--- Originally Posted On 2023-08-16 By Shapedbydesire (breedertfs)

Ape boy

--- Originally posted on 2017-01-10 on realhankmccoy ---

“Just don’t make me dumb, man, I want to keep everything about my mind totally intact,” I told my friend at the lab.

I was totally willing to go through the procedure but I didn’t want it messing with my intellect any – my job and lifestyle were too important to me.

They promised me a whole new masculine experience, that they could bring out the man in me in ways that were easily accessible through epigenetic therapy.

I’d be fitter, more energetic, more attractive and just altogether healthier. It was in the beta testing process and they said they’d throw in $3000 if I signed off, too. I’d only need to take a few weeks off work for an outpatient trial.

“That didn’t seem so bad,” I said after the doctor finished up removing the slow drip from my arm and the infusion was complete. Took two different bags of fluid but I mostly felt fine, if a little faint at first.

I got home and realized I was pretty tired so I stripped down and went to bed. I started noticing the changes the next day already. I did have more energy. My face seemed handsomer, just a tad. After two days I was feeling pretty into this.

It was the third day when I started noticing that I was getting beefier.

That was cool, I thought, but then I noticed I was feeling hornier, too. I ignored it at first, but by the end of the day I was jacking off in my bedroom, hard. I got up off my bed, still stroking my dick, to check myself out in the mirror.

“Looks hot,” I thought, stroking it slowly. If this stuff made my sex drive a little stronger, that was fine with me.

I started getting obsessed with checkin’ out the changes in the mirror, and I had so much energy that I started working out. I’d be doing pushups on my hardwood floor and getting excited over how I was going to flex in front of the bathroom mirror after I finished a set of 50.

I went back to the lab and they didn’t seem to think it was a problem.

So I figured, what the hell, I might as well enjoy this. Pretty soon I was hanging out in just my underwear all the time. That didn’t make me dumb, I knew, it just felt good. I might as well get into it, I figured.

Only problem is I got used to it pretty quick. I hate wearing clothes now, dudes.

I looked in the mirror one day and I just looked so fucking good with these thick pecs and the thicker stubble on my face. I figured I should have fun with a haircut so I got kind of a high and tight, cut real short though, and that just turned me on. Even my facial structure has changed from this shit they’re doing to me. My ears look like they stick out more, like some dumb ape or something, and that just makes me hard. I’ve hot this thick abdomen and these beefy deltoids. I feel like I look more like a football dude, even, and I started watching football even. Might as well have fun while I’m stuck in outpatient anyhow.

They told me it wouldn’t alter my mind any but it’s like I’m addicted to working out, flexing in the mirror, taking selfies, hooking up – with dudes – I just find em on my phone. I stopped reading. I look at these hairy legs and I get hard just touching em, I rub a hand across my pecs and my nipples are hard right away and I feel my cock jump up wanting a piece of the action. All I can think about is my goddamn cock, man.

So I took another week off work because I’m not ready to go back, and told myself on Monday I’d start getting ready to get my life on track. I just procrastinated the whole day, jacking off in bed, mostly, slowly stroking it. I guess my new bod’s so awesome that it’s just depressing to think of going back to the office.

My alarm goes off on Tuesday, and I throw it against the wall and say fuck it. One more day of fun’s not gonna hurt. Dudes, I look so fucking good. At least I’ll be productive today, I tell myself. So I start off the day with a ton of pushups, make myself a protein shake, and I look so ripped in the mirror that I figure I’ll score myself a hookup off Grindr. Guy comes over, and his hairy, hard pecs crushed against mine – my rubbing the short beard I’ve got started all up on his asshole, and that turns him on enough that he’s letting me lift his legs and plow the shit out of him..

After he’s gone, I’m back in front of the mirror saying “you fucking stud. Yeah you fuckin’ ape boy. Fuckin’ just want to fuck with dudes, don’t you, gay boy. Yeah you jocked up fuck. Just want to get naked and fuck, don’t you?”

Still hard, still horny, so just stroking my dick slowly while I put the game on for ambience. I don’t know how Thursday’s gonna shake out but today I just went out and bought a basketball hoop for the driveway so I could burn off some of this energy. Felt fuckin’ great, too, goin’ out in the sun in just some shorts and Nikes working on my game. Soon as I was back indoors though, man, just stripped back down to my underwear – I can’t stop admiring this body. Gotta get another dude over here to mess around with. Fuck work, man, you only live once, right?

Think I’m gonna pick up a big screen for the bedroom because that’d be pretty cool, and I just found out gay dues have their own hockey leagues you can join so I’m thinking of that. How hot would that be – those dudes are fuckin’ built, man, and I could pick it up pretty quick I bet.

Fuck, let me know if – oh, fuck it, I’m gonna order a pizza and see if I can find a hot hookup for tonight. Some dude with pecs as thick as mine and who’s like me slapping this cock all over his tongue for a couple of hours while I tease the shit out of his hot jock ass. Yeah man. Fuckin’ hot, man, I could pump a full load into some dude’s muscle butt and be ready to score again two hours later. That’s how good I feel. Friends with benefits, whatever you want to call it as long as it’s none of that lovey-dovey or dramatic shit – I’ve got em on the phone. Sex, muscle, good food and workin’ out, so glad I met those lab rats.

One Fad Fits All: Surfer Boys

--- Originally posted by TheBurdenBorne before 2018-08-22 ---

--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---

"Excuse me ma'am, have you seen my son in your store?"

I had searched every store in the mall and was beginning to worry. Jake usually was fine on his own, but when we met his friend Riley her at the mall and they wanted to go off shopping by themselves, I should have seen this coming.

"What does he look like?" said the young woman.

"Well, he was with a friend. They're both fourteen. Jake is skinny, has blonde hair -- sort of a skater look to him. Riley has brown hair, a little heavier. Have you seen them?"

"Hmm...was he wearing a black hoodie?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Two guys came in here that sort of sound like your son and his friend. One of them left a hoodie in the dressing room. Do you want to see?"

"I guess so," I said as I nervously followed the girl to the back of the store. When we entered the dressing room, I could hear two guys talking.

"Dude. That suit totally rocks!" "I know right! Can't wait to try it on the waves, dude."

The young man pulled open the door on his stall and checked himself out in the mirror. He looked like he was eighteen -- in the prime of his life. He had shoulder length blonde hair and was clearly a beach-bum surfer type of guy. He was shirtless and wearing only a swimming suit, which showed off his smooth tan chest and lean muscles. His friend was more built, but also shirtless. He had spiky brown hair and was wearing a bone necklace and sunglasses.

"Alright, sir. Here's the hoodie that you were looking for."

"Yeah, that belongs to Jake," I said, still worried that I wouldn't track down my son. But I overheard the two surfer guys again and something pricked up my ears.

"So, Riley. D'ya wanna hit the beach later?" "No prob, man. See ya there, Jake-o"

" Jake-O" I thought to myself. Could these guys coincidentally have the same names as my son and his friend. I had to ask.

"Um...excuse me, but are your names Jake and Riley."

"Yeah, why?" said the blonde.

"Well, I'm looking for my son and his friend. They have the same name."

I saw a look of fear in the blonde surfer's eye, as if he was trying to fight through something and tell me.

"Jake?" I said. "Is that you?"

"Dad?" I heard him whisper. "You have to help us. You have to get out of --" He struggled to say the words, but before he could finish. Riley lunged at me and knocked me into one of the dressing stalls.

"Shh...old man. You're gonna be okay." Jake ran into the stall and helped Riley restrain me. He no longer was trying to help and must have given up the old Jake completely. Riley took off his bone necklace and forced it around my neck. When he did, I felt warm and relaxed. They stood up and let me recover.

"How d'ya feel," asked Riley.

"What are you guys trying to do to me?" I asked.

"Just relax, you'll notice in a moment," said Jake.

I stood up and noticed that my aging 40-yr old body was starting to transform. My gut shrank. My muscles grew strong again. I looked in the mirror and saw my hairline return to the way it was when I was in high school. My hair grew too and looked like it was bleached blonde. As I lost weight and gained muscle, I began to feel young again. I took off my glasses because I didn't need them anymore.

"Here, try this on," said Jake as he handed me a dark red swimsuit. I stripped down naked and saw how tan my skin was. All of the old body hair seemed to fall away and I was left with a smooth tan chest, firm pecs and abs, and a lean, muscular torso. The swimsuit cupped my youthful bulge comfortably and smelled like the ocean.

"Dude, you're almost done."

I listened to Jake and Riley start to talk about surfboards, beaches, and how they were spending their summer vacation. I started to forget the years of marriage, my job at the insurance office, my college years. Everything started to become simple. I had just graduated from high school and was spending my time at the beach surfing. I lifted weights a little, partied, used a skateboard instead of taking the bus. I had no job -- just the beach and my friends.

"Alright, let's hit the beach!"

"See ya there, Riley," I said. "Jake and I will ride together." Jake was my new best friend. I never remember having a son.

As we walked out, the woman running the store turned to me and said, "Glad you found them!"

"Thanks!" I said back.

"C'mon, Nick," I heard Jake call from outside the store.

I had my whole life ahead of me!

Modulated

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

“I ain’t no motherfuckin’ redneck, you assholes! Don’t you fucking get it? I’ll never be ok with you being here and disrespecting our gay spaces!” I had shrieked and screamed, and I was being sassy as fuck. But they had darted me, so it was too late for me already. I had been one of the hottest little twinks in Colombia back then. I had such a tight little body, I was non-binary, and I was supportive of my local drag scene. I was absolutely into resisting these fucking fascists and their goddamn bullshit lifestyles, which I couldn’t stand.

That’s how I thought of it all back then, anyhow.

Man, that dart though, it had done its dirty work. I was writhing on the floor of the club, so I didn’t even get to witness the way it transformed me as I went into spasms. It was almost like having a seizure, but I could feel the muscle growing on me, and I could hear my shrieks and wails shift in pitch as I grew on into this whole new, far more masculine body.

I was getting to be built like a brick shithouse really fucking fast, and was taking on more of a mature look. Everywhere I was getting more muscle. I was splitting the seams of my jeans, and my underwear, and felt my back pressing up and splitting my tight pink t-shirt.

When I finally was able to sit up, I was in a daze. I had rendered my clothes asunder. I had bristles of hair all over my face, and the har on my head had grown longer, too, sort of flopping in my eyes. I was a mess.

And then the headache came. I was clutching the sides of my head and moaning, almost screaming in pain out loud, as my twinkish mind collapsed and got replaced by a growing part of me I didn’t even know existed. That part, my friends, is the motherfucking, take-charge redneck stud I am today.

My friends helped me get out of there, and I was still in transition. It takes a good seventy-two hours at least until you can fully collapse one of those weak-ass brains like the one I had before and until a more dominant, superior personality takes over like the one I was starting to get.

So yeah, like I said, I was a mess, and when my friends got me back to one of their apartments, I was still sporadically ranting about how dare those fascists do this to me, they’d never win, this was fucking awful. But as I heard myself talk, there was a growing part of me that was observing myself and thinking “so what? You sound like a raving lunatic. Look at this body! Damn, boy, just look at that muscle!”

Sleeping on it, man, that twink brain of mine must have collapsed even further. I woke up and I just wanted coffee with a splash of alcohol in it, so that’s what I got. Then I added two splashed. I had already stripped out of my shredded pink t-shirt, and my friends had some loose boxers that fit me, but I was just this naked, muscular stud in awe of his own body and trying to come to terms with who I was now.

I was seeing my friends with new eyes, too. They seemed anxious to me, weak, full of nervous, overly feminine motions, jittery, immature, skittish and mostly just kind of fucking annoying. “Those are your friends,” I’d remind myself. “This isn’t you who’s thinking this.”

But that growing part of me was thinking “This is you. This is all you, stud. You’re so much better than them. They don’t even know you’re thinking this, and if they only knew, they’d probably be terrified.” That thought made me want to laugh out loud, so I did.

“What are you laughing at?” one of them asked.

“Oh, nothing man, nothing,” I said, looking away and scratching my head. “These are your friends,” I told myself again, but I didn’t really seem to believe what I was trying to tell myself that morning. “So what if they’re your fucking friends,” my new mind was saying. “They’re fucking losers, man. Don’t let them drag you down. You ought to just get out of here.”

That morning, I was feeling just hornier and altogether more fucked up than I’d ever been. I was thinking, nah, this can’t be the new me. I’m no motherfucking redneck. I don’t think like them. But already I was feeling excited, having this body, having these different feelings, realising that I didn’t feel like such an evil guy like this, not like I thought I would, anyhow. All I wanted to do at that point in time, I felt like, was get the hell away from these people. I didn’t know to where. I borrowed some shoes and a t-shirt that was so tight it hurt, pleading that I had to get back to my apartment. It felt like the shoes would split, and the shirt was riding up on my belly, as I trotted back to my place.

I didn’t know what I was doing or what I was gonna do. When I got home, I felt thirsty, just wanting to drink a little, feeling like that would make this feel better, even though I told myself no, you have to compose yourself, you have to call people, you have to report this. Just one drink, I thought. It turned into shot after shot, and before I knew it, I was drunk, hard in my boxers, having kicked off the shoes and thrown that tight-ass shirt on the ground as soon.

Then I was beating off, and cumming, and the build-up to that orgasm, man, it flooded my brain with some real redneck juice. I wasn’t thinking of the type of guys I usually did. I was thinking about redneck studs, studs like myself, feeling the drool run down my chin as I beat off. As I came, shooting way up on my pecs, rubbing it in with my hand, I was whispering to myself, almost like a confession that I had yet to voice to anyone, “You hot fucking redneck. Holy fuck, you love this, don’t you. You’re a redneck now. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.”

The desire to live for working out and fucking was already growing in me.

Thoughts were just racing through my head then. I knew I didn’t want to be some lame-ass yuppie or some weak-ass queer, man. I felt this powerful attraction to the redneck scene, the working class scene, the country scene, the military scene, the jock scene, you name it, any scene were men were men instead of the glitter fairy I had been before. I couldn’t quite pin it all down at that point yet, but my thoughts were sure racing.

Can you picture me, getting drunk in my apartment, turned on at my own body and swirling thoughts? And then I started to really know, man. I started to know. There was no going back now. The guy I used to be was a loser. I didn’t want to be him anymore. I was pissed off that I ever even was him.

I walked barefoot into the bedroom, checking out his stuff in the drawers and on the walls. Almost none of it would even fit me anymore. His feminine attire and the way his shithole apartment was decorated disgusted me. It made me want to punch the wall, even, so I did that and it felt good. I saw the paint crack and the drywall cave in. This new body had power.

