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joshslater · 2 months

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Stained

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They say when you are in an accident everything moves in slow motion. That wasn't at all how it felt for me. I was driving down a slight slope toward an intersection out in bumfuckyall, where a truck was waiting at a red light. Why they would put a traffic light out here with nothing but crop fields around is beyond me. Getting some extra revenue from people running the lights perhaps. Not busy enough to warrant the installation though. Maybe to stop traffic when harvesters or whatever pass by, but they would move slowly and be pretty darn visible in this terrain.

The belt tensioner yanked me into the seat at the same time as I heard the crash and I had just time to turn my head back from the fields to see the now milky front window, shattered into thousands of small glass cubes suspended by the plastic film on the back of it, give way to the mass that had been thrown off the flatbed and flung into my windshield. Through the widening gap at the top of the windshield liquid was dumped into the car, all over me, and everything turned into black silence with a strong smell of chemicals.

It all went faster than I could register, and I just sat there still with burning eyes, trying to comprehend what had just happened. I somehow had run into the truck. I heard hurried steps outside and someone first trying to open the door then rapping the side window and shouting "Are you hurt, buddy?"

Was I? My shoulder hurt from the seat belt, and I couldn't see anything, but otherwise I wouldn't feel anything damaged. I fumbled a bit to find how to open the door and once successful responded "I'm OK I think. I can't see though."

"Thank Lord. It's wood stain. Had some buckets in the back. Some paint too. It'll make you dizzy and sick, but I wouldn't worry about going blind. Let me help you out and lay you down. I have plenty of water to rinse you."

Despite squeezing my eyes as shut as I could, reasoning that opening them would probably let more paint in than out, I had no problems finding and removing the seat belt, and stepping out of the car. As soon as I was out of the car he grabbed my arm and led me to a spot in front of both vehicles. My mouth tasted of chemicals and I spat on the ground several times.

"Just lie down here, buddy. Are you sure you aren't hurt?" "A bit sore, but nothing really hurts." "That's a relief. The car is probably a write-off with all the damage outside and in. This is all my fault." Without opening my eyes I let myself be guided to the ground while he talked. I could hear the steps of another person getting closer from beyond my car. "It is?" "Casy, get the big jug!" he told the other person, who answered a curt "Yep" in a young man's voice. "I must have put in reverse while waiting for the light and then... reverse into you," he said, talking to me again. "It's a rental. I'm sure they are used to handling things like this." "Just stay still there buddy, and I'll start pouring."

He began pouring water on my face, occasionally wiping with a rag of some sort. "Open your mouth and take some water. Then swig it around and spit it out." We did that a few times. A few more rinses and I dared to open my eyes. He looked like he sounded like. Trucker cap, beard, grey and blue flannel shirt, blue jeans, and boots. Hovering behind him was a boy in his late teens or early twenties, dressed very similarly in camo cap, blue JROTC hoodie, jeans, and boots. For my part I was wood-stain brown and garden-fence white.

"I'm Cliff, this is Casy," Cliff said and gave me his hand to help me up. As I stood up and looked past his pick up I could see my car. It looked worse than I would have expected. While the collision didn't feel that bad, the crumple zones certainly felt it. A few buckets of paint had landed next to it, but clearly the inside was ruined by the ones that had passed through the glass. I had no hope that my travel bag with what little extra clothes I had brought with me had survived either, as I think I had tossed it on the passenger seat.

"I'm Bradly" "Casy, give Bradly your pop. He can't taste nothing but paint." Casy did a nod and another dull "yep", but jumped into the truck with ease and was quickly out again with a can of Monster. Ignoring that it was opened and with a third gone, I took an eager sip, swirled it in my mouth, and swallowed. When I had emptied the can the taste of oil and paint was almost gone.

"I reckon we need to hose you down before we can do anything else. Casy can stay here while we bring you to the house to clean you up. Then we can figure out how to take care of the car. How's that sound, buddy?"

"Sounds reasonable to me." "I'm sorry, but do you mind getting on the flatbed." He motioned all over my paint-drenched body. "No. Is it far?" "It's a quick drive."

