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idesofrevolution · 13 days

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The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

#original #hypnosis #mind control #himbo #bisexual #transformation #male hypnosis #male transformation #stoner #cannabis #musk #footplay #switch #male reprogramming

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idesofrevolution · 16 days

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The Hypno Story as Promised. Super fun IMHO. Read it on Blogspot before it drops on 4/13!

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idesofrevolution · 1 month

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It’s Just Business

Benjamin Howe walked into the Lamplighter, sweat dripping from his quaking chin. Slowly, hesitantly, he made his way past the men at the bar- each massive man glaring at the skinny young fuckup. For years he had screwed up deals. For years he had pissed off the members. For years he had insulted the legacy of his father. This time. It was different. The air in the room was noticeably tense as he shuffled to the black velvet curtains, breathing heavily and shaking visibly. Their eyes shot daggers at his back, as he pathetically stood there, delaying the inevitable. Benjamin slowly walked through to the back room, and was met with a sight he dreaded.

Mack was the beast of the League. He towered over every single man, and tripled their size. For 38 long years, he was the loyal, obedient enforcer for Benjamin's father: silently and ruthlessly carrying out whatever orders came from the top. He was feared, but he was respected. He had paid his dues, he had hearts and minds of the League, and without question what he says goes. He stood there, his sheer size compared to the skinny little brat was David and Goliath. Benjamin sniffled, letting the last remnants of today's cocaine rush into his sinuses.

"Mack... I should have known that my father would sent you to greet me. Am I supposed to be intimidated?" The hulking man remained in place, crossing his arms with a silent glare. "Of course, sit and stare. That's what you always do." Benjamin defiantly walked around the mountain, and there was his father, sitting in his chair. His mere presence commanded the room, his authority unquestionable. The emperor of the underworld, and the king of the riches it afforded him.

"Benjamin. Come sit." Benjamin stood frozen in place, his face scrunching into a subtle grimace. "Benjamin. Get your fucking ass in this chair now." He didn't need to raise his voice for his order to be obeyed. Benjamin slunk toward the orange chair, timidly taking his seat. His father stared at him, the two sitting in absolute silence for what seemed like ages. Only after the father slowly moved his hand to his glass, sipped his whiskey, and placed it back on the table did conversation begin. "What happened with Dominic?"

"N... nothing happened with Dominic. I went, I dropped off the cash, right where we discussed." He squirmed in his seat, his father remained as still as stone. Benjamin sat forward in his chair, receding into his typical groveling that had served him well so many times before. "I can't be responsible for Dominic losing the money. I mean, hell! He couldn't be bothered to..." His father brought a single finger to his mouth, immediately silencing him. Benjamin put on a brave face to weather the incoming storm.

"Son, where did you put the bag?" His eyes burned with a fiery rage that his face refused to display. Merely a furrowed brow and stoic expression told Benjamin all he needed to know.

"On... on Ford Street. Under the bench... Like we talked about." His father leaned in, the leather of his jacket creaking as he moved.

"When did you do it?" Benjamin felt the sweat from his brow pouring down the sides of his face. He racked his mind trying to remember, scrying through every last thing he did that day, until he blurted out the answer.

"N... Nine... Nine o' clock this morning." His father sat there for a moment, before closing his eyes. His head lowered in disappointment, the room swelling with a thick hush. He raised his head, and his eyes were reddening from the fury.

"Nine o' clock... Nine o' clock tonight, you fucking moron. Why the fuck would we leave a bag full of money at a bus stop in broad daylight?" Benjamin felt his blood rush from his head. His ears began to ping, and he felt pins and needles on his forearms. He'd fucked up. And he'd fucked up bad. "Do you know how much money was in that bag, you asshole? Two million fucking dollars." The calm tone of his voice felt more terrifying than any screaming would ever accomplish. Benjamin hoped for the yells, the insults, the typical enraged response he'd gotten over the past five years. No matter the failure, he knew the routine: his father would give him the verbal lashing of his life, lob the threat of this being his final chance, and sending him out on some pointless job of little consequence. This time was different.

"D... Danny told me it was the morning! I wouldn't have done that if he hadn't told me! Besides, Mack is in charge of that, what the fuck were you doing instead of making sure the orders were right?" Benjamin pivoted to a performative outburst. Bombastic tirades of projection and avoidance, as always, it was someone else's fault. His father sat there, listening to every shrieking word that spewed from his lying mouth, until he had sufficiently tuckered himself out.

"You know, Benjamin..." His father leaned back in his seat, crossing his leg atop his knee. "I have endured your fuckery for five years. Five years. I held your hand like a dipshit child every day, making excuses for whatever botched job you fucked up. Making excuses for my son. The one who sits at the bar, bragging to every man that you're gonna take this chair from me one day. That they'll all be sorry they laughed at you, that they'll all see you're not some slimy little shit." He raised his hands in the air. "Well, did you show them?"

Benjamin sat there, stunned. Though his mind was racing with excuses and deflections, no words left his mouth. He heard the heavy footsteps behind him, the boulderous man skulking in from the shadows. He felt two hands on his shoulders slowly tighten their grip, until they fell numb under his dirt covered hands. His father sat resolute, unmoved by his quaking fear.

"See, boy. We can't have you fucking up another deal. No more nights at the bar slamming every girl there. No more thousands of dollars wasted on your blow addiction. No more embarrassments, son. You're done." Benjamin squirmed under Mack's grip, but his strength could not compare to the force of his clutch.

"Dad... C'mon... I got this! I've always had this! Let me prove it!" The old man merely shook his head.

"No more chances, boy. You got no respect. You got no drive. Not to mention you're a fucking liar. Did you really think I would just wave off two million dollars? That I wouldn't watch every one of your little bank accounts? You've either got the best god damn side hustle I've ever seen. Or. You been pocketing our money. My money." He was caught, the trap had closed around him. The gig was up. And all he could do was tremble at the sight of his father's gaze.

"I made a decision, kid. I think you've got some hard fucking labor to do. And Mack here is gonna personally see to it that you do it, and do it right." The heat from the hulking man radiated against the back of his head and neck, the power he exuded was tangible. In fact, so tangible it was, that Benjamin had fallen too deep into his fear. He'd lost sight of his surroundings, to the further disappointment of his father. He didn't notice the syringe until it was piercing his neck.

The concoction came on strong and fast, feeling limp and slow. The sounds around him became lugubrious and muffled, his sight slowly blurring. Mack slowly made his way around the chair, crouching directly in front of his quickly slacking body. His father stood up, patting his enforcer on the shoulder with stoic pride.

"Here's the thing, Benjamin. You've run out of shots. So I have to make sure that our interests come first. And as my son, I have to make sure that our reputations stay strong and unquestionable. And you..." He turned his glance upward to his slumping son. "You won't fuck this up for us. That's why Mack here will be... taking over for you."

Mack stood upright, slowly striding toward Benjamin. Though he wanted to plead, to beg, to weasel his way out of this, his mouth would not comply. The enforcer put his hands under the young man's shoulders, effortlessly pulling him to his feet. He stood unmoving, blank as a mannequin while Mack circled him. The thump of the boots echoed in the dark room, 250 pounds of muscle will have that effect on a person's footfalls. His father stood by his chair, picking up his glass of whiskey once more.

"I won't have my son humiliate me again. Perhaps in a year, you might finally get the picture." His father took another sip of his drink, and as he gave a single nod the footsteps stopped, and he felt an immediate burst of tightness in his back. It felt as if he were socked, and the fist punched a hole through his body. His eyes shot downward, glancing in horror as the outline of a massive hand protruding from beneath the skin of his chest. A second jab, a second hand pushing out of his torso. The two hands quickly shot upward, lifting him a foot off the floor, hanging like laundry on a line.

Benjamin could only watch helplessly as the hands slowly made their way toward his shoulders, pressing down his arms like sleeves. Each inch they plunged downward, his skin stretched wider, his muscles grew larger, his veins throbbing. Like putting on a glove, the hands slurped into his own, his fingers growing larger and tighter, his palms expanding until two huge calloused mitts. Just by looking at them, he knew they were Mack's. Those fists have put the lights out of brawlers in one swing, those arms the size of tanks. They now cracked their knuckles beneath his skin.

His powerful biceps were quickly put to good use as his hands pressed against his chest, pressing against Mack's pecs until they too began to sink into him. His shoulders broadened, stretching over the 6'6 giant's, while his pecs ballooned out with thick, hard muscle. His abdomen stretched wider, encompassing Mack's as his abs swelled with mass. The orange shirt quickly tore down the sides, the buttons flying every which way as it ripped to shreds. His shoulders rolled back, swallowing the man's back within his own and quickly closing him in seamlessly. The skin stretched tight, encompassing his invader into his chrysalis, leaving Mack's sweaty leather vest the only covering wrapped around him.

Benjamin hung there, grotesquely bloated in his upper body with muscle while his pipecleaner thin legs dangled limply above the floor. He would scream, he would shout, he would abuse, if only his lips would move. He would scream at the pressure of Mack's bulbous bulge pushing against his bony ass, spreading his cheeks and pushing into his hole. It thrusted forward futher into him, until it pressed outward in a orb in his pants. His hands moved to his pants, sliding the zipper down, as well as the top of his boxers to reveal the globe undulating at the base of his cock. All it took was some pressing and pulling at the apex, and Benjamin could feel Mack's beer can sliding into his manhood. His cock swelled while it bulged out, his shaft stretching thick with heavy girth as his slit opened wide. Out from the gaping hole slid a silver metal ball, quickly followed by the rest of Mack's Prince Albert piercing along with a steady flow of his pre. His scrotum dropped as his grape sized eggs were filled with a heavy sac and kiwi sized balls.