I screamed then, a roar of pure rage and exhilaration. I punched the wall again, and it felt so fucking good that soon I was ripping all his shit off the walls and throwing it in a corner, ripping that flouncy shit off the mattress and I didn’t stop, screaming the whole while, until the bedroom at least look bare bones enough to resemble something a man would want to sleep in. I’d be damned if I ever let that loser back into this mind.

There were a few flashes, sure, and man was he a crybaby as he went out, as well as one hell of an angry little prick. Lots of hatred in his heart. I’d just laugh and say, “Fuck you!” sometimes out loud as I felt that twink brain collapse forever.

And now, as far as I’m concerned, he’s gone man. No longer a part of me, thank God.

I was nervous at first, when I started trying to hang out with guys I thought I’d have a lot more in common with that my old friends. Would they accept me? I was pretty desperate for acceptance at that point. I starting hanging out at a diner that I knew a lot of them liked to frequent, classic diner that pre-dated even the 1950s, a real antique. But these sexy ass guys would show up there, and soon we got to talking over waffles and hash browns.

Soon I was telling them I was darted, and they were saying that was hot as fuck, wanting to hear the story. Soon I was telling it to them, my legs in the air, sweat dripping down my bearded chin, as I was getting fucked.

Months after that, I was almost fully integrated into the lifestyle, man, and soon I was the one doing more of the fucking, especially after I got these sweet-ass tattoos all over my right arm. Getting fully into it, the desire to be that all I could be as man, hell, it ran in my veins now. I was going to let those commies know that I was better than them in every single way imaginable, and I wanted to show it off. I still get hard just at the thought of that, demonstrating my own superiority in the most tangible – well, to them, intangible, because I don’t want them even fucking touching me – methods available to me.

Yeah boys, it meant war for me, just like it had when I was a stupid twink, only this time I was playing for the other side, and it was chess instead of checkers.

Of course, there’s a lot more to life than just that for me, namely having hot-ass sex with all sorts of country studs and military men, hell, being part of that whole network of strong and powerful men who worship and respect other guys who’ve worked for it. I feel like I’m serving my country and being a paragon of virtue for it even when my legs are slung over some guy’s bull neck and thick, rounded deltoids as he plows the fuck out of me with his long-ass rod.

I had never gotten fucked this good when I was a twink.

I do real work with myself now, a man’s work. I dress like a man, I eat like a man, and I live my life like a man. I’m fucking proud of it, too. I love who I am now, and relocated to the other side of town, too, where the action’s hotter and I have way more in common with most folks.

I am sure glad I’m a buff stud with a thick-ass chest these days, and I don’t ever go clean-shaven. Been really into guy’s pits lately, and getting them to flex for me so I can lick those. Yeah, shit, I’ve gotta stop, because here I’ve got a raging boner just telling you all about that right now. I swear I’m way more horny than I used to be. At least seventy-five percent of the time now, I’d bet, I’m a top these days.

I don’t really like bottom boys, either. Their mere existence tends to piss me off, to be honest, so when I do fuck them I tend to be an aggressive power top. A lot of the time I don’t even think of it that way, though. I just think of them as so weak that the same rules don’t even apply to them. Different rules, in a way, because they’re a different kind of guy than me. Much more like women, unable to control themselves, you know how they are. I used to be one of them, and I’m so glad I’m not anymore, that’s for fucking sure.

A lot of the time I prefer to just fool around with guys such as myself. I love topping another top, having to wrestle somebody for hours in a strength and dominance competition. Gets the blood flowing. I like somebody who puts up a fight. C’mon, son, do you have any idea how fucking fun that is for me now? To meet up and hook up with another guy who’s just as manly as I am? That’s the stuff I live for now. I’m ready to just fuck my life away with hot ass guys at this point.

So, yeah, I’m a top who loves to wrestle with other tops and see who can dominate. I must be pretty good at it if I swear I’m scoring a seventy-five percent these days, but that’s just because occasionally I throw in some twink losers. Yeah bud, even some of these leftists get thrown a bone by me every now and again. They need us, and I like them to know they need us. They wouldn’t know what to do without us.

One of these days, I might even check with one of my army friends and see if I can come along on a mission so that I can dart one of them myself. I think I’d laugh my ass off when my dart goes in his neck or his shoulder, wherever it his him. Just to see the look on his face, shit boy. That could turn a guy on just by imagining it, so one of these days I’ll have to make it legit.

Fuck if I care about the loser I once used to be or what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. My life is better now and that’s all that matters to me.

Hot-ass guys, man. That’s what I live for.

--- Originally posted on 2020-05-27 by breedertfs ---

--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---

Caption 3 - Wednesday

For today’s caption, due to many of y’all requesting that I write this particular kind of TF again, I will be using more photos than just the one that @mystrangetfs provided. You can view that image here!

Have you been keeping up with his stories? Here’s his latest caption! He’s going above and beyond, folks. This has been as much of a treat for me as it’s been for y’all. I hope you keep enjoying what we have to offer!

Stud Pride

Emily was a prodigy.

She was the valedictorian of her high school class, first chair flute, captain of the debate team, and a state-qualified cross country runner. The girl had a lot of skills under her belt — anything she set her mind to, it seemed like she could accomplish — but what she lacked was confidence.

For all of her brilliance, there was an insecure shyness, too. She found it difficult to share herself with people, not sure how to string together a compelling conversation outside of her many debate-required arguments.It was easier being a wallflower, watching the world pass her by and telling herself she’d catch up with it when she was ready to put herself out there.

But here she was on the first day of her college career, after months of telling herself that this would be the push she needed to finally break out of her cocoon. Nothing seemed all that different as she hugged one of her textbooks to her chest, dodging around the sea of unfamiliar students and coming to a halt by the campus fountain of Parkview University.

She stared at the stone horses, idolizing how majestic they were, scolding herself for being so meek and quiet and reserved. Here she was, a Parkview Stallion in her own right, but there was nothing free or strong about her. She should have went to a university with a more appropriate mascot, she considered with a small frown. Something like a mouse.

But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the galloping horses, pulling a penny from her pocket without even considering how childish it was. Wishing on coins and fountains was not logical in the slightest, but maybe that was her problem. Maybe Emily needed just a little bit of magic in her life. So she let the coin fly, watching it flip gracefully through the air before it collided with the water, and she made her wish.

“I wish I was worthy of this school. I want to live up to all the expectations of being a Stallion.”

It was simple enough, the tried and true ‘speak it into existence’ method, but nothing really changed or clicked for her. There were butterflies fluttering in her stomach, a swirling unease deep in the pit of her gut, but she was convinced that had been there the whole time. She sucked in a breath and went about her day.

The strange thing was how her fellow classmates began to interact with her. They didn’t say anything at first, just a series of nods and enthusiastic waves as Emily moved through the packed crowd. A few of the female students smirked at her in an oddly flirtatious manner, and many of the college jocks looked pumped to see the nerdy girl. She tried to play it off, blushing shyly.

But then she heard a low voice shout, “Bro, the legend is finally here! How you been, man?” It took her a moment to realize the beefy frat boy suddenly standing by her side was talking to her, let alone about her. He definitely wasn’t someone she knew, certainly not someone she went to high school with, and she was positive he didn’t have any interest in her. With a cautious sniff, she wasn’t sure he even had an interest in basic hygiene.

He was smiling such a goofy grin, though, and he looked so happy and excited to see her that it made her smile, too. Maybe someone had dared him to prank her? Maybe he was just getting too into the act? For just a moment, she felt confidence stir in her, and she let herself ponder the possibility that maybe he really was thrilled to see her. Maybe she had a reputation already. Maybe she didn’t have to question every little thing that happened.

“Yeah, uh, it’s me. I’ve been good.” Emily spread her legs a little wider, lowering the textbook she was clutching to her chest and letting it hang casually by her side. She needed to relax, or she was going to scare this guy off with how uptight she was. “How have you been?” She got the question out easily enough, but there was a slight pause as her tongue nearly pushed out the word ‘bro.’

That would have been pushing it a bit too far, she told herself, trying to find a balance between being chill enough to hang out with this dude and acting enough like herself that she wasn’t coming across as fake. The jock didn’t seem as lost in his head as Emily was, breaking out into a wider smile and moving into a double bicep flex without a second thought. “Bro, you see these gains? Summer was a fuckin’ pump fest. I’ve been great!”

Emily wasn’t sure how to respond to that, looking around the large campus and down at herself as she tried to come up with the right words  — wait, was she wearing this outfit the whole time? She could have sworn she had dressed more formal for the occasion, but at least she felt comfortable. That was really all that mattered. The workout shirt and elastic denim pants were large on her, but warm from years of use, so warm they calmed her down and slowed her thoughts.

“You’re a total beast, man. Keep it up.” And then she patted the jock on the shoulder, like it was the most natural thing, and he kept smiling and chuckling like there was nothing strange about them interacting like this. “I’ll catch up with ya later, bro.” Her vocal chords were stirring, shortening, and taking control. She didn’t realize what she had called the guy until he grabbed her hand in some sort of weird frat boy handshake and mock-saluted at her.

“See ya, bro.”

It ran through her mind that she needed to find her dorm as she watched the musky jock leave, shaking her head to break out of her daze. She didn’t feel her hair whipping around her face as she moved, but then she reached up and grazed her backwards cap, and that felt right. She had said she wanted to make a change, to not be so lost in her head, so she was sure to dress down on her first day. She was in college now. It didn’t matter what brand of clothes she wore, she was a fuckin’ athlete with a full ride scholarship. All that mattered was how much weight she could bench.

She stopped in her tracks, scratching at the back of her exposed neck and scrunching her thick eyebrows together. No, she was here on an academic scholarship — right? “Uh,” was all she could say, standing there like an idiot who couldn’t get her brain to function properly. The deep sound moved through her, down the length of her throat and causing an Adam’s apple to swell. She had been changing since she made her wish, and she should have noticed by now — definitely by now — but she couldn’t figure it out. Everything felt right.

All of a sudden she was so chill, and slow, strolling through campus like she had no better place to be. She started waving back at all the dudes and chicks who greeted her, feeling her legs burn as she started to stretch up and up until she was beginning to have to glance down at her new friends. Her worn out workout clothes were starting to become more than just warm, and she even lifted a pit to breathe in her rank stench. Something on the inside winced, and shouted out in displeasure, but all she expressed on the outside was a low, dumb chuckle.

They called him Stink Bomb for a reason.

Emily stopped again, this time pressing a meaty hand to her forehead and gasping from the sudden shocking memory. “No, bro. That’s not me.” She was so aware, for just a moment, hearing the stretch of fabric as she glanced down at the pecs ballooning against her shirt. Her thighs were becoming thick and straining the elastic of her pants, there were sweat stains all over her body, she was getting huge and smelly and losing every aspect of her former self.

She moaned in pleasure as something hot awakened between her legs, looking around her help, but all she saw were smiling faces and waving hands and a sea of strangers masquerading as her new friends. It was like the world had turned a blind eye to what was happening to her, just like she had, but now she was forced to watch as something thick and long snaked out from her crotch, pushing so tightly against her pants that she whimpered in pain and pleasure. “Bro, I’m too fucking big.”

And, fuck, he really was. Em couldn’t really think of anything else. He was so focused on his muscles as they continued to pump, he loved watching his pecs dance beneath his shirt, seeing his sleeves bunch up around his bowling ball biceps. He had thrown on the clothes he wore during yesterday’s workout, because he was fuckin’ late to his first day of college, but no one cared. They loved him. He was the big man on campus, the star freshman football team recruit. It was okay if he stank.

Em was here to stay, or was it Ev — an inward vice screamed, “Your name is Emily! Please don’t forget!” — but Evan’s new thoughts were so big and beefy and dumb that he squashed every last trace of the nerdy girl he had been. What kind of bro would go by Emily? He clearly wasn’t a fag. He smirked at all the babes checking him out, even being so crass as to rub the fat cock he was hiding in his boxers. He was gonna have so much fucking fun at the parties on campus, that was his priority beyond staying swole for sports. Yeah, he was going to flunk all his business classes, but Coach said he’d help him out. He scratched at his chin with a snicker, loving the feeling of his stylin’ stubble.

Pair that with the diamond studs in his ears? His shaven, tatted up body? God, he was such a pussy magnet. He didn’t have to do shit, just one flex and the panties went flying up into the air. He was such a smug, dumb douche, throwing up peace signs and duck lips like he didn’t know the meaning of growing up. Like this wasn’t a serious college. Evan was Peter Pan on steroids, frozen on an elementary school education with the rocking body of a prize stud horse.

And, hell, he fuckin’ was one now! PARKVIEW STALLIONS REPRESENT, BRO. His brain was wired to promote his university team, to live up to the mascot with every fiber of his being. He already had the horse cock down, and the full breeding balls. He squeezed out a silent but deadly fart as he strolled up to the fraternity he pledged to, and he chuckled even louder. He even had the stink down to an, uh… an S? Because stink starts with S?

He didn’t fuckin’ understand some shit, but who the fuck cared? He was loud, and brash, and popular. He felt his body pulse with energy one last time, moaning without a care in the world as his shoulders popped into place, his jaw squaring out, growing thicker and sexier and knowing he still had so much bigger to get. That’s why he pumped so hard. That’s why we was going to pump some more right now. When he saw the jock he had greeted that morning, he jogged over and slapped him hard on the back.

“Bro,” he almost slurred, grasping the boy’s shoulder tight and holding him in place as he let out a booming, sputtering fart. He was so fuckin’ proud of how he smelled. He was so gross, but the ladies couldn’t get enough of this stud. He couldn’t get enough of himself, either. He loved watching people choke on the mere scent of him.

“Show me where the gym is. Stink Bomb needs to get his pump on NOW.”

Evan was a Parkview Stallion, through and through.

Maybe he couldn’t do basic math anymore, or hold a flute in his big meaty hands, or win an argument without burping in the other person’s face, or do anything that involved too much cardio without exhausting his hulking body — but at least he was a confident son of a bitch now. He wasn’t shy about anything.

That was a fair trade off, right?

Hotel Korea: Chapter Three

--- Originally posted on 2019-11-18 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

The Ignorant Passersby

Lee Hae-Jin looked at his watch anxiously, his bicep unintentionally flexing as he did. His workout gear stretched over his tight body as the seconds ticked away, counting down slowly. It had been almost a month since the first Hotel Korea had opened, and nearly a hundred more had been built since then, with even more being proposed in other cities. Lee’s idea had been a huge success, with more and more of the world’s population becoming Korean, but he still had more work to do.

One of his newest ideas for faster conversion was about to launch, and he had no idea how successful it would be. Lee had made sure that if it faltered, only he would be able to notice. Not everyone stayed at a hotel, so he had to find a way to change the everyday civilians. As the last second clicked away, his plan came to life. Lee looked out the window, hoping to see some sort of changes. His anxiousness quickly turned to glee.

