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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Tumblr yoinked the first post of this, but holy fuck I loved writing this story so much that I refuse to let it die. Here’s one with more toned down pics lol
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Coach Martin was scouring the university gym’s locker room for any kind of fresh talent. He had been coach of the university wrestling team for a while, but after several mediocre seasons, declining viewership, and general loss of interest, the school was thinking about cutting the budget for his team for the next fiscal year. He’d gotten used to this sort of thing happening to the liberal arts departments, but at his large, notoriously ‘party school’ university, athletics were always the highest financial priority! Coach Martin knew he couldn’t let that happen. No, not after all of the years he spent building up the team.
He knew there were plenty of talented bodies in the gym, but rarely anyone with the willingness to sign up for the team. ‘I don’t have the time,’ ‘My schedule is too tight,’ ‘Sorry, my studies come first;’ these were all the common lines Coach Martin heard from those he asked. Never mind that he knew for a fact that these boys were out every night drinking and partying every weekend, getting their dick wet at every opportunity. He couldn’t really blame them, after all it is a college. But sure, ‘scheduling conflicts,’ let’s go with that excuse. Anyways, it didn’t matter anymore. Coach Martin had his own ways of dealing with his predicament, and they began with finding a worthy candidate’s clothing.
He searched through lockers, flipping open wallets and checking IDs, hoping to find any kind of viable candidate for his plight. Older faculty members, soft/grungy liberal arts majors, exchange students, lab assistants… He searched and searched but was disappointed by the IDs he found. He passed by one of the rows of lockers and was nearly stopped in his tracks by the tangy bouquet emanating from one of the metal boxes. He took a few steps backwards and could immediately tell which locker the odor belonged to. Even before he opened it, he could smell the intoxicating stench wafting out.
He opened it quickly and his sense of smell was blitzed. A heavy, mixed stench of body odor, cologne, and sex poured out of the locker, a hefty gym bag being the only occupant. He didn’t want to get too confident, but Coach Martin was pretty sure he’d found his candidate.
He opened the bag, huffing out laughter as he was further assaulted by the rank smell that puffed out, and fished around for any kind of ID. He found a thin, dark leather wallet and flipped it open, producing the university’s familiar student ID card: Jabari Jefferson was the name printed underneath with a smiling picture of a thick-necked student over it, emblazoned by a holographic stamp of the university’s crest. Not only did he look like a natural athlete with enough confidence to actually smile in his picture—so many of these jocks thought a smile was a sign of weakness—but he had a certain.. something about him.
You ever see those kinds of people who look like they would be the natural life of the party? People who, just from first impression, looked like everyone would either want to be with them or want to be them? How about people who—for whatever reason you call it—look like they’re the type of person who could fuck your right? Just really use any tools at their disposal—mouth, lips, chest, cock, ass, thighs, feet, take your pick—to make sure you walk away feeling like their trophy spouse? That, Coach Martin thought, was the exact vibe he got from Mr. Jabari Jefferson. He checked all of Coach Martin’s boxes and more.
He opened his phone and went into the school staff’s student directory to look him up. After flipping through the expansive list of students by the last name ‘Jefferson,’ until he landed on his guy. Jabari’s smiling picture looked back up at him, and Coach Martin’s knees went weak simply imagining Jabari giving him a slight wink. He was from way out of state, practically across the country, he was freshly 21, he was a social work major… So he didn’t have any immediate family around, he was young and exceptionally fit, and he had a compassionate and empathetic demeanor… Check, check, check. He was, in every way, a perfect fit! ‘Bingo,’ Coach Martin thought, a chill of excitement spreading through his body from his chest.
Coach Martin prayed to anyone that was listening that he could find something to take with him, anything. He knew by the smell that there had to be something in there that fit the job, he just needed to find it. He fished around in the bag some more for anything he could take with him, anything that wouldn’t be immediately noticeable as missing. His eyes landed on it—well, actually his hand landed on it first—and his nose identified it as one of the sources, if not the source, of the smell. Coach Martin grinned and lifted a dirty jock strap out of the bag.
He passed it between his hands a few times, its fabric feeling a tad moist from the last time it was used, and reeking of sweat. He looked into the pouch where its user’s dick would go—where Jabari’s dick would go, noting that it was a sizable pouch indeed—and saw that there was something wet still there. He looked closer and saw that it was limpid and thick, so he reached inside to feel it, half expecting it to be what he thought it was. As soon as his finger touched it and felt the webby, sticky, tacky substance between his fingers, his suspicions were confirmed—it was pre.
Coach Martin couldn’t help himself, he knew he needed a taste, just a tiny taste. He knew he’d have innumerable chances to taste it later, but he was caught up in the moment. He brought it to his face, inhaled deeply, and quickly stuck his tongue out to sample his finding.