Mack fell backwards onto the chair, letting Benjamin's legs rest upon his massive quads. Bending down, he grabbed the loser's left foot, pulling toward the toes of his gigantic boots. The scrawy limb stretched downward until his heel touched the tip of the steel toe, and as if he were pulling on a sock, he shoved the boot forward into his foot. The leather of his boot and the damp fabric of his ripe socks seemingly wrapped around the side of his foot while Mack's toes slid further into his heel. The feet expanded outward, a manly pungent scent started to waft from them while they stretched outward, growing until the boot had surrounded his now size 16 feet.

His right foot followed after, and his calves and quads were pressed downward, inundated with brawn and meat. Mack's dirty black jeans slipped around the burly shanks, tying his leather belt tightly around his waist. From the neck down, Benjamin was completely worn by Mack. Dressed in his dirty clothes, filled with his sweaty muscles, swollen with his immense stature. His father stood up leisurely, taking his time to make his way toward his invaded son.

"You're gonna learn tonight what I expect from you, Benjamin. Take it all in." He leaned down grasping his face in his palms. "Goodnight, boy. We'll take it from here." With that, his father placed his hand around the back of Mack's head, and pushed the two skulls together. Benjamin felt the man's face slide into the back of his cranium, and after a moment of pressure it forced itself forward, the last of the enforcer suctioned into him. His face immediately became distorted as noses entered noses, eyes into eyes, tongues into tongues... Gurgling erupted from his throat as the vocal chords were overtaken, his hair was washed in a midnight black, and as his eyes shifted from dark brown to a bright blue, Benjamin was pushed aside. His persona, his consciousness all relegated to a mere spectator.

Rodney looked at his new son, piloted by the only man he knew would never let him down. For 38 years he had impressed, delivered, and proven himself- today was the final test. 'Ben' stood tall, the build of a hard headed brawler with the face like James Dean. With his newfound youth, 'Ben' felt the vigor of life radiate within him. He looked down at his new body; not so much as a smile graced his face, instead exuding the virile intensity of a man habituated to using force to ensure respect. His now father nodded knowingly at him, his tasks as 'Ben' having been long outlined and planned. The herculean man silently turned and exited the room, pushing past the black velvet curtains to an uproar of cheers.

---

For twelve months, Ben was the closer, the muscle, the leader of his men- not once losing sight of the larger picture, nor the directions of his father. The men quickly acclimated to their young prince, never a single utterance of dissent or disrespect came from their lips. They respected him, they loved him, they wanted to be him. He guided them with an iron fist, unwavering persistence, and brilliant strategy only ever achieved from a lifetime of the lifestyle. When he so much as entered a room, beer was poured, shots were downed; though all he would contribute is quietly sitting with his father watching the revelry.

Within five months, he was covered in tattoos from head to toe. Within ten months, he was covered in all over his body. Within eleven months, he had the men willingly submitting beneath his boot: sucking his musky cock, worshipping his muscles, sniffing his ripe feet, and welcoming his dick into them at every chance. His dominance stirred such high regard with his subordinates, that nearly every night one was begging at his toes.

No job went awry. Money was made. Deals were struck. The father and son quickly monopolized the market, striking down whoever stood in their way and embracing those who bowed a knee. And as the 365th day of Benjamin's punishment came and went, it was clear that the new Ben was here to stay. He was destined to take over once the torch was to be passed, and with him in charge, the future was bright.

#male transformation #body transformation #male possession #original #transformation #jockification #body possession #criminal transformation #criminal tf #male tf #muscle tf #minionization #leather #young to old #age transformation #age regression #domination #leather tf

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idesofrevolution · 2 months

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Rendezvous

Browsing through Sniffies, Maurice sighed gruffly. After six or seven weeks of coming up with zero responses, he was ready to throw in the towel. He was lonely, working a dead-end job downtown with no real trajectory or path to self-improvement, living alone in a house crumbling to debris around him. He was hoping one, just one guy would return his advances, just one little victory to put under his belt amongst the plethora of disappointments. He felt the ever watchful eye of his manager looming over him as he sat behind his desk, looking for any reason to have a "meeting" about his efficiency. Scrolling under the desk, he hoped that as long as his work was complete by lunch, he would avoid any unpleasant lectures. Under his breath, he muttered the names of the nearby guys looking for trade.

"BigDaddy69... Cockinator5000... Scatterino... TitsMcGeeTheGreat... Ugh, what the fuck, man. This is bullshit. None of these guys are even interesting to me, and I still can't even get a response." Frustrated, he slammed his phone onto the desk and continued typing away at his spreadsheets. More than anything in the world, he just wanted someone to be there by his side as he weathered the bullshit of the world, but be it his body, his face, his personality, something... there were never any interested parties. As he continued to plug away at the monthly expense report, his phone vibrated against the desk. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Surely his boss couldn't be ready to scalp him for not having an expense report ready before the last day of the month... Dreading the barrage of gaslighting and tedious sanctimony, he slowly grabbed the phone and turned it over, opening his eyes.

!!New Message from: BrotatoChip on Sniffies!!

His jaw dropped to the floor. Besides the ridiculous name, he was floored. This was the first message in months, and it wasn't even someone he'd contacted. He swiped his finger across the cracked screen, opening the Sniffies page immediately. There, in bold, was the message. He cautiously tapped on the profile, and when it popped up, he was even more dumbfounded. He was a hunk! One of those stereotypical dude bros he avoided eye contact with at the gym, naturally handsome, muscles with bulging veins, a bountiful beard, showing off one of the wettest armpits he'd ever seen. The tank top he wore looked equally as drenched, and the dominant scowl on his face immediately brought pause to Maurice. He was definitely emitting Alpha-bro vibes, surely amongst the BO that would waft around him.

Yet, to Maurice, it was immaterial. It was the first fish on the line in quite some time, and he wasn't going to let the moment pass. He scrolled through the profile: 24 years old, 6'3, 195 lbs, 9.5" uncut, fit, gay, vers, jock... quite the stats. Strangely, his bio only had a bunch of emojis one after another. Skeptical, but desperately hopeful, Maurice tapped on the conversation to see what he was sent.

BrotatoChip: Whassup bro! How you doin' today?

Maurice smiled warmly, eager to jump right into the fray. He responded meekly with a generic "Hey how's it going," in hopes that the neutrality of his statement would bely his true excitement. He moved his finger to the lock button, only to have the guy respond almost immediately to him. Maurice raised an eyebrow in intrigue and read the message.

BrotatoChip: It's going good, dude! I just finished going to the gym, working out with some of my bros and trying not to stare at their beefy pecs. Hahahah. What about you, bro?

Maurice grimaced, the guy spoke like a neanderthal. But, beggars can't be choosers. At least he was nice to look at. He crafted a careful reply.

Maurice1280: Ugh. I’m stuck at work. The daily grind, you know? Would much rather be there!

BrotatoChip: Aw, I'm sorry dude. The grind is the worst. I hope your boss lets you leave early to go hit the gym instead! But it sure is dope of you that you still took the time to chat with me! I'm Chip, by the way.

Alright, that was kinda cute. He was no Lord Byron, but at least he seemed sincere. At least, as sincere as you can be from typing behind a phone screen.

Maurice 1280: I'm Maurice! And if I could skip out I would. Feels like a better use of my time ya know? It sounds really nice to spend time with friends at the gym.

BrotatoChip: Oh fuck yeah, bud! We really get pumped! And after, I'm always sure to take off my worn-out tennis shoes that reeeeally stink, and then I don't bother to wash them because I know a bro will come and sniff them and love them! Do you like it when the shoes stink, bro?

Maurice sat at his desk, unsure of how to respond. It was rather forward of Chip, certainly. Though, perhaps from the sweaty profile picture and the simple fact that he was on an app called Sniffies would have prepared him for a guy into scentplay. He'd never tried it before, but it wasn't as if he'd had a lot of musky himbos knocking at his door to try it with. He wasn't against it by any means, but it was far from the top of his list of priorities. Yet, for the sake of pursuing the dim lug, he decided to play into it.

Maurice1280: Dude… I fucking love it. Kinda get off on it if I’m being honest!

BrotatoChip: Really? That's hot! I think I'll keep going to the gym without socks, so my feet can get really sweaty and gross, and the shoes are all rank with my hot stank. How does that smell sound to you, huhuhu?

Maurice1280: That sounds... mouthwatering.

BrotatoChip: Heh, thanks, bro… It's nice to know that another guy will be turned on just by sniffing my hot, ripe feet. Man, that's really hot, huhuhu. Maybe you should take breaks during the day and come meet me in the gym parking lot. It's private back there, and the bro air is gonna be hot and sweaty from me and the boys working out, you know?

Was this... Was this an invitation? Really? At last? Was it what he was expecting? No, absolutely not, but who knows what would happen. He sat back and reflected on how many times he'd been ignored, tossed aside, and never given a chance. Perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing to give a shot to the one guy who gave him a chance.

Maurice1280: Oh man… is that… is that an invitation?

