one in Adidas bball shorts said slinging his backpack on. He picked him up and swung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes with relative ease. John’s dick flopped against the robber’s chest and pointed down at the ground. The nylon material and his toned chest underneath felt good on his bare dick. John had a great view of his hot ass and back as his semi boner quickly turned into a full boner. Feeling the rock hard boner pressing into his pecs the robber noted with a cruel teasing tone: “Feels like you’re enjoying the view- eh? You love this you kinky wanker!” as he squeezed John’s left butt cheek and gave it a few quick slaps. The other scally followed behind.

As they walked down the stairs, the up and down friction from his puffy jacked and nylon gear stimulated his cock. With the butt plug shoved up his ass and duct tapped into place, the friction building up an orgasm and the hot view of the scally’s rear physique and butt as well as the new smell of the back pack- it was too much mental and physical stimulation. He was second away from cumming.

“mm… mmmm.. MMMfff! MMMPPFFF!” He blew his load all over his captors gear from the pleasurable frottage friction.

“Oh- we’re going to have some fun with you” The scally behind said with a bit of anticipatory excitement while giving his hair a bit of a tousle.”

“Fuck! What a horny wanker you are! Glad we’re not the only one’s enjoying ourselves.” The scally carrying him said in pleasured surprise wiping a little of the cum off his jacket and licking in off as if it were sweet syrup. Cum dripped from his dick and down the puffy jacket leaving a trail on the floor to the backdoor.

They got to the van outside in the back and John was dumped into a modified leather passenger seat from a salvage yard and bolted to the back of the van’s floor. They started strapped him into it as John reflected on how lucky he was and how realistic this was in terms of kinky scally kidnappers who break in not to steal money or possessions but instead are after your cum.

They even had a van! (One of them went to trade school and this was his old work van he used as a bondage play space occasionally so it as easy to add to the scene. They grabbed the seatbelt straps and started strapping John into the seat. The other scally wiped some off the cum off of his friend and licked it off his Nike Elite gloves too.

“Tastes good, I’m sure you got plenty more were that came from.” He said starting to strap him into the seat.  

There were many straps (probably around 20 or so). The scally with Adidas shorts on pulled each strap tight as he worked; each time making John grunt a fuzzy headed post orgasm grunt into his duct tape gag.

Then he remembered to play struggle which made his scally captors harder- one of them was rubbing his huge boner his his trackies. The scally fastening the straps on his chest pulled them hard, hard enough to compress the rope and make his nippes protude out between them. “Gotta make sure it’s nice and tight mate” He teased as John play struggled.

“The fucker’s still hard.” The other scally noted then began rubbing his tenting in his face making John hornier. The scally captor then shifted attention to John dick, which as dripping cum. He started licking off the cum from John’s erect dick as the other continued strapping him tightly to the seat. He gave him a post orgasm blowjob and John muffled cries at the over stimulation caused him to struggle in his seat as much as he could muster.

“Looks like these need to be tightened more- he can still move too much.” The other one said as he pulled each strap tighter and strapped John’s neck and head into place with a final click of the fastener.

“Yeah pull them nice and tight while I give him a proper knob polishing.” He said giving John a evil smile through his ski mask and continuing to suck John’s hard dick.

John felt the straps being pulled even tighter as the other scally continued his relentless post orgasm torture. John gasped not only from the tightness of the restraints getting pulled to the limit against his body but also from the fact that it felt like he had just unexpected had 2 back to back dry orgasms from the post orgasm polishing and restraints rubbing against his sensitive nipples. 

He thought he was going to pass out as he became lightheaded. The scally pulled his mouth away from John’s dick and wiped it with his sleeve giving John another evil long look as he started polishing his dick with his gloved hand. The microfiber Nike sports gloves felt good as he pumped his dick up and down and palmed his the tip of his penis. “How’s that feel?…. Huh? He asked sensually.

“Mmmm…. mmmm…” John muffled in his dazed state

The other scally started stimulating his nipples. John’s eye’s grew large as his expression turned to a mixture of shock and insane pleasure and basically screamed into his gag as he tried struggling harder in the makeshift bondage chair as it drove him crazy from the sensation. His nipples ere one of his most sensitive errogenous zones and he could come from nipple stimulation alone. He could barely move though as each strap was tighter than before. His hole body was immobilized from his neck down to even his feet as they were even strapped to the floor of the van with customized straps with bolts on them.

His eye’s rolled back into his head and despite not being able to ejaculate due to his refractory period he started having a full body orgasm and convulsed in the chair only which as only visible from his stomach as it quivered behind all the straps holding his (willingly) prisoner. 

His eyes lids started fluttering and he was only able to make gurgling noises as he felt like he was about to pass out again, this time from pleasure overload inundating his brain with a rush of adrenaline and dopamine. To anyone else it would look like he was having a seizure but it was his brain’s pleasure chemicals coursing through the body and his simulatory receptors getting fried from the waves of pleasure racing through his body. His system as overloaded from sexual pleasure.

The two scallies keeled watching in horny evil amusement rubbing their enormous boners at the sight of their helpless play thing practically loosing his mind and brain melting.

“We’re going to have so much fun with you when we get back to our place” The first one said climbing into drivers seat and starting up the van. The other stayed in the back fixated on torturing John’s dick and making his full body orgasm last as long as it could as he gripped John’s rock hard dick in his hand as he ran his thumb, lubed up from John’s cum, slowly over his urethra opening making it pucker at the stimulation.

He turned still rubbing John’s uethral opening and unzipped his back pack and got out a urethral sound and some Swiss Navy lube. He unscrewed the cap and dipped the sound in the lube. Holding it up to John as it dripped a few drops of lube on his hard dick he said: “Guess where this is going? Down your slit. I’m going to fuck your hole and edge you over and over to keep you entertained during the ride. Got a long way to go so might have some fun during the ride.”

John tried struggling but it was no use; he was too tired from his full body orgasm and he was welded into the seat from all the straps- he couldn’t even move an inch if he tried.

John tiredly whimpered into his gag as the scally circled his urethral opening and teasing said: “You want your dick fucked so bad…” and then slowly slid the sounding rod down into his uethra.

“Mmmmpppff! mmmmm…” John muffled out in pleasure at the sensation

“Shit, that’s fucking hot” The scally noted looking in the rearview mirror as they pulled out on to the street and then turning in his seat as he rubbed his boner through his trackies.

The other one seemed to not hear his friends remark, intensively focused on sliding the sound slowly up and down in his dick.” While slowly pumping his shaft with the other hand He gave him his long sexy evil stare.

“Feels good, doesn’t it bitch?”