His shorts, which were already massively tented, now had a dark spot blooming near the tip of his cock, and he knew that he should just leave before blowing his load in the locker room. No, there would be plenty of load-blowing later. He stuffed the jock strap in his pocket, rushed to his office to gather his hat and keys, and hurried out to his car, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder in such a way that it obscured the front of his torso, hiding the bouncing stiffy in his gym shorts.
This is still one of my all time favourites. I’ve read and written tons of stories but not many of them haunt my wet dreams like this one does. It’s just one of those that never fails to pop back up in my mind every so often to the point where I can’t help reading it again 🥵🥵
"How much longer is this gonna take?" Ethan shifted, pretending to look interested. He had an exam coming up and a hundred places he’d rather be, but the man across from him only grew more animated by the second.
"So we came up with our slogan, 'Be PrEPared.'" The man practically beamed. "The boys in marketing really outdid themselves, don't you think?"
"Yeah..." Ethan caught his mind wandering and forced a smile. "I'm happy to be involved. I think population health is undervalued."
"Preach, babe." The man snapped his fingers.
Ethan grinned internally. The guy was eating out of his hand, and Ethan knew it wasn't just his answers. From the tone to blatantly checking him out, this guy fit every gay stereotype Ethan knew. What could he say? The gays loved him.
"But enough about me," the man laughed, leaning forward. "Tell me about you, hun. Why join our campaign?"
Ethan’s smile widened. He could tell the truth: he didn't give a shit about population health. He wanted a cushy specialty, and residency directors liked well-rounded resumes.
"Well, I think this is a great opportunity to support..." Ethan trailed off as the man raised a skeptical eyebrow. "...support marginalized groups. Happy to help de-stigmatize this stuff."
The man stared, then broke into a grin. "Oh my God, you're adorable."
Ethan let out an awkward chuckle. "That's a first." When the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory, he leaned in. "Look, I'd be good at this. Promise you won't regret bringing me on board."
The man tapped a finger against his chin. "Hmmm..." Really? Had this guy even looked at his résumé? This wasn't exactly a difficult decision, "Who would you prescribe PrEP to?" He finally asked.
"Uh…" Ethan wasn't expecting that. "Guys who sleep around, I guess." He paused, catching himself. "You know what I mean. Gay guys. Men who have sex with men."
"And would you use PrEP?"
"Uh, no." The answer shot out too quickly. The man’s eyebrow climbed, "I mean, I'm not the target demographic," Ethan corrected with a nervous laugh. "Nothing against it, but I'm not looking for sex with other men."
The man studied him for a beat, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, Ethan, I think we're gonna get along just fine."
"So that's a yes?"
"Oh, babe. That's absolutely a yes."
The tension left Ethan's shoulders. Perfect. One more line for the application. "Awesome. I appreciate the opportunity."
"We're excited to have you." The man reached beneath his desk and pulled out a small BePRePared tote bag. "Take this, hun."
"What's in it?"
"Everything you'll need for tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
The man's grin somehow widened. "Don't you worry. We'll be in touch."
-----------------
"That took longer than I thought." Ethan returned to his apartment, tossed the BePRePared tote bag onto the couch, and sat at his desk to study, "Fuck, I'm behind."
He stared at his digital flashcards, trying to prepare his best for his upcoming exam. But the text blurred. He blinked and stared at the card.
"What the hell?" He knew the answer to this, or at least he did yesterday. A suffocating brain fog rolled over him, as a dull ache started behind his eyes. His mind went completely blank, "Am I getting sick?"
Shoving himself away from the desk, he ran his hands through his hair. His neat trim felt dense, curling thickly between his fingers. He paused and ran his hand through his hair again, slower this time.
"How...?" Suddenly, the room tilted and sweat broke out across Ethan’s forehead, his joints throbbed, "Shit..." He couldn't afford to get sick, not when he had his first gig with BePrEPared tomorrow. The thought made him stop, "What am I thinking? Must be the fever... fucking with my head... Need water..."
He stumbled toward the kitchen and reached for a glass, barely noticing the fabric of his sleeve straining against his growing bicep. He quickly chugged his water, and froze when he wiped his chin. There was thick, rough stubble there. As if he hadn't shaved in a week.
"Fevers can... cause... hallucinations." He reasoned, although his thoughts were coming slower now, "Need... sleep..."
The room spun and his temperature spiked as he stumbled over towards the couch. He weakly pulled his scrub top off and threw it aside, his palms brushing through the thick, dark mat of body hair sprouting across his chest. But he barely recognized any of this, as his vision blurred and body grew weaker. He grabbed the tote bag on the couch and dropped it to the ground, the contents spilling out.