BrotatoChip: Yeah dude! I'm gonna be in the parking lot for my one-hour rest break after I finish these deadlifts. I'm gonna be taking my worn-out, rank tennis shoes off after the workout, and I'm looking forward to having your feet slide into them. Think you'll be able to resist the temptation to sniff my bro toes? I know I'm gonna have you gagging with my stinky, sweaty puppies, huhuhu. If you're down, of course!

Maurice felt a strange sense of anticipation. He even started to like the sound of Chip's ideas. He'd try anything once, and if Chip was as friendly as he was on the app, perhaps it could be nice? After all, what's more intimate and sensual than indulging in some body worship? He found himself actually starting to believe the messages he'd exchanged with Chip. He'd read enough Tumblr smut to at least have an idea of what to do. With a blush-tinged smile, he replied.

Maurice1280: I think I could probably sneak away during lunch!

BrotatoChip: Fuck yeah, good idea bro! Nobody would think anything of it if you took an extended lunch break, especially if you're gone for a while…. That's an hour you could be gettin' some quality time if you know what I'm sayin!

Maurice1280: Fuck man, I don’t know if I’d wanna go back to work after something like that. Sounds too good to be true!

BrotatoChip: Heh, that's just cause you haven't had a bro! Or a couple of bros... Huhuhu! I'm sure after I'm done with you, you'll have a whole horde of thirsty, sweaty himbos who always want to sniff your hot, rank feet and worship your huge swole arms.

Maurice1280: Ah... You might be disappointed, then. I'm not really athletic or anything. Just a couple of cardio days at the gym every few weeks for me. I'm no beefcake.

BrotatoChip: You let me worry about that, bro. It's almost my hour break, and I'm feeling pretty worn out. I can't wait to take off my sweaty, stinky shoes and let you come sniff them and slide em on like I know you want to.

This guy was a freak... But it was a change of pace, it was exciting, and he was undoubtedly hot...

Maurice1280: Well, alright then. If you send me the location I'll meet up with you. See you soon!

He waited merely five seconds before a live location was shared with him. The gym was a stone's throw away from the office downtown, walking distance. Maurice shook off the nerves and hit 'plan route.'

---

The summer day was hot- blistering almost, as Maurice made his way down the side alley. The gym was in a warehouse by the docks, some sort of CrossFit specialization. It was a place he'd never venture if not for Chip's rather forward advances. As the alleyway cleared into a wider area covered in shitty, torn up astroturf and miscellaneous kettlebells & tractor tires. He was definitely in the right place. There, just beyond the plastic muscle garden was the parking lot; and hanging around a beat up Supra were four gigantic dudes laughing like hyenas. Among them, arguably the largest of them, was Chip.

He stood a solid 3 or 4 inches above the rest of his comrades, and was just as attractive in person as his photos. That stringy purple bro tank of his showed off his wide, muscular back and massive arms dripping with the sweat of a long gym session. On his huge feet, a pair of extremely beat up Nike Free 5.0 trainers; formerly bright white, and now yellowed with sweat from daily gymgoing since at least 2014 when the shoe came out. Did Maurice know this? Of course not, to him the shoes were on a hot guy, and that's what mattered to him.

Chip was bursting at the seams laughing at Brody's gross joke, tossing his head back as he belched out his booming chortle. As he did, he saw Maurice standing by the gym, looking rather sullen in his cheap button up and khakis. Chip turned around and grinned from ear to ear. The little guy was cute, very much your run of the mill boy next door type, but endless potential. As Chip smiled and waved at him, the other guys around him chuckled to eachother; smirking and ribbing eachother as their leader strode towards the nervous little shrimp.

Maurice smiled and waved back, sheepishly walking toward the Greek God that was jogging at him. The closer he got, the difference in scale became clearer and clearer. Maurice felt like a child compared to Chip, he was at least a foot taller than he, and muscles that doubled him in size. The fact this guy was 24 was unbelievable. Maurice extended his hand to shake it, only to be met with a bear hug by the sweaty giant.

"Oh! Uh, hey there! Good to actually meet you!" Chip dropped Maurice back onto his feet. "Damn, dude that must have been quite the workout, you're drenched!" Maurice looked down at his cleanly pressed work shirt, now patched with sweat marks. Chip smirked and bounced his pecs.

"Yeah dude! I've been going extra hard today with the bros…I just can't stop pumping that iron. Like what you see, right?" Chip winked at Maurice, instantly flushing his face with a deep red. He would do what he had to do to suppress whatever insecurities arose from the difference in his perceived attractiveness, not that Chip would have noticed such shortcomings anyway. Maurice leaned a bit to the right, watching as the hunk's friends stared at them with jeering smiles.

"Yeah... I sure do... I didn't know you were with friends, though." Chip turned, only now realizing how intimidated his little date might feel around a hoard of sweaty muscleheads. He chuckled to himself, and ruffled Maurice's hair.

"Yeah, well, maybe all these guys would like a chance to get in on the action…but only if you want to, bro. If you want to have some time with my big, muscular body all to yourself, I can tell the other bros to take a hike and we can head across the parking lot to the car… If you aren't getting cold feet." Maurice read this for what it was; a challenge. A playful one at that, but he could tell that Chip was testing his boundaries, but leaving the ball in his court. He came to be with one hot guy for an hour of bliss, but now he had the opportunity for four? Was it dangerous? It was broad daylight, which he hoped would dissuade anyone from doing anything they shouldn't... and if he was being honest with himself, the idea of spending some time with four muscular dudes wasn't entirely unwelcome.

"I mean, as long as I get to be with you I don’t care what other sexy dudes come join in. I came to… hang with you. You take priority here." Chip stood back for a moment, seemingly touched by the earnestness in which Maurice presented himself there. The little guy was putting himself at Chip's mercy, and it was an opportunity he wasn't going to pass up. Though in the back of his mind, cogs began to turn.

"Yeah, the fact that such an attractive guy has such a clear attraction towards me and my big, buff, stinky body… well, that kind of has me feeling like the best thing since bottle preworkout. Huhu…." His dim laugh really spoke volumes besides the decibel, Chip wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack. It was somehow endearing to Maurice, and making him feel more secure in being around guys who may have been as sweet as this dumbass. Chip threw his arm around Maurice; the hot, wet hairs in his pits sitting just to the right of his face, as the duo strutted toward the car. Chip's friends started high fiving and whispering amongst eachother: to them, another fun little conquest under their jockstraps. To Chip, on the other hand, perhaps something more.

The crowd parted as they arrived at the car, moving their quiet cheering a foot or two away from the car. Maurice smiled and waved at them, which had all three of them winking, flexing and puckering their lips. Idiots, all of them, but harmless for now. As Maurice opened the car door, the intensely hot and humid air from inside seeped out like molasses from the car. The scent was ripe, like an entire NBA locker room condensed into a little Supra sedan in the baking summer sun.

Maurice took a seat in the car, and Chip plopped down in the driver's seat. He turned to his puny Sniffies date awkwardly smiling at him. Smirking, Chip shut the door, and began to slip off his beat up sneaker. Almost immediately, the stink in the car intensified. Like a mixture of blue cheese and camembert after being microwaved. Chip lifted his sweaty bare foot onto the dash, flexing his massive bicep.

"Fuck, bro. Those puppies are ripe! Here, take a whiff!"

That smile… Those huge arms… Those size 15 monster feet… And that smell… Maurice couldn't have a single coherent thought outside of 'please let me have them.' With Chip grinning his pearly whites, Maurice brought his face just close enough to feel the heat radiating from the meaty sole. Just as he was preparing to take his breath, he felt Chip's calloused fingers on the back of his head, and his face soon collided with the sticky sole of his foot. Outside of the car, the three other jocks watched intently, pawing at their growing bulges as Maurice began to feverishly sniff their bro's ripe foot. They were all too familiar with the scene, as they all savored their moments not just with Chip but eachother as well, and they were drooling to get in on that action.

"Fuck yeah, bud! Get some of that good shit. Stick your tongue out!" Maurice did as he was told, letting his tongue gently slide up the sole of Chip's foot. Over callouses, between his toes, suckling on every fragrant inch of the foot, Maurice had never felt more alive than in that moment. The hours… no, days spent wasting away at that shitty office, when he could have been savoring Chip's flavorful body. As Maurice savored the salty, funky flavor of his feet, Chip leaned back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head and taking in the smell of his own ripe pitsweat. By the time Maurice had come up for a breath of air, he turned to the window to see the three jocks leaning in against the window of the car, their sweaty dicks all being out and in hand. Chip smirked, "What do you think, bud? Think you're ready for a party?" Maurice turned and smiled.

"Let's go." Those two simple words were enough to send Chip into a frenzy, as he grabbed Maurice by the head and pulled him into a deep kiss. The bros outside start cheering, and pulling at the door. Chip took no time in pulling both himself and Maurice into the backseat, while the other three piled in the car: two in the front and one joining them in the back. Maurice was so enamoured with Chip's sensual kisses and firm gropes, he was oblivious that the jocks began to strip their gymwear from their sweaty, muscular bodies, tossing them into a pile in the back as they began to swap spit and sniffs.

The car windows were fogging from the heat, and in the dead of summer that is tough to do; but the humid stink of four massive sweaty jocks and one normie was enough to make the interior of the car feel like the Amazon Rainforest. Sticky, hot, sweaty, wet, and musky, the jocks began to pry the clothes right off of Maurice as he continued to suck Chip's tongue. Before long, he was bare ass naked, with meaty hands all over his body; roaming, groping, squeezing, and pumping. Chip pulled away from the kiss for just enough time to let Maurice moan from the pleasure.