When you are lying on your back on a tarp next to reclaimed wood, slowly drying into the color of an antique table, seeing nothing but the afternoon sky, nothing is a quick drive. I didn't dare move, not so much because I was lying unprotected in the back of a truck that was driving far too fast for my comfort, but because I was soaked in oil and paint and water, and didn't want to mess anything else up. The wind running over my body was chilling, despite the balmy weather. My shoulder and chest hurt from where the belt tightener pulled me back into the seat. Despite the wind there was a strong smell of paint. I felt lightheaded. My mind began to wander. I should probably call the motel that I would be late, or not arriving at all. I was thinking about how I decided to not have a coffee at the diner to get back on the road quicker. I should have bought one. The apple pie slices looked delicious. Eventually however I would see treetops creeping into view and soon after we came to a stop on gravel.

"Where is he?" a woman asked nearby. "Back there," Cliff answered and opened the tailgate. He extended a hand to help me down. "Hey buddy, this is Sarah!" "Hi," Sarah said smiling. "Bradly"

Instead of walking towards the house she motioned toward one of the barns. "Hose is over there. Then you can take a proper shower after." On Sarah's urging I took off everything but my briefs. She suggested I take them off as well, but didn't press the issue. The water was pretty high-pressure and ice cold. Cold water worked better than hot water Sarah claimed, not that hot water was an option outside the house.

Once I was hosed enough that the water didn't run brown anymore, and I felt I was near risking hypothermia, I wrapped myself in an old discolored beach blanket Sarah handed me and we walked back to the house. I shivered and my lightheadedness had turned into a dull, thumping headache. Cliff and the truck were gone. Sarah grabbed one of the white plastic chairs, placed it near the front door, and told me to sit down. "The white paint doesn't stick too bad to the skin, but we're never going to be able to clean this out," she said and touched my hair. I hadn't felt a feeling like that since I used way too much hair gel for Halloween many years ago. It was like my hair and the paint had formed a helmet. She quickly returned from the house with a trimmer on an extension cord. "Sides are not too bad. I can make a flat top," she said and buzzed away, clearly used to taking care of Cliff and Casy. I cringed when I heard it, and was about to stop her, but changed my mind. Better to let her keep as much hair as possible and decide on the real emergency haircut later.

She then led me through the house and what must have been Casy's room, with a home gym and a gaming setup, to his bathroom. Everything was big and roomy, but I guess it is inexpensive to build large when you have lots of land, time, and resources. "Take as much time as you need and use any of the soaps you want. I'll put some clothes on the bed for you. Just throw your briefs in the bathroom bin," Sarah said and left.

I looked in the bathroom mirror, the first time I saw myself after the accident. I looked terrible. The haircut was ugly, of course, but the uneven stain stains all over my body made me look tan and dirty. Like I had spent all day riding a dirt bike in mud, not the last ten minutes being blasted by ice water. I looked as beaten and spent as I felt.

By "any of the soaps" she meant the Axe Total Fresh 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, and body wash that there were four opened bottles of in various places in the bathroom. Somehow Casy managed to both have a messy bathroom without having much in it. The water felt like a blessing on my cold, bruised body. I just stood there for a while, letting the warm water rinse me. Then I lathered myself completely and rinsed off three times in a row. Neither the foam nor the water looked discolored, and when I dried myself with the one towel in the room it didn't become stained. The image in the mirror however looked disappointingly identical to before. The same stained me, but now with a more acute headache. Everything smelled like Axe Total Fresh, and it did my head no favors.

I peeked into Casy's room. No one was there and the door to the rest of the house was shut, so I entered and looked at the clothes laid out for me on the bed. Only one of each, so no options. First black compression boxers with a wide Nike band. Then a pair of green-brown socks that looked like what the army issues. Some lightly distressed blue jeans with a black leather belt. A military green Under Armour T-shirt in a glossy material with "patriotic" print with stars and almost-US flags on it. A hunting camo baseball cap. Finally a pair of well-worn leather boots. I put it all on, including the hat to cover the ugly hair and the boots because I wasn't sure what the indoor etiquette here was. Everything fit surprisingly well, though I guess she could have looked at the size of my ruined clothes.

I opened the door and stepped out of the room, trying to find Sarah, or anyone really. How long had I been in the shower? Probably an hour, if not longer. "Hello?" "We're over here," I heard Sarah shout from across the house. I walked in the direction of her voice and was soon joined by Cliff who emerged from another room. "How are you feeling, buddy?" he asked in a concerned fatherly manner. "I think I'm about to have an episode of migraine." "That something you've had before." "Never."