"What the fuck is this?" Ethan muttered, his voice dropping an octave, settling deeper. He felt a surge of irritation. This was a joke. They couldn't be serious. He was a medical student, for God's sake, not a...
Yet, as he stared at the blue speedo, his mind drifted to thinking about the happy, muscular campaign ambassadors he remembered seeing on the website. No exams. No residency stress. Just having fun and being noticed.
"Must be nice..." He fell onto the couch, and wiped sweat away from his forehead, "Fuck..." He smiled weakly, "I bet I’d look good in that Speedo." he thought.
He blinked, horrified by his own thought. Where had that come from? He shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but the movement only triggered a vicious wave of nausea.
"This isn't… a normal virus," he muttered. The words felt clumsy on his tongue, "Something's... wrong... with me..."
Ethan's hands drifted across his torso, tangling in the growing, dense dark body hair that was spreading now across his stomach. Beneath the coarse mat, his pectorals had swollen into heavy, solid shelves of muscle, hard and burning to the touch. He squeezed his own chest, a delirious, breathless laugh escaping him as his thumb traced over a newly sensitive, hyper-reactive nipple. He pinched it, and a sharp, slutty jolt of pure pleasure shot straight to his groin.
"Fuck," Ethan groaned, "Fuck... fuck... fuck..."
The room was spinning now and he was starting to see things that he knew shouldn't be there. He saw Joshua, sitting and smirking in the corner of the room.
"You're... not here." He slurred, "Leave me... alone..."
He closed his eyes tightly, and the hallucination of Joshua blurred and shifted. He was suddenly surrounded by nameless men crowding over the couch. He could feel them. Their heavy, rugged palms gripping his broadened shoulders, rough fingers digging greedily into his newly full, heavy ass, squeezing his thickening muscles. With a grunt, he flipped onto his stomach, and arched his ass.
"Ah... fuck..." Ethan groaned, drool leaking from his mouth. He whimpered as he felt something press against his exposed hole, "Pl...Please..."
His hand slithered past the tight elastic of his boxers, wrapping around a cock that was longer, thicker, and harder than it had ever been. He began to pump it in a frantic, heavy rhythm, his muscular thighs flexing with every stroke. He didn't care about the exam. He didn't care about residency. He just wanted to be a dumb, hot object. He wanted to be used.
“Would you use PrEP, babe?” Joshua’s voice echoed in his head.
"Wh-why... would... I?" Ethan moaned, "I'm... not... Oh... fuck..." He gagged suddenly as he felt the heavy pressure of a thick cock pushing deep into his throat, stretching his jaw and cutting off his breath, while another massive, rigid shaft slammed brutally up his ass, "Th... this isn't... real..." He thought, even as his jaw ached.
Every thrust of the thick, veiny shaft plugging his throat made his eyes water as he gagged. Simultaneously, he felt his ass being stretched wider as the skin-on-skin pounding drove his lower body forward, burying his face deeper into the cushions with each wet, heavy slap.
“What’s the doctor word for... not breathing?” he tried to ask himself, “Can't... think of it. Mind... fuzzy. So heavy.”
The ambient hum of his laptop fan and the quiet of the night vanished, completely replaced by a deep, thumping electronic base that vibrated directly through the cushions beneath his chest. His brain couldn't quite process the switch. Even the clinical definitions of auditory hallucinations felt too distant, too complicated to grasp.
“Music?” Ethan thought, his cognitive processing slowing to a crawl. “Music... nice... feels good...”
Even the scent of the room was suddenly different. A thick, heavy cloud of cologne, raw male sweat, and latex filled his lungs with every desperate, choking gasp.
“Smells... good,” the simple thought drifted lazily through his mind, “Warm. Thick. Smells like... men. Sex."
He let out a choked gasp as the cock went deeper down his throat. Panicking with what little logical faculty he had left, Ethan whipped his hands upward, fully intending to push away whatever hallucination was blocking his airway and clamping his jaw open.
“Get it out... need to study... am a doctor...”
But instead of empty air, his palms connected firmly with hot, sweaty flesh. The solid, moving hips of a man rhythmically thrusting down his throat.
“No... Wha...? Not a dream? Real. Big. So big. In my mouth. Up my ass.”
He reached out desperately, trying to find leverage, but instead his thicker palms and fingers clamped directly around two pulsing, rigid cocks. His broadened shoulders flexed automatically as his palms wrapped tight, his fingers squeezing the thick shafts as he began to stroke them in a frantic, heavy rhythm. His body knew exactly what to do, even if his brain could no longer define it.
“Stroke them... make them feel good,” his dumbed-down thoughts hummed, completely content to abandon his studies. “Good boy. Do what they want. Just a hot object.”
The thumping music grew louder, accompanied by the rapid, rhythmic click-whir of a professional camera shutter and deep, masculine groans of approval close to his ears.