"Whaddya think, bro? Wanna roll with us?" Maurice could only squeak out an affirmative, as he began to suckle on one of the jock's fingers. Chip let out a hardy chuckle. "Fuuuuuuuck yeah, bro. I'm gonna make you one of us. I wanna show you just how good and manly it feels to be a gay meathead like us! I wanna get you dripping with sweat and smelling like a man. I wanna see your muscles pumped, your body pumped, your brain pumped……all with man musk, huhu…." Chip nodded to the other jocks in the car, it was time for some initiation. One by one, the jocks picked an article of their gym clothes from the pile in the backseat. Maurice suddenly felt a warm, wet fabric being shoved down his arms. He opened his eyes, and one of the bros had slipped their sweaty white tank top onto his slim frame. Before he could protest, not that he would have at that point, Chip had taken the liberty of straddling him, pulling down his shorts and yellowed jockstrap to reveal his thick, musty uncut dick. Maurice had little time to admire the easily 11 inch cock before Chip plowed it straight into his mouth. The taste was tangy, salty, cheesy, and irresistible as Chip made easy work of the man's throat and mouth.

As the rhythmic face fucking continued, another jock slipped their ripe jockstrap and black shorts onto Maurice, leaving just enough room up top for his cock to be sucked by the hunky lug. The last one pried the sweaty cap from his head, slamming it down onto Maurice's head as Chip thrust forcefully into his mouth. The scene was surreal- this normal guy decked out in four dude bro's nasty gym gear as they pleasured him: his mouth gagged by Chip's musty cock, his own cock being sucked, his own ass being eaten, his own pits being huffed... A pervert's dream. Chip's pace began to hasten, his breath becoming bated and shallow.

"Ohhh fuck, bro... You ready? Fuuck I'm gonna blow one big ass load into you. You want that? You want my seed inside you, bro?" Maurice could only say yes with his eyes, looking Chip directly in those sapphire eyes with the faintest gleam. Huffing as he finally began to climax, Chip let out one final grunt: "Welcome to the club, bro!" Immediately, the floodgates opened. The first torrent of Chip's potent spunk went barreling down Maurice's throat, a gush that lasted a total of 10 seconds uninterrupted. More and more cum came flooding into Maurice's gut, Chip's sweaty balls still slapping against his chin as they pulsated. It started in his belly, as it inflated fairly quickly with the spunk, expanding like a water balloon filled with cum. The jocks began to knead at it, smirking as the seed started flowing out into his muscles and bloodstream.

From the bulbous gut, a firm six pack of abs popped out one by one as the cum squeezed into their muscle fibers. Two prominent cum gutters quickly followed suit, along with a quickly inflating ass beneath him. Maurice could feel himself being inundated, taken over by Chip's essence, but he was so in the thralls of euphoria and gleeful at the prospect of this being his new life that it couldn't matter any less. Two juicy pecs pillowed out, as his back expanded with thick, carved muscle. His fingers began to swell, and callouses began to develop on his palms while his biceps and triceps quickly swelled with jiggling muscle and bulging veins. His legs swelled quickly, his calves becoming hard as rocks and his thighs firm with a nice layer of fat just as bristly hairs began to sprout from his skin.

"Ahh, bro, your legs are getting huge, huhu…. those tight shorts are almost cutting off your circulation bro! Ahh man, you look so damn good now, huhu……your body looks huge and muscular and sexy as hell…" Chip's dim-witted voice soared over the moans and sounds of wet kissing and stretching skin as more cum shot out of his musky rod like a geyser. Maurice's feet began to swell and crack, growing and expanding quickly. Size 10... Size 11... Size 13... Size 14... Finally filling up with as much seed as possible at Size 15, they immediately began to emit a ripe funk of their own, one that did not go unnoticed. Maurice felt tongues lapping at the sweat dripping from his meaty soles, a feeling that began to feel so right and so empowering. He grabbed the back of Chip's firm ass, pushing his face harder against his groin, milking every drop from his bro's ripe cock.

The spunk had filled every possible crevice and fiber of him, so as it started to slowly rise up his throat, pooling in his mouth, he could feel the pressure growing in his head. His cheeks started to swell as the cum had no where else to go, the pressure growing and mounting against the top of his palette. Chip smirked with one final and extremely rough thrust. Something popped in the back of his head, and the cum rushed up into his skull. His head started to feel tight and malleable, as his features began to shift and change. His brows lowered and thickened, his lips swelled into plump kissers, his nose widened and the veins in his muscular neck prominently bulged out. As Chip slowly removed his cock from Reece's dripping mouth, his dim witted, empty brained bro could only smile and pant.

"Shiiit, bro. Lookin' fine as fuck, aren't we?" Chip smirked as he looked down at his creation with pride. Reece smiled as he panted.

"Yo, bro. That shit was fire! Look at me, bro!" Reece slid upright, flexing his new muscles with that trademark emptyheaded look on his face.

"Lookin' like a real bro now, Reece! Just one thing missing." Chip turned to their bros in the front seat, grinning from ear to ear as his stanky sneakers were placed in his hands. "From me to you, bro." Chip slid the sweaty sneakers onto Reece's feet, a perfect fit.

"Awww, bro!" Reece chided, as he pulled Chip in for a kiss. The two locked lips, pulling eachother tightly together while their friends went to town on eachother.

---

The gym attendant had plenty of experience with the group of dipshits plowing eachother in the parking lot. It wouldn't be the first time someone came in to complain about the car rocking from side to side with an orgy of men inside. He trudged across the hot asphalt toward the Supra, windows completely fogged up. He sighed as he knocked on the car window, watching as the rocking of the car quickly subsided and a guffaw of dim witted chuckles quietly rang out inside the car.

"Okay, Chip. Hope you got your nut, but the neighbors are complaining again... Open up." The window slowly rolled down, and a thick haze of manscent gushed out of the opening. Inside, five ripe, ripped dudes all smiling and snickering- one of which was unfamiliar. "New guy, then Chip?" Chip smirked.

"Yeah, Clint. This is my boy Reece. He's probably gonna join the club. Right, Reece?" The massive stud of a man in the drivers seat leaned over the armrest, licking the cum off of his moustache.

"Yeah, bro. This place seems tight. I'll be in to sign up in a second, unless..." Reece's sultry gaze stared holes into Clint's soul, as he leaned in closer, gripping Chips prominent bulge in the passenger's seat. "Unless you wanna hop in with us, bro? Bet I'll get you sweating before the sun goes down."

#male transformation #body transformation #original #transformation #jockification #musk #musky #gay transformation #clothing tf #sweaty #footplay #foot fetish #himboization #himbo transformation #male tf #body tf #himbo tf #jock tf

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idesofrevolution · 2 months

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New Post Live on Ides Blogspot! Read it before it drops here on Tumblr on Monday at 9:45 AM!

This was loosely based off of an RP with @fredwkong's HimboMaker, which I HIGHLY recommend chatting with if you like this kind of content. I'll be back soon with the Hypno Story!

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idesofrevolution · 2 months

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I know I’ve been quiet for a moment, been a very rough go of it the past month. Still a little up in the air. But I’m putting together a story based on an RP with @fredwkong’s HimboMaker. Musky sweaty jock bros coming soon.

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idesofrevolution · 3 months

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Any preference?

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idesofrevolution · 3 months

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Masquerade

Content Warning: Horror Erotica, Forced Transformation

You sit in the back of the Uber, eagerly twiddling your thumbs. A Grindr date is not exactly what you had planned your evening, but as fate would have it, the cosmos smiled upon you tonight. Instead of laying in your bed scrolling through the ten Netflix shows you actually like, you are enroute to hopefully get lucky this evening. And indeed, lucky you are. When you saw the profile that had messaged you out of the blue, your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. His username was 'Rubbercock' and from the pics he had sent you of his rather monstrously large uncut appendage, you can only imagine that it stretches even larger as it grows. That blonde hair, those dark brown eyes, that pig boy nose ring, those muscles... it didn't take much convincing for you to toss on whatever clothes were lying close to you and bolt out the door.

You peer down at your phone, tapping it gently to reveal another message from Rubbercock, or as he had introduced himself to you: Justin. It's merely the door code for his building and his apartment number, of course accompanied by a smiling devil emoji. You feel yourself start to blush, wondering if that monster dick of his would be stretching your hole or your throat this evening. A twinge of nervousness had already crossed your mind, but you have tossed it aside as common performance anxiety. You haven't ever seen a stud of this caliber before, neither had you ever expected one to show any interest in you, so the thought of having to perform at the same level does permeate your thoughts. Though, due to the simple fact that Justin had messaged you first, initiating the contact himself, it proved enough to carry you from your doorstep to the curb of the dingy apartment building.

As you pull up, you look up at the building before you. Every window on it's weathered facade was dark and vacant, save for the single corner unit on the fourth floor where the light shone a deep red. You thank your driver, tipping him adequately for charioting you to a late night hookup at one in the morning. As he pulls away, you stare up at the windows, seeing the dark outline of a figure standing there, as if watching your approach. You smile and wave, but the figure simply retreats back into the recesses of the apartment. For a moment, you take pause, as a sense of foreboding tickles the hairs at the back of your neck. Though, driven purely by the throbbing brain in your groin, you decide to persist. Walking up to the apartment doors, you punch in the code he'd given you, and the loud click of the door rang out into the dark night. You swing the door open, walking through the seedy lobby to the elevators at the rear of the room. Pressing the call button, the doors immediately open; and there, standing in the elevator, waiting for you, is Justin.