"Take your seats. You over here Brad," Sarah said as we turned the corner into a large kitchen with a table laid for four. "Bud... eh, Bradly." I tried to correct her, but she had turned to the big cast iron pot on the stove. Casy already sat by the table with a phone in his hand, but his eyes were firmly on me. His face didn't reveal any expressions.

Sarah placed the heavy pot on the table and with a big ladle filled my plate with a dark stew. "Here you go, Bud," she said. As the smell of beef stock, fresh herbs, carrots, onions, and slow cooked, rich meat reached my nose I immediately recognized the telltales. Weakening of the jaw. The increase in saliva. I almost threw myself out of the chair, rushed over to the sink, and managed just in time to throw up into the sink. I realized I was sweating. Then another heave of vomit. "Oh, poor buddy," Sarah said and patted my back. "Here, drink this," she said and filled a glass of water from a pitcher. My body heaved a third time, but nothing came out. "Thanks," I replied and took the glass with some apprehension, waiting to see if my body would do something else. Once it appeared safe I took the glass and started to empty it.

"Casy, make one of them shakes for him. He needs to get something in his belly." Almost reluctantly, like I had ruined his meal, Casy got up and moved towards a cupboard. "I just need to rest I think," I said, my head now mercilessly pounding in pain. "Out of the question. You need something to fortify you."

Casy quickly scooped powder from a large plastic container into a workout shaker bottle thing, poured in some water, gave it a quick shake, and handed it to me. I had barely put it to my mouth when Cliff said "He can barely stand. Take him to your room for a nap." "Come then," Casy said and led the way out of the kitchen, with me following sipping the chalky mixture. "You know the way though," he said once out of earshot from the kitchen. Back inside his room he motioned at the bed and said "This is a bed," deadpan to me. I wanted to say it wasn't my fault his day was ruined. In fact, mine had gone way worse than his, but my head hurt too much for me to care. "Thanks." I put my back on the bed and was out in seconds.

The hard plastic of the ear protectors was what made me wake up properly, and it took a moment to realize what it was and get them off. Almost ripped the cap off with them. These were the radio/bluetooth kind that allowed you to listen to music while you worked. Bright, orange colored cups with the rest of it black. I got up from the bed and left them on the sheets. Apparently I was already fully dressed, so I headed to the kitchen. Sarah was there preparing things.

"Mornin' Ma'am." "Good morning, Buddy." I took my seat. Sarah filled a bowl with porridge, drizzled honey over it, set it on the table in front of me together with a spoon. "Better hurry. Cliff is waiting for you." "Yes, Ma'am."

It wasn't until I began eating I realized how hungry I was, so it wasn't a problem to be quick. Not having seconds though felt rough. Just outside the house was Cliff, doing something with a quad to which he had hooked a trailer full of wooden poles. "Mornin', Sir" "Morning Buddy! Get up in the trailer and make sure nothing shakes out while we drive down the fields. "Yes, Sir."

Once we came to a stop after a bumpy ride, Cliff showed me how to operate the earth drill to make holes, then how to insert a pole, and with the sledge hammer drive it down so it fit securely. He then let me do that while he was working on putting up wires for the electric fence. After we had been at it for quite a while Sarah called on the walkie-talkie and said sheriff Miller wanted to talk to us. We unhooked the trailer and drove up to the farm on the quad, me sitting behind Cliff, straddling him.

Outside the main house Sarah and the sheriff waited for us. It was mostly a boring conversation between Cliff and the sheriff that I tuned out of, but then the sheriff turned to me and asked "And who is this?" "It's Buddy, farmhand for the summer," Cliff answered and took a slight step to the side to give room for the sheriff. The sheriff looked me over for a second. "You were here yesterday?" "Yes, Sir." "Did you see anyone come by yesterday afternoon or evening?" "No, Sir." "Anything else out of the ordinary happened yesterday?" "Yes, Sir. I threw up, Sir. Hasn't happened in years, Sir." "Hahaha." He turned to Cliff again. "If anything comes up let me know. It's not the first traveler that's gotten lost around here, but they usually turn up sooner or later." "They have a habit of doing that, causing extra work for the local sheriff while they are wandering about," Cliff answered, smiling back. The sheriff shook his head and opened his car door. "You ain't wrong."