"Look at him take it," a deep, gravelly voice chuckled right above him. "The new guy's an absolute natural."
Flash. Flash.
An intense, blinding glare of white-hot light penetrated right through his closed eyelids. The searing heat radiating against his skin wasn't a fever spike anymore; it was the burning warmth of professional studio lighting hanging directly overhead.
Ethan’s eyes snapped open.
He wasn't in his apartment. No, he was pinned face-down on a leather sofa in the center of a roaring photography studio. He could see his reflection in a mirror. Bulkier, hairier... sexier... sporting a toy stethoscope over his hair-covered chest and a tiny blue Speedo that was completely soaked through.
"Oh my gawd..." He thought, eyes watering.
A tall, rugged model stood over him, holding Ethan's face up by a tight fist in his thick, curly hair as he slid deep into Ethan’s throat. Behind him, a massive, tatted model was burying himself ruthlessly into Ethan’s expanded, aching glutes, slamming his hips forward with a heavy, wet slap. To his left and right, two more models leaned over the couch, grinning down at him as Ethan’s large, rough hands rapidly pumped them.
"Fuck... where'd you find this guy?"
Ethan's eyes were wide now, but the panic he expected to feel never came. His mind was too beautifully empty, too saturated with testosterone and pleasure. Board scores, residency applications, the endless stress of his old life...
“I’m the PrEP boy,” his thoughts drifted, “Dumb... hot... please... use me.”
"Keep going, hun, you're doing amazing," Joshua called out over the music, gesturing to the lens. "So, let's hear it for the campaign! Would you use PrEP?"
The thick cock down his throat pulled out with a wet pop, a line of drool running down his heavy, stubbled chin. He looked straight into the camera lens, his mind completely wiped of medical terminology. None of that mattered anymore. He was a BePRePared model. He was beautiful, he was being used, and he loved it.
"Y-Yes..." Ethan gasped out, his voice a deep, thoroughly broken baritone. His hips gave a desperate, simple twitch against the man behind him. "Yes... God, yes..."
The photographer grinned, clicking the shutter rapidly. "Perfect! That's the money shot!"
With a final, shattering surge of friction, the man behind him buried himself to the hilt, releasing deep inside him. Simultaneously, the model in front of him painted Ethan's face and thick, hairy chest, while the two men in his hands blew their loads over his fingers. And Ethan's own massive, leaking cock throbbed and fired a heavy stream into his tight, blue speedo.
"So good..." He moaned, falling back onto the couch and looking up at the other models with a dumb, happy grin, "More…?" he slurred, a thick bead of drool tracking down his chin and mixing with the man's seed. "More… please… use me more…"
"Don't you worry." Joshua patted him on the shoulder, while the other models chuckled, "You're our star now, Ethan. We've got plenty of work lined up for you." He nodded over at the photographer.
"Next shoot is in twenty minutes, boys," the photographer called out, adjusting his lens with a grin. "Clean him up just enough to do it all over again."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Two workplace enemies are forced to understand each other intimately after an ID mix up leads to them becoming exactly who they think the other is.
Science themed role swap! Straight gym bro -> Twinky lab tech and Uptight assistant -> Horny beyond horny dom meathead! -Occam
The workweek had begun like any other. Nico’s Monday had been spent making sure the lab was stocked and all equipment was in working order. But the tech has always longed to move up and do some actual science. Elsewhere, Jeremiah worked the hours away in RnD as more or less a lab rat, testing out new exercise equipment and protein powders. He doesn’t notice any crazy difference between the machines or with his gains, but he is more than happy to continue getting paid to stay ripped.
The two rarely interacted to any major degree. They’d pass each other in the halls, act cordially in communication as needed. Despite their limited time together though, there has been more than enough chance for mutual disdain to form. Perhaps it was when Nico ordered the wrong brand of energy drinks, or how Jeremiah leaves his sweaty towels constantly cluttering up the should-be sterile lab.
So after the first passive aggressive spat the pair had taken to simply avoiding each other. Both being mature enough adults, they know they’re cushy gigs are worth having to put up with a slightly irritating coworker. As of late though, it’s almost as if their supervisors are forcing them to interact with each other more, which neither is quite happy about.
This was a topic of much complaint at the bizarre Tuesday night happy hour they both attended at the insistence of said supervisors. Other techs nod along as Nico loudly complains about how ungrateful the guinea pig is while the few coworkers that fancy themselves fit tag along near Jeremiah and stare as he complains about uptight Nico’s seeming obsession with him.
Any time their hands lack a drink someone is sure to offer a new one, tasting slightly more acrid than the last, though they’re quite too sauced to notice. Neither even remembers getting home, though there’s no time to question anything as they wake up late and rush into the lab.