He is certainly no catfish. He leans against the elevator wall with a stoic smoulder on his impossibly handsome face. There was no photoshop or FaceApp involved in his profile pictures whatsoever, he is exactly as he was in his profile: 6'4", broad shouldered, muscles bulging as if chiseled out of marble. Michelangelo couldn't have sculpted a more perfect specimen if he'd tried. The same commandeering attitude which had permeated his bio exudes from him merely idling before you. You recall instantly what he'd put. Dom Switch, Muscle Jock, Alpha Male. He certainly checks all the boxes.

"Well. You coming or what?" His voice is gravelly and stern, there was no question in what he said, it was a command. You blush as you enter the elevator, the doors shutting quietly behind you. In the cramped, small elevator, there is little room for the two of you. Though, you couldn't care less. You stand mere inches from your personal Adonis for the night, taking immediate notice to the smooth shine of his pecs and boxy abs. Furthermore, you take notice of the scent. It is pungent, as if he had just finished a several-hour workout, with the strangest undertone you can't quite place. His gaze shoots toward you, looking down as he faces forward. "Patience. You'll get a nose full of this soon enough." He raises his inked arms and flexes, his bulbous arms seemingly grow another three inches from the mere contraction. You swear you hear the faintest sound of groaning, as if his biceps were like creaking leather. Surely a fluke, besides, the aroma radiating from his smooth, sweaty pits all but intoxicate you at the slightest whiff. The scent of pure, unmitigated testosterone. You feel a dribble of spit drip from the corner of your lip, and he scoffs at you.

The doors open, and he struts out. The squeaking of his beat up trainers against the terrazzo floors bounces from wall to wall in the dim hallway. You quickly make haste and follow him and his trailing musk down the narrow corridor until he reaches the final door on the right. Twisting the doorknob, the two of you enter and are immediately met with the shocking Jungle-like humidity of the apartment. The red light casts a dim glow on your surroundings. The unit is sparsely furnished if not in disarray, appearing to be a classic four bedroom layout. The kitchen appears to barely be used, a thin layer of dust coats the formica counters. The humid air traps Justin's scent twice as strong, amplifying both the more obvious masculine musk but also the peculiar tinge just beneath. You sniff at the air in a feverish euphoria, before the slamming of the door behind you snaps you back to reality. Justin locks the deadbolt and chain, turning to you with a sort of voyeuristic curiosity.

He circles you like a predator surrounding his prey, looking you up and down with a single peaked eyebrow. Standing there, silent as death, a sense of exhilaration overwhelms you. Perhaps it's the slowly mounting sense of danger, or more likely, the animalistic interest he's taken in you. He finally stops and stands before you. Your head tilts upward to meet his gaze and he looks down at you. Practically drooling, you stand there in silence before he brings his large hands on either side of your head. He steadily brings your face closer and closer to his massive, firm chest, until your face collides between his pecs. Immediately, the wet droplets of his sweat emit his glorious musk as they splatter against your nose and forehead. Though, rather than single mindedly basking in his splendor, you notice an odd texture to his skin.

It is slick and smooth, which is to be expected of a sweaty, clean shaven hunk. Yet, there is a peculiar malleability to it. Your face seems to push into it, and it stretches and pulls in every direction- as if to swallow you whole. Purely for the sake of science, you allow your tongue to sneak out of it's cave to have a taste. Sure enough, it is smooth, wet, almost slick like a polished and lubed latex. That is to say, it is lubed with Justin's virile sweat, but there is an unusual poreless gloss to it.

"Ahh," his sultry voice glides through the air. "I'll give you something to taste, boy. Get on your knees." You feel his thick hand plop atop your head, pushing you down until you're eye level with his bulging crotch. The scent is strong, wafting out from his buttoned cargo pants. As he unbuttons them, they quickly fall to the ground, showing an obscene bulge within the appropriately labeled underwear: Fuck Yeah. Your mind is completely filled with filthy lust, and he shoves your face deep into the outline of his gargantuan python. Though, again, as you breathe in his piquant musk, it is hinted with that subtle synthetic odor beneath the cheesy fragrance. If you weren't so blinded by thirst and libido, perhaps you may have said something; but alas, the feeling is too good. The dominant grip is too strong. The scent was is mouthwatering.

"Bedroom, boy. I have things to show you." You stare up at his smirking visage, the first smile he has cracked since you arrived. It's a smile filled with licentious mischief, which pleases you all too well. He turns around, kicking off his well worn sneakers and tossing his pants to the side as he walks toward one of the four doors. Turning to you, he beckons you with his finger and a seductive wink. You eagerly hasten to the open doorway, and a quick flip of the switch reveals his unkempt bedroom. Dirty clothes litter the floors and drawers, the walls, floors, and bare mattress are all dotted with what you can only assume are cum stains. Though, while all of this is enough to drive you wild, your interest is piqued by something very different.

Masks. Four, to be exact. Each lifelike to an impressive degree of detail and craftsmanship, distinct in their masculine appearance. Silently, you ponder if Justin is merely a collector. There's plenty of stranger things individuals might collect, you note a couple of your own rather off beat menageries. However, you observe one that has caught your attention rather powerfully. Sitting upright in a pile of Justin's dirty laundry is a particularly handsome one.

Tanned, tattooed, a strong brow and some delicious wavy locks of sculpted silicone- it is shockingly handsome. For a split second, you can swear that it's dark brown, almost black eyes dart in your direction. That's ridiculous, though, you convince yourself. An optical illusion is all it is. You hear Justin's heavy footfalls against the hardwood floor approaching you from behind, but you're so taken with the mask that neither your eye nor your attention moves away from it.

"His name is Orlando. Sexy, isn't he?" You nod in agreement, feeling his strong hands starting to unbutton your shirt. "He's my favorite. Cocky. Strong. Masculine. Dominant. Reminds me a lot of myself." He pries the shirt from you, discarding it onto the bed. "He's got that attitude I look for in a man, and has the face to back it up." His fingers pinch down on your undershirt, and in one fell swipe, it is ripped down the center. You feel your breath quickly being swiped away, his hands glide down your bare skin, leaving trails of his sweat wherever they roam. "Turn around, boy." You do as your commanded, and as a reward, you are greeted with Justin's indominable stare. His eyes suck you in, entranced. "If you want to worship this," he grabs his absurd horse cock through the ripe black fabric, "you will have to do something in return." You brace yourself for a particularly kinky demand: bondage, sneaker huffing, nipple clamps, cock cage... and in your anticipation you are correct to imagine a bizarre request. "Put him on for me."

You immediately turn to the mask, again taken in by it's piercing gaze. Orlando is large, surely it will swamp your head. Would you even be able to see out of it's dark eyes? You hesitate, that quiet twinge of danger presents itself to you yet again. For what reason, you can't quite put your finger on, but it has grown stronger and stronger to the point where you are unable to deny it further. You were prepared for kink, but this is a bit too left field for you to stomach. Beside a sense of intimidation, you're uncomfortable fulfilling his request, and having met him merely moments ago, you're unsure of how such a man like Justin would respond to your denial. He detects your uncertainty, and you can somehow feel the smile creeping back onto his face.

"Did I stutter, boy? What, does he scare you? You don't think that you can handle wearing a face like his?" You turn back to Justin as he's deliberately pulling the waistband of his underwear down. You stare in intense awe, as they slip farther and farther down, his shaft gradually revealing itself as they slide down his muscular legs. One final tug and his hooded cockhead is exposed, two peach sized balls prominently hang behind. His dick hangs unnaturally, dripping globules of precum from it's hidden slit, and drops of sweat from the impossible smooth testes. It's easily a foot long, thick and ripe. If the mask didn't stir you awake from your promiscuous haze, the sight of his terrifying appendage surely does. Your lips begin to quake, and goosebumps shudder down your arms.

(See the post on BlogSpot for Uncensored Image)

"I see." His smile turns wild, unhinged. "We're going to play this the hard way." He chuckles to himself, "Or, better yet, the fun way." You stand there frozen before him, wide eyed in an emotion beyond fear. Then, he brings his hand in front of your face, wriggling his fingers mere inches from the tip of your nose. He quickly grips your cheeks, letting his pointer finger slip into the corner of your mouth. Spinning you around, he pulls you tight against his chiseled back, and extends his other arm toward the mask. You watch in abject horror as his arm begins to slowly lengthen. The sound of rubbery creaking and stretching reverberates in your ear as it stretches farther and farther across the room, over the king sized bed, and to the dresser on the far side of the room where Orlando sits atop his musky throne. In that moment, you realize precisely what that synthetic odor is that cuts through his delectable scent. Perhaps you had blocked it out earlier, or dismissed it as an impossibility. Though, as his hand firmly grips onto the mask's strong neck, you can deny it no longer: silicone. Rubber. Latex.

The arm quickly snaps back to it's original size, and the mask's stoic face quickly shifts to one of impish delight. Justin's grip loosens, and the mask begins to hover in the air before your wide eyes. The breaths pull in through your nostrils rapidly, catching the same pungent, rubbery musk that radiates out of your captor also spreading out from the mask. As it slowly begins to turn around, you feel Justin's cock snaking down the back of your pants, past your underwear and in between your cheeks. A muffled groan escapes your mouth, you can't refute the carnal pleasure that is flooding your mind. You feel the tip of his dick gingerly pressing against your clenched hole, and you instantly yelp as the head slides out of it's sheath and into you. Justin lets out a guttural moan, and the mask immediately makes it's move.