Once the car was well on its way up the dirt road Sarah motioned at cooler that was on the ground. "I was about to come down with lunch to you boys, but perhaps you want to eat it up here." "Yeah, let's take a breather. This was a close call." Cliff opened a small tool bag that was hanging on the quad and pulled out another pair of orange ear protectors, if not the same as earlier. He turned the knob on them and put them on my head. Noise was sloshing around in my ears like waves breaking on a beach. Voices were whispering all around me. It was impossible to focus on a single voice and hear its message. Just a school of slippery tadpoles swimming around and around. Impossible to grab. Somewhere far in the distance I could hear Cliff talking.

"Let's go even harder with the programming. We don't need him cognisant for the rest of the day."

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joshslater · 6 months

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The Proposal

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I had to admit it really was a beautiful spot, just as he had promised. You could see the wheat fields stretching out for miles below the slope, golden in the afternoon glow. They were perfectly framed by the trees on either side of our parking spot, giving off that wonderful late-summer fragrance of hot greenery and hay. All of it wasted on me, my attention focused on the man sitting beside me on the truck flatbed, also fragrant with tobacco and hot afternoon man.

"You'll love it," he said with that local twang. "I can set you up in your own room if you like. Take it slow, you know, so you can settle in. There's so much work." My heart was racing as I looked him over. Lean, farm-built muscles, wrapped in late-summer tanned skin, poured into blue jeans and a cutoff shirt that didn't leave much to the imagination. He wasn't magazine cover shredded, but you could tell that if he ever bothered to cut he'd have abs like any model. The shitty tattoo peaking out on his back would probably keep him off the front pages though.

He turned and our eyes met. He had kind, greenish eyes. I wanted to look away, but his gaze was magnetic. "Fuck, you're cute," he said and smiled. We just stared for seconds. "You'll need some new clothes though to blend in. And a haircut," he said and ruffled my hair. "We'll do something about that tonight. Hang on, I'll get something. Stay here!"

He jumped off the flatbed in a well-rehearsed athletic leap and walked around to get something from the passenger's side. I wanted to jump off the truck too, run down the green hill, and into the fields below, but I remained as he had said. In a moment he was back with an opened beer can in his hand. Just as swiftly, despite the logger boots, he was back on the bed next to me. "I think you should get a tattoo also. Not a branding exactly, but something that shows you belong." He rubbed his thumb against my shoulder. "I can get Dylan to do it."

He looked out over the fields and took another big swig from the can, but backwashed quite a bit back into the can. "Here, drink this," he said and handed over the almost full can. I took a big sip. It wasn't as bad as I had feared. He must have stored it in a cooler because while it wasn't exactly cold, it was way cooler than the hot inside of the truck. I was about to take another sip when I could feel the tingle again. It was almost like the feeling of your leg falling asleep, but in your brain. I've been feeling it for about an hour now, though less and less, ever since he stepped out of his truck at the gas station, put his hand on me where I was filling up my car, and said "Be silent. You belong to me now. Do as you are told."

"Empty the can," he said. "I want you completely obedient before we get home, and fully broken in by tomorrow morning. I want you unrecognizable by the end of the week, in case the sheriff comes looking for some missing person." I felt desperation and panic surging in me. This would be my last chance to escape. I wanted to fight him, though probably futile given his body. Arms shaking, struggling to resist, I emptied the can and my mind felt like a glass of sparkling wine.

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joshslater · 6 months

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Fender Bender

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He's frozen like a deer in the headlights, almost literally. Bet he can see the damn truck now! Well, at least the light bar, drenching him and the side of the road my truck faces. His wreck of a car is somewhere in the darkness behind us, taking a much bigger part of the kinetic energy with it once our vehicles collided.

He doesn't remember that. He doesn't remember climbing out of his car in the ditch, screaming profanities and homophobic slurs at me, and waving a bat around in some attempt to scare me. What did he think? To scare me into giving him a lift back to town? Too late to ask him any of that now, newly minted fuckboi that he is, vacantly staring into the light, mind wiped clean. At least for now.