John just looked back at him with a dazed pleasurable half opened eyed look. The scally gave a bullying chuckle and then slide it all the way down into his scrotum so it pressed up against his premium and prostate. His dick twitched wanting to cum again but still needed to refuel via refractory period.

‘ Do you ever write workie related stories? I can’t remember if that was something that interested you or not.’

‘ More stories about guys being forced to do stuff or change their lives due to footwear! ‘

Hmm let’s combine the two, shall we?

He slowly adjusted his tie as he got ready for another job interview. It had been a hard few months as he adjusted living back with his parent. He had lost all his independence and it was starting to show through his lack of confidence.  Connor knew he was a good-looking lad but he had the worse run of luck.

‘See ya later mum’ Connor slammed the front door shut as he continued down the road. He felt more like a child than ever as he got flashbacks of leaving for school years ago and saying goodbye to his mum. He needed this job, he just couldn’t take it anymore. Turning a corner he noticed a bin man acting a little strange.

He just kept staring at Connor as he tried to walk faster by him. The sound of Connors smart shoes filled the empty street with noise as he started to run.

‘Oi Mckenzie’ Connor froze, how did the binman know his name? Connor turned and looked at the guy as he swept the road, acting like nothing was wrong. Connor couldn’t just leave this, he had to know how the guy knew his name, what else did he know about him?

‘Hey, how do you know my name?’ Connor asked, walking back to the guy.

‘Excuse me lad?’

‘You heard, how do you know me?’

The binman shook his head and continued to sweep. This infuriated Connor as he went to grab the guy but as in a blink of an eye, the binman disappeared. Connor was in shock, he started to look around, this must have been a wind-up or something. A few moments later the reality set in, the guy was gone. Connor got scared and went to walk away went he noticed a pair of work boots on the ground, the same pair the binman was wearing. The binman cart was also still there, he couldn’t have imagined it! Connor examined the boots and cart carefully, looking for any signs of tampering but they looked normal, the boots were even Connors size. Connor wanted to walk away but something about those boots caught his eye, I mean it’s not like he could afford a pair like that or anything. Looking around one last time, Connor snatched the boots and walked back towards his job interview.

A few people questioned why he had a pair of work boots with him at the interview but Connor joked it off saying that they were for a friend. Connor tried to answer all their questions but something made him feel dizzy, unable to think. He felt stupid and judged by the interviewers. It was all too much. Connor grabbed the boots halfway through and ran home. 

His mum tried to calm him down but Connor was deflated, he knew that he could never get a job, could never have a future again. His mum went to get the shopping, leaving Connor at home alone. He stuck the telly on, trying to forget the day he had when he heard a familiar shout from the hallway. 

‘Oi Oi Mckenzie’ 

Connor jumped to his feet, looking around the room, wondering who was in his house. He pulled up the courage to go and look in the hallway only to see it empty except for the pair of boots from earlier. He started to feel dizzy again as he walked towards them. Something was pulling him closer. Kicking off his shoes, Connor lifted his feet and slowly pushed them into the stinking boots. 

The change was almost instant as pain shot through Connors legs. He instantly fell backwards and screamed in pain. The boots seemed to grow, engulfing his legs. Connor tried to pull the boots off but they would not budge at all. 

‘Oi Mckenzie’ Connor looked around but something felt different, it was him saying that phrase. He grabbed his throat confused at how he made that voice. 

‘Its about time you let me out’ It was like Connor had no control over his voice, or his body as his stomach was pulled in. He seemed to lose height as his trousers turned into a hi-vis outfit. Connor was confused and got to his feet, feeling the pain subside.

Mckenzie got stood in front of the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, his grubby well used uniform was stinking the place out. His thoughts changed as everything he had experienced seemed to vanish, like smoke in the fog. He felt something vibrate in his pocket, He got a text from his supervisor.

‘Oi Mckenzie, you up for some overtime?’ Mckenzie grabbed his tools and coat and jumped in the van that was waiting outside for him. It was time to earn some cash in his new life. 

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I’ve been looking for a new dog for a while. Last one ran away.

Then I saw the perfect specimen in my building. It couldn’t have worked out better. He was young, fit, and he looked like he belonged on all fours.

All that stood in my way was his free will. All I had to do was collar him.

Luckily I had developed a pup serum ages ago. It wasn’t perfect (the last couple had run away). But I’d perfect it eventually. For now, I just needed to infect this boy.

Easiest way? Surprise injection.

I kept a dose in my pocket for the next week, waiting to run into him again. Then it finally happens.

“Hey there,” I say. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

He doesn’t look excited, but he’s polite enough to stop. As he stands in front of me, I search for the best injection spot.

“What is it?” he asks. 

“I lost my wallet around here earlier today. Have you seen it?”

He looks around, as if he thinks he’ll find it sitting on the floor somewhere. Maybe he’s already dumb enough to be a pup.

“Um, nope, but I’ll let you know if I see it.”

“Thanks, I’m in apartment 6C,” I say.

He nods and walks off. The kid’s slower than before, like he’s looking for the wallet. Like he’s playing fetch. I laugh to myself. Before he get’s too far, I come up behind him and stick the needle in his neck. Easy enough. 

He squirms, tries to shout, but I have him held from behind, and my hand is covering his mouth. The kid has a lot of fight, but I’ve been doing this for a while; I’m not easy to escape.

I drag him toward my apartment, luckily avoiding any other residents. 

By the time we reach my place, he’s squirming less. I turn him around to get a good look at his face. His eyes are perfectly blank, completely dumbed down, which lets me know the serum is working. So I let go of his body, and take my hand away from his mouth.

His tongue instantly droops out of his mouth.

“Good boy,” I say, chuckling to myself.

I scratch under his chin, and he’s already panting. The serum worked fast on this one. Maybe I’d finally perfected it.

I can’t wait to see the boy get on all fours, but I know it’ll take some time. So I go to my room and get the collar I already have ready for him.

“You want your collar, boy?” I ask.

He pants heavily, his tongue hanging from his mouth, the drool starting to drip.

“Good boy. See your name? It’s Buster now,” I say, pointing to the tag.

To my surprise, he barks. I can’t tell if it’s a bark of disagreement or happiness, but it’s a bark. And that means he’s well on his way to being a pup.

I stick the collar on him and begin stripping him down. Before I can get his socks off, he’s on the floor. Already on all fours. And his lean, muscular body is perfect.

“Damn, you’re a good pup, aren’t you, boy?” 

He barks in reply.

I scratch under his chin again, and this time, I notice precum dripping from his dick as a result. This is by far the fastest transformation yet.

“Ready for your tail, boy?” I ask, grabbing a butt plug. 