Lugging a delivery of pipettes and PPE he had delivered to his home, Nico’s vision was blocked by boxes. Mid-swig of a morning black coffee with hastily added protein powder, Jeremiah was distracted trying to remember what the boss man said his testing schedule was today. Even despite their hungover, frazzled states, they could probably take a collision with anyone else in stride. Though as they fall to the floor, the same thought is on both of their minds.
“It just had to be him.”
Gasps fill the lobby as coffee and boxes splatter to the polished floor. Groaning atop the now crushed container of gloves, Nico pushes himself up and frowns at the gym rat. “You really should watch where you’re going, you know.”
Clicking his tongue, Jeremiah eyes the blonde roast still spreading on the floor and responds in kind. “Last I checked, takes two to collide don’t it doc? Oh wait sorry kid scratch that. Ain’t got a title do ya?”
Both fume for half a second, waiting to see if the other is going to escalate any further. Before either hurls anything actually damaging though, they realize what a mistake that would have been as both their supervisors rush over to help them up. This catches them off guard as they know their bosses should be already in the lab. It’s as if they were waiting for them here? But neither says anything as they’re escorted in opposite directions.
“Don’t you worry about those boxes Nico. We’ll have someone see if anything’s salvageable later. Can’t have coffee stained facemasks after all haha!”
Nico nods along as he’s led, taking one last look over his shoulder he sees Jeremiah do the same. Brows furrowed he assumes the jerk is scowling at him mindlessly, rather than harboring the exact same suspicions he does as his supervisor continues.
“Ah! I managed to pick this up for you in that chaos, you really should keep better track of your employee ID. You know I’d hate to write you up.”
The card gleams in her hands almost as much as the blank smile forced on her face. Nico apologizes quickly and supplicates himself, “Of course Ma’am. I won’t let it happen again.” Her eyes follow the card as Nico slowly clips it back onto his belt before patting the underling on his shoulder and wandering past him into the lab. “Hurry along now Mr. Kelly, there’s science to be done.”
Across the lobby, Jeremiah sees the scene happen just as his own project lead holds up an ID card and gives the same spiel, tempered for his favorite lab rat. “Eyes over here Ace. You know how the higher ups are always so anal about security. You must’ve dropped it when Nico bumped into you. I know how irreplaceable you are but my bosses reallyyy hate security leaks so try and be more careful with it.”
Hearing his words if not listening to them, Jeremiah nods with intensity as he throws the card loosely back into his pocket. “I swear coach- uhhh Sir. Ain’t gonna happen again. You takin’ me somewhere special today or should I just head on in?”
The researcher’s eyes soften and he briefly directs Jeremiah to the door, “Just a normal one today. I’ll see you in there, Jere.” He then rushes off to join Nico’s supervisor. Together the pair wander in a door that Nico and Jeremiah both know doesn’t lead to their usual labs, but what recourse do they have.
Briefly they eye each other from across the lobby. Both men know something is off. Though as everyone else in the lobby goes about their usual business, with the only person they can trust being the one who always stinks up the elevator, the one who always opts for grainiest protein bars. They simply turn and go about their business. Why would either trust the other over their own boss?
They enter the labspace easy enough and despite the rocky start it seems that this is going to be just the plan and simple day needed to recover from their overindulgent night and hectic morning. It’s the decontamination room where it becomes clear that something has gone terribly wrong.
Jeremiah scratches his chest as he walks to the exit door, he’s done this a hundred times and hasn’t had a single thought about it since the first. Nico sheepishly eyes the camera in the corner, from what he knows about labs he doesn't really understand why theirs even needs a decontamination room at every entrance.
As they reach the next door at exactly the same time, the scanner at the door blares in a way they have never seen before. Shocked by the aggressive beeping the pair turn to find a large screen light up, now shining red light down onto them.
ACCESS DENIED
BIOMETRIC READINGS INCONCLUSIVE
FURTHER IDENTIFICATION NEEDED
Nico scoffs as a loading wheel slowly spins on the screen before looking at the ID in his hand and inspecting it closer. Jeremiah shifts his jaw and wonders if this is a test, wonders if that little dweeby tech is in on it. More pressingly, he wishes he had been able to finish his coffee as he too checks the card and at once, they both see the expressionless face of their apparent workplace adversary.
“Shit.”
Just as soon as they discover the mixup and start to question the intentions of their supervisors, each of their screens stops loading and confirms the mixup. Jeremiah tries the door he came from and groans as the handle doesn’t have the slightest give. Turning back he sees the screen shift white.
WELCOME NICO KELLY. PLEASE ANSWER THESE AUTHENTIFICATION QUESTIONS.
Not quite used to the tests being so strange, Jeremiah plans to have a convo with his doctor about ethics. He’s pretty sure that’s something he’s allowed to do from his own incredibly limited research from when he got this job.