— —

“I’ll be back in a second, bro!” Chandler said as he stomped his way to the restroom. He was lifting weights with another guy from his fraternity, Nathan, but had suddenly felt an urge to take a piss. Nathan waved him off as he ran into the men’s locker room. He looked in the mirror and was greeted by a fairly built white male, his blond hair slicked back with sweat. Although his face looked red, his Under Armour wife beater looked rather dry. Chandler grabbed his phone from his gym shorts and took a mirror selfie, the white wall behind him accenting his tanned skin.

Suddenly, Chandler felt a stirring in his bladder, a reminder to why he had come here in the first place. He rushed to a urinal and took out a heavy dick, one that was almost 6 inches and still soft. He began to piss and looked up towards posters on the wall, mindlessly reading about some concert from an unheard American band. He smirked, believing the Top 40 playlist he was listening to was much better.

As Chandler pissed away, he began to hear music playing through the vents. He focused his hearing in on the music and, after a few moments of thinking, determined that it wasn’t in English. He quickly figured out it was some K-pop boy band. It wasn’t his kind of music, or the gym’s for that matter, but he assumed there must have been some big party from the new Korean hotel down the street.

Chandler focused back on the posters, reading about the new boy band that was touring all the way from Korea. He suddenly became overjoyed as he remembered that they were his favorite band. As he finished, he tucked a smaller, yellow cock back into his gym shorts and walked back into the main area of the locker room. Each step he took slowly brought him lower until the 6’2 male was only about 175 centimeters. His arms and legs inflated and he suddenly rushed back into the stall, his dick now wanting to do more than just piss in the bathroom.

Chandler quickly closed the stall door behind him and sat on the ridge of the toilet, taking out his much smaller dick. Chandler didn’t notice the difference in length as he got hard, his cock much shorter than what it used to be hard. He moaned as he began to stroke, his once rough hands becoming small and soft with a lemony sheen. As he edged, his pecs began to fill out more, his pre-defined abs sharpening. He groaned as his shrunken balls began to churn, his hair growing out into black bangs on his head.

“신 이시여!” Chung-Hee shouted as he burst a load in the stall, the white cum sticking out on the black wall. He cleaned himself and walked out, his small, yellow feet moving quickly across the floor. He walked over to the sink and looked in the mirror, the K-pop still playing from the vents overhead and in his earbud. Chung-Hee was glad that Nam-Kyu had convinced him to come to the local Korean gym today. He was a little timid that it wasn’t going to be authentic, but the place seemed to be as if it had come straight out of his own South Korea itself. He smirked as he walked up to the mirror, his sexy Korean body looked incredible against the black wall. He brought up his phone and took a mirror selfie, making sure to hold a straight face. He was looking as 멋진 ever. He sent the picture to his boyfriend before running back into the gym.

— —

Officer Charleston sat in his car, surveying the land around him for any sort of disturbance. Right across the street from him was the Hotel Korea, a newer building that had been the center of multiple documented disappearances, as well as numerous other complaints. He had been dispatched there to see if there was any reason the department should be concerned, but as he lazily ate a bag of potato chips that rested on his large stomach, he couldn’t find anything that seemed out of place.

Officer Charleston watched strangers as he sat there, his floating eyes hiding behind a thick pair of sunglasses. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just lots of random people around the busy street. He noticed the large Korean population that seemed to be spilling out of the hotel across the street, but he assumed that what the typical crowd for a chain targeted at a certain population. Officer Charleston scratched his bushy beard and placed the bag of chips next to him. He lined his large foot up to the brake and started the car.

Right as the car spurred to life, a blast of music began pounding from the building. Officer Charleston twitched from the sheer volume before turning off his car–this was obviously some sort of noise disturbance. He opened his door and shuffled out of the car, his large frame struggling slightly. The policeman strolled to a crosswalk and waited patiently, not realizing that as he stood there his foot tapped to the beat. He also didn’t realize that he was translating the Korean in his own head, beginning to understand every word.

A stoplight flashed red and the officer crossed with his fellow pedestrians. Each step brought the policeman closer to the earth, until he was barely 172 centimeters tall. His torso began to shrink as his stomach fell in on itself, the skin turning to a soft golden. His arms and legs plumped with definition, years of age being replaced with pounds of muscle. His shorter calves and forearms became solid as he made it to the other side of the street.

The policeman hummed along to the music as his thighs expanded inside of his pants. His hands became smaller as he adjusted his name badge, his name switching from the English phonetic system to Hangul. His feet also shrunk, now being able to slip comfortably into a pair of 250 mm boots.The yellowly tone overtook the rest of the officer’s body as his hair magically began to shed, all of it disappearing from the neck below. Even his beard fell away, revealing a sturdy jaw and the most flawless skin.

As a brown bob began to grow out on his head, the officer suddenly felt a sharp pain in his crotch. He rushed out to the side of the hotel behind a dumpster, pulling down pants to reveal a stubby, lemony cock begging for attention. He grabbed his cock and stroked it carefully, his whole hand not entirely fitting. He moaned quietly, its pitch rising as his Adam’s apple sunk in. He felt his balls tremble as he took in a harsh breath.

“커밍 해요!” Security Guard Choi howled as a small load poured into his hand. He sighed before wiping it on the side of his uniform. He was glad that he was able to sneak a session in during his shift at the Hotel Korea. They were fairly lenient on breaks, but sometimes a Korean man in his youth had to get in some extra time. The watchman turned the corner back around to the front of the building and noticed a car was abnormally parked on the street. It probably was just an accident, but he had to make sure that everything was perfect at the hotel. He strode over confidently: there was nothing a fine, young Korean like himself couldn’t deal with.

— —

John just needed a break. He wasn’t supposed to have his kid for the day, but his ex dropped him off a few days early. John hadn’t been able to take off work, so now he had to drag the 9-year-old around with him everywhere he went. It was completely agonizing. As they walked downtown, the kid had to see everything, point at everything, want everything. It was the worst when they passed the new hotel a few buildings back; there was way too much to look at. John eventually gave up, telling him to sit down outside and wait as he went into a brewery to get a drink. He knew it wasn’t the best idea, but he was about to explode.

John quickly ordered a strong scotch and took a seat. Getting closer to 50 everyday, he still couldn’t believe that he had a child so young. Wasn’t his sperm supposed to stop working at one point? The kid had put so much stress on his body, helping him gain weight and lose hair. The balding man sat there quietly as a glass was carefully placed in front of him. He grumbled before grabbing it, knowing he’d have to chug it. Why couldn’t the kid just grow up?

He grabbed the glass right as new song began. It wasn’t coming from the brewery, but instead from a distance away. John didn’t notice it at first, but he slowly began subconsciously focusing more and more on the music. It wasn’t in English, but John could feel himself slowly get more and more involved in the music. His gulping turned to sipping as he started fully investing his attention in the boy-band music.

As John casually drank his whiskey, he didn’t notice his clothes slowly becoming looser on his frame. His stomach was coated in a light tan as pounds shed themselves away, the hair falling with them. While abs and pecs appeared on his frame, round biceps and triceps also began to pop up around his thickening arms. While his body became more muscular, years of age began to disappear. His shoulders and hips were coated in a lemony shade as they widened and shrunk respectively.

As more of the beer disappeared from the cup, so did John’s height. He slowly diminished in his chair, losing 16 centimeters to his height. Although his legs had contracted, his thighs and quads had become enormous. His calves had also becoming thicker, but they had lost their body hair along with the rest of John’s body. The only hair that grew in was on his head, which now was a soft, full stark-black part. John’s feet compressed as the rest of the golden shade covered his body.

Putting his root beer glass down, John began palming his groin. It had become increasingly agitated as time went on. John knew he was in public, but he had to relieve his dick right now. He dug his hands into his pants and began furiously stroking; his cock became more sensitive from its decreasing length. Suddenly, John felt his pouch scrunch up in his hands, ready for action.

“달콤한 방출!” Joon-ho squealed in a high tone as a small wet patch appeared on the front of his shirt. Joon-ho groaned in delight as he resituated himself in the chair. He picked up the Korean coffee and took a sip, smiling at its deliciousness. He knew it was dumb to come to a brewery and not get alcohol, but he didn’t care for it that much. He was still basically a kid in his early twenties, so it never appealed to him.

Speaking of feeling like a kid, he had to go find his boyfriend. He didn’t have a daddy kink, but it was clear who was in charge and who wasn’t between the two of them. Before he’d run off to find his boyfriend, he’d have to finish off this drink first.

— —

Timothy hated the hotel that had opened near his apartment. He had been living there for almost ten years, and all that time he had assumed that nothing would ever be built in the hideous lot a little less than a block away. Then, out of nowhere, a giant hotel was built, with people flowing in and out everyday. The strange thing though, Timothy noticed that people of every size, race, and age went into the hotel, but only young, attractive Koreans came out. The 40-year-old man could sense something was wrong.

Luckily for Timothy, he had just come home from work early, his boss feeling extra kind today. He rushed home and ran upstairs to his bathroom to take a hot, long bath. He prepared all the materials necessary before stripping his suit down slowly, his furry chest and legs becoming exposed to the world. Timothy knew he wasn’t the most attractive of people, with his beer gut and clunky height, but at least was fairly average. Once he was naked, the middle-aged man got into the tub, laying down so his feet stuck out the other side. Timothy rubbed a wet hand onto his head, the short, graying hair meeting him. He laid there in silence for a couple of minutes.

Timothy’s eyes jerked open as he began to hear music bouncing around his bathroom walls. He focused his ears to figure out that it was coming from the hotel, realizing it was in some kind of Asian language. At first, he was completely annoyed, but as he listened to it more, he began to like it. What the boys were singing about became enticing to him, relaxing him once more into the tub before he fell asleep.

Tae-won squinted as he woke up, his nap being a little longer than intended. He slowly pulled himself up, his small body wholely underwater. He looked over his lemony, muscled body, his proudest features all displayed finely under the bubbles. He looked over himself as he felt his small cock rise, with the absence of hair making it look even more miniscule. In fact, Tae-won was completely hairless from the armpits down–and he completely loved it.

Tae-won brought a small hand to his dick, carefully bringing it to full mast with three fingers. He whimpered as he jerked away, his cock sensitive. The boy band played in the background as he kept pushing, his short but powerful legs scrunching up to his defined torso. Tae-won pushed his brown locks to the side as he began to stroke faster. As he got to the edge, he felt his balls scrunch up to push out a load.

“여기 온다!” Tae-won yelled as his shot a miniscule load into the tub. Once he took a few deep breaths, he regained himself and slowly got out of the tub. He grabbed his red jockstrap and tight shorts, placing both on as he dried himself off. Tae-won restyled his hair into the classic chestnut bob before running downstairs. He picked up his phone and saw that he had a little less than an hour before he began his shift at the Hotel Korea. He also noticed that he had received a text from his boyfriend a few minutes ago. He opened the message, finding a picture of the other incredibly attractive Korean at the gym. Tae-won smiled, noticing his boyfriend was wearing one of the wife beaters he had given him at their last anniversary.

“Looking good, Chung-Hee,” Tae-won muttered in Korean, responding back to the picture. He guided himself back to the staircase, his tight, yellowy abs glistened under the sunlight from a nearby window. He pulled up his phone and brought it to the mirror, going from the same straight face that his partner had. His lemony features looked delicious after his long wash. He shot the picture and sent it to his boyfriend before running back upstairs to his room to get his uniform on. He had a long shift ahead of him, but, luckily for him, he loved his workplace.

— —

Milo had been waiting for his friend for almost an hour. He was parked outside of his hotel, the new one that had just opened, and he still hadn’t gotten any word from Kayler. He should’ve been worried, but for as long as he could remember, Kayler was never really one to be prompt; however, this was getting absurd.

Both Kayler and Milo had been friends since kindergarten, and the two of them would graduate in a few months from the highschool a little ways out of the city. Kayler was at the hotel for an assignment, one in which the student would observe a different culture. Of course, the Hotel Korea was the perfect choice, but Milo hadn’t heard any word from Kayler. He was supposed to pick him up after three days at the front door, but as Milo fiddled with his large shirt over his lithe body, no one ever approached his car.

Out of the blue, loud music exploded from the building Milo was parked in front of. Milo ducked for cover, taking a few moments to realize that it was not some sort of explosion, but instead K-pop. Milo didn’t know what to think of it at first, but what the boy band was singing about was strangely alluring. Milo concentrated on the noise, grooming his bright red hair as he followed along. The longer he listened to it, the more he began to enjoy it.

As the song started its first refrain, Milo hadn’t noticed how his feet were no longer tapping the brake pedal. He subconsciously pulled his chair a few inches forward as his shirt began to fill out. The once loose shirt began to tighten around the pecs and abs that were popping up by the beat. His once miniscule arms bloated, becoming muscular and dense. His calves and thighs also expanded while an amber color began to blotch out the pale white.

By the second refrain, Milo’s shirt was now strained, his large torso and biceps making it seem like the seams would rip any moment. Milo’s pants were also threatening to tear, with a large bubble butt and tree-trunk legs pushing at the silky boundaries. Hair dwindled away all around Milo’s body except for on his head, which shortened into a black sports cut. A few years packed onto to Milo as he shifted into his early twenties, while his feet shrunk into a softer size of 245 mm.

As the rest of the golden tan covered his body, Milo grabbed his average size cock and began to stroke. It got hard instantly, but didn’t lengthen at all. His hard length was now the same as what he was as soft previously. Milo didn’t notice however, for he was too focused on how incredible the bridge of the song was. As the last refrain came around the corner, Milo felt his testicles tense quickly.

“너무 좋아!” Min-kyu cried as a spray of white cum covered his shirt. He sat there for a second, breathing irregularly before regaining consciousness. He hadn’t even realized he had an audience at the passenger door.

“여보세요?” The stranger asked, causing Min-kyu to jump. He turned to the window to see his boyfriend standing at the window, still on his shift as a security guard at the hotel.

“Choissi, you scared me!” Min-kyu said in Korean as the watchman entered the car.

“Well, I didn’t know I was late to the party,” he replied back before leaning over for a kiss. As the two embraced, Min-kyu suddenly felt a buzzing in his pocket. He took out his phone to see that he had a text from his friend Kun-woo. He put his phone down and continued with the security guard. If Min-kyu had waited this long, Kun-woo could too.

— —

Gunnar sat on the uncomfortable chair extremely bored. He couldn’t believe that his lousy father had just left him at the front of a furniture store while he went off to get a drink. He didn’t even like his father. The two never connected because Gunnar had spent most of his time with his mom. They never really spent time together, and when they did, it was just awkward and always ended in some sort of argument. It was like he wasn’t even related to the man, but he knew that he had to try to stay friendly.

