The Yuppieverse

As the music plays I don’t notice the changes begin, starting with my hair smoothing down and restyling, looking more old fashioned. I find myself beginning to hum along as new memories are lifted off the record with the music, memories of life in the 1940’s.

I scratch my face as it begins to shift, stubble falling away and leaving my face clean shaven and handsome, with piercing blue eyes. My cock throbs in time with the beautiful melody, each pulse making it grow longer and thicker as my ass balloons to make my changing pants a tight fit.

I rest my head back on the lounge as my body stretches taller making all my muscles pulse and growing, giving me the lean hood looks of a dashing 1940’s Captain.

As the music continues my home begins to undergo changes, modern electronics like my lap and tv being replaced with an old fashioned radio and large bookcase.

With one last fanfare the record ends, leaving me as Captain Lon Hammond Jr.

"Ugh why the hell are people even into this kinda stuff?"

Scott couldn't believe what he was seeing. He swore, what was even the point of all these algorithms if they were going to continue recommending stuff he wasn't into? This must have been the tenth "What I'd Wear In The 1950's" video he had blocked.

He decided to put on some music instead as he thought to himself.

He just didn't get it.

He knew that these people didn't want to genuinely live in the past, that it was all about an appreciation for the design, the outfit, the aesthetic. But even that angle just came across less ignorant and more pretentious. Who the hell would wanna even pretend to live in the 50's?

There was no internet, no vaccines, no nothing. The only part about it that Scott liked were the movies, he had to admit there was something about them that were so alluring and it wasn't some gripping plot or enthralling mystery that got to him.

It was the men.

All dressed up with their slick hair and expensive suits, the trenchcoats and hats, suspenders and suit vests, the shiny shoes and cigarette smoke trailing from the full lips. Scott never realised it but he couldn't believe how turned on he was feeling thinking about that.

That's because just a few moments ago, he wasn't turned on by any of that.

In fact Scott used to hate old films, even ones from the 80's barely interested him.

But in his venting, he hadn't clicked out the YouTube window, he instead switched tabs and left the autoplay on, where a calm and jazzy 1950s tune played and the more it played, the more Scott's head suddenly began to fill with how much he loved those noir movies.

He hadn't even noticed that his hand on the mouse had began to change, not only growing larger but growing lighter, almost too light as his pale skin shimmered slightly like it was underneath a film reel. But oddly enough the sleeve of his shirt began to darken and not just because it was turning into the sleeve of an expensive suit jacket, but as if his hand was draining of all colour, as it turned black and white.

That's when Scott realised.

"The fuck?!" He quickly tried to control his hand, but there was nothing he could do. It shimmered and flickered like it was in another realm world as the sound of running film filled the room. Scott couldn't move his hand as it went and clicked on the tab with the music and suddenly moved to turn the volume to its max.

Sweet jazz music filled the room as the changes were progressing faster, the drainage of colour spreading down toward his arms now which were suddenly beginning to grow thicker, causing the new suit jacket to become tighter.

Scott wanted to use his other hand to reach up and turn his whole computer off. But the moment he reached out, he spluttered and coughed as smoke trailed down his throat. He felt something in his mouth, tasting bitter and dark as his free hand reached to take it out, only to see what it was, a lit cigarette.

"O-Oh fuck that feels good," Scott spoke, a sudden Transatlantic accent overtaking his voice, turning it deeper and more authoritative. His own voice managed to carry so much weight that it seemed to swell his throat, like it needed more room to work with as his neck thickened slightly, beginning to look more befitting for a larger and taller body.

More and more of Scott was turning monochrome, spreading over hands that looked more manly and large by the minute as one of the hands forced him to be unable to stop the music. The other brought the cigarette closer and closer to his growing fuller lips.

"N-No please don't...make me..." But then the cigarette met those lips finalizing their change and as he sucked in more of the smoke, he could feel like the aura of the transformation was coming in hot, making him change from the inside out.