WELCOME JEREMIAH WOOD. PLEASE ANSWER THESE AUTHENTIFICATION QUESTIONS.
Nico on the other hand is frustrated and wondering if he’s being set up to simply be canned. His mind is unable to focus on anything but the memory of his manager drilling the importance of lab security. Eying the camera once more he sighs and knows he just needs to get this over with, get in there and swap ID’s back with Jeremiah.
Both men hit proceed and are greeted with the first question:
WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES?
“Hobbies plural? Shieeeet, I don’t know what that little nerd’s into.”
Jeremiah scratches his beard and tries to remember if he’s ever seen Nico wearing some accessory or another. Guys like him love anime keychains and figurines and shit right? Or he’s gay right? What do gay guys do for fun? Eying the screen he asks aloud, “This shit multiple choice or what?” It shines on, awaiting an answer that Jeremiah hasn’t a hope in the world to give.
Nico seems like a gamer. Thinking of his own hobbies, the gym flickers in his mind and he laughs at the idea that small fry’d ever be caught dead in there. No, he’d probably say something pretentious, something to look smarter Jeremiah bets. He can almost swear he remembers seeing some big book bulging in the tech’s tote bag.
No sense wasting time, and never much of a thinker, Jeremiah decides to lock it in. Offering his answer in an impression that is a tad more femme than he intended, “It’s me Nicoo, I love nerd shi- oh uh, video games and reading lotsa books!” His stone-cold face focuses on the screen as a spiraling loading screen returns once more.
Across the building Nico finds himself in a similar dilemma. At first he wonders if answering incorrectly would just let him return to the lobby and find Jeremiah. Something tells him though that the brute is currently going through the same thing, and he simply cannot trust that dullard to coordinate with him. No, he’ll just need to be correct. Should be no problem, simple man simple answers.
Obviously the lab rat answered gym. The idea that Jeremiah has multiple options and wouldn’t put his muscle-bound form at number one is simply laughable to Nico. But beyond that, the tech is absolutely stumped. He’s overheard the lunkhead on the phone on a few occasions but the conversations are most often about work or locker room talk about whoever he’s having sex with at the time.
Surely fucking isn’t a hobby, right? But what else would that asshole say! Trying to play 4d chess as he is, Nico for a moment tries to remember when he answered these authentication questions and comes up blank. Maybe they’re just testing him to see what he’ll say. In which case he’ll absolutely not say fucking. But what else is a sex-obssessed gym bro to say?
Nervously eying the screen he shakes his head and simply addresses it, first thought best thought. “Yo yo yo, uhhh? It’s me, JerEImiah- ugh. I’m into getting absolutely yoked. Yuhh? And hanging out with my, um, bros.” Nervously doing his pathetic best at a Jeremiah impression, Nico’s voice cracks fast into the hazarded answer.
The same loading symbol that greeted Jeremiah begins its dance on Nico’s screen as well. So focused the pair are on the swirling screensaver that neither notices the faint hissing sound now ushering forth from the vents. When the screen at last flashes a vibrant green Nico and Jeremiah are filled with relief.
CORRECT
Who wouldn’t take a huge breath of relief after skating through by the skin of their teeth. What matter is it that they’re slightly light headed now, is it from staring at those spinning spheres or the nigh-imperceptible ozone scent slowly filling the room. When those spinning spheres return en masse, both men feel themselves unable to look away as they reflect on their answers, as if their thoughts and ideas were being pulled from them.
Jeremiah’s answer was simple enough, quibbling for a moment on anime or video games, but in the end he was right. Right? Second guessing himself, a thought from somewhere else surges to the front of his mind, why did he call that nerd shit if he watches anime, if he plays video games?
The strange alien question stirs him just enough to look away from the screen, sucking on his teeth he defends himself, “Nah nah, likin’ Dragon Ball Z and playin’ FIFA or 2K with my boys ain’t the same!”
Is it not?
His head sears with the pain of a brain freeze as a strained grunt echoes through the small room. He knows how to make it go away. The screen shines bright enough for him to see it through his clenched eyes, he just needs to open them and take it in. As he gives in, an invasive speaks up once more.
And reading?
“Ohhuhh? I have been meanin’ to uh, read more…”
As the words fall from his thick lips, his attention is wholly absorbed by the screen. Camera lenses stationed in every corner zoom in on the man as impossible physical changes begin. His face contorts as his answers thus far simply cannot suggest a form as impressive as his own, so he must get smaller.
Stumbling in place, as each second passes it looks like his spine is slowly compressing, shrinking. Jarimiah loses a few inches of height as his head bobbles to follow the dots. One would never guess he set a PR in the lab this week as his arms look suddenly leaner, lighter as gym sessions are no longer his number one priority.