"Pull up your shirt and show me what you got," I tell him. Without question, or any hint of mental capacity of any kind, he complies, showing off his smooth, toned abs hidden beneath his silky polyester track top. His designer underwear is riding low, showing off his cum gutters and where his pubes would have been if he wasn't shaved smooth everywhere below the nose. Quite the change from the hairy gut his button-down cotton shirt strained to contain. Am I overreacting by turning a middle-aged middle manager into a vacuous slutty twink just because he accidentally attempted vehicular manslaughter and then aggressively lashed out due to stress-induced panic?

Nah, fuck him. We both could have died, had I been mortal. This is his reincarnation. Besides, it's not like he will remain a mindless automaton for long. His old self will start to seep in, a bit of consciousness there, some memories there. In a few weeks he'll be the same soul as he was before, within the constraints of his new body, hormones, urges, and mental capacity of course.

"That's enough. Get in the truck." Getting a young, hot body isn't really a punishment, but I want to make the world prettier than I found it. Getting dick in all orifices isn't a punishment either. Some people would even consider it heaven, especially someone with a body that reacts to it as his does. I know of several places I can dump him where there are a bunch of men who'd love someone like him. Someone who won't say no to anything. Not for a few days at least. Then, as his old self slowly wakes up in his new situation, he'll have to make the decision to leave heaven or confront his bigotry. There's the punishment.

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joshslater · 8 months

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Cat

This is my take on a TF request by octuscle. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I guess it's kind of like what magicians feel like. Sure, you can train all you like in your bedroom, and you can do it in front of your mates, but when you do it for real, for a real audience you get the same jitters before the trick and a certain rush after it. No one noticed how I did the misdirection, how I lifted the phone and stashed it in my pocket in a smooth motion that started well before and ended well after those two events, making it seem completely unrelated and hiding the true intent. I was well out of their sight long before they realized they'd been pickpocketed.

I should have just held the power button to shut it down, make it untraceable until the nerds can open it up, make it lose its mind, and become resellable. Not as a luxury phone as it once was perhaps, but good enough for someone short on cash who was willing to not think too hard about where they got their goods. I should have, but it was like a reflex to press the unlock button once I fished up the phone from my pocket, safe some blocks away. "Chronivac Anti-theft Technology" flashed on the screen and a timer counted down from 10. "Enter pin to deactivate." I frantically pressed and held the power button in various combinations with no effect. Would the phone report its position? I could just leave. Would it make a noise? Wouldn’t matter here, and again, I could just leave.

It did make a short, high-pitched screeching sound and it kind of twisted in my hand. Not like the vibrator went off. More like a static shock, but not quite that either. The sound when it landed on the ground surprised me. A dull rattle and not the normal crisp sound of an iPhone maybe shattering on the stones. Even more surprising was the yellow rubber case with the black Caterpillar CAT logo on the ground. Confused I picked it up and turned it over to find a feature phone in the case, with physical keyboard and all, and on the screen words were scrolling by faster than I could read. I managed some words like "dumber", "stronger", and "stoner". As I stared at the words "manual laborer" I had a nagging feeling I should know what it meant, and that perhaps it wasn't the scrolling speed by the reading speed that was the problem.

The screen said "Wipe complete. All data secured." and turned black.

I tried to remember why I was standing in an empty back alley, but couldn't come up with a good reason. I adjusted my wifebeater inside my dungarees. Dungarees are great because you can play with your balls whenever, but the top isn't really held in place, so it can show you go commando if you aren't careful. I might as well smoke a joint while I figure out where I should be.

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joshslater · 11 months

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Charming

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The door buzzed with a flat, annoying sound as he entered the small basement store, and once more as it closed behind him. Sturdy but plain shelves and racks displayed a wide range of jars, bags, boxes, and workout clothes all around the room and on tables in the middle of it. From behind a curtain to some back room emerged a young, beefy guy wearing practical clothes, white adidas T-shirt, grey sweatpants, and black sneakers.

"Hey, excuse me! Do you work here?" the bookish looking guy asked. The store guy nodded, and almost like he suddenly realized he needed to verbally communicate added "Yeah, I do."

"I just wanted to ask about the sign. 'Gear, supps, and charms'. What do charms have with anything to do?" He was scanning the room as if he expected to find a selection of dream catchers, but came up empty.

"You're not interested in new gym clothes or supplements?" the stacked guy asked back, neutral enough that you couldn't tell if he was jokingly sarcastic or just plain stupid, as he moved towards the cashier table.