He remembered growing up in the late 20's, memories flashing of older looking city streets, fancy cars and men constantly in suits. He remembered his first case and the thought of it all made his cock swell as he grew more and more manly and muscular beneath his three-piece suit.

His visage had the most remarkable change. His soft jaw began to sharpen as his face grew more angular. Eyes turned from a dull brown to sparkling blue, more focused and attentive as his nose elongated with a slight tilt at the very tip. His lips had become fuller and his hair, once somewhat shaggy and greasy was retreating back into his scalp to become something more refined, turning short and slicked back with pomade.

As Scott's cock throbbed, his home changed. His computer become a record player, still playing those jazzy blues on loop. His doctorate degree turned into a painting whilst shelves of comic books and fantasy novels transformed into mysteries and non-fiction. All before finally his smartphone on his desk, his last saving grace to stop this change and call for help flattened and expanded, turning black and white into a big broadsheet newspaper with the date on the front, reading the year.

1955.

And with that, Scott realised too late what was happening before he felt his cock throb and come in his pants, again and again and again...The pleasure ricocheting throughout his new body, like the added muscle mass gave it more space for the pleasure to fill, for the orgasm to sweep over him as Scott forgot all about his old life for the time being.

He was no longer just Scott.

He was Scott Flynn, the hotshot detective in town who could make any man or woman swoon.

By the time the new Scott stirred from the pleasure, he blinked and almost knocked the newspaper off his desk. He looked down, seeing a cigarette in an ashtray and some case files for him to look over, before there was a knock at the door.

"Gosh I must have dozed off," Scott murmured to himself, for some reason he blinked in surprise, as if he wasn't used to his voice.

He looked at the clock. Near midnight.

If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought his dreams were real and he was stuck living out some noir film for a few days. After all, a knock at the door so late at night, wasn't that how all those noir pictures started?

Either way, he wasn't gonna refuse the call and stood up, dusting himself off and ready to help out on the next case.

After all, what else was a handsome detective like him supposed to do? It was as simple as black and white.

Dean Winchester scarfed down the last of his burger as he eyed the muttering student that walked by him. The last thing he wanted to do was research and so he quickly found one of the best diners in Baltimore. With the student gone, he was the only one remaining in the place, and for a moment he was almost worried every other person in here was a demon.

Ever since he came in and started enjoying his typical meal of burgers, fries, and pie as dessert, every single inside left. Everyone's besides him and the scoffing suited man who was wiping down the newly absent tables. Thankful for the quiet, Dean raised his feet, letting them sit on the table as he sat back and continued eating. 

“Excuse me, could you please take your feet off the table?” asked the stranger, clearly the owne

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute and I’ll be outta here,” scoffed Dean, rolling his eyes. He continued stuffing his face with the last of his food as his boots remained on the table Who was this guy even trying to impress? There was nobody else here! 

“Fine, can you please at least try to talk without your mouth full?” questioned the stranger. Dean simply glared at him, still eating. “It’s quite rude.” 

“Whatever,” replied Dean without even thinking, crumbs spilled from his full mouth as he spoke. “I’m about to leave this dump anyway.” That was it, the stranger crossed his arms and looked down at Dean. If the Winchester was smart he would have perhaps been a bit more privy about the man’s odd nature to the smarter Sam. Maybe he would have been smart enough to note how suspicious this all was - how a suited man was cleaning a diner all by himself, how this place seemed to pop out of nowhere only to garner great reviews and why this man’s eyes suddenly started glowing. 

“I don’t think so. You’ve been rude to me and driven away my customers. I think it’s time for a change in that attitude,” spoke the man. 

“Look I’m leaving anyway and I don’t-” started Dean as he stood up glaring at the man. But instantly his face began to fall slack, his frowning lips beginning to separate slightly as his furrowed brows eased. His eyes stared into the glowing eyes of the suited man and suddenly it felt so hard to move and-

“So hard to think, isn’t it?” said the man. “Just stare into my eyes, that’s it...just focus on them and let yourself just start to relax.” 