The tank on his chest suddenly hangs a little looser, no longer yanking on his traps or straining against pecs that simply don’t have the mass or leverage anymore. Strength is sapped from the no-longer behemoth as muscles shrink. His arms feel wrong, as if they haven’t been strained for weeks.
The elastic of his athletic shorts thankfully compress and maintain their hold on his ass and still-prodigious bulge as his thighs thin to a size that could scarcely break a cantaloupe, let alone a watermelon. A bush he’d never trim loses its volume as across his body, hair he’s never manscaped begins to fall away. Jungles of pit hair that always decried his masculinity lose their luster.
Slowly the screen loosens its hold on Jarimiah and he shakes out of the stupor, feeling drained but oblivious to his decidedly smaller form. His voice rests a few notes higher as he complains, “Shitt- I went way harder than I thought last night?” Looking down at his biceps his face blushes as he tries to find the veins that usually bulge on his arms, “Gonna need to step it up today.” Before he can get distracted comparing his form to any number of characters from Jojo’s or Street Fighter, the screen flashes and offers forth Question Two.
Across the lab, Nico is quite whinier about the whole thing. As soon as the screen congratulated him on the correct answer he tried the door again and yanked on it a few times before finally looking back at the screen. Anxiety already heightened, he continues to doubt the validity of this situation. Unfortunately for him, his questioning the situation only plays right into the hands of whoever is doing this to him, to them.
Was that even actually the right answer? Surely he didn’t just shot in the dark guess what Jarimiah’s hobbies are, right? He can’t be that simple? After all, weren’t they quite similar to his own?
Nico freezes in place as he knows that final thought was not his right. That it did not come from his mind. He stares daggers at the camera, his lips twitching with rage as he refuses to be some test subject for this god-forsaken experiment. After all he’s done for them, after all his blood, sweat, and tears keeping this stupid lab stocked and up to code.
As his pulse heightens and his anxieties rise though, it only allows whatever is invading his mind a deeper hold. In between imaginedprofanities hurled at the proctors of this torture, his mind keeps flickering back: blood, sweat, and tears. Sweat.
There’s a beep from the screen and he flinches back before turning and staring at it with crazed eyes. Seeing the spinning symbols once more, he feels a warmth in his chest as for some reason he imagines his friends. But as his defenses fall away he tilts his head. They do look a bit brawnier than he remembers. And why are they at the park court and not chilling at home?
Slowly stumbling closer to the beacon drawing him in. Nico loses himself in looping questions. And so he too begins to change. Sweat pools in his loose dress shirt as memories of gaming and library visits give way to hitting the gym with his friends. His mouth twitches as he almost reflexively says bros despite everything within him trying to keep the word from slipping from his mouth.
His whole form begins to lengthen like taffy. Ankles are immediately exposed as a few blonde hairs burst thicker in the open air before spreading up his burgeoning calves like a creeping ivy. Feet quickly struggle against his lab safe shoes as his thighs grow to a size that demand at least a few sizes larger.
Midriff exposed his ever-trimmed pubes erupt like a garden before launching upward towards his belly button. Nico’s freshman fifteen that never left is finally put to good use as his body bulks up as much as it’s able in these restrictive garments. The hint of pecs burst onto his chest as his sleeves catch on biceps that have never been.
Face sharpening as hours in the gym continue to rise, Nico bites his lip and slowly shakes his head as remembers quibbling about his answer. Didn’t he say that Jarimiah’s obsessed with sex? His eyes almost cross as he feels his balls hang heavier in his pants, struggling against the briefs as he wonders if he’ll ever be able to think without his cock interjecting again. He feels pre pooling in his pants almost as much as the needy drool now dripping in his mouth when at last there’s a beep that barely breaks through the horny haze.
Remembering himself and his situation, Mico grimaces from the litany of discomforts affecting him now dressed in what may as well be a child’s wardrobe. No matter, he’ll change in the locker room, or uh? The lab, yeah. Whatever.
At once both men see question two:
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE
Their minds immediately give an answer, though it takes some time for each of them to justify their subconscious reactions. Mico immediately thinks of Fight Club with a dumb smile, voice rumbling deeper in his new chest, “Yeah, dumbass dudes like him always love toxic movies like that. Don’t even think about all the uh, subtext…” Scratching his midriff as sweat flits off his new treasure trail Mico purses his lips, “Wait? That’s not my favorite movie right?”