He barks again, and this time I know for sure he’s happy. The precum is still dripping. Horny little pup.

I slide the butt plug in his tight ass, and as soon as it’s in, he starts wagging his ass, his balls and cock swinging with it. The plug will make sure he’s nice and ready for when I fuck him. Don’t want him barking too loud after all.

Behind his hanging tongue, I can see a pup’s smile on his dumb little face. Glee and excitement in his otherwise blank eyes.

“Now that’s a good boy. Such a horny jockpup. You’re gonna be a good one, Buster.”

Man, if the serum is working this well, I might have to get Buster another pup to play with.

But for now, it’s time to enjoy my new pet. I slip off my belt and release my cock.

“Now be a good pup and suck your Master’s bone.”

Buster barks in anticipation. He licks and licks and licks with his tongue, and then my pup starts to suck. His wet mouth makes my dick drip. And as I scratch behind his ear, his cock leaks even more. This is going to be a wonderful arrangement for the both of us.

“Good pup. Good boy.”

Christmas morning, 7 AM

Tommy slipped out of bed and sneaked down the stairs silently, to avoid waking up his boyfriend, Jimmy. He took his gifts from his hiding place and put them under the tree, between the gifts that his boyfriendhad put there last night apparently. One gift grabbed his attention, it didn't look any different than the other gifts under the tree, but he felt somehow drawn to it. He picked it up. It seemed to pulse in his hands. He studied it closer. His name was on it, but it wasn't in the handwriting of his boyfriend. He knew he should put it back, but somehow he couldn't. It was as if a voice in his head whispered to him to open it. He didn't want to spoil the surprise, but he couldn't help it. His hands were opening the package. Before he knew it, he had a wooden box in his hands: a humidor, filled with dark-brown cigars.

Tommy looked confused. He didn't smoke. And Jimmy hated smoking. Why had he then a box of cigars in his hands? But as he holds the box in his hands, he starts to feel a tingling in his hands. It feels unnatural, yet not unpleasant. One of his hands moves to open the lid of the humidor. Once open, Tommy can smell the rich aroma of the cigars.

As he takes a deep breathe, he feels the tingling spread from his hands to hisnarms and shoukders and eventually to his head. It makes him dizzy, but the voice in his head whispers to him, that it is alright. That everything is exactly how it's supposed to be. Tommy smile. Looking again at the cigars... no, looking at HIS cigars. They were a gift to him, right? So they are his, the voice argues in his head. Tommy can't find any counter arguments.

He picks up one cigar. The moment he touches the cigar a jolt shoulds through his body. The tingling, now spread through his whole body, grows stronger. It is like his whole body is waiting for something. The voice in his head, no longer a whisper, tells him to put the cigar in his mouth. Tommy does. The voice tells him to light up the cigar. Tommy agrees and grabs a lighter from his pocket. A part of him wonders where that lighter came from. He never carried one around, but he was too focused on getting the cigar lit up to really care.

Tommy lights up the cigar, like he had done it a million times. When the smoke hits his lungs, the tingling throughout his body intensifies. He can't help but to let out a moan. Fuck, he had missed this. Missed this? He had never smoked before, right? But why then could he remember having his first cigar with his dad more than fifteen years ago? Or all those nights in the local leather bar, where he pounded all those guys while enjoying his cigars? Fuck, he even met his boyfriend Jim, because he had asked him for a light.

He took another drag. Of course he was a cigar man. As he slowly exhaled the smoke, savoring the taste, he heard a creaking noise. He loomed down, seeing his leather Christmas jumper. Wasn't he wearing a red woolen jumper? Nah, why would he? A real man wears leather, even during the Holidays.

Tom took another drag of his cigar. Fuck, he felt horny. His morning cigar always did that to him. Well, to be honest, every cigar made him horny. He let his cock out, slowly kneading it, while taking puff after puff. With each puff his cock seemed to pulse. With each puff, his horniness increased. With each puff thoughts of his life before he lit up seemed to become more distant.

------‐-------------------------------

Christmas morning, 9 AM

Jim woke up in his bed. Noticing that the space besides him was empty, he smiled lazily. Tommy was probably downstairs, getting all excited by the sight of his gifts under the tree. He put his arms under his head as he yawned. Tommy could wait a few minutes more.

Jim suddenly bolted upright. He heard heavy boots coming up the stairs. The door flung open and in barged a large figure. Having just lit up his fourth cigar and having shot his load six or seven times, Tom needed his boyfriend.

Jim, not recognizing his boyfriend, wanted to scream, but as he took a breath, Tom exhaled a cloud of cigar directly towards Jim. Jim started coughing. He hated smoking. He really couldn't stand the smoke... although, it made him feel all tingly. As the coughing subsided, he looked up again, seeing his boyfriend Tom, wearing the leather Christmas jumper he had made for his boyfriend last year. Wait? He made the jumper? He was an accountant with two lect hands, right? Of course not, he had been a manufacturer of leather gear ever since he got kicked out of high school. Right?

Tom, seeing the confusion on his boyfriend's face, offered him a cigar. "Here, love, this will help you clear your mind." Jim took the cigar, hold it in his hand for a moment and then proceeded lighting it up. As he took a drag, lust appeared on his face...

---------------------------------

Christmas morning, 11.30 AM

"Can't we go for it another time?" Jim asked Tom with a horny grin on his face. Tom smiked at his boyfriend. Seven times in a bit more than 2 hours and his man was still not satisfied. Neither was he. That's why they were such a great couple. As he took another drag of his cigar - he didn't even know how many they had smoked this morning - he felt his cock straining against his leather pants. Fuck, he wanted it so badly.

The hum of heavy machinery is the first thing that registers as consciousness returns. A harsh, sterile light reflects off endless rows of polished chrome, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of ozone, antiseptic, and something faintly metallic. Your wrists and ankles are bound tight; as you strain against the straps, the realisation hits you: you are moving. You are not walking, but drifting on a conveyor belt, a component in a vast industrial process.

Before you can make sense of the situation, a voice crackles over the speakers, cold and devoid of empathy.

"Subject 431. Processing initiated. Target phenotype: Type-C Honor Guard."

Processing? You strain your neck and catch sight of the line ahead. Other men—Westerners, like you—are strapped down, their eyes wide with panic before they disappear into the various modification chambers. The uniformity of the facility sends a chill through your veins.

Stage One: The Canvas

The conveyor belt slows as you approach the first station. Robotic arms descend from the ceiling, fitted with surgical-grade shears and clippers.

"No, wait!" you yell, but your voice is swallowed by the drone of the factory. The clippers buzz to life, vibrating against your skull as they shear away your hair. It falls in clumps to the floor, discarded like refuse.