It flies above your head, quickly shoving itself down onto the crown of your skull. You feel the wet, slick silicone sliding down your face. Justin unlatches his finger from your mouth, and the mask suctions down fully onto you in a firm slam that nearly knocks you from your feet. The world goes black for you, blinded by the dark of inside of the dank mask, having nothing to sense beside the noxious fumes from within, and Justin's probing cock sliding ever further into you like a burrowing snake. The mask begins to become tighter and tigher, clamping itself soundly onto you. From within, you try to let out a cry of ecstasy from his slithering dick making it's way through your colon, only to have the smelly slime plunge down your throat.

You feel your rigid skull seem to crack, as the mask starts to undulate and contort. You're being invaded from both front and back, top and bottom: the mask flooding it's rubbery sludge down your throat and nostrils, and Justin worming his cock up your rear, surely bulging out of your belly. Your vision begins to return, hazy at first, but when you feel the silicone press against your retinas, it's clear as day. You gasp for breath, as your rubbery lips part for the first time. The familiar musky air flows into your lungs across your slick rubber tongue. You feel your now plump lips curl into a wide smirk against your will as tendrils of slick silicone begin to sprawl out from the edges of the mask around your shoulders. Orlando is now in control.

The warm, cascading torrent of liquid rubber flows freely down your body; invading every pore and orifice it washes over in it's wake. You hear the first sounds out of your pierced ears: sloshing, splattering, squeaking, and the sound of your brassy new moans. You feel yourself biting down on your lip, an ever so subtle rubbery squelch pinging out as your teeth press down on it. Justin begins to thrust hard and rough while the the sludge encompasses your ass. All you can do is listen to the splattering sounds of wet, heavy sex as the stud plows you from behind. His hand clamps around your neck, releasing a satisfied 'ah' from Orlando's suave voice deep in your throat. The sludge finally reaches your feet, encompassing you in the warmth of your wet cocoon.

Justin's pace picks up, you feel his cock deep within you slamming and protruding from your gut. Your collective moans grow louder and louder until the first barrage of his load barrels into you. Your head turns downward, and you see your body for the first time now tanned and covered in intricate tattoos from your chest down to the tops of your toes. As his second deluge is shot into you, you see your gut expanding with his seed, only to quickly spread out beneath your smooth, supple skin. The rubbery sound of creaking and expansion rings out of you as his splurge starts to pool in your feet, expanding as they are filled like a water balloon. Orlando wriggles your toes while they grow, size 10... size 11... size 12... 13... 14... eventually they finally hit their maximum volume at 15. The sludge rolls around beneath your skin, until it starts to firm up and emit the funkiest musk you have ever smelt. Your left foot lifts off the ground, a wet sweaty footprint left behind on the floor, while the sludge inflates your calves and meaty quads. Bulbous, at first, but they soon start to sharply define each muscle.

Your groin stirs to life as your sac starts to fill with Justin's seed. You can feel your balls swell with rubbery, slick fluid, growing to the size of clementines within mere seconds. Your cock starts to stretch from the weight of the pooling liquid gathering in your hooded head. It grows longer, stretching down your smooth thigh, until the trajectory shifts upward. You hear yourself huffing in Orlando's husky timbre, and your cock springs to life, hard but flexuous. Your hole immediately begins to tighten, your sphincter becomes stretched: the perfect fleshlight ass as your cheeks round out and jiggle all while Justin continues to pound it.

Abs pop out as your torso elongates. Two meaty pecs balance atop them as your back & shoulders bulk to hold up their sheer weight. All that fills your ears is the sound of the wet smacking of groin to ass, the sloshing of the goo inside of you, and the sound of your rapidly stretching arms. Your biceps swell, your forearms firm, and your hands expand to meet the entirely synthetically perfect equilibrium. You feel Justin wrap his hand around your neck, pulling backward to let the fluid rise up your throat and into your mouth. It tastes like the silicone of the mask itself, slick, salty, sweaty. You find yourself unable to breathe, just as you approach climax. Your cock throbs against the grey underwear barely containing your bloated bulge and juicy behind, leaking the rubbery pre that has filled you into the fabric.

Pressure grows more and more as the fluid fills your sinuses, pressing against the cranial bone. You have no thoughts left to ponder, you are completely filled, completely encased within someone else: functioning more as a skeleton for your new body than anything else. Resistance is futile, and having seen the end result of your rubbery transformation, perhaps the ride would be entertaining at the least. Letting go of every last shred of who you were, you feel the cracking of the bone, and the final flood of fluid into your head. You shoot your first musky load as Orlando right into the pouch of your underwear, round after round. Likely Justin's excess spunk just flooding out of your palpitating cock at first, though as more and more sprays out, it's quickly replaced by the batter now produced in your heavy balls. The liquid surrounds your brain, poking and prodding, creeping into every single groove and crevice, and as it completely fills you, you admit surrender, happy to be the quiet voice in the back of Orlando's mind.

---

Justin lets his cock retract back into it's typical size, and pulls out of your juicy hole with a wet schlorp. You smirk as you feel your hole tighten again, ready for the next load to be swallowed and integrated. You hear your host purring in the back of your mind, now imprisoned in abject euphoria for the rest of time. You wouldn't be needing him often, this body is all yours after all. He was merely the frame for which this masterpiece was to be birthed. You collapse onto the bed, still panting from the hot absorption you'd completed. Sighing in satisfaction, you turn over, grabbing your deflating bulge in your sweat slick fingers.

"Sorry it took so long, Lando. I got carried away with myself." Justin smirks as he flexes before you. You scoff, stretching your firm arms behind your neck, your irresistible musk wafting from your sweat-slicked pits.

"Mmmmm. I'm just happy to finally have a body of my own. Not being used by 'master' whenever he gets horny." No more would you be just a suit to be used by whomever thirsts over your sheer studliness. You were your own man now, abeit a synthetic one. So what? You're made for pleasure, both giving and receiving. It's about fucking time you had your turn in the driver's seat. You're sure that the whispers and moans within your mind agree with you, anyway. Turning to the other three masks lifelessly strewn across the room, a curling smirk scrawls across your face. "We got a lot of work to do, mi amor."

"Heh, those little cucks can watch for a couple hours. They've waited this long, what's a little bit longer?" Justin starts to bend down to his knees, bringing your massive dripping foot to his face, gently sniffing and licking your soles. As you lean back in satisfaction, his mouth stretching to fit the entire size 15 into his gullet, you realize he's right. You sure liked to watch, so let's give the boys a good show. You press your smelly toes onto Justins bulge, letting your lust take over.

---

Three months have come and gone. The world is a lot less exciting than you thought it would be. Sure, Justin is a damn good fuck and the best brother you could ask for. At the same time, there's nothing quite like variety to throw some spice into the mix. Besides, your other brothers have waited for so long. Perhaps it's time to finally bring another in. Lounging in the hotel room chair, you eagerly await Justin's return. Zy'aire awaits his host, sitting prominently on the minibar in silence. You wink at him, knowing the unworn mask could do nothing in return... yet.

From across the room, the sound of the clicking lock brings you to attention. You lean backward, letting your arm rest comfortably behind your head, and your fragrant feet on full display. As Justin walks in, you exchange a quick wink before the host sheepishly sulks in. Just a few breaths of your funk, he'll be down for the count. He has no idea whats coming for him, just how you like it.

#male transformation #body transformation #male possession #original #transformation #jockification #musk #body possession #musky #gay transformation #mask transformation #masking #bodysuit #living bodysuit #slime inflation #cum inflation #rubber transformation #racial change

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idesofrevolution · 3 months

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Seeing this happening yet again, so sending out this warning yet again: do not write captions underneath non-tf community posts. That drags the OP into the fray, often unwillingly, and can easily put further scrutiny on us. Find pics and save them, make them, or don’t use them; but do not transformationally sexualize a post that did not intend on going there. Learned this the hard way years ago.

#just advice #keep the community safe

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idesofrevolution · 3 months

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See it before Tumblr Does! Just as a little peek: do you like masks?

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idesofrevolution · 4 months

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And because today is fucking awesome, the amazing artist Sphinx (also known as Hippy Cartoonist) brought one of my more exciting OCs out of reference pics and into art! Nightshade from Nightshade Ascending. This collab was FUCKING GREAT and I cannot recommend him enough. Legitimately amazing guy, and the art speaks for itself man.

FOLLOW HIM NOW

#hippy cartoonist #nightshade ascending #nightshade #latex #rubber transformation #male transformation #body transformation #transformation #superheroes #gay superheroes #feet #musk #slime transformation #male possession #male hypnosis

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idesofrevolution · 4 months

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Father

Dad had been acting strange for quite some time. Honestly, it wasn't that noticeable in the beginning, which I suppose made it difficult to pinpoint when things started to change. I only started to notice maybe seven months or so ago after he turned down the daily Budweiser. Patrick O'Shaughnessy turning down his biggest vice? I knew something was off right then and there as he sat there, smiling at me from his armchair with the game on in the background: red flag number two, my stepfather had NEVER been a sports guy. Binging Fox News while fingering pudding cups, sure; but actually knowing what was happening in a football game?