Gunnar brought a small bag into his lap, looking through all the things that his father did let him get. It wasn’t much, the reusable bag was just as ordinary as they things they had purchased. There were some water bottles, gloves, and a new game for his console back at his other home, but otherwise the day had proved uneventful. His father wouldn’t let him go into any of the buildings he wanted to see, especially the new hotel that had just opened down the street. Gunnar took out the water bottle to take a drink, not knowing what else to do.

Without warning, music began blasting from down the street. Gunnar choked for a second on the water he had just opened, surprised. He took the plastic bottle out of his mouth and looked towards the hotel. He could almost see the soundwaves emitting from the building, the K-pop becoming strangely alluring.

Gunnar brought the juice bottle back to his mouth, beginning to enjoy the music as it played on. As he drank, his legs began to extend themselves, the new meaty thighs and calves pushing him to a staggering 178 centimeters. Gunnar subconsciously began to manspread as his body became wider, his torso filling in with strong abs and pecs. An amber tone flooded his pale skin while his eyes became a deep brown.

While Gunnar continued guzzling pop from the bottle, his arms and shoulders began to fill out. Years of time in the gym became evident as pounds of meat were added to the boys frame. Veins became visible while his hand became round and hard, the results of numerous callouses. His expanding quads caused his shorts to pull up, now looking more like short-shorts than their previous knee-length.

As Gunnar topped off the beer bottle, he began to feel a rumbling in his balls. He had no idea what was happening, but something was telling him in the back of his mind that he should stroke his small cock. He grabbed it, and, with a sudden feeling of elation, began pumping furiously. As he did, he didn’t notice his grunts slowly becoming deeper, or how he now had to blow black bangs out of his face. Right as the yellow color covered the last of the pale skin, Gunnar felt a final push in his groin.

“달콤한 서울!” Gun-woo grunted as his jizz landed on his Corona shirt. He quickly rubbed it in before grabbing the matching bag and looking through it for a back-up outfit. All he had was an empty glass bottle, a beer koozie, and a Korean porn film for his date tonight. His date! He had completely forgotten about it, and where his partner had walked off to.

As if on cue, his boyfriend walked out of a nearby coffee shop. A grin plastered itself on Gun-woo’s face.

You look adorable, boy,” Gun-woo remarked in Korean as his boyfriend walked over.

“You aren’t too bad either, old man,” the man replied back.

“Joon-ho, you know I’m only five years older than you,” Gun-woo snarked.

“You’re talent in bed says otherwise.” Joon-ho replied, licking his lips. Gun-woo smirked as he got up to leave with his boyfriend, knowing he had a fun night ahead of him.

— —

Lee Hae-jin sat at his desk, the new information charts flooding in from every other Hotel Korea. His plan had been a huge success, as apparent by the massive spikes of local Korean populations in each location. The music was an easy choice for conversion while still being untrackable, but the problem was how he would transfer the Korean genetic code through the melodies. He had to write a song that would transform its listeners.

After tedious research, he finally came to an idea: Don’t create music, create a band. He designed his own K-pop boy band, which he cleverly named KOREABOO. They would seem like any other boy band from South Korea, but they’d only produce Lee’s music. Their voices would make the melodies that would become hypnotic to new listeners. Their words would help produce the new Korean population faster.

Lee closed the laptop and chuckled to himself. It would only be so long before the entire world would be Korean, and, more importantly, under his control.

Primal Instincts: Men are Dogs

--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---

Gwen could smell the cigarette smoke wafting from one of the apartment windows as she jogged along the street. She always hated this part of the walk because there was usually someone sitting outside on their apartment balcony and she felt "watched." Gwen was in her mid-twenties, just out of college, but single. She worked downtown at a bank and wore fashionable work clothes, but today on her run she wore simple athletic gear. She had an attractive body, lean and fit, and she hoped to keep it that way. It was on this street in particular that she could feel people "watch" her as she ran and it was unsettling. Today, her cell-phone rang, which threw off her running music, so she stopped to check her phone and get the music going again.

When she stopped, she could smell the cigarette smoke even stronger and felt eyes watching her from above. She glanced up and saw a thirty-something guy leaning over the railing and looking at her. She broke eye contact and paced a few steps, but still felt watched. He heard the man clear his throat and spit.

"Lookin' fine, girl! Don' stop now! Keep on'a runnin' " said the guy with a laugh.

She ignored him and tried to get her phone to start her running mix again. While she fussed with her phone, her water bottle slipped and fell onto the sidewalk. She could feel the man's pervert eyes watching her as she reached down to pick it up.

The man let out a loud whistle, "Nice ass! Come by later and I'll help you keep it in shape!"

She had been cat-called before, but this guy was starting to cross a line. Earlier that week, a friend had told her to download an app called "Men Are Dogs." It was supposedly some way to report incidents of guys acting like jerks or "dogs" so other girls could look them up and feel safer. Her friend had thought it was funny to see what kind of guys made it into the database, but Gwen never thought she would actually have to use it.

In a second, she grabbed her phone, opened up the app, and turned to the guy in the balcony.

"You want a picture! I'll give you more than a picture," he shouted as he grabbed his crotch and gestured vulgarly.

This was the first time she actually had a chance to look at this creep of a guy. He was wearing torn jeans and a white sleeveless t-shirt. He was a broad shouldered guy with a big build, but had a beer gut and flabby arms. He looked pretty strong, but not really in shape. His light blonde hair was cropped tight, almost shaved and he had a tattoo on his shoulder. He threw his cigarette in the bushes and licked his lips and thrust towards her again, laughing.

Her phone snapped a picture and within a few seconds the message read "Strike Three," which must have meant this guy had been reported by two other users. The next screen said "Teach this dog a lesson? Yes or No." She wasn't sure what this actually meant, but the guy was being a real dickhead, so she chose "yes."

The screen buffered with the message "Dog in Training," which had a picture of a muscular man wearing a dog collar and panting stupidly. She looked up and saw the man on the balcony look like he was choking and fall to his knees. She ran closer, hoping it wasn't all some stupid act. He was pawing at something at his neck, which Gwen realized was a leather collar. He made a few choking sounds and then looked at her and stuck his tongue out stupidly. Suddenly, his body started to shape shift into a compact, muscular dog. She saw a leash attached to the collar and the dog pleaded softly and looked up at her.

Her phone vibrated and she read the message, "Say hello to Kurt." She grabbed the leash, not sure what do with this man that she had watched transform into a dog. She was happy that he had stopped harassing her, but thought this was maybe an extreme reaction. The phone continued by asking "Bring Home or Bring to Pound?" She chose "bring home," but just wanted to get out of there before anyone one noticed. Kurt trotted in front on his leash while she finished her run.

As soon as she got home, she texted Amanda, the friend that had shown her the phone app. "No way!" was Amanda's reaction, "send a pic." Gwen snapped a picture of Kurt and sent it. "I'm coming over," Amanda replied.

--

"Oh my god!" Amanda squealed when Gwen explained what had happened. "He's so cute," she said as she pet Kurt on the back while he panted and barked.

"Well, he was saying all this stupid shit, and I just thought I'd take a picture and leave ... but it turned him into this dog ... and now I don't know how to turn him back!" Gwen stammered. "I don't want a dog!"

"But Gwen, look at him," Amanda said as she continued to pet Kurt's head.

"I don't want a dog! Especially one that was some sicko guy from the street!"

Gwen's phone suddenly vibrated again and she pulled up the app. She saw a picture of Kurt before he was a dog and the words "Teach your dog a new trick? Yes or No."

"What should I do," Gwen said in frustration. Amanda grabbed the phone and chose "yes." Kurt whimpered a little and then rolled over on his back. In a few minutes, his dog body had transformed back into the original Kurt, but he stayed motionless on the floor. Thankfully, his clothes had reappeared so they didn't have to see a nude guy "appear" on the living room floor.

"Woah," said Amanda. "So you're not kidding!"

"Of course not!" shouted Gwen. "This is him!"

"Give a command," prompted the phone and Amanda selected "Roll over." Kurt obediently rolled onto his belly. "Stand up," and Kurt stood up. "Try your own," read the phone. "Take off your shirt and flex," shouted Amanda. "Amanda! Stop it!" Gwen tried to say, but Kurt obeyed by taking off his white t-shirt and flexed his muscles. While Amanda gawked about controlling Kurt, Gwen saw her pile of unfolded laundry and had an idea for a command. "Kurt, fold my laundry." Dutifully, he walked over and started folding clothes. "Nice one," Amanda replied. "You've got a live-in butler!"

While Kurt folded clothes, the phone popped up another message. "See grooming options." Amanda and Gwen fiddled with the sliding bars, one for muscle, hair, height, etc., but they couldn't decide so they selected "Suggested grooming." They watched Kurt transform again, this time into a muscular young man with ripped abs, a tight ass with a thin waist. Long legs and arms with lean muscle, broad shoulders and sucked in stomach. His hairy belly and back were smooth, like he was properly groomed. Even his smile and eyes looked more attractive.

"Good lord!" said Amanda. "Take off your pants, Kurt!" and he obeyed. "No, like in a strip show!" Kurt walked over to her and started grinding while slowly unbuttoning his jeans. He had on a pair of tight underwear which showed his massive cock. But Gwen choose, "Kennel" on the app and Kurt stopped, curled up on the living room floor and within a minute was back to dog form.

"Oh come on!" said Amanda. "It was just getting fun."

"It's late, Amanda," said Gwen. "And I have to work. Plus, I just want to go to bed and figure out what to do about this in the morning."

"Fine," said Amanda as she headed towards the door. "But invite me over so I can play with your 'dog' once and awhile."

"Haha," replied Gwen drolly.

--

At 6:00 AM, Gwen heard scratching at her door. "What the?" she said as she staggered. She opened the door and saw Kurt scratching his paws to get her attention.

"Do you have to go outside," she asked and she knew the answer was yes. She grabbed the leash and walked him outside to take a piss on the lawn. She changed into her running gear and thought maybe she could take Kurt running with her.

After the run she started getting ready for work and took a quick shower. She stepped out wearing only her towel and screamed when she saw a man standing in the kitchen. But she realized it was only Kurt, who was busy cooking breakfast. He was wearing only his underwear and was the muscular version of himself from last night.

"What are you doing?" asked Gwen, as if talking to a pet. She was startled when he answered, "Making breakfast for you."

"Wait, you can talk?"

"Of course I can talk!"

The whole time since taking Kurt home, she hadn't heard him speak a word. Also, she noticed that even though she was only wrapped in a towel, Kurt was making perfect eye contact with her, not looking at her body or barely covered breasts, just right into her eyes. She felt a little sad for him, but also a sort of "puppy love" at how cute he was making breakfast for her. She finished changing, ate breakfast, and headed towards the door.

"Kurt, I'll be back around 5. Just don't mess anything them and keep clean, okay. Make yourself lunch."

"Have a good day, Gwen," Kurt answered with excitement as she closed and locked the door.

--

When Gwen opened the door to her house she didn't know what to expect. Would Kurt still be there? Would he be a dog-dog or a man-dog? Would he have run away? Would she keep him? What about Kurt's friends and family?

"Kurt, I'm home," Gwen called out. She heard the shower turn off and Kurt ran towards her, this time completely naked.

"Hi Gwen!" he said enthusiastically. She saw that Kurt's massive cock was swaying, half-erect. "Wanna get some exercise?" said Gwen.

"Yes, of course!" answered Kurt, who loved running. He ran to get the leash and held it out to her.

"Not that type of exercise," said Gwen as she led him towards the bedroom. "You're going to fuck me until I tell you to stop, okay!"

"Okay," he said, hopping up on the bed.

"And you're not going to talk until I tell you," she said. Kurt nodded.

"And go slow. You need to be more man and less dog right now," she added as she dropped her work skirt to the ground and pulled off her blouse.

After there love-making -- the best Gwen had ever had! -- Gwen had a notification on her phone. "Training Complete. All Men Are Dogs!"

She looked over at the muscular man-dog lying in bed next to her, looked at his smooth chest, thin waist, and tight ass, and put down the phone, fully determined to adopt this stray and keep him well-trained.

Fighters Paradise

It was another Friday afternoon and Max was on his way to an arcade. He had just turned 23 and had been saving up for a while to buy a special coin. They were quite expensive, but would give him unlimited access to the best games in the arcade for an entire week.

Max walked into the arcade and was disappointed to see it wasn’t as busy as he thought it would be. He made his way to the counter where an girl with dark hair smiled at him from behind the glass.

“Hello there, can I help you?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’d like to buy a deluxe coin please,” Max said.

The clerk took his money and gave him the coin before saying, “Enjoy your time here.”

Max then made his way into the main hall where all the arcade machines were. He looked around for a while until he found the game he had come here for. It was called Fighters Paradise and was one of the most popular games in the arcade. It was an interactive boxing game where ridiculously muscular characters would face off each other until one of them was knocked.

Max walked up to the machine and wrapped his around the joystick meant to control the game. He inserted his special coin and as he did the screen turned on. The Fighters Paradise logo was displayed in large letters on the screen. Underneath the logo a question appeared "Do you accept the challenge?". Thinking it might just be some ordinary loading screen he clicked on yes without much thought.

As he did, a bright beam came forth from the screen. As the beam of light touched his body and traveled upwards to his torso his body seemed to be disintegrating. Panicking, he tried letting go of the stick only to realize he couldn't move anything at all.

"Please... someone!" Max called out but no one seemed to be around.

Accepting his fate, he watched as his arms and chest disappeared.

Finally, the beam hit his face and everything turned to black.

---

Max opened his eyes slowly to find himself laying on the sand. He was surrounded by palm trees swaying in the breeze and felt the warm sun beating down from above. Looking around he saw no signs of buildings or any other sign of civilization, just water in every direction as far as the eye could see.

"What the hell?" Max muttered to himself as he stood up and brushed the sand from his clothes. He was still wearing the same jeans and t-shirt he had on when he went into the arcade.

Max then noticed that he wasn't alone on the beach. A tall muscular man in boxing shorts was walking towards him, boxing gloves wrapped around his fists.

The man smiled as he approached Max and said, "Welcome to the greatest game of all time."

"What do you mean?" Max asked, confused by what was happening.

He then walked up to Max and wrapped him up in a hug before saying, "You're here now, which means you have accepted the challenge."

"What challenge?"

"To fight against the best of the best in an epic battle to the end," the man said sarcastically with a smile. "I am Tyrone, I used to come from the other side just like you. You can live comfortably in this world, you just have to fight opponents every day unless you want to go crazy."