Before you can process the loss, a hissing spray envelops your head. The smell of ammonia burns your nose as a permanent jet-black dye permeates the remaining stubble. The robotic arms return, shaving the sides down to a precise, velvety gradient. You catch a brief glimpse of your reflection in a passing polished panel—the hairline is now severe, geometric, and pitch black.

Stage Two: Biological Reconfiguration

The belt carries you into a sealed, pressurized chamber. This is different. The air here is thick with a sweet, cloying mist.

"Administering dermal and structural restructuring agents," the voice announces.

A mask is pressed over your face, sealing tight. You panic as a cold, viscous chemical agent is pumped against your skin, seeping into your pores. It tingles at first, then burns with a strange, deep heat as it begins to work on the cartilage and pigmentation.

You feel a bizarre shifting sensation beneath the skin. Your cheekbones seem to rise and widen, your jawline squaring into a new geometry. The chemicals work rapidly to alter the melanin in your skin, dissolving the pale Western complexion and replacing it with a flawless, warm, wheat-coloured tone.

The mask retracts, and a fine mist is sprayed into your eyes. You blink rapidly as the stinging sensation reshapes the very skin around your eyelids, pulling them taut, creating the epicanthic fold. A mirror descends. The face staring back is no longer yours. The blue eyes are gone, replaced by dark brown contacts that have sealed over your irises. The nose, the lips, the bone structure—you are now ethnically indistinguishable from the local populace. You are a perfect, manufactured copy.

Stage Three: Conditioning

The belt moves again, thrusting you into a chamber lined with screens. Images flash before you at a dizzying speed—regiments marching in perfect synchronisation, the Forbidden City bathed in golden light, proud soldiers standing tall under a fluttering red flag.

A metallic arm clamps cold nodes onto your temples. You gasp as a sharp jolt of electricity courses through you.

"Discipline. Loyalty. Uniformity."

The words pound into your skull, each repetition syncing with another jolt. Your thoughts become sluggish, fragmented. The memories of your home in the West begin to blur, feeling like a dream from someone else’s life.

Stage Four: The Attire

The belt deposits you into the next station. You are released from the restraints, only to be seized by handlers—stoic men in white lab coats. They manoeuvre you like a mannequin to a dressing platform.

Piece by piece, they construct your new identity. First comes the crisp white shirt, the high collar pressing firmly against your neck, followed by a dark velvet green tie. Then, the dark green military tunic is slipped over your shoulders. The fabric is stiff, tailored to fit your new physique perfectly. Golden cords—aiguillettes—are clipped to your shoulder, signifying your ceremonial status.

The trousers come next, perfectly pressed with razor-sharp creases, tucked into polished black riding boots that click sharply against the floor. Finally, they fasten the belt—a thick, golden band with an ornate star buckle.

Your hands are sprayed with a sealant to prevent sweat before being encased in crisp white gloves. The pièce de résistance is the hat. A handler places the peaked cap on your head, the red star and golden emblem glinting under the lights. He adjusts the strap, wedging it firmly beneath your chin.

Stage Five: The Compliance Serum

"Final stage," the voice intones.

You are marched into a final chamber where a syringe waits. The serum inside shimmers unnaturally.

"No, please..." you whisper, but the words feel foreign on your tongue now. The needle plunges into your neck. As the serum courses through your veins, the last vestiges of resistance evaporate. Your limbs feel heavy, your heartbeat slows to a rhythmic thrum, and a strange, narcotic calm settles over you.

Your posture straightens unbidden. Your chest puffs out, your chin lifts to the perfect ceremonial angle, and your arms snap to your sides.

The Presentation

The doors slide open, revealing a grand hall. A line of identical soldiers stands at attention, each a mirror image of yourself. You feel the weight of their stares as you are guided to the front.

A commanding officer approaches, inspecting you with cold precision. He looks at your face—your new face—and nods in approval. There is not a trace of the Westerner left.

He steps back, and you are handed a red velvet tray bearing a heavy, golden ceremonial necklace. You hold it steady, your white-gloved hands moving with a mechanical precision.

Most men don’t go to Sid’s Barbershop; but the ones who were rugged, rough and tough. Sid matched his clients; he had grey muttonchops and with a matching grey pompadour. When he was not cutting one of his loyal client’s hairs, he was seen outside his shop, always wearing a white tank top that showed off his tattoo, while always having a cigarette dangling.

Once in awhile, not one of his regulars wonders in looking for a fresh cut - but they leave a whole new man. It was how he kept his business open; he created his clients.

As a young man who Sid had never seen before approached his shop in a hurry, he knew he was about to get one more loyal customer. Sid stood outside his shop, smoking his Marlboro Red cigarette, as the young man speed past him. The young man was moving his hand in front of his face to wave Sid’s smoke out of the way. “Excuse me,” the young man said and he quickly entered the shop.

Sid finished his smoke and walked inside, “What can I do for ya today?” His voice was raspy and deep, from all the years of smoking.

The young man replied, “Oh, you’re the owner?”

“Yup - I’m Sid.”

The young man went quiet. He looked like he was thinking and potentially weighing his options. “Look, I have a job interview this afternoon and I need a haircut and fresh shave. Every other place is booked, so you’re my only option. Can you make me look professional and not like…well, like you?”

His comment pissed Sid. He stared the young man down.

“Sorry - that was rude. Just a bit stressed. I need to look good for my interview,” the young man insincerely apologized.

“Don’t worry - I’ll make sure you will look just right for your interview,” Sid assured with a grin, “Take a seat.”

The young man sat in the barber’s chair. He had a decent sized beard and long brown hair. He smiled at Sid, but it was a nervous one.

“What’s your name, kid?” Sid asked as prepared his clippers and razor.

“Jackson,” he replied.

“Tell me about your interview. What type of job is it?” Sid pried. He wanted to know the type of life Jackson lived, so that he could cut away at it.

“For a law firm. I’m wrapping up law school and got a last minute interview at one of the biggest law firms in the city,” Jackson smugly said.

“Good for you,” Sid said as he walked to the shop door and locked it. This process needed no interruptions. Sid walked to Jackson in the chair and pressed a secret switch on the chair, causing metal straps to go around Jackson’s legs and arms.

“What the hell?” Jackson shouted.

“You see, you aren’t ever going to be a lawyer. Not after I’m through with you,” Sid said as he reached for his pack of Reds, “Just relax and look in the mirror; it will make it all that much easier.”

“Let me go!” Jackson yelled, “Help! Help!” Sid proceeded to his jukebox that sat in the cornered and then hit “play”. A deep humming come from the speakers.

Sid lit his cigarette and Jackson shot a glance in the mirror, which caused him to stop yelling. He was now in a trance.