I'd originally thought he'd perhaps found a side girl to cheat on my mom with. It was far from outside of his character to do something like that, if he'd ever be able to get his nasty ass out of the recliner for ten fucking minutes... He'd gotten too comfortable in his laziness. When my mom married him a year ago, he was already a piece of shit lardass who refused to do a single thing around the house, refused to work a normal job (he was waiting for a management position apparently), and above all refused to acknowledge me whatsoever. He was rude, crass, could never even so much as break a smile at me. And there, in that moment as his eyes made contact with mine and his lips curled into a smile, I knew something was wrong.

"What, no beer burps for me today?" I scowled at him, raising my eyebrow in a malicious curiosity.

"Nahh little man, I'm trying to cut down." Little man? He'd never gotten my name right let alone given me a nickname... We did not have that kind of relationship, at least one that would have an affectionate nickname for one another. "Say, I'm hittin' the gym in a couple minutes. Whaddya say you come along?"

"You're... you're going to the gym? Really?" I sat there slackjawed. Something was indeed off. What it was, I couldn't exactly tell. Nothing outside of his UberEats order would ever get Patrick out of the chair. He laughed at me, gripping his sizeable paunch beneath his stained tee shirt.

"You bet, bud. High time I set an example for my boy. How's he gonna respect a couch potato loser? You should come along. Nothin' like a father and son spending time together, especially in the gym. Get the boys lookin', right?" He stood up from his chair, grabbing his keys off the kitchen countertop as he headed toward his car. I, on the other hand, stood there with tunnel vision. Patrick was not the most supportive parent when it came to... well, anything. But the biggest bone of contention was me coming out to them last year. It was the biggest hullabaloo, Oscar worthy. Thrown glasses, flipped chairs, disownment, threats of eviction... the only thing that kept me in the house was my mother putting her foot down. It wasn't a big deal for her, but for him... I was the biggest embarrassment on the planet. What would Tucker Carlson think?

Yet as I stood there, staring at the cigarette-stained wall, my brain couldn't process what I'd just heard. 'Get the boys lookin' he said... As if he were trying to play wing man for me... What the fuck was happening? My heart fluttered the moment his words sank in, that was pride. It was something neither my father nor my stepdad ever had the courtesy of giving me. My walls were up, and I was beyond skeptical, so for my own peace of mind I had decided then and there to investigate.

From that day on, the moment I came home from school, I was spying. While most of my friends were trying to enjoy their senior year, going to parties or getting ready for college, I was at home peering behind corners at my stepfather. Over the first few months I watched with complete disbelief at the changes. Every single day, I'd come home, and he'd be on his way out to the gym. The normal scowl he'd gift me upon my entry was replaced with jovial smiles and hair ruffling as he schlepped his gym bag over his shoulder out the door. He'd be gone for two or three hours at least, and come home just before dinner dripping in buckets of sweat. I'd begun to avoid driving his car, as the stink of his sweat had completely inundated the fabric of the seats. He'd toss his bag on the floor by my book bag (gross), and plop down at the dinner table where he would ask genuinely about my day or sweetly flirt with my mom while winking at me. I still wasn't convinced. He kept asking me nearly every day if I'd come to the gym with him, if we could go shoot hoops at the park across the street, or if I'd play FIFA with him. Each time I'd shoot him down, he'd have a momentary break in that happy facade of his, as if it were hurting him I wasn't spending time with him.

Within five months or so, he was nearly unrecognizable. I guess protein shakes & a low carb diet really works on a guy: he'd lost nearly 70 pounds and gained about 20 in muscle alone. He'd struck up friendships with my school's wrestling coach and a couple of the neighbors, and we were finding ourselves invited to barbecues and block parties for the first time. I had to endure little hallway chats with Coach Weston about joining the wrestling team, as he was in talks with the school district about bringing my stepdad on as assistant coach. It was bizarre to me for many reasons, but one stood out above all: Patrick was never a wrestler. Not in college, not in high school, my mom even confirmed it one night at dinner. He'd brush it off as if it were something fun he were doing with 'Dane', which in and of itself was weird to hear the coach's first name used at all at home.

Sleep was getting difficult. My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, but now he and mom had begun to fuck like rabbits. Loud, hard sex almost every other night with their bed slamming against my bedroom wall for hours. Mom of course was radiant at that point. The years of one piece of shit husband being a complete and total asshole, replaced by another piece of shit husband treating her like garbage melted away in the course of a couple of months of Patrick being a strangely brilliant partner. He'd started to cook us meals, he'd started to do the yardwork, he'd even fixed things around the house that had been broken for years. Sure, the sex seemed to help, but as she would say: "He's lessened my load so much, Jonas. I wish you'd give him a chance."

Sure, he was treating my mom well and that was a good enough reason for me to like him. Was it enough to trust him? No. I'd still turn down every single request to spend time alone with him. No gym. No basketball court. No gaming. Though, in one single concession for my mom's sake, I begrudgingly agreed to let him drive me to school in the morning. That one decision is what truly changed my life forever. I went to bed that night, putting on my earbuds to drown out their disgusting sex in the next room, less than eager for the fifteen minute drive the next day.

Thus, on that warm April day, my morning began as normal. Shower, dress, drink my morning smoothie, grab my bag, and walk out the door. It wasn't long before I was greeted by his chipper, dim witted voice shattering my peaceful morning.

"Ayy little man!" I sighed, turning toward the garage, where there he stood: shirtless and dripping sweat from his chiseled body. As a gay guy, I have to admit, it was hard not to stare. He had become quite a sight to behold. The other moms in the neighborhood certainly would sit and stare at him on his morning runs, even a couple of the dads as well, and now I sat there oogling the ripped, gleaming body he'd built.

"Hey, Patrick. Do you need to shower? I have to get going, but I can catch the bus if there's not enough time?" In my head, I was praying to God that he'd just hop in the shower he never seemed to take and I could go on my merry way. Though, no such luck.

"Nah, man! It's all good. I promised you I'd take you to school, so hop in the car!" I sighed, turning to his 1998 Mustang with a shiver cascading down my spine.

"Sure, Patrick." I dragged my feet headed toward his car. Opening the door, the humid, musky air within poured out of the car, punching me in the face with his scent. Imagine a noxious waft of butter, blue cheese, saltwater, and feet just drowning you. That was the stink that swamped his car, and him for that matter. I took one final breath of fresh air before I sat in the car and closed the door. He wasn't far behind, not even bothering to put a shirt on as he hopped in beside me.

"Alright! Let's get goin' bud!" He turned the key and the car roared to life. I sighed, thankful it was only fifteen minutes. As we pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, I turned on the radio, hoping to dissuade him from making some puerile small talk. We sat there in silence for a moment, before hitting the main road. "You know what, bud?" He turned to me, looking me up and down before rolling up the windows and turning off the radio. "Ahhh fuck it. We're playing hooky today."

"Wait, what?" I had no time to protest, before he turned onto the main road, but in the opposite direction from the school. "Patrick, I'm not playing hooky. I have to go to school." He laughed, ruffling my hair yet again.

"You gotta stop callin' me Patrick, Jonas. I don't have to be dad if you don't want, but Patrick is so... not me. Just call me Pat."

"Okay, PAT. I'm going to school." He turned to me, and his smile faded, letting out a solid sigh that would put mine to shame. He pulled over onto the shoulder, and put the car in park.

"Listen. I know you don't like me. I know you don't trust me, and I get it. I made a lot of changes to him very quickly, and it's hard to keep up." Him? Why did he say it like that? "I'd been watching you just suffer endlessly for years, man. All the time. I just wanted you to have a good role model for once. A man you could lean on, and not some shitty lard who talks bad to ya."

"What the fuck are you on about?" My patience had worn too thin for my calm veneer to bear. He turned the key, and the engine quickly died.

"C'mon bro. You know something's different about him, right? I know you've been watchin' me like a hawk. Think I haven't noticed you watchin' me from around the hall corner? You think I don't know you're creepin' while I beat one out huffin' my strap? I know, dude. I've always known. C'mon, man." Pat threw his hands in the air in frustration, the first time since his attitude adjustment that I'd seen anything like it. But, this was different. It wasn't rage, it was exasperation.

"Okay, Pat. So you saw me watching you. Can you please tell me what the fuck is going on now?" He slowly rested his sweaty head against the headrest, and sighed. Then, a chuckle. Then another, until he was full on laughing. "What!?"

"Ahhh, man. I never thought I'd see the day you'd man up and come to. Yeah, Jonas. I can tell you what the fuck is going on." I sat back, confounded- even more so than before. "My name was Matt Wilde. Way back in the day, I used to wrestle for Palm Heights High. Was pretty damn good at it too, but one day I got pinned just a little too hard and poof."

"Matt Laurent? What the fuck are you talking about, Pat? Are you high?" His dumb laugh threw him back in the seat.

"Nah, I finished that joint earlier, man. Stone sober now. But, safe to say for the past 50 years I've been just hoppin' body to body. Started with a couple of my teammates just so I could finish out the years, wrestle a bit more. Got bored, hung around the gym, in and out of some lug heads. Did a stint in some Libertines, that was fun as fuck. But man, I saw you sulkin' around the school for the past three years and thought, damn that kid looks sad. So, I may have eavesdropped a bit, maybe caught a bit about your dead beat, piece of shit dad; then right after he ditches, Mom lands this fuckin' winner." He slapped his chest, little droplets of his sweat landing on my bewildered face. "Oh shit, my bad." I sat there, slackjawed, completely disoriented as he dumbly wiped his sweat off my nose and cheek.

"You... you're dead?" He snapped his fingers, winking and smirking at me.