Across the way Jarimiah remembers overhearing Mico far too many deep at the bar last night defending Call Me By Your Name. His voice cracks higher once more as he gasps in surprise, “Ahh man how did I forget that Mico loves that gay stuff!” An eye twitches as he clearly remembers scenes from this movie he certainly hasn’t seen. The memory of sneaking to see it before he was out. “Wait no, I’m- uh, straight?” Chalamet was pretty killer in Dune tho…
Without waiting for an answer, the screen has all the information it needs and rushes to begin further changes while both men are lost in thought. The hissing rises even louder as instead of ozone, two distinct scents are pumped into Jarimiah and Mico’s rooms. Peach, mixed drinks, the acrid smell of nail polish. Rubber, whey, the stench of well-earned sweat.
Debating to himself whether he’s gay or not, when images from the movie continue pumping into his head alongside countless other rite-of-passage movies. When he wonders how many times he’s seen Josh O’Connor’s ass he feels his own tight, toned ass slowly give way into becoming the perfect bubble butt that no top could resist. Biting his lip he feels it bulge plumper.
The performatively masc-goatee on his face retracts as the hair on his head lengthens and spills down his neck into waifish curls. His pale skin smooths free from blemishes as tightly-regimined muscle continues to atrophy into delightfully ample skin. Perfect to be touched, to be manhandled. Jamiah moans from the sensations coursing through him as his shorts fall away, leaving him in a jockstrap held up by his rigid boner alone as he humps the air.
His massive cock shrinks ever so slightly, but this does nothing to affect the need burning within him. Years of intense workouts are replaced with jogging and cardio done with the sole purpose of looking appealing. Of being perfect bait for eye candy that he could easily outmaneuver intellectually.
While Jamiah’s wardrobe falls away, Mico’s is rapidly filled to bursting. Already beset by hormones more powerful than he can imagine, seeing the perfect male form in his mind. The growing man is in desperate need to let off some steam. His rougher, calloused hands rip off his multiple tops and free his sweaty chest to the open air.
Rows of abs gleam from the shining, swirling screen as thick curls spread to cover pecs he would have killed to suck on. To bite, to squeeze. But no, he’d never. That’s for, uh, he can’t quite remember. But the outline of the man fills him with need as his cock throbs large enough to send a tear through the crotch of his pants.
His face, already sharpened, hardens into one unmistakably masculine. Brow casting a shadow over darker eyes as his chin is coated with a prickly stubble that he’d not be able to grow given all the time in the world. His teeth are clenched so hard it’s a wonder none of them chip as drool drips down his dry lips.
Blonde curls retract and darken as his hairline pulls back. Thick dark hair rushes across his muscular body as his head is topped with a simple short cut that would stay out of the way at the gym. His cock throbs as he moans from the delightfully searing pain of muscle bulking larger on his heavy thighs and dense chest.
Mitcoh leaves sweaty handprints against the screen as he leans against it for support, strong hips doing what they’re best at as the last shreds of his pants join his shirt on the floor. His grunts resound deeper through the room with every forceful thrust as his cock thrusts out of his tight briefs.
Somewhere two researchers eye a killswitch. Hearing their subjects groan, the busting of thick toes from shoes, the shifting of a voice higher as if it were autotuned, they relent. Who are they to stand in the way of progress. Though seeing the writing, or cum rather, on the wall they shift to rapid fire questions.’
WHAT IS YOUR MOTHER’S MAIDEN NAME
Frowning at the distraction from pursuing his fulfillment, Mitcoh answers Cruz. Hesitating for a second as he knows he should not know this, Jamiah answers Dalloway. Both fall to their knees as their minds shift irreparable, every aspect of their lives and selves rapidly shifting and switching. Did Mitcoh even go to college? Does Jamiah know what a fly machine does? No matter. No time.
WHAT IS YOUR NAME
Both men forget that they are answering for someone else as they simply say what they believe to be their own, true names. Cementing them into their new selves, their new identities. “Mitch Wood” and “Jaime Kelly.” And as they say their new names, the screens go pitch dark. Leaving them deprived of sight. They only have the scent of their musk, the sound of their gasps echoing off the no longer sterile walls of the decontamination room.
Audio pipes in and both men hear the other’s supervisor as they ask the same question.
“What do you think of Mitch Wood?”
“I’m the fuckin’ alpha.”
“What do you think of Jaime Kelly?”
“I’m the perfect bottom.”
And with that, the vents hiss once more as both are promptly knocked unconscious, carried, and robed by a crew of men in hazmat suits. The supervisors cheer for an unmitigated technological breakthrough. Perhaps there are wires to be uncrossed regarding the devolution of the mind into base, horny ID, but that can always be done in trial two. Not like it’s hard to find perfect test subjects in a lab where they deliberately ferment petty rivalries and interdepartmental disdain.
For now it is time to see how the pair react to each other in their new forms. Seeing Mitch’s cock twitch as Jaime’s slowly stirring body is deposited in the same room, the scientists are taking bets on how long it will be until they tire themselves out once more from fucking. And they can’t wait to see that happen. For science, of course.
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