“Now I got you,” Sid said to him, as smoke was bellowing out of his nose, “Hope you don’t mind my smoke, not that you have a choice.”

“It’s fine,” Jackson mumbled.

“Good. You actually like it, don’t you?”

“I actually do,” Jackson agreed.

Jackson was now lost. His will was in the hands of Sid.

“Now, what type of cut would you like?” Sid asked the tranced man.

“Ummm…” Jackson replied in daze.

“Didn’t you want a mohawk?” Sid asked as his Red dangled.

“Oh yeah…” Jackson mumbled as he stared at himself in the mirror. This was the last time Jackson would see himself like this, but he didn’t know that. He had no thoughts at all.

“With a nice horseshoe mustache?” Sid added.

“That sounds right,” Jackson replied.

Sid started buzzing Jackson’s hair into a mohawk. “Why were you getting this haircut again?”

Jackson was silent. He didn’t know why he was there or why he was having such a drastic hairstyle change.

“Wasn’t it for an interview?” Sid asked as he cut.

“I’m…not sure…I think so…I just don’t know where at,” Jackson answered as he was transfixed on the mirror, seeing his new self.

“Well, it must not have been that important of an interview if you can’t remember,” Sid said and then exhaled some smoke in Jackson’s face.

Jackson inhaled all the smoke in his lungs during his hypnotic state, creating a forever crave and addiction to nicotine

After finishing cutting and shaving Jackson’s hair into a mohawk, Sid moved on to his beard. He shaved only the cheeks and chin, leaving a horseshoe mustache.

Jackson was not recognizable. He was almost a new man.

Sid thought of an idea. Sure, this guy was cocky and rude, but he also just left him out of a job opportunity. He was getting a lot more business and he was getting older. He couldn’t keep up with all the chores around the shop, such as sweeping hair and cleaning around. He needed a barbershop boy.

“Jax…do you mind me calling you Jax?” Sid asked.

“No, I prefer it…” the man now known as Jax replied. Jax was starting to get angsty. He had a new craving that he needed to fill.

“Well Jax, would you like to work here for me as your boss? I need someone like you to work for me,” Sid offered.

“Yes, boss,” Jax answered.

“Wonderful,” Sid said as he pulled out a chain necklace and placed it around Jax’s neck. Jax was now collared to both Sid and his barbershop, “You’re hired.”

Sid hit the button on the chair and the metal straps retracted.

“Thanks boss for the cut, I look good,”

“You sure do, Jax. My employees have to look good for me,” Sid added.

“Mind if I bum a smoke off you, boss? Forgot my pack at home,” Jax asked as he got up from the chair.

“Take the pack out of my leather jacket on the coat rack by the door. Actually, you can have the jacket. Consider it as part of your uniform now,” Sid insisted.

Jax put the jacket on and grabbed the pack of Marlboro Reds. He naturally pulled one out with his lips and headed outside, “I’ll be back in ten after I smoke a couple, then I’ll get to sweeping.”

It was Friday evening and as always the guys left the office and headed to the pub for a few pints to let off a bit of steam after a busy week. They all stood around the bar exchanging stories of what they would be doing at the weekend some boasting of what their girlfriends could look forwards to when they got home and the fun to be had on a Saturday morning. Johnny noted that a couple of the blokes gave their crotch a discreet rub if there was any discussion of the sex to be had. For Johnny his cock lengthened watching the guys grope themselves.

He looked around the room to see who was there of interest. Sitting in a corner by himself with a pint of beer in front of him was a skinhead. In his mid twenties with his shaved head and green Alpha bomber, Johnny noted the tattoos across his neck and a scar down one side of his face. His blue eyes were piercing and they were looking directly at Johnny. The Skin gave a smirk and nod of the head. If his cock might have been semi hard seeing his mates grope , this Skin had his cock at full length. The guy stood up so Johhny could see the bleached denims looking as if they had been sprayed onto his bulging legs, the guy’s cock fully on show stretching down one leg. The balls were pushing the cock tight against the bleachers accentuating the outline. He was wearing oxblood Rangers that came half way up his legs, nice and shiny as if someone had been spit polishing.

The Skin walked directly towards Johnny and with each step the guy’s cock seemed to grow. As he walked past Johnny he felt the guy’s hand lightly brush his arse. The feeling was electrifying especially in front of all his office mates who did not notice. The Skin walked on towards to toilets and as he pushed the door he turned to Johnny and winked, his smile even bigger. It took seconds before Johnny said

‘Hey guys I’m off for a piss be back soon.’

In side the toilets there was no at the urinals but one of the cubicles was half open. Johnny gingerly pushed open the cubicle door. The Skin was standing on the WC with his zip down and his cock encased in a dirty jockstrap pushing out with an enormous bulge enabling Johnny to see the full thick cock head.

‘Don’t fucking stand there looking. You want cock, you want my cock so get that mouth of yours sucking my piss stained jockstrap. Before I want to see that mouth of yours lick my boots. They need a good fucking clean so get that spit of yours all over my toe caps and clean them. Get down now or I’ll fuckin deck you.’

Johnny didn’t need to be told twice he bent down with the Skin standing above him and let his tongue full with spit. As he bent down to lick one boot so the Skin lifted his other leg and pressed down hard on Johnny’s shoulder

‘Right fucking down I said.’

Johnny felt his head been forced down tight to the boot. He could taste the leather and smell it and that alone made his cock rigid.

‘Forget that dick of yours and get on with the licking. Let me see my boot shine with that spit of yours.’ The pressure on Johnny’s shoulder blade made him lick harder and harder until he felt the pain ease and then Skin moved his head for inspection.

‘That’s better, nice and shiny. So get on with me other boot. ‘Johnny repeated the licking and by this time he was licking furiously the smell so intoxicating covering not just the toe cap but the base of the boots and the sole

‘You fucking love that mate eh? Time you moved up to me dick.’

As Johnny lifted his head so the Skin let out a mighty fart.

‘That’s better, anyway in a bog that’s what you’re meant to do.’

As Johnny brought his head up level with the jockstrap he could smell the pungent odour of piss. The jockstrap was not just yellow but dirty as if it had never been washed. As if the skin had slept in it and every time he had cum let his dripping cock ooze the last remaining drops of cum into the jockstrap.

‘Like what you see mate?’

The Skin’s cock was now hard and bursting out of the jockstrap the thick head forming a strong outline. It was as if the cock would burst through the material it was so stiff. A good 8 inches. Johnny could even see the thick vein running down the length of the shaft.

‘Now suck my piss.’