"Bingo, bud. Right on the money. I was like, I'm in a very unique situation here to fuckin' do something this. So, I slipped into this dumbass and just stuck around. Did the work. Tried, emphasis on TRIED, to be like the Dad I had and that you deserve, ya know? Haven't made it fuckin' easy, but... ahhh. That's parenthood, am I right?" I scoffed, he must have taken some damn good drugs. I was convinced. There was no way!

"Okay, then. MATT. So, if you're some dead jock bro possessing Pat, where the fuck is he?" He pondered for a moment in silence, shrugging his shoulders.

"I think he's gone, bro. I haven't stayed in a dude this long, I used to hear him bitchin' and moanin' all the time, but he went silent a couple of weeks ago." Fuck, I wish that were true. I had to admit, even if only in my mind, this Matt-Patrick was lightyears better than Patrick Patrick. Sure, he was dumb, he was every stereotype dudebro in the book, he smelled like he bathed in sweat baths... But, for the first time in my life, he wanted to be around me. He wanted to spend time with me. He made an effort. He... liked me. The mental gymnastics needed to make sense of the situation was growing too monumental to comprehend, but in that moment as he sat there with his dumb fucking grin on his face as if I was going to just completely buy it, I started to hope it was true.

"So, what now, Matt? Are you just gonna keep fucking my mom and prentending to be my Dad for the rest of your life? Or are you gonna hop out and ditch us?" He raised his eyebrow in genuine confusion.

"I mean, yeah that was the plan. One, your mom is fuckin' hot and she's better than any girl I've ever been with. Two, I kinda like our little family. Three, I ain't ditchin' ya, bro. You had enough of that shit for one lifetime. Besides, I gotta get you to chill the fuck out one way or another, so I was hoping we could give it a shot. Like I've been beggin' man." 'Matt' put his hands together as if praying, pleading to me. I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing. It's better than coming home every day to spy on him, and it's way better than being the sad wallflower all the fucking time. Besides, those dumb fucking puppy dog eyes...

"You know what? Sure, Matt. What did you have in mind?" I could barely finish my sentence before he'd twisted the key and slammed on the gas. The man drove like a bat out of hell through town, hooting and hollering in victory as if he'd won a match.

"Hell fuckin' yeah, man! Dude we're gonna be so tight, it's gonna be awesome. You're gonna be so fuckin' sexy, the dudes are gonna be on their knees by the time we're done! Slobberin' on that dick like SLURPEDY SLURP! WOO!" So fuckin' dumb. Dumb as a box of rocks. But I couldn't help but crack a smile as he swerved left and right, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Let's get you sweatin' man. We can get you pumpin' iron, playin' ball... I'm burning everything you got in your closet, bro. Nobody wants polos and button ups, man. Gettin' you some J's, some good jocks. Oh, how do you feel about chains?"

"Matt, dude. I'm not like you. That's all well and good for you, but I can't pull that shit off..." He slammed on the brakes and a cavalcade of horns from behind us rang out like a brass band. Matt whipped his gaze to me in shock.

"Don't say that, bro! You could be a bona fide stud! Look at you, man!" A couple of hard slaps against my bony chest and a harsh wheeze later, perhaps it sank in a bit. "Aight, well we have some work to do. I mean, if you're up for it." He smirked at me, lifting up those massive arms and flexing. His veins bulged from his massive bicep, the wet hairs in his ripe pits wafted that pungent scent I'd regrettably started to secretly love... Yeah, maybe I did want it.

"I don't know how, man. If I were like you, I bet I could." As if a cartoon lightbulb flickered to life above his head, I saw the spark of inspiration hit him like a sack of bricks. That stupid smirk grew into a wide, toothy grin.

"Aight, bro. Haven't tried this before, but I'll give it a go." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them gently. "I saw Jimmy Morales do this once when he needed a spotter. Gotta ask, though. You trust me, right?" I sat there and wondered if I did. I'd pretended up until this point that I believed every word that had come out of his mouth. This insane, psychotic story. It was nuts. It was crazy. But that little voice in the back of my head, deep down in the dark recesses of my brain decided to finally speak up.

"Yeah, Matt. I trust you."

"ALRIGHT! Fuck yeah, man. Oh shit, this is gonna be great! Okay, so don't freak out, just trust me and let it happen, okay? It doesn't hurt, the dudes usually bust a nut after it's all over." I heard a squelching rumble from in his stomach: wet, guttural, as if he were getting ready to vomit. Which became more and more likely as I saw a lump start to make it's way up his throat.

"Matt..." His body began to shudder and quake, his veins bulging and head thrashing from side to side. Then, from between his lips, a glowing blue vapor began to slip out. It was tiny at first, a little tail whipping about, before more and more of it started to bellow out of his mouth. Slick, bulbous, translucent. I had mere seconds of watching it slither out before it darted right into my own slack jaw. It squirmed as it wriggled from his body into mine, slurping deep into my bulging stomach. The feeling of fullness overtook me, watching more and more of the rubbery thing enter me, squeezing into every available inch within me, and he was right: it felt good. It felt like an eternity, but in reality it was just moments. The last of suctioned into me, and the world went black.

---

I woke the next morning in my bed. Shooting straight upright in a puddle of sweat. I rubbed my hands on my face, running my fingers through my drenched hair. What a fuckin' dream. I groaned as doubled over in pain. I felt like I was hit by a train. Everything hurt, a soreness unlike anything I'd ever experienced before radiated from every fiber of my being. Then, a soft caress of the nostril. Salty, buttery, funky... I raised my arm, finding the culprit immediately.

"Fuck!" I spat out, before taking a deep breath, another hit. "Fuuuuck..." Another inhale, a familiar stink, a comforting stink. What started as gentle whiffs quickly turned into full on huffing. I buried my nose in my pit, letting the wet jungle lather my face in my own sweat.

"Morning, bro. Good shit, ain't it?" The words echoed in my head, a soft, rippling little voice from within my brain. I should have been alarmed, terrified, even. But no, the words felt like gospel to me. "We really went to town yesterday, man. I had you liftin' like an Olympian. Take it easy. Here, I'll be right there, I got just the thing for it!" My hands started to drift southward, beneath the waistband of the teal sweats I didn't own... Were they... Pats? The door to my room burst open mid-huff, and in walked the hulking tower himself with a tray in hand.

"Goooood Morning, Kiddo! I made ya a protein shake, good recovery breakfast after a workout sesh like we had! Oh, your Mom made eggs!" He walked over to the side of my bed, kicking the Jordans I'd borrowed from him to the side. Wait, when did I do that? "Eat up, champ. Those 'ceps aren't gonna feed themselves!" Slamming the tray down onto my thighs, I let out a groan of pain.

"Pat? Dude, I had the weirdest dream." Dude? I never say dude. I cupped my hand, slick with sweat and pre over my mouth, aghast at the words coming out of my mouth. Pat smiled, grabbing the shake and handing it to me. "Drink up, my dude. For real, you're gonna be in a world of hurt otherwise." The voice boomed in my head, HIS voice. But his lips hadn't moved an inch. "Pat..." I ripped the sheets off of me, sure enough, I was sporting his nasty sweatpants & drenched socks. Cupping my manhood was most definitely his grimy jockstrap. "Hey, if we were gonna have the best workout, I had to be comfortable, bro! I knew you'd get it, though." I looked at him, a tight lipped smile, as if he were proving to me he weren't talking to me. "Feels good, right! I told ya! Just think, bro. With a half of me in there, you're gonna be unstoppable." I smiled. A genuine fuckin' smile, for the first time in as long as I could remember. I watched as my hand gripped the shake, bringing it to my lips of it's own accord. Downing the vanilla shake, our eyes met, and I understood completely. Matt winked at me, ruffling my hair, and sauntered back out of the door.

I leaned back in my bed, throwing my arm behind my head. The musk drifting from my pits and feet, identical to my dad's. Smirking, I let my fingers drift down to my growing meat in its slimy pouch, knowing fully well that I was in damn fine hands.

---

So that brings us to today, I guess! One year to the day. One full year since I finally let Dad in. 'Pat' sure did join the wrestling team as assistant coach, bringing his son in tow, eager to finish my senior year with at least a title. Thanks to him, I made varsity after the first fuckin' tryout. Can't say it was all me, all the time, but after a while it was. Honestly, it all started to blend together. Me at the wheel, him at the wheel, soon it sort of blurred and it was just me. That last semester was the best of my whole fucking life. Parties, bodybuilding, skating with the boys, fuckin' the boys... Shit, it was the time of my fuckin' life.

And after every day at school, or at least after every post-practice locker room blow job, I couldn't wait to get home and smash some Call of Duty with the old man. Mom would always come in, making comments on how we seemed as if I'd become a mini-Pat. Finishing eachother's sentences, drinking the same beer, wearing the same kind of clothes... she'd always put our sneaks outside the garage door, "they even stank the same." Little did she know just how much of the same person we really were.

I've decided to stick around the house for a year or so before maybe headed to college. I don't know, family is here, friends are here, Coach Weston should be retiring in a year or two... so there should be an opening for a new assistant coach on the wrestling team. Besides, I may have landed quite the catch in the boyfriend department, and I really want him to meet my dad, I have a feeling they'll get along just fine.

#male transformation #body transformation #male possession #original #transformation #jockification #musk #body possession #musky #gay transformation #wrestler #ghost possession #familial transformation #father to son #himboization #himbofication #partial possession

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