Max what was was weirder, the fact a boxer was standing in front of him instead of the gym or the fact that he had been pulled into a video game and was just told to fight people to until one was KO'd.

Max looked around at the beautiful scenery before asking, "Me? Fight?"

He looked down at his attire, he was not dressed for the beach much less to fight some random stranger.

"Sorry man but I don't think I'm cut out for this. Can't you just send me back out again?" he pleaded with the man

"No can do. It's a one way street." he replied with an empathetic smile.

"But I'm not a fighter!"

"Not yet, is what you mean to say. It won't affect you yet but soon you will be craving combat," he says, "don't worry I'll train you"

Tyrone led Max down to the beach and around a large rock that was at the edge of the water. Behind the rock was a small shack with a boxing ring set up outside it.

"This is where we'll be training," Tyrone said as he opened the door to let Max inside. The gym was nothing special, just an old shed with a few punching bags and some weights.

Max looked around the gym in surprise, "I don't have much experience with boxing."

"That's alright," Tyrone said, "I'll teach you everything you need to know."

He then walked over to a punching bag and hit it with a powerful uppercut. Max was amazed at how hard the man hit the bag, causing it to fly back and hit the wall behind it.

"First things first, let's get some basic punches down," Tyrone said before grabbing two gloves from a shelf. "Here, put these on."

Max took the gloves from Tyrone and put them on. He then watched as Tyrone set up the punching bag so it was hanging at the perfect height for them to use.

"Okay, watch me and copy me," Tyrone said before throwing a jab.

Max followed through with his own jab after watching Tyrone. Tyrone then demonstrated a right hook before having Max throw one as well. After practicing both punches a few times, they moved on to combinations.

"Let's try a simple 1-2 combo," Tyrone said, throwing a jab followed by a right hand. "Copy me."

Max threw the same punch combination after Tyrone and watched as he smiled in approval. They continued practicing punches for a while until Tyrone finally said, "Alright, that's enough for now. Let's move on to something else."

"What next?" Max asked, taking off his gloves and hanging them up on a shelf.

"Let's get some footwork down," Tyrone replied before leading Max out of the gym. "We'll be using the boxing ring outside for this."

Max followed Tyrone out into the backyard where they both stepped into the boxing ring that had been set up there.

"Okay, I want you to move around the ring and pretend you're throwing punches," Tyrone instructed. "Keep your hands up in a defensive position when you're not throwing them."

Max did as he was told, moving around the ring and throwing imaginary punches. After watching him for a moment, Tyrone said, "Your footwork is pretty good already. We just need to work on your balance a little bit."

He then stepped into the ring with Max and had him practice his footwork while he lightly touched him to see how well balanced he was.

"You're doing great," Tyrone said after a few minutes of this. "Alright, let's take it up a notch now."

He then started throwing some light punches at Max to see how well he would dodge them. Max quickly found himself dodging the punches left and right, feeling like he was in an actual fight.

After a while of this, Tyrone finally said, "Okay, that's enough for today."

Max stepped out of the ring, exhausted from all the practice they had done. He was amazed at how well he was doing considering he had never boxed before. He looked over at Tyrone who was watching him with a smile.

"You're a natural," Tyrone said before walking up to Max and patting him on the back. "I'm proud of you."

Max smiled at the compliment, feeling like he had finally earned it after all the hard work he had put in.

"Thanks man," he said to Tyrone. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," Tyrone replied before walking over to the gym door. "Let's come back tomorrow and we'll keep practicing. I have a feeling you're going to be a force to reckon with in no time."

Max nodded and said, "Sounds good. I can't wait to get better."

As Tyrone closed up the gym he led Max to his villa that was situated close to the beach as well.

"Wow" Max thought to himself amazed by the view and the luxurious building that Tyrone lived in.

"If you're spending a long time here, might as well make it comfortable right?" Tyrone started saying as he led Max through all the different rooms of his house.

"This will be your room, I'll see you in the morning"

Exhausted and overwhelmed by the crazy things that had taken place in what felt like less than a couple hours, he fell asleep in mere minutes.

---

Max awoke with a start, feeling like he had just had the most bizarre dream. It took him a moment to realize that he was actually in a strange dream right now. He looked around the room he was in, noticing that it was much nicer than the one he had been staying in before.

"What the hell?" Max muttered to himself as he got out of bed. He walked over to the window and gazed outside, seeing an amazing view of the ocean.

It was then that he remembered what had happened yesterday, how he had been pulled into a video game world and forced to fight people for Tyrone's entertainment. The thought made him feel anxious, like there was something he should be doing but couldn't quite remember what it was.

Max decided to head down to the kitchen in Tyrone's villa to see if he could find something to eat. As he walked through the hallway he noticed a few pictures on the wall that showed Tyrone with other people. One of them was a man who looked muscular but also very stylish, wearing a suit and smiling for the camera.

Max stopped in front of this picture, feeling like he recognized the man but couldn't quite remember from where. He shook his head and continued on to the kitchen.

When Max entered the kitchen he was greeted by Tyrone who was cooking some eggs and bacon. "Good morning," Tyrone said, "I hope you're feeling rested after yesterday."

Max nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched Tyrone finish up breakfast as he thought about what had happened the day before.

It was weird how he could remember being in a boring arcade waiting for his turn to play some stupid game, but couldn't recall anything after that. Had they drugged him or something? It was just a theory, but it was the only thing that made sense at this point.

"Here you go," Tyrone said, placing a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Max. "Eat up."

Max started to eat his breakfast, doing his best not to think about the weird day he had had. He was interrupted when Tyrone asked him how he was feeling.

"Anxious," Max replied truthfully, "Like there's something I should be doing but don't know what it is."

Tyrone nodded and said, "It's probably just the curse of being stuck in this video game world. The only thing that helps is to fight."

"Ah," Max sighed in a defeated tone, "so you really weren't kididing about that"

"Nope. The only thing that really helps is to well, fight..." he replied with an empathetic smile.

"Let's get you some clothes and head to the gym, that should help already" Tyrone suggested, already moving towards another room of the large villa.

Max was lead into Tyrone's bedroom which was somehow even more luxurious than the other rooms in the villa.

Tyrone opened yet another door connected to his bedroom which looked to be a walk-in closet lined with boxing clothes and stylish floral shirts.

"Pick something you like and we'll head to the gym, okay?" Tryone said, already grabbing a a nice pair of red shorts.

"See anything you like?" he asked Max who looked like a kid in front of a candy aisle overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choice.

"Uh,"

"Here, just take this" he said handing the pair of red shorts to Max.

"Thanks... Where can I change?"

"What do you mean? Just change here, we're both men right?" Tyrone replied

"Let's get you out of that old t-shirt"

Before Max even had a chance to respond Tyrone came up to him and ripped apart his shirt in one motion.

"We won't be needing that for much long"

Shocked by Tyrone's assertiveness he responded by covering his flat albeit a little pudgy chest with his hands.

Max did not realize his mistake as this gave Tyrone the perfect opportunity to pull down Max's jeans and underwear as well.

"Don't be ashamed man, you've got a nice body" he complimented.

This comment made Max flustered and blushed red harder than he ever had before.

What Tyrone said next however would send Max over the moon.

"If you'll do well today I'll even reward you" he said with a suggestive wink as cupped Max's balls with his hand.

Many emotions rushed through Max's mind: excitement, anxiety, lust.

"Come on Max, we haven't got all day" Tyrone told him, already set on heading to the gym to start their second session.

---

Max and Tyrone have their second training at the small shack again. Max turns out to be a natural at boxing and is improving at an incredible pace. Tyrone decides to do a little sparing with some light punches. Every punch he deals/receives seems to scratch his itch. After the training Max could also swear that his stomach looked a little less pudgy and more far more toned than it ever had been

Max followed Tyrone out of the villa and down to the gym where they had trained yesterday. He was still feeling embarrassed about what had happened in Tyrone's bedroom, but he tried to push those thoughts aside for now.

"Alright," Tyrone said as they stepped into the small shack that served as a boxing gym, "let's get started."

Max nodded and went to put on his gloves while Tyrone set up the punching bag. He had been getting better at landing his punches since yesterday, but there was still room for improvement.

"Remember to keep your guard up," Tyrone said as he finished setting things up. "You never know when I might throw a surprise punch."

Max nodded and assumed a fighting stance, readying himself for the training session ahead. He felt more confident than he had yesterday, but was still wary of Tyrone's skill.

The training started off well, with Max landing several good punches on the bag. Tyrone complimented him on his progress and said that he was getting better at reading his opponent. This made Max feel even more confident as they continued to practice.

After a while, Tyrone suggested that they try some sparring. He promised to go easy on Max, saying that it would help him get used to fighting another person instead of just a bag. Max agreed and they stepped into the ring, starting to throw some light punches at each other.

It felt weird to be hitting Tyrone instead of a sand bag. But they both kept their punches light and tried to focus on improving their technique. As they continued to spar, Max found that every time he landed a punch on Tyrone, it was like scratching that figurative itch deep inside him. It made him want to land more punches, it as almost addictive.

On the other side of things, Tyrone felt a similar itch being scratched when he blocked Max's punches or landed one of his own.

Max started to understand how the curse worked and how fighting was so important in this world.

After a few rounds of sparring, they both were feeling exhausted. Tyrone suggested that they take a break and have some water before heading back into the gym for more training. Max nodded in agreement and they both stepped out of the ring to catch their breath.

As they drank some water, Max couldn't help but notice that his stomach looked less pudgy than it had earlier. He didn't know if it was just his imagination or if all the exercise he had been getting was actually paying off. Tyrone noticed him staring at his own body and smirked.

"What is it?" he asked. "Noticing how much more toned you're getting?"

Max blushed, not sure how to respond. He hadn't meant to be staring at himself, but he couldn't help feeling proud of all the progress he had made in such a short amount of time.

"I guess so," he admitted truthfully.

Tyrone clapped him on the back and said, "Then let's keep up the good work! We'll have you looking like a lean mean fighting machine in no time."

Max smiled back at Tyrone and felt his heart race as he thought about all the changes that might come with more training. They both finished their water and headed back into the gym to continue practicing until it was too dark to see.

---

As they walked back to the villa, Max couldn't help but feel anxious about what was going to happen next. He didn't know how much of it was the curse giving him pleasurable feelings, and how much of it was his own desire to have sex with Tyrone. But he knew that he wanted Tyrone, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

He stayed silent as he entered the villa and followed Tyrone into the bedroom.

"Take off your clothes," Tyrone ordered. "I want to see you naked."

Max did as he was told, feeling a little humiliated to be stripping in front of Tyrone. But it didn't matter, all that mattered was getting some release for his raging hardon. He stood there awkwardly, his cock throbbing painfully as Tyrone looked him up and down with hungry eyes.

"Get on the bed," Tyrone commanded. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."

Max climbed onto the big soft bed, feeling like a rag doll in Tyrone's strong hands. He spread his legs wide open for Tyrone, inviting him to take what he wanted. Tyrone smiled and then kissed Max deeply, his tongue exploring his mouth as his hands gripped Max's ass cheeks.

Max moaned into Tyrone's mouth, begging him to hurry up and fuck him. He was so horny that he didn't care about the kiss or even about Tyrone's skill; he just wanted to cum.

Tyrone positioned himself between Max's legs and spit on his cock before wrapping his hand around it. He started to stroke Max slowly, making him writhe in frustration. Then he suddenly pressed his cock against Max's tight hole and pushed forward without warning.

Max cried out as he felt Tyrone's thick cock stretching him open. It hurt a little at first, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of having Tyrone inside him. He reached down and started to stroke himself while Tyrone began to fuck him for all he was worth.

The bed creaked loudly as Tyrone pounded into Max's ass. His big hands gripped Max's hips tightly, holding him in place as he thrust over and over again. Each time Tyrone bottomed out inside of him, Max felt like his insides were being rearranged. It was a little painful but it also felt so good.

Tyrone's grunts filled the bedroom as he got closer and closer to cumming. He began to fuck Max harder and faster, making him cry out louder and louder. Then Tyrone's cock twitched inside of him and he felt hot cum filling his ass.

"Fuck yes," Tyrone groaned, holding still for a moment as he emptied his balls into Max. "You're such a good fuck."

Max was too busy recovering from his own orgasm to reply. He could feel Tyrone's hot cum leaking out of his ass as he lay on the bed panting. He felt completely empty and satisfied after finally having sex with Tyrone.

After a few moments, Tyrone rolled off of Max and got up to get dressed. He smiled down at Max as he put on his clothes. "That was fun," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Max nodded weakly, his body still trembling from the intense fuck he had just received. Tyrone laid down next to Max, panting heavily. Max turned to the side, resting his head on Tyrone's sweaty chest and quickly drifted off to sleep from exhaustion.

---

The next morning he woke up to sounds of running water and the sight of Tyrone no longer next to him on the bed.

As Max walked into the bathroom, he saw that Tyrone was already there, standing naked in front of the sink. He was brushing his teeth and didn't notice Max enter. Max felt a little thrill at catching Tyrone in such a private moment. He moved closer to Tyrone, watching him as he brushed his teeth.

"Hey," Tyrone said, spitting into the sink after finishing with the toothpaste.

He turned around to see Max standing behind him. He smiled when he saw that Max was still naked from their night together.

"Good morning," Max said, moving closer to Tyrone until their bodies were pressed against each other. He reached around and began to stroke Tyrone's cock through his wet hair.

Tyrone groaned softly as Max's hand moved up and down his shaft. "What do you want this morning?" he asked huskily.

"I just wanted to wake you up properly," Max replied, leaning in to kiss Tyrone's neck. He continued to stroke Tyrone's hardening cock while kissing and licking his neck and chest.

Tyrone reached down to grab the shampoo from the shower cabin, but Max grabbed his hand before he could reach it. "I don't think you need any shampoo," Max said with a mischievous grin. He began to suck on Tyrone's hard nipples, making him groan even louder.

"Fuck... I need a shower," Tyrone panted. He stepped back from Max and turned around to face the shower cabin. "Join me."

Max followed Tyrone into the large shower cabin. It was steamy from the hot water that was falling from the shower head. Tyrone had already lathered up his body, making it slick and shiny. He leaned against the wall of the shower, waiting for Max to join him.

Max stepped closer to Tyrone, pressing his naked body against his. He reached down and began to stroke Tyrone's hard cock, feeling its hot length in his hand.

"Mmm... That feels good," Tyrone groaned.

Max leaned up and kissed him passionately, their tongues dancing together in their mouths. As they made out, Max continued to stroke Tyrone's cock until it was throbbing in his hand.