Placing his hand firmly around the Skin’s bum so he could really grasp the cock, he took his hand and let his hand explore the heavy length of cock, rubbing it up and down the jockstrap.

‘I said fucking suck.’

As Johnny went to suck through the material he smelt the almost overpowering stench of stale piss. It was like an aphrodisiac the more he smelt the less he wanted to gag and the more he wanted to feel the taste of piss driving down his throat.. He let his mouth take in the shaft and rubbed his mouth up and down mixing his spit with the piss stained jockstrap until it was soaking wet and he could make out the full impact of the cock shining through the material.

‘Like the feel of my arse do you. You sure are moving those hands of yours around my cheeks. Forget it mate I don’t get fucked with the likes of you. Time you took me cock out and stuffed it into your mouth. ‘

Johnny brought his hands round to grope the wet cock and eased the prick out of the jockstrap. The meaty cock sprang out and up almost whacking Johnny in the face and Johnny could see the hard vein down the back of the prick. The head of the cock was nice and red having slipped out of the foreskin and there was a blob of precum beginning to ooze out from the tip. As the cock was released so the smell of unwashed piss hit Johnny. By now it was such a turn on and he wanted the smell to be even stronger. He wanted that stench all the way down his throat so it became part of the inside of his body.

‘You fucking love this don’t you mate. Being a real dirty bugger with a. Skin. So do what you are wanting , to take my dick all the way down yer throat and then feel my cum explode inside you.’

Johnny let one hand rub up and down the wet shaft so he could appreciate the size and get ready to suck. He gripped the shaft tightly, It was a bloody joystick and the harder he grasped the more he could feel the cock throbbing. It was as if the cum was bubbling inside ready to shoot. He needed no encouragement, he so wanted to have the cock inside his throat. With his spare hand he undid his own zip and with difficulty eased out his own throbbing cock. No way was he going to suck the Skin off without coming himself.

‘Fucking good dick you got there mate. Bet that shoots a long way.. Now get on and suck.’

Still using one hand Johnny let his tongue lick around the head of the Skin’s cock and as he let his tongue go under the head he knew he was turning the Skin on big time. He wanted to pleasure the Skin as much as himself..Using as much spit as he could bring into his mouth he opened his mouth wide and took in the full head closing his lips around the end of the member.

‘I want you to take the whole fucking lot mate and want you to feel me pubes up against yer mouth.’.And with that the Skin took both of his hands and grasped Johnny’s head.

‘I said fucking suck it all.’

The pressure of the Skins hands on his head forced Johnny to open wider and he had no time to work his way down the shaft slowly. He gagged as he felt the full length being forced down his throat. He thought he was going to spew. Such was the force.

‘Breathe properly and slowly and then you’ll be fin emate. You will want to have it all the way down you.’

Johnny started to breathe slowly and recover from the force. Now with the cock all the way down the back of his throat he could feel his own cock throbbing with excitement. He so needed to wank and suck at the same time. He could feel the Skins pubes brushing against his face and almost up his nose. He started to move his mouth up and down the shaft and every time went to move further down the Skin forced hard but now his throat was able to take it all he was getting off on the force of the Skin as much as his cock.

‘You got the rhythm right mate and I can see you want to shoot your load. Start getting that mouth of yours moving faster .’

As Johnny moved his mouth up and down with more speed so his other hand was wanking faster and faster. He was ready to burst.

‘Shit man you know how to suck. Fucking sucking bitch you are. Get ready to take my full loasddown inside you. Yeah I’m fucking coming. ‘The skin arched his back and let out a groan

‘Fucking hell man take all my fucking spunk .’

Hearing the words from the Skin was all Johnny needed to let his own cock erupt stream after stream of spunk as it shot between the Skin’s legs over the WC pan.

He could not shout out as he was too busy swallowing as much of the Skin’s cum as he could the rest spilling out of his mouth and down his chin..

The skin withdrew his cock and stuffed it into the jockstrap zipping himself up.

Getting down from the toilet he said

‘You done good boy. Fucking great cock sucker you are. ‘Johnny was starting to stand up and zip himself up wiping the remaining spunk off with his hands so it would not show through on the work trousers..

The skin opened the cubicle door as someone came into pee and looked somewhat surprised.

‘You’ve never seem a fucking skin before. Get out my fucking way you ponce.’

Johnny let the door close until the guy had left and giving his mouth a good wash went back out to join his work mates. He was almost starting to get hard again at the thought he had been sucking off a Skin’s dick while they were nearby drinking. That alone was such a turn on.

The following Friday the office guys returned to the pub as usual and immediately Johnny look around the room. Sitting in a corner with his pint of beer was the Skin looking at him grinning and winking. The mere sight of the guy was enough for Johnny’s cock to start straining down his trouser leg. It did not take long for the Skin to get up and walk towards the toilets and as he walked past the guy let his hand rub his crotch  through his bleacher jeans. Putting down his pint Johnny walked off in the same direction and was soon in the same cubicle as the week before. The Skin quickly shut and locked the door.

‘Randy little bugger ain’t you the Skin said putting his hand out to stroke the stonker of a knob on that was showing through Johnny’s trousers. 

‘You like to show that cock off of yours mate and not a bad size I must say. Now let your hand rub my dick. You like to see a skins cock inching down his bleachers don’t you.’ Now turn round and face the wall and spread your legs across the toilet. Lift your arms out and stretch them out and push that arse of your back. Fucking nice pair of buns you’ve got there. Let me get a better look.’ The Skin brought his hands round Johnny’s waist and undid the trouser band and yanked down the zip letting his hand delve inside to feel the cock. 

‘You fucking little whore. You are commando. Not like last week. No fucking wonder that cock of yours was showing so much. ‘

Then gripping the trousers the Skin yanked them down over Johnny’s arse.

‘What a fucking bum you’ve got and a nice little hairy opening. I like a guy with some hair on his arse. Looks good with white creamy cum on the hairs. And you know now where my cock’s about to go.’

 The Skin took two of his fingers and moistened them with some spit before placing them on Johnny’s hole and starting to open it up. He pressed the fingers inside making Johnny’s arse stick out even more. 

‘I think there’s room for another finger just to grease you a bit more. Licking his finger first the Skin slid it up Johnny ‘s arse making him at first wince but then the feeling of the fingers moving up and down inside made instinctively him shove his arse out to take all.

‘Looks like you are ready mate,’ the Skin said as he unzipped his bleachers and let his cock spring out of his bleachers

‘I’m fucking throbbing man just at the thought of being up tour arse.. Now spread thoese legs a bit wider.’

With his cock standing almost upright the Skin let a large gob of spit onto his shaft and gave a quick rub to grease it for the fuck.