“Wha…” Dean instinctively reached for a weapon but he felt that he didn’t need to. He simply needed to relax and his arms were the next to fall slack, as he started to feel himself drop back in the diner seat. 

“That’s right...and in a moment you’ll just want to sleep, just keep staring, just relax…” instructed the man. Dean could feel the voice booming in the back of his mind, it echoed all around him and it just made it so much harder to ignore. Even as his vision blurred, all he could see were those hypnotic glowing orbs, almost turning into spirals as he just leaned back, relaxing further and further. “Sleep.”

The man snapped his fingers.

The sound seemed to boom and with that Dean felt himself slip into the sweet abyss of slumber. 

He didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, all he could make out was a low voice, whispering from the darkness. 

“Now you will follow all my suggestions whenever I snap my fingers, do you understand?”

Dean said nothing, but in his mind he knew that he had to follow all the man’s suggestions whenever he snapped his fingers. Anything from service to something as simple as-

“Wake up!” 

Dean instantly got up, eyes opening suddenly as he looked around to see himself in a dressing room, large wardrobes encompassed the walls filled with formal attire. He glanced around to see the man still standing over him, arms crossed. For a moment he wanted to say something, but his mind drew a blank, everything was foggy and he couldn’t even remember what just happened for the past hour. 

“What the- Where am I?” cried Dean. The Winchester instantly bolted up, ready to tackle the man if he needed to. 

“Stay standing there” spoke the man, the same snap of the fingers boomed in Dean’s mind and he found his body moving automatically. He nodded with wide eyes as his body stiffened in place. His feet felt so heavy and he couldn’t even take a step if he wanted to...and oddly enough he didn’t really want to.

“Start taking off your clothes.” 

“Yeah,” uttered Dean, blinking as he looked down at himself, surprised as to why he suddenly spoke affirmatively. But he was more surprised to find his hands beginning to unbutton his flannel shirt. “What am I doing? Stop this!” He had dealt with powerful magical before, but nothing that made him feel so...powerless, not even possession. 

“Every piece of clothing you strip, strips away a part of yourself, all those messy rude habits you have,” spoke the man, snapping his fingers again as Dean couldn’t help but nod, no matter how much he clenched his jaw and tried to stop. He stripped out of his shirt, letting it fall to the ground. It disappeared out of sight, and soon out of mind, much like his habit. “You won’t ever speak with your mouth full.” The fingers snapped. 

“I won’t ever speak with my mouth full,” repeated Dean. He wouldn’t, that was messy, rude, a bad habit that he had to stop. Dean blinked, this wasn’t him...or was it? He could hardly tell anymore with how hazy and fractured he felt as he began working on taking off his shoes and socks. 

“You won’t put your feet up on the table.”

Snap. 

“I won’t ever put my feet up on the table,” said Dean. He had to figure some way out of here, but his body wasn’t his to control and neither was his mind. But then again was it so bad...most people would take the chance to hurt him, surely this man was just helping get rid of those nasty habits of his. This man was here to help, thought Dean as he stripped out of his jeans. 

“You will not be rude to others.”

Snap. 

“I will not be rude to others,” replied Dean, instantly beginning to feel guilty for the way he was acting. He was loud, brash and annoying, ruining the day for the other diners. Dean reminded himself that needed to stop being so rude as he stripped out of his underwear, freeing his hard thick cock. Dean didn’t understand why he was getting so turned on, but his heart raced as that nagging shouting in the back of his mind telling him to stop, to get out, to call Sam or do anything, grew quieter with every passing moment. 

“Very good Dean,” said the man. Dean barely flinched at the man knowing his name. “Now that we’ve gotten rid of some of your bad habits. We need to add some good ones. So you see that nice suit over there? Why don’t you put that on. Every article of clothing you put on, will turn you into the new you!”

Snap came the fingers and Dean instantly nodded as he began walking over to see a perfectly measured suit and bowtie. He began suiting up and each article changed a part of him. The underwear was first.