After a few minutes of making out, Max knelt down in front of Tyrone. He took his cock into his mouth and began to suck on it, gently at first but then with increasing intensity. He used one hand to stroke the base of Tyrone's cock while he sucked on the tip.

"Oh fuck... That feels so good," Tyrone moaned. He put his hands on Max's head, guiding him as he bobbed up and down on his cock.

Max could feel Tyrone's hot cum beginning to flow into his mouth. He sucked harder, trying to coax as much of it out of Tyrone as possible. When Tyrone finally came, he groaned loudly while Max gulped down his load.

After Tyrone had finished cumming, Max stood up and kissed him again. They continued to make out for a few more minutes before Max stepped back to rinse off. He felt refreshed and ready for another day of training after the steamy shower session with Tyrone.

As they stepped out of the bathroom, Tyrone noticed that their clothes were neatly folded on the bed. He smiled at Max and said, "I guess you're ready to go then?"

Max nodded, feeling a little sad to be leaving so soon after such an intimate moment in the shower. He followed Tyrone out of the villa and they headed to the gym for another day of training.

---

For the next week, Max spent most of his time at the gym being trained by Tyrone. He had never been in such good shape before and was enjoying the feeling of his muscles growing and becoming stronger.

Tyrone complimented him on his progress every day, telling him that he was making fast improvements. He said that with a few more weeks of training, Max would be ready to do his first real battle.

Max was excited at the prospect of finally fighting and the immense pleasure it would bring him.

"Fuck babe, you look so hot now." Tyrone said, looking at Max with hungry eyes.

"You remember when you first came here?" he started, "look at you know" he continued.

Tyrone grabbed onto Max's arms who flexed them in response.

"Like what you see?" Max said with a cocky smirk

"I do" Tyrone replied as he groped Max's pecs.

"Don't be shy" Max egged him on as he lead Tyrone's hands down into his boxing shorts.

"Show me how much you like my body"

Tyrone smiled and pushed Max down onto his bed.

"Fuck babe, you're so-"

"Ssh..." Tyrone signaled, sealing Max's mouth with his lips as he passionately kissed him.

Max moaned into Tyrone's mouth as their tongues danced together in each other's mouths. He felt like he was melting under Tyrone's touch.

As they made out on the bed, Tyrone began to kiss his way down Max's body, moving from his mouth, to his chest, and then lower to his stomach. He kissed all over Max's body, leaving him feeling hot and wanting more.

When Tyrone reached Max's boxing shorts, he undid the button and pulled them down along with his underwear. His hard cock sprang up, bobbing in the air as Tyrone stared at it hungrily.

"You're so fucking hot," Tyrone said, before positioning his ass, ready to take Max's cock.

He slowly lowered himself down onto Max's cock, feeling it slide into his tight hole. He groaned in pleasure as he took more and more of Max's huge cock inside of him. When he finally bottomed out, he sat there for a moment, enjoying the fullness that came from being filled up completely.

Then he started to ride Max, bouncing up and down on his cock. He reached down and began to stroke his own dick as he fucked Max.

Max felt like he was in heaven. Tyrone's tight ass felt amazing as it slid up and down his cock. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to cumming each time Tyrone took his entire length inside of him.

"Fuck babe, you're so tight," Max groaned.

Tyrone smiled at Max, his eyes filled with desire and lust. He began to fuck him even faster, moving his ass up and down quickly on Max's cock.

Max reached up and grabbed Tyrone's hair, pulling him close to him so that they were chest-to-chest. He kissed him passionately, their tongues tangling together in a hot embrace.

Tyrone moaned into Max's mouth as he continued to fuck his cock. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to cumming.

Suddenly, Tyrone's eyes widened and he let out a long groan as he came on Max's chest. His ass tightened around Max's cock, milking it until he finally came too.

"Fuck babe," Max said, panting heavily after his own orgasm had subsided. "That was amazing."

---

Max woke up with a groan, feeling like he had just had the best dream ever. As he opened his eyes, he realized that it wasn't a dream after all. Tyrone was still naked and lying next to him on the bed. He smiled at Max as if to say "thank you" for last night before getting up to get dressed.

Max looked down at himself and noticed that he was wearing his red shorts again. It felt weird to be wearing them after all this time in Tyrone's villa, but it was a sign that he was ready to fight his first real opponent.

"Hey babe," Tyrone said, coming back over to the bed after getting dressed. "You ready for your first battle?"

Max nodded, feeling a little nervous but mostly excited. He had been training hard for this day and was now just one step away of becoming a full-fledged fighter.

"Let's go"

---

Max and Tyrone arrived at the arena, which was packed with people cheering for the upcoming fight. Max felt a surge of adrenaline rush through him as he stepped into the ring, looking at his opponent.

His opponent was a muscular guy in a leather chest piece and a loincloth. He had scars on his face and arms, making him look like a true warrior.

"Ready to get your ass kicked?" Max taunted, feeling confident that he could win the fight.

The opponent grinned at Max, then nodded to signal that he was ready to start. The bell rang and the two of them began to circle the ring, sizing each other up.

Max saw an opening in his opponent's defenses and lunged forward with a flying tackle. He hit his opponent square in the chest and sent him flying back into the ropes. His world stood still as an immense wave of pleasure hit Max. He had gotten used to the effects of the curse when sparring but this was the first time experiencing the real deal.

Time continued as the crowd cheered loudly as Max stood valiantly over his downed opponent.

"What a great first round," Tyrone said, slapping Max on the back. "You've got this, babe."

Max grinned at Tyrone, feeling like a million bucks. He turned to face his opponent again and saw him getting up and ready to fight once more.

"Ready for round two?" Max asked, looking even more smug now.

The opponent lunged forward with an uppercut, but Max ducked under the attack. He then kicked his opponent in the thighs, sending him to the ground. The crowd cheered again as Max stood over his defeated opponent.

"And the winner is... MAX!" the announcer declared, raising Max's hand into the air.

Max felt like a million bucks as he basked in the cheers of the crowd. He had won his first fight and was on his way to becoming a true experienced fighter.

"So, what's next?" Max asked, eagerly looking forward to the next round of battles; to the next wave of pleasure.

Tyrone smiled at Max, "I know first-hand the pleasure of a first real battle but you've got take a break for today and enjoy your victory. Tomorrow will find someone else again to battle, for now let's take a break."

"I know something else we could do for the rest of the day" Tyrone said.

Max didn't even have to ask what he meant. A tent had already started forming in his shorts long before he had a chance to finish his session.

What would happen next is another yet another round, though this time in a different place and different setting.

---

Max had lost count of how long he had been living in this new world. He was enjoying his time here with his boyfriend Tyrone. They both spent most of their days either fighting, fucking or training for the next fight.

Max had recently started his first week in the arena and it had gone well. He had won every fight and got a lot of points. The second week wasn't as lucky. Max had lost half his fights which meant he had to wait another two weeks before he could challenge for the top spot again.

During those two weeks, Max and Tyrone spent their time either fucking or training hard in the gym. When they weren't doing one of those two things they were relaxing at home, cuddling on the bed naked or watching some TV in the living room. They had gotten into a routine of sorts, which Max enjoyed immensely.

Max couldn't believe that he was now a muscular stud in this new world and with his hot boyfriend to boot. He had been transported here against his will and was practically forced to fight every day but at least he had Tyrone to keep him company.

A lot had happened in a short span of time but he had not lamented it at all. His old life that he had back when he entered the arcade is now gone.

Now he enjoyed a simple life together with his new boyfriend in a world where the only that matters is to fight.

Beach Bod

Rusty’s favourite thing about being home was the beach. Well, maybe not the beach itself - but certainly what was on the beach. And that was, as it usually is for horndog college students, the copious amount of shirtless boys.

Rusty’s parents had invited him to spend the weekend down at the family beach house - a proposal he’d eagerly agreed to. His first semester of college hadn’t gone exactly as planned. In fact, Rusty had already accumulated a list of crimes committed against his freshman year: his roommate was a homophobe, he’d somehow lost weight, and his grades were plummeting faster than his metabolism. He needed a break - and a weekend spent in the unadulterated, midyear sunshine might be just what he needed to get back up on his feet. 

So there he was, waddling up the driveway in his flip flops with fluorescent zinc already smeared on his slightly crooked nose, and a spritely grin plastered on his equally as crooked jaw. With a beach towel flung over his slim shoulders, Rusty was looking forward to a one-man, 48 hour paradise; a weekend spent on the sugar-sand beach just a short distance from his bedroom, soaking up the mid-summer coastal sunshine and sizing up the bountiful amounts of hunky blond beef that would no doubt be lining the shoreline, glittering like seashells. As the old saying goes: if you hold a conch shell to your ear, you can almost hear the sound of a surfer dude moaning, “Fuck me harder, bro!”

Rusty nudged open the door to the house and called out for his parents. His soft voice echoed through the open floor plan, bouncing between pockets of coastal furniture. 

No response. Huh. 

He checked the living room, the kitchen, called up the stairs. Still no response. He figured they’d already beat him to the beach - which meant he was all alone, horny and heat-fuelled. Perfect. Rusty whipped off his shirt, shimmied into his board shorts and reached for a beer.

He dropped his bags by the door and made his way over to the veranda, which seemed to be beckoning his name with every warm breeze that blew in through the open sliding doors. The hardwood deck was stark with heat, and the sun beat down on him as he shaded his face to get a good look at the view. It was a prime vista of the beach, and the water was as glittery as the sand it lapped at. He couldn’t see his parents… But he did see a whole lot of something else. Men. Lots and lots of shirtless men. 

Rusty’s itinerary was pretty standard: stare at the crevice between the big bouncing pec’s of some adonis in a speedo; admire the way sweat and saltwater, a concoction he’d dubbed beach-boy-brew, dripped down a surfer boy’s cum gutters; and ogle at the sand dollar sized nipples of a bronze boy-toy too big for his own good. Oh, and if he could be crushed between the thick, rolling thighs of a strawberry-blond titan with the strength of the ocean, that would be pretty rad, too. Just the simple pleasures of any good summer getaway, really. And on a hot weekend like this one, Rusty was certain he’d have no problem ticking them off his lascivious list. 

He could see a few groups of collegiate hotties already partying on the sand, tanning and drinking and looking generally sexy. A football flew threw the air, the smell of testosterone wafted up the sand. He felt his grip on the veranda railing weaken as one of them began drunkenly gyrating his bubble butt against the air as an unimpressed group of girls walked by.

Rusty could see it now: the entire coastline would soon become a sprawling panorama of empty heads and beefy muscle, just aching to bend over and get eye-fucked. For a jock, the heat tended to act as an aphrodisiac: a stupefying, steamy somnolent that washed away any desire to put clothes on and instead amplified an innate, irresistible desire to show off. No well-bred stud could resist the urge to strut bulge-first down the runway of a busy beach. Every buff blondie within a ten mile radius would stuff his bubble butt into a speedo, lumber into his dad’s open-roofed jeep, and cruise down to the ocean - one paw on the steering wheel, the other on his crotch. Revving his engine. The heat would feel too good on his golden skin not to, flaunting his premium goods and soaking up the rays. Photosynthesising, preening, growing. Of course, he’d make a pitstop along the way to pick up his platoon of linebacker buddies, packing the backseat with brawn, their off-season quads fighting for room on the hot leather seats. Deltoid to deltoid, like canned sardines. Huge, hulking, steroidal sardines. They’d turn up the radio, tunes pumping, pecs bouncing to the trap style beat. Cockily flexing their biceps for a group of girls in a passing convertible, waggling their overly long, thick tongues at the flustered beach bunnies, miming vulgarities. Eager to impress. Rusty didn’t blame them. Having an uncontrollable libido and shoulders twice as broad as your waist when you’re young and dumb and impossibly full of cum would turn anyone into an exhibitionist — and anyone close enough into a hopeless and drooling voyeur.

Rusty had spent many summers sat by the water, ogling and drooling until the sun was low in the sky and the sea of blond hunks had receded with the tide, sand sticking to their tanned bubble butts as they staggered back up the coastline to hit the bars and get even drunker. Turns out, 19 inch biceps and a cleft chin work just as well as a fake ID. All it took was an absent-minded flex, a slow lick of the lips, or a strategic, innocent bend-over, and the doors to every bar and club on the boulevard flew wide open. If only one of them had extended a hand and asked Rusty to join them - or pulled down his speedo, popped his pecs and ordered Rusty to fuck him. Either would’ve sufficed. 

But hey, maybe this time one of them would. With Rusty’s lanky physique and unimpressive features, it was pretty unlikely - still, a dork could dream. Surrounded by steroidal blondies, Rusty had always felt like a washed-up stalk of seaweed. When all his hometown peers were prodigal bodybuilders with movie star jawlines, it was difficult not to feel inadequate. You couldn’t walk down the boardwalk without some bronzed-out bro giving you a boner. They swaggered to and fro, their bulging shoulders too big for their pretty little heads, no care in the world. His dad always seemed to have a permanent twinge of disappointment etched into the corners of his face, his dreams of having a football hero for a son dismantled by the tech major Rusty had become. He’d often dreamed of what seeing the world from over six feet tall felt like. He’d often dreamed of his father throwing him a football, and catching it with an arm bigger than most peoples heads. 

A large sea swell broke over the sand, and Rusty watched as the golden frat bros lumbered down to the water (their bodies too big, too clumsy and too inebriated for it to qualify as running, though he guessed that was what they were trying to do) and dived in after it, covering their muscles in sparkling sea foam and rubbing it into their abs like soap on a washboard. Rusty glided a hand over his own pasty torso, lightly dusted with hair and sunken inwards. He took a long swig of beer.

Rusty turned back to the living room, the sound of the waves dimming. He saw something flapping in the breeze on the coffee table. He hadn’t noticed it on the way in, but somebody had left a note.

“Dear Rusty… Sunscreen’s in the garage. We’re trying out a new brand. Give it a go. You’ll like it. - Dad”

Huh. Alright then. Rusty couldn’t conceive of a sunscreen special enough to elicit its own foreboding note, but his dads writing always came off a little ominous. Truncated sentences. No personality. Scary. 

Rusty followed the big mans orders, flicked on the light in the garage, and was greeted by a familiar sight. It was filled with his father’s workout machines, rows of dumbbells and weights lining the walls. Before he’d moved away for college, his dad was always trying to coax him into the home gym with fancy new equipment. He must’ve kept buying them - the place looked like a certified fitness centre. Rusty figured he’d put the sunscreen by the weights in a final attempt to get his pip-squeak son interested in working out. How very subtle. It was sat on one of the weightlifting benches, and he weaved his way through the machines towards it. 