‘Let me widen your buttocks a bit so I can clearly see that hole of yours. Hope it’s nice and clean for my dick.’ Taking one hand he directed and lowered his prick to the hole and slowly let the head inside.

Johnny thought his arse would split but he wanted to be fucked by a Skin and especially this Skin. He had never felt as horny as now stuck in a toilet cubicle with the door shut and no one knowing what was going on inside..

Once the Skin had started his entry he brought both arms round Johnny’s waist so he could push the whole way in. There was almost a slurp as the spit covered cock rammed its way up the hole.

‘That’s a fucking great hole you’ve got . Just made for big cock.’

The Skin started humping and as he did he took one hand and moved it up to Johnny’s mouth. You had me three fingers up yer arse so now have them in yer mouth and taste what the inside of yer arse is like.’

Johnny could almost feel the taste of shit ,his shit ,but with the guy’s hand inside his mouth he let his tongue roll round inside his mouth savouring the fingers and the taste. It was such a turn on that without wanking he felt he was about to explode.

‘That’s it mate, me cock all the way up and me fingers stuck down yer throat. Right little pussy man you are. Time to fuck the living daylights out of you. I’m gonna ram you big time and when I come expect my spunk to almost shoot up to yer mouth.

The Skin was now ramming in and out faster and faster and as he did so Johnny was wanking more and more furiously..

‘Fuck me let me have your cum ‘.Johnny groaned ‘I want all your spunk in me.’

‘You’re gonna have the whole fucking lot mate..’

With one final push the Skin rammed fully in up to the edge of Johnny’s hairy arse and shot wad after wad of spunk . Johnny could feel the gush of cum forcing its way in, as well as the throb of the cock. It was too much for him and his own cock exploded spunk his hand rubbing as fast as he could as it shot across the toilet bowl.

The Skin leant into Johnny ‘s back. ‘You fucking loved that.’ He whispered as he then took his cock out and let it back into his bleachers and jockstrap.

‘You’d better clean up mate. With no boxers my spunk will soon be dripping out of that arse of yours and your remaining cum will be making a nice stain in the front of your trousers.. I’ll leave you to it. See you soon.’ 

And with that the Skin opened the door and walked out leaving Johnny to tidy himself up and hope his mates could not smell all the cum from him or see any staining.

3 days later Johnny was still dreaming of his fuck with the Skin and more than once he had had to have a wank. He was sitting at home with his cock out stroking it and dreaming when the doorbell went. Quickly tucking his semi erect dick back into his trousers he opened the front door, Standing in front of him was the Skin holding a bag.

‘What the hell are you doing here’. Johnny shouted, looking around to make sure none of the neighbours could see. ‘How the hell did you know where II lived. You cant’ just stand there, you need to go.’

‘Is that the way you talk to your. Rent boy. So it’s alright to contact me and pay me to have sex with you in the pub. You sure loved having a Skin rent boy up your arse there. Get off in the pub when all yer mates are nearby and they have no fucking idea you are being screwed by me. You obviously getting fucking off big time. Tell you what mate you pay well and give me a good time even if I am your rent boy. So what you like best, the dirty Skin or being fucked in a public place.’

‘Both.’ Johnny replied ‘but you can’t stand there and the neighbours might see you.’

‘So shall I shout out that you are a fucking poof that love a Skin cock up yer arse. Don’t you think its best you ask me in.’

Though Johnny was horrified at his prostitute turning up, seeing the guy was turning him on.

‘You had better come in then, but only for a short time.’

‘Thought you might say that.’

As they went into the living room the Skin said. ‘So are you going to offer me a beer. And while you are at it have one yourself. No glass I prefer the bottle.’

 Johnny went into the kitchen and brought back 2 bottles. The Skin was sitting on a chair with his legs wide apart and Johnny could see the thick outline of his cock in the bleachers.

Taking the bottle the Skin said ‘Got any crisps?’

Johnny wanting to get rid of the guy and yet turned on by him being in the house brought back some crisps.

‘Great mate so cheers.’

Johnny took a large gulp as the Skin slurped down half the bottle giving a deep belch in the process.

‘So mate I see you can’t keep yer eyes off my cock. Like what you see. But of course you have paid to have it give you a good fuck. Have a good stare at it.’

As Johnny stared at the piece of meat so his eyes were becoming more blurred.

‘I’m not feeling great he said. Maybe you should just go.

‘Feeling a bit tired are you.’

‘Yeees, feeling really sleepy.’

‘So why don’t you just close your eyes and sleep much easier.’

And with that Johnny slumped on the sofa out cold.

‘Well that pill didn’t take long’ the Skin said. ‘These pills always work quick. Time to get into action.’

An hour later Johnny suddenly woke up feeling a strong hand hitting him across the face.

‘Wake the fuck up ,time to sort you out. ‘

As Johnny opened his eyes he could see the Skin standing over him. As his eyes started ton focu she realised that he was stark naked and tied to a chair. Struggling he tried to get up and free himself.

‘You’re wasting your time mate no way will you get out of my knots. Just relax We are gonna have a bit of fun.’

 The Skin turned around and opened up his bag taking out an electric razor.

‘What the hell are you going to do with that.’

‘What do you fucking think ‘he replied turning on the razor so it whirred away.

‘Time I got rid of all that hair of yours. You like me enough with my head shaved so might as well look the same eh?’

‘No you can’t’

‘Oh yes I can and you can’t do anything about it. You obviously love Skins otherwise you would not have chosen me as your rent boy so let us make you more like me eh? Better keep your head still otherwise I’ll cut you to ribbons.’

Johnny was totally helpless and sat with his head lowered as the Skin took the razor across his head. He could feel the hair falling off and looking at the floor there was his great mane of dark hair.

‘Great razor this takes it off nice a quick. You feel the air getting to that scalp of yours. Still it’s a bit stubbly.’ Turning the razor off he put it into the bag and then then took out a proper barbers blade and a can of shaving cream.

‘Now you had better sit nice a still if I’m gonna use this on you. ‘

Spraying the shaving foam all across his head he rubbed it in and like a professional barber took the blade and let it glide over Johnny’s head. Johnny was terrified to move. He could feel his head totally free of hair.

The Skin then went into the kitchen and came back with a cloth to wipe off the residue cream. Standing back he started at Johnny. 

‘Well if I say it myself I’ve done a fucking great job. No point in just scalping you. Might as well get you dressed properly.’ He said rubbing his bulging crotch “ Gives me a bit of a knob on seeing you’

Opening his bag the Skin took out the clothes he wanted Johhny to wear.

‘I’ll untie you now but if you think you can go for me just remember you are dealing with a skin and I’ll fucking thump you so you are black and blue.’