“You will speak politely and courteously, no more of that rough southern drawl of yours.”

Snap.

“I will speak politely and courteously…” Dean barely had the energy to finish as his voice changed, beginning to sound more like someone who grew up in Washington than Kansas. He began to put on the shirt. 

“You will treat others with respect. In fact you’ll get a job at my prestigious private club as a bartender,” commanded the man, snapping his fingers. Dean nodded, suddenly the images of rough bars with plenty of whiskey was replaced with upscale high end clubs with suited men like him serving drinks. It was the perfect place for Dean Winchester to start serving his superiors with the respect they deserved. 

“Yes, respect...new job…” murmured Dean, blinking slightly as all memory and desire of being a hunter, dealing with the supernatural, all of it sunk to the back of the mind, growing quiet forever. He could never have a rough job like that, he thought as he arranged his new cufflinks and placed on the suit jacket. 

“You will want to be more sexual, showing off your toned body and serving your superiors the right way. But of course you can’t have any tattoos or scars defacing a gentleman like you.”

Snap.

Dean’s skin began to be washed over, his classic anti possession tattoo fading away like his old self as he groaned slightly. His cock throbbed as he felt his already impressive set of six packs abs tighten, his chest grew slightly broader, allowing for his pecs to be larger. His quads grew, expanding slightly as his biceps did the same. Somehow Dean’s body grew more impressive and better than the active hunter already was. 

“Serving superiors the right way…” droned Dean, as he began to put on the pants, the garter socks and the shiny polished shoes, a set of suggestions lined up and ready to take over Dean’s mind like a tidal wave.

“You are horny for men, loving them. You are also a skilled stripper, as my club and I cater to that kind of audience. Finally, you will forget about your previous life, you will simply Dean Winchester, a dignified gentleman.”

The last snap and Dean suddenly heard himself moan out loud, blushing slightly for such undignified behaviour, but he was sure his superior would understand as his new personality settled in. Dean looked at himself, admiring the view in the mirror as the suit perfectly fit his muscular frame.

“Yes…” said Dean. He pursed his lips, fixing his bowtie. 

“How do you feel Dean?” asked the man. “Do you feel any different? Do you like hunting or eating in diners?

Dean studied himself, for a moment he didn’t recognise himself before he looked at the reflection up and down. 

“No I’d hate that. I’d rather just start getting a job and focusing on being the best server I can be,” said Dean, speaking eloquently and brushing down his suit. He needed it prim and perfect. 

“Very good, I think I could find a position for you. Sit down. Tell me about yourself, Dean,” said the man. Dean did as he was instructed. 

“I grew up quite poor but managed to work hard in school, went to an Ivy League college and studied my best to follow my passions and be the best person I could be. Now I’m here, looking for a new job and new people to serve, all my jobs have been like that, it’s just something I feel I was meant to do,” explained Dean, not missing a beat.

He smiled, remembering his (new) life well, and all the experiences that came with learning proper discipline and the ways hot gentlemen like him are meant to behave.

“Very good. You’ve done well Dean and I feel like you’ve earned a reward. Come.”

Snap. 

Dean Winchester grabbed his crotch as he moaned out loud, wracked with pleasure. The only thing he could think was that besides ruining his suit and how wrong it was to act so inappropriately, it was the best he ever felt, and he would do anything for more of his reward. 

The next few days Dean’s life had changed drastically, the man drained his account to rent an apartment and buy expensive formal attire. He needed a job, not just for the money, but because it was what he was meant to do, and found himself being signed on as both bartender and stripper for one of the most prestigious clubs in the city. The new Winchester was a better one, at least that’s how Dean, and his new superior found it. 

He ignored his brother’s calls, deciding he would introduce him to the suited man another time, for now Dean felt himself putting on his own suit, smiling at his new self, excited and for good reason. 

Tonight was his first shift.

He knew now that anybody acting so brash and rudely around him would think twice about it, otherwise they’d find themselves like Dean where justice is served.