The bottle had almost no labelling - it didn’t even have a brand name. Rusty pressed down on the nozzle, and a big glob of the stuff shot into his hands, creamy and white. It was surprisingly warm, and the texture vaguely gelatinous. It smelt good, too. Like musk and sweat. His horndog brain waltzed into the room with an intrusive, albeit sexy thought: it was a lot like holding a handful of cum. 

Rusty applied a liberal amount of the sunscreen to his whole body, diligently smearing the zinc infused jizz into every pore - noting with lip-biting surprise how good, and oddly erotic, it felt on his pale body. It was kind of turning him on. In fact, there was a strange and pleasurable buzz emanating from his skin everywhere he applied it to.

Rusty reached for his cock, lubing it up with sunscreen, only half aware of what he was doing. Aw, fuck. He barely stifled a moan. Not because of his achingly horny brain, or even his needy, stiffening cock. The buzz had evolved. There was a strange, static warmth in his hands that was quickly blooming into a crackle of fireworks, shooting up his scrawny digits with hot pleasure. Fuck, what was in that stuff? It felt like his fingers were on fire. Had his dad mixed up the sunscreen with some sort of weird sex lube? Did he want his son to blow a load all over his workout equipment? Rusty’s cock was rapidly engorging with heat - and, weirdly, it kind of felt like his fingers were too. 

He felt a sudden pop in his knuckles, and Rusty opened his eyes just in time to see his index finger shoot out in length and explode with size, a quicksilver rush of pleasure accompanying the birth of the dildo-sized digit. He stared at it, slack-jawed. An involuntarily groan escaped his lips as his middle finger followed suit and lurched longer, shooting out in length and then thickening up with meat like a pier-side hotdog. Holy shit. Rusty stumbled back in shock as the next finger joined in, and then the next, the bones cracking longer and the muscle thickening. He shook his hands, trying to shake off the extra beef, but each of his fingers gleefully continued to fire off, exploding with size like red hot sticks of dynamite, bursting outwards and swelling thicker. Both his hands began to bulge bigger in unison, pulsating outwards, palms stretching wider as his knuckles cracked to make room for more growth. Rusty watched as the pale skin on his hands shimmered like the sparkle of a breaking wave before deepening to a golden tan and suctioning down onto two thickly veined, hulking fists. 

Rusty quivered, slowly bringing the gargantuan mitts up to his face. They were still twitching with growth, buzzing and inching slightly longer. Holy shit. Somebody had attached a bodybuilder’s hands to his lanky wrists. 

Rusty tentatively wriggled his fingers, testing their new size, watching the meaty soldiers bend to his will. He almost started drooling. Fuck. These babies belonged around a football, or a dumbbell, or a throat, or a cock. He’d absolutely dwarf all of them. The thought of making any of those things look small in a single grip was almost enough to make his hips start bucking, but the transformation of his hands from wimpy to stud-sized had completely robbed Rusty of all motor control, and all he could do was marvel at their utter maleness and try not to freak out. He imagined he looked like a total weirdo, waving around these huge, cartoonishly out-of-proportion hands on an otherwise puny body. Shit - what was he supposed to do about the rest of his scrawny self?

Wait a minute. Rusty whipped his head around to where the bottle of sunscreen sat on the benchpress. Its innocent packaging stared back. Shit. It was the sunscreen. For just a moment, Rusty wondered how his dad had gotten his hands on some kind of growth-inducing miracle cream. But then, a much more pressing thought entered his head. The hole at the tip of the nozzle seemed to wink at Rusty as he realised he’d just smeared the creamy substance all over his entire body. Oh, fuck. 

Rusty threw his head back and moaned up at the ceiling as he was hit by a wave of oceanic bliss. Currents of tingly pleasure coursed through his arms as they suddenly shot out and extended several feet to the ground, hanging off his shoulders like pool noodles. Rusty whined in pleasure - he could feel his knuckles grazing the floor. He wriggled his thick new fingers, moaning as they continued to bulge even larger on the cool concrete, now big enough to jerk off a giant. His left leg trembled with energy, then rapidly elongated, sending him straight towards the ceiling as he grunted and moaned in combined shock, confusion and pleasure. He wobbled this way and that, his disproportionate body caught in a riptide of ecstasy, before his right leg detonated and lengthened down to match its neighbour, allowing him to surf the wave of euphoria with just a bit more balance. Rusty arched his back and moaned, and with several pops his torso began stretching longer, as well as his neck. His tongue lolled out in glee as he felt himself rising upwards, being stretched taller than puberty ever allowed, inching closer and closer towards the garage ceiling. It was as if he was being pulled at both ends by some invisible, horny force, eager to turn him into a freaky wet dream. 

Rusty grinned down at himself, his neck spasming and inching up even longer. It lurched upwards like one of those inflatable palm trees - he wondered for a moment if it wouldn’t stop, and he’d end up shooting through the roof like a cartoon character - but his body only remained disproportionate for a moment, as his other limbs stretched down accordingly and evened him out.

A ripping sound alerted Rusty to the state of his ginormous feet, which were in futile competition with his flip flops, barely holding back against a pair of widening soles that had sneakily accelerated with growth and doubled in size while he wasn’t looking. A little left behind, he wriggled his toes as they popped out longer, bulging in a race to keep up with the rest of him. Rusty couldn’t help but laugh as the asynchronous growth suddenly coalesced and crescendoed with power, both feet swelling to the conferred stud-status of his hands, and finally destroying his shoes like the mythic Hercules outgrowing his willow-leaf sandals. 

Fuck, this was getting good. His body had clocked in at a cool six-foot-four, tall and tanned, and the high felt far from over. A heady rush had slowly filled his brain, a steady stream of gaseous, dumbing pleasure — and the sunscreen had only just decided to turn it up a notch and rev its tingly magic.

Rusty felt a cascade of tingles rush through his left arm, and he groaned as his bicep pumped itself full of muscle, swelling instantly to the size of a beach ball. He flexed his arm and watched the muscle ball up, thick and hot — and then watched as it grew even thicker and hotter. A puff of blond armpit hair exploded out from under it, which tickled a little but mostly sent a shock of sex down his spine, while the brawny peak above it continued to rise like the swell of a tidal wave. Rusty threw it up behind his head like an amateur model, almost hitting himself in the eye with his bicep as it suddenly inflated so big it connected with his ear, which only spurred the growing boy on as he began flexing like a stripper on a birthday card, revelling in the feeling of his arm growing so thick and huge it pushed into the side of his head. The sheer weight of it caused Rusty to wobble to the left, and, wishing his body would even itself out, with a sharp pop and a grunt, his right arm dutifully exploded with brawn, quickly growing to match the size of its beefed-out brother. Rusty whimpered as the growth rushed down from his shoulder and into his hand, another poof of golden armpit hair bursting out from under it. The size of his right arm seemed to overshoot its target, and his fingers popped out bigger at the end so as to remain perfectly in-proportion. Fuck, he had a pair of king crab arms! 

Rusty grunted, a sudden tectonic shift sounding in his shoulders. Oh, shit. He was pulled in two directions at once as his shoulders rapidly broadened, deltoids rushing away from his neck with anatomical abandon and widening his silhouette into an imposing mountain range of male breadth. His deltoids rounded out into armoured caps of muscle, and beneath them Rusty felt his arms lift up and fan out as his traps unfurled like wings, whimpers of pleasure echoing off the walls as the muscle stacked itself up in undulating rhythms. The pressure of the growth forced his hands onto his hips, and he thrust his lats out into a wide flex as muscle bloomed across his back, cracking and shifting into an impossibly broad V shape. He lout out a huff, feeling twenty pounds heavier and horny as a bitch as the tingles sparked on his skin like he was a walking beam of light. He flexed his guns as his shoulders stretched further outwards, boom, boom, unable to process the sensation of hitting a double bicep and feeling cannons of muscle jump to attention.

A gurgling groan caught in Rusty’s throat as it swelled from base to tip into a thick trunk, the tingles cascading down from his collar and into his chest. He felt his nipples harden, like a warning sign, and then a surge of energy enter into his tits. He looked down at them with a scared whimper as they lurched out a whole inch, and then another, and then another, pulling his whole body forwards with them. Another heave of muscle and his feet were covered by their burgeoning mass, the force of their growth momentarily closing the deepening crevice between them as they pushed against each other, striations trembling like surf over a reef. His nipples tingled like lit fuses, and he hoisted his meaty hands up in a desperate attempt to rub and squeeze the growth out, his eyes widening as they shot out bigger in-between his fingertips and bloomed into dark, fat caps, sensitive and raw, nipples you could suck on. The muscle shelf beneath continued to inflate like two water balloons connected to a tap, pumping bigger with each bounce as he wobbled clumsily. He had a despicably big rack. The kind of chest a dick would disappear in-between. He groped and groped the twin slabs of meat, feeling the pressure build, like someone had suddenly turned the tap onto high. It was too late to brace for impact as they suddenly exploded in a final oomph of size with such force that it knocked his head back like a sucker punch and sent him careening backwards onto the weight lifting bench, falling onto it with a thud. He laid there, face up, his chest heaving up and down, a pair of huge, enviable muscle tits.

Rusty stared up at the empty weight rack, his back cracking wider on the warm leather, beefy pecs obscuring the lower half of his vision. God, he was so top-heavy, his gorilla arms hanging off the bench and onto the floor, thick and heavy. He lifted his head up as best he could, feeling a steady stream of tingles rush down his torso, and wriggled as each of his abs popped into existence, a perfect 6 pack blooming across his midsection. He fingered them with his meaty digits while cum gutters swooped through his waist and tributaries of veins reached up from his groin to meet them.

Rusty writhed with pleasure, and out of his slim, cinched waist burst a pair of big, titanic thighs that ripped out the bottom of his board shorts and swelled huge with muscle, first in rippling grooves that carved a roadmap of teenage surfing into his bodies history, before quickly ballooning outwards into legs composed purely of thickness and size. He felt them inflate and spill out over the bench - man-spreading would now be compulsory - and used the extra strength to hoist his upper body up and into a sitting position, straddling the bench with his now behemoth thighs. It wouldn’t be possible to walk without these tanned, off-season, columns rubbing together - they were the kind of legs that spread out and dominated any surface they blessed their hairless, heat-filled mass with. He chuckled dumbly at the thought of swallowing any space he tried to fit himself into, so thick he’d been rendered human cargo.

A shockwave thrust his ass out behind him as he felt his cheeks inflate to the size of beachballs, sending a loud rip straight down the back of his board shorts. A long slither of his juicy, growing butt crack pressed into the tear, his glutes swelling huge and round, threatening to bust his shorts open completely. Rusty panted, riding the weight lifting bench like a dick, gripping the leather with his hands, arm muscles bulging in full relief. The boy’s butt was obscene, expanding out behind him into two tanned spheres of category 5, tropical muscle as he gyrated against the warm leather. He whipped his head around his beefy shoulders to watch the bouncing cheeks expand into a high shelf, a permanent jockstrap installing itself into his musculature. With a surge of tingles, Rusty leaned forward, gritted his teeth, stuck his ass out behind him and groaned in relief as it shot out through the back of his pants, exploding the fabric into strips of polyester confetti and swelling in naked celebration. Warm air instantly hit his hole, and he trembled as a bolt of tingles ran straight down his taint and lightened the flesh to a boyish, peachy pink. He gripped his muscled cheeks and pulled them apart to reveal a tight jock hole, tingling with desire. Fuck. 

Rusty thrust his hips forwards with the oceanic power of his muscled ass as he felt his balls churn and swell beneath him, tightening the remains of his board shorts around them with their expanding size. They pumped up into tennis balls, which in turn fed the sea cucumber he could feel his dick becoming. The fabric instantly gave up the fight as his sweaty, monster cock burst free from its confines and landed with a hefty smack on the warm leather, continuing to grow thicker and longer, unabated by swimwear meant for wimps. A waft of his manhood travelled up to his nostrils, and Rusty saw sparks. Shit, his cock even smelt big.

Rusty wriggled his nose as the delicious musk seemed to fill it up to the brim with tingles. It felt like he’d shoved a firework sparkler up his nose. He took a deep breath in, and then —

Achoo!

The bones in rusty’s nose instantly reshaped. The bridge cracked broader and the tip snapped perfectly straight. Rusty felt it twitch, and went cross-eyed watching it suddenly bulge bigger, growing huge and almost phallic on his otherwise unchanged face. He reached his sausage fingers up to touch it, and then, like a shockwave, the changes rippled out from his big nose and into the rest of his features. 

His whole head grew to match, lips popping bigger and forehead widening. He grimaced as his jaw broadened into a chiseled square, two angles jutting out from beneath his ears which simultaneously popped bigger. He grabbed his chin as it pushed forwards and expanded, moving his fingers apart as it turned into an ocean cliff of male geometry. Rusty licked his lips as they plumped up, feeling all the extra realestate of a big, beautiful mouth, while his cheeks became cut but ruddy and plump, a cherubic innocence that betrayed his otherwise lewd proportions. When he flashed a smile, his teeth shone brilliantly white and perfectly straight. His features had quickly masculinised into a mosaic of surfer boy good looks. Fuck, he was hot. 

A single blond hair dropped into Rusty’s vision, followed by a wave of golden fringe that cascaded down onto his forehead. He ran his hands through what he could tell was a beautiful mane of beach-bleached hair, and as he did, any darkness that remained turned to streaks of blond lightning with the brush of his huge fingers. He couldn’t tell, but his eyes had washed over into a sparkling blue. He was a total blondie. A maritime warrior, built for the ocean.

Rusty panted. Having grown a new face and body in a matter of minutes, he should have been exhausted. But he wasn’t. His pants were sexual, not sleepy. They dripped with erotic and kinetic energy he’d never felt before. He wanted to rip a can of beer open with his bare fingers and then shove them up some frat boys hole. And then shove them up his own. 

Rusty clambered up from the bench, feeling stacks of muscle follow him. His hair bounced in perfectly placed streaks. He looked down at his new body, at the heaving pecs that glimmered with pearlescent shine. He looked like he’d come straight from the ocean. Oh, god. He was gorgeous. The sunscreen had oiled him like a machine. Rusty, more like busty, he thought with a grin, bouncing his heavy pecs. He’d been turned into a  certified hunk. He spun his behemoth body around, craning his neck back to get a good look at the twin bowling balls that jutted out from behind him. He couldn’t stop touching himself. His hands were grabbing and groping at every new bulge, pawing at his edges, gripping… 

… the bottle of sunscreen. Without even realising it, he’d picked up the creamy formula and was holding it in his paws. It looked much smaller than before. As he stared at it, something flashed in his cerulean eyes. 

It smelt good. It felt good. He almost wondered what it tasted like. 