Untieing Johhny he suddenly felt himself free and decided to go along with whatever the Skin was planning. Any reaction he realised would be bad news for him.

‘Right mate get this jockstrap on. It’s the one you sucked recently and I haven’t washed it since so it has all my piss, my dried cum and your spit. Christ it smells fucking strong. Now get that on you.’

 Johnny stepped into the jockstrap and as he felt the dried cum scratch against his cock he felt himself getting aroused knowing it belonged to the Skin and had all his piss stains rubbing against him. Shit it stank but that made it even better.

‘So not that bad is it mate, that cock of yours is sure getting bigger. Love a Skin’s jockstrap you do and knowing you licked my cock through it. Now get the bleachers on. One of my old pairs, nice and worn especially down the crotch.’

Johnny could see how worm and frayed they were down the inside leg and as he forced them up his legs he could even see part of the jockstrap through the shredding of the denim. They were body tight and he could feel them riding into the crack of his arse.

‘Put on the black Fred Perry and tuck it in. Ain’t washed that either so you can smell my armpits.’

Once the shirt was on Johnny was handed the white socks which were all dirty around the soles and he could almost smell the cheese. 

‘Now these are me old black rangers but look your size. Il’l help you lace up.’ 

The skin bent down in front of Johnny carefully tying so the leather was tight against the bleachers.

Looking up at Johnny the Skin said. ‘Shit man that cock of your looks fucking amazing in these bleachers and so fucking hard.’

Once done he handed Johhny a black A1 bomber jacket. It was a perfect size.

‘Jesus I never thought you would look this good’ the skin exclaimed. ‘Let’s get you in front of a mirror.’

 Johnny stood in front of the mirror with the Skin behind him. He could not believe he was looking at himself . He was staring at two skins side by side and one of them was himself. He looked just like the dream ,like the rent guys he usually had, he now looked one of them and his cock was almost bursting through the thin bleachers.

‘So not so fucking bad man. How you feel’

‘Amazing or as you would say Fucking fantastic.’

I told you a few days ago  that no one like you looked then would ever fuck me. I only get fucked by skins and that thick  piece of meat you have stuffed into my jockstrap is something I want inside me. I want you to fuck me so you can see us both in the mirror.’

And with that the Skin pulled down a rear zip of his bleachers.

‘Now stuff your hand inside those bleachers and pull out that dick of yours.’

 Johnny ‘s cock was throbbing and rock hard, he could hardly get it out and as he did the prick sprang up the head showing a nice blob of precum.

‘Now look at yourself, in full skin gear with a. throbbing cock and me in front of you with the rear zip of me bleachers down ready to take that monster of yours. One skin fucking another. Once you have come inside me you’ll never be the same again.

‘What do you mean.

‘You think you are a skin now looking at yourself in the mirror but you are only in the gear. Once you have fucked me you will feel like a proper skin. It’s what you want. Just look at yourself. Don’t you feel a real man, a tough nut someone who looks for respect, a guy who knows how to fuck hard.’

‘Sure ‘

‘Well go for it mate, my arse is ready and so are you.’

Seeing the Skin bend over his hole showing through the bleachers made Johnny feel more horny than any time. He loved using the Skin as a rent boy it was worth all the money but now dressed as a skin with the guy’s arse showing it was all that mattered. This was more than he could ever have dreamed off. Shit he should be charging the skin for the fuck.

Johhny spat into his hand and grasped his pole rubbing the spit over his bulging head. He was ready to look in the mirror ad see how he fucked.

‘Take me hard mate like I  fucked you.’ The skin said

Johnny could see the skin had a wide hole. There as no need to take care the hole was almost oozing juice. Johnny put his hands on the bleacher covered cheeks and pushed them apart guiding his cock to the hole. As he let himself in so he put his arms around the skins waist to firmly grasp as he pushed the full thick length of shaft inside. He could then feel the metal zip against his pubes, fully in and up to the hilt, hearing the Skin gasp with pleasure.

He glanced at the mirror the two skins cojoined, Johnny’s hands rubbing the stiff outline of the Skin’s crotch.

‘Yeah mate me dicks rock hard. Can you not feel the precum through my bleachers.?’

As Johnny slid his cock back and forth inside the Skin’s bum so he massaged the Skin’s cock.

‘I want you to cum in your bleachers’ Johnny said ‘and see all that cum of yours running down your leg and staining through  your bleachers.’

‘No worries mate. I like to have dried cum on my bleachers. There’s plentyon the pair I gave you. Now get on and fuck me hard. Just wait till you cum.’

Johnny could feel his balls exploding inside his scrotum sack, the veins of his cock were now so swollen. He couldn’t keep then fuck going much longer, his whole body was almost shuddering at seeing himself dressed as a skin fucking another.

Johnny had now grasped the skin’s cock through the denim. Both guys grunting with pleasure. 

‘Now let that cum of yours out and shoot it up my arse. I’m ready to cum.’

‘I’m ready’ Johnny said looking one final time at the mirror ‘God I want to spurt every drop of my juice up that hole of yours. ‘Do it, do it now Fuck me.’

‘I’m coming jeez .’

And with that Johnny unloaded spurt after spurt of hot steaming white cum up the Skins arse. The Skin gasped as he shot his bolt inside his bleachers the cum oozing down inside the staining enlarging as the heat and  thickness of his cum leaked through his bleachers.

As Johnny pulled his cock out so he felt lightheaded. It must be the energy it took to fuck. It was as if electrical charges were shooting through his body hot and spreading fast to every pore of his body. He felt different but in what way. He felt more as if he was a skinhead but was he? He looked at the mirror. The body was still him and so was the face but was it? The guy looking back at him had a winged eagle tattooed across his neck and when at he looked at his hands the word SKIN was tattooed on his fingers. Yes he was different but how he now looked was like the person he saw in his dreams. The hardened skin. This was not someone who he could call as a rent boy. He was now a rent boy skin.

‘You look fucking great mate/’

Johnny replied ‘I feel fucking great. I’d fuck that arse of your any time.’

‘Oh don’t worry mate you will. Time you went to work. Here’s an address for you . The punter is looking for a hard fuck. Time I took a short rest but I can see you are up for it. You are a rent boy now so earn your living. Opening his bag the skin took out a foot long thick black dildo

‘The bloke loves this up him before being fucked. He’ll love you. But no nice guy as he wants to be roughed up before getting fucked.’

Johnny replied. ‘Don’t worry mate I know what to do .That face of his will be red by the time I have slapped him around and think if I feel like it I might just slap his arse to heat it up before fucking.’

‘That’s me boy. He will pay you well. So off you go. I’ll wait here for you.’