Before he could even consider the consequences - as if his new body had decided for him - Rusty lifted the bottle to his plump lips and chugged it down like a drunk frat boy fellating a keg. With his big wet mouth wrapped around the bottle, its transformative contents sliding down his throat, a smidgen of panic knocked at the door of Rusty’s brain and asked him, in a feeble voice, if he had any idea just what the fuck he was doing. Rusty slammed the door in its face and tore the knob off, crushing it in his gargantuan grip. This was going to fucking rock. 

He sucked the bottle dry - no, sucked the bottle off - groaning deeply, and the moment the white, creamy fluid hit his stomach, a neon-pink wildfire of rapture raged through Rusty’s nervous system like a lustful armageddon. Every neurotic emotion he’d ever felt in his entire life was filed away, replaced by a pyrotechnic explosion of rewired neurones, their microscopic dendrons flexing and growing like biceps, pumping dopamine like a set of weights. It was filling his bloodstream, his balls, his brain. Rusty was ablaze. 

He tore the bottle from his fat lips with a pop and ripped out a belch, his eyes rolling back into his head as he began to uncontrollably moan. Rusty’s entire body convulsed with pleasure, excess sunscreen dripping out of his mouth and down his chin like a satisfied slut after a good blowjob. He fell to his hands and knees, his body jerking in every direction. Rusty felt his back spontaneously arch and his gargantuan bubble butt stick straight up into the air behind him, being forced to gyrate in a please-fuck-me twerk. It was like he’d been possessed and made to act like the worlds biggest golden retriever, begging for a treat. He was drooling saliva, sunscreen and pre-cum onto the floor, his brain flooded with backed-up pleasure and pressure, a leaky faucet that was about to explode.

It went straight to his groin. Rusty involuntarily started bucking his hips as he felt his already sizeable balls tingle like mad, then swell and drop, quickly growing into a pair of huge, pendulous bull nuts. He looked down to find he was now sporting a pair of big fucking man balls, atlantean pearls, and actually felt them begin to churn with new and improved jock seed. The sensation was incredible. It began to drip from the tip of his purebred cock, creamy and concentrated. It was almost too much. Rusty quivered in hot delirium as an overwhelming sensation hit him at both ends, and too much became not enough, as the overgrown beefcake felt his throat widening and his asshole tightening. His balls swung beneath him as his throat stretched bigger and his hole constricted tighter, both ergonomically redesigning themselves to deliver maximum pleasure to beach-boy sized cock. One meaty hand stuck itself around his bulging neck as it thickened and grew, his gag reflex disappearing, while the other desperately groped at his fat, eminently pound-able ass cheeks, the gilded entrance to a tight hole that was getting tighter. 

His bellowing moans grew deeper with each vocalisation of his blossoming hunkhood, roaring in undulating ecstasy, a testosterone-drenched baritone booming out of his once-shrimpy throat. His adams apple swelled with unabashed ambition as the sunscreen coated his throat until his voice was as deep and powerful as the ocean, shaking the garage walls. 

Almost involuntarily, like a new jock-slut instinct hitting his thick skull, Rusty plunged a sex toy sized finger into his ass, gasping as the walls of his hole constricted around it and pulsed with pleasure. A long, deep, drawling groan oozed out of his lips as he realised he’d just coated his insides with the growth-inducing sunscreen, and he felt his finger begin to bulge bigger inside of himself, filling his virgin hole with its increasing size.

Aw, fuck. The impossibly sweet sensation caused Rusty’s tongue, which was coated in sunscreen and tingling like a motherfucker, to shoot out of his mouth like an unfurling party horn - surprise! - and the newborn hunk almost went cross-eyed watching it slap down past his superhero chin, thick and meaty and much longer than he remembered. Shit. He was huge.

Rusty suddenly felt a deep and strong tug at the end of himself, and immediately became aware of the porn star cock throbbing with hot need between his horse-heavy legs. With all his mental processes, Rusty seized it between his oversized hands, roared with lust, and began jerking himself off. He shoved his finger deep inside himself at the same time, quickly sinking into an expert rhythm of jackhammer speed - in and out, up and down - totally unaware through the heavenly stupor that he was now ambidextrous. 

Oceanic pressure flooded his system - his cock felt harder than obsidian as globs of warm magma pre-cum began to bubble and overflow from the tip. His finger was the size of a dick, fucking his prostate better than most dicks ever could. Rusty bellowed deeply as the pressure peaked and his cock couldn’t take it any more, vibrating with pleasure as the damn exploded and an eruption of jizz rocketed out of him. 

Load after load jettisoned out of his demigod, blond cock, covering his dad’s gym with his hot cream. It fired off like the nozzle on a bottle of sunscreen, arching in thick spurts of sex. He painted the room white, the smell of cum and man strong enough to put a beard on a boys face just by inhaling it. 

Rusty lay there, panting. His hands absentmindedly fondled his balls, his voice a low, unfamiliar growl. There was the sound of metal, and then the feeling of sunlight moving over his gargantuan form. He shaded his face with a thick forearm, and looked to see the garage door sliding slowly upwards. The silhouette of a man was being unveiled as it rose, and before it reached the man’s neck, Rusty could tell it was the shape of his father. He was holding a football.

Behind him, the beach sparkled with sun. A warm breeze blew in, and Rusty blew his load all over again.

Definitely am a proud gay guy but i've definitely seen a few of these gay to straight tfs and they're hot af! Your writing makes me want to transform myself, hit the gym, and chug a beer with the bros regardless of sexuality!

You're letting this affect you the right way, my man. All my readers should learn from you.

It's been feeling so natural, hasn't it? The way your cock starts to grow fat in your underwear the minute I start describing a hot chick. All those guys you used to hate, the ones you roll your eyes at and claim so proudly to be different than, there's something about them that has you fascinated. You can't help it. It's like some part of yourself, deep down, is calling out to be realized. To be brought to the surface.

To be set free from the cage you've been building. You love the way I make these straight bros speak, the way they act with snide arrogance, so sluggish and dumb and yet so primal. An apex predator, an alpha, a handsome stud with rippling abs and huge biceps always flexed. A cocky smirk, a strong jaw. Not to mention the forests of damp hair beneath his arms, the sour stench of sweat, cum, and sex lingering around his body like noxious gas. He's a stink bomb that is continuously going off.

You love how he belches, how he farts and blames it on the protein, how all he cares about are his brothers. Toxic masculinity really isn't so bad when you're standing on this side of the fence. Your feet are starting to feel secure on the ground, aren't they? Wide, and long, and so firm. Dusted with wiry curls of dark hair. You feel sweat squelch between your fat toes, but you pay it no mind. You think about being surrounded by your bros, how they'll joke about your huge feet and how you must have a massive cock, too. You love the kind of men I write about. You want their respect, their approval, their brotherhood so badly.

You are the kind of man I write about. Because if your cock is getting so hard to the idea of embracing traditional masculinity, if you're about to start jerking your cock to the descriptions I will soon make, then the truth has already revealed itself. I barely have to change anything. Your bones crack and shift, your shoulders grow broad and your nose is strong, your brow harsh and your eyes blazing with dominance. Your body inflates with courage, with conceit, as your leaking, lengthening cock already starts to ooze a thick wad of pre. It's so easy to reshape the outside. Pump up the muscles, make the features a little more rugged, all I'm really doing is making the outside match the inside.

There's a familiar voice that sounds like your own calling out, demanding you to snap out of it, to value your identity and what you know to be true, that this is just a fetish and the world you're stepping into isn't the right one. But it feels so natural, so good, as that whiny voice gets drowned out under the low, domineering tone that makes its home inside your head. I want my cock in a wet cunt, the new you drawls, your wider hips bucking with pleasure and your fat cock jiggling in your tight underwear. You can see the engorged veins beneath the fabric, the fat cock head oozing pre and leaving a splotch. It jerks in place, bobs up and down, it wants so desperately to be plunged between a pair of bouncing, fat, silicone filled tits.

You throw your head back with a low, masculine moan, your meaty hand reaching down to grab your package, stroking your thumb along the shaft. Every trace of the old you, the lie you were telling, is eradicated beneath a tidal wave of new information. All that fancy college learning goes down the drain, all those old dreams and desires and falsehoods, all that's left is a powerful, straight conservative man who knows exactly what he wants. He has never questioned his instincts a day in his life, he has always known he has been an unrivaled male specimen. Wasting his superior seed and not siring a shit ton of sons would be a crime.

Your seed.

It swells in your balls, it makes you ache and tingle, all of the feelings and lust that are taking over belong to you. There's no going back. You're one cocky fucker, a man sculpted by genetics and a conservative upbringing, a man who has always known where he stands in the hierarchy. At the fucking top, with your massive muscles exposed and your fat cock pointing at the next babe it wants to erupt inside of. You continue to jerk your cock, losing all memory of my stories and my silly little kinks, all too happy to spend a night being pleasured by your callused fist knowing it'll take you no effort to get hard again. You think about which bitch you're gonna call later, the blonde with the bee stung lips or the sexy goth, and your cock pulses with the need to impregnate a fertile womb.

Your mind settles into a happy haze of sports knowledge, cockiness, and camaraderie for your fellow traditional man. Most of all, forever filling the empty space of your brain, what remains of you will be wedged in eternity between the hot, breedable women you can't go an hour without daydreaming about. A hot blonde and a brunette with huge tits are scissoring in your mind, making your red blooded cock surge with need and lust. Every last essence of the gay man you once were is smothered between rubbing folds, bouncing breasts, and oozing pussy juice. This loss of self doesn't bother you. It doesn't really feel like you're losing anything at all.

You blow your load all over your chest, basking in the afterglow for all of ten seconds, and then you lift your muscled leg and squeeze out a droning protein fart. The strong smell makes you proud, and the loud sound makes you chuckle like an idiot. Life is going to be so simple, so correct for you from now on. No going back, only forward.

Go ahead and shoot a message to your future baby mama. It's time for you to breed.

Ostello della Moda: Christofano

--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---

Tyler tried arguing with the man at the luggage counter but it was getting him nowhere. "My luggage was never transferred from Oslo ... but what will I do?" Tyler had planned on arriving later than his friends, but at the last minute, his booking company offered him a free upgrade to travel earlier. He was supposed to get there in the evening, but it was only 10:00 AM. Clearly, this "free" upgrade had cost him a day without his luggage. He had checked everything except a small backpack with his passport, phone, and a sweatshirt. He basically had the clothes on his back.

"And ... when my luggage comes ... you will transfer it to my hotel?" he asked.

"Yes," said the man speaking with very broken English. "Ostello della Moda..." he continued in rapid Italian. A few minutes later, he had negotiated with a few more customer service agents to get a free taxi ride to the hostel. The driver said he worker for "Ostello" and would bring him there immediately. But after an hour of winding through the grimier streets of Milan, Tyler wasn't so sure he trusted the man. The taxi drove past what looked like the red carpet to a fashion show or celebrity event. A few meters later, the cab pulled into a gated courtyard.

"Ostello della Moda," said the driver.

"Are you sure?" said Tyler. "This doesn't look like the picture I remember." The driver opened the trunk, jumped out and grabbed his backpack. Before Tyler could open his door, the driver ran into the courtyard with his backpack.

"Shit!" Tyler shouted as he struggled with the door, stumbled out of the cab, and raced after the man. The man turned into a dark door and Tyler followed him. He needed to get his backpack! Otherwise, he was lost in Italy with no phone, no IDs, and no money! He burst into the dark room and was knocked out cold by a stranger hiding inside.

"No ... please ... I don't have anything ..." Tyler mumbled as a pair of men pinned him down. His cab driver had opened his backpack and found his money and ID. "Let me go ... please ..." But the men had him trapped. One of them put a cloth over his mouth that had a fragrant chemical -- almost cologne like. He gagged a little, but then relaxed. He drifted off to sleep...

When he woke up, he could faintly hear electronic dance music through the walls. He had expected to be tied up in a dark room somewhere, but was just sitting on a chair in what looked like a dressing room. He blinked in the bright lights and saw that he had been stripped except for pair of tight athletic shorts. He looked down at his body in shock. His dark tan skin was covered in short curly hairs. His torso and abs were chiseled. His arms had small veins popping out toned muscle. He looked in the mirror and saw dark eyes looking back, a sexy stubbled jaw, and a thin dark mustache and goatee.

"Merda, che ora è?" he thought to himself, realizing a second later, than he had thought the phrase in Italian, not English. His head was pounding and the music seemed to be getting louder.

A short aggressive woman burst into the room and shouted at him. "Christo! Mossa! Tu sei il prossimo!" He jumped up and raced after her. He was backstage of a theatre that was filled with smoke, bright lights, and upbeat electronic music. Dozens of other men were crowded around him, each surrounded by crew members adjusting their clothes, fixing their makeup, and pushing them towards the door onto the stage. One of the crew dangled some necklaces over his neck and placed a neon baseball cap on his head. They adjusted a few bracelets on his arms. A young man wearing a headset pointed at him as the crew finished by oiling his chest so he looked sweaty and rugged. In a second, he followed the man in front of him onto the runway.

It was an exhilarating experience. Dozens of cameras flashed as he walked down the runway, making his turns, and modeling his body and clothes. He felt empowered as they gazed on his nearly naked body. It was a primal and raw feeling. He turned back towards the entrance -- a completely changed man! He had become Christofano -- one of hundreds of male models working in fashion district of Milan. With every new outfit, every camera flash, and every trip down the runway, he was embracing his new life.

After the show, he found was given a backpack with a set of clothes. He assumed they were his, so his way back to the courtyard where the taxi had dropped him off. The driver was waiting there. He handed him a cell phone and passport, which he said that Christofano had left behind accidentally in the cab. He thanked him and they drove off to the "Ostello della Moda." He saw a message from the airport and the hostel on his phone. His bag had been transferred to the hostel, he was in Bunk C. He texted his friend, who he hoped would meet him at the bar for a night of celebration.

In his mind, the thoughts of the airport, the missing luggage, the mysterious taxi driver, reminded him of something -- it was odd! But, then he remembered that he had done a photo shoot in Oslo recently ... or had he? Was he meeting some American friends at the hostel? But, who did he know from America? And wasn't his career based in Milan? Was he living in a hostel? Didn't he have an apartment that he shared with his friends ... what were there names? He couldn't remember, but figured it was probably fatigue from the show.

He walked into the hostel and the host greeted him. He explained the whole situation with the luggage -- two of his friends had arrived, but he should just wait at the bar. He drained his first beer, still a little lost about why he was spending the night at this hostel. Suddenly, someone shouted out his name.

"Christo!"

He turned to the man, a wave of recognition passing over him. "Antonio!"

They talked about how tonight they were celebrating with friends. First, they needed to drink! Then, they had a surprise for Bruno ... their friend waiting upstairs!