"Heh. No, I'm not one of those," he chuckled as his eyes followed the wide shoulders.

"Then I have the perfect charm for you." From a small black box next to the register he pulled out a steel chain with a small pendant not much more complicated than a rod with a hole for the chain. "Try this on."

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joshslater · 11 months

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Frat War

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"Sweet dreams," he said and knocked on my helmet. Then he gave me the finger straight in my face. "See you tomorrow or whenever," turned off the lights, and closed the door.

I was alone in the darkness. The only sound I could hear was the vibrator, or perhaps I just felt it and imagined the sound. I tried to jiggle around a bit to see if I could get loose, but I was securely tied up. It wasn't uncomfortable, perhaps not surprising given all the padded sports gear they forced on me, but I would probably have burning muscle aches when they eventually cut me loose. Right now it was the pungent smell of locker room from the gear that bothered me more, or perhaps even more the sock gag they taped in place. It just kept leaking a foul, sour taste. They can't be this bad naturally so it must be because of the oil.

Fuck, I'm losing it. My mind keeps wandering and not focusing. I'll take it from the start.

So someone in the linear algebra class asked if I could walk by the KAX frat house on my way home and hand over some homework to Chase. I didn't recall seeing him before, but then the class lecture hall is large and some people are watching the classes remotely. I assumed we had spoken though, because how else would he know I passed the frat house on my route? "Sure," I said and grabbed the manilla folder from him.

After one lecture in mechanics, friction more specifically, I was on my way home. The KAX frat house was a weird-looking brick building that had been some sort of school before it was converted, with a decent-sized front garden. I walked up the gravel walk to the door and just as I was about to press the buzzer the door flung open and a half dozen dudes tackled me to the floor.

"Hey! Let me" was all I managed to shout out before someone stuck a rolled towel between my teeth. I was pressed down into the floor by several hands and knees. "You find it? Is it him?" someone asked. I could hear rummaging above me. "Yeah, it's here. Schematics, codes, everything. He even put it in a folder with KAX written on it. What a fucking stealth ninja."

I had been set up! For what I didn't know, but I started to struggle and shout pleadings to them, which probably came out as muffled nonsense. "Spritz him," someone else said, and soon after a pair of hands held my head still, while a third inserted something into one nostril, sprayed a mist into it, and I blacked out.

"He's awake," someone called out far in the distance, and I wondered who he meant. There was something in my mouth but as I tried to reach for it someone grabbed my arm. Slowly the frat house and the ambush came back to me and I opened my eyes. I saw myself in a large, wall-mounted mirror, sitting relaxed in an armchair that had been placed in a home gym. I was dressed almost completely as a football player. Cleats, socks, tight pants, undershirt, and two guys were about to tie the shoulder pads in place. I had two black streaks under my eyes and duct tape over my mouth keeping whatever in place. There was a funky smell of locker room as if the uniform hadn't been washed. "Almost done. Keep calm and don't struggle, and we won't knock you out again."

I wasn't sure what was happening, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't get far if I tried to fight them. The guys put on a football Jersey in the school team's colors, followed by elbow pads and gloves. Then they helped me up from the armchair and moved me over to their lat pulldown machine, I think it's called. It looked like it came from a professional gym that I imagine the frat had grabbed at some bankruptcy auction. In the few steps over I could feel something else was wrong. I had been so overwhelmed by the sensations of a full football outfit I hadn't noticed something was weird in the groin area.

Once seated on the machine the guys started to tie me in place with thick ropes. Another pair of guys carried the armchair out of the room so the only remaining furniture was gym equipment. I was still at a loss for what the purpose, as well as the reason, for all this was. In front of me one guy rolled up a white sock that was discolored as if it had been heavily used in black shoes. He then picked up a small bottle, unscrewed it, and used the dropper from the lid to squirt some liquid into the rolled-up sock. He then tore off a new strip of duct tape, ripped off the tape from my face, replaced the cloth in there with the sock roll, and taped it shut again. I figured if I resisted they would just use whatever that spritz was again.

"We have a private cannabis oil blend with some other shit mixed in that gives you these amazing sexual highs. Just rock hard for hours while you can space out to your favorite porn. Very dangerous to use too often or too long." He pressed a helmet on my head and locked it in place with the strap. "With the concentration you're getting, and released over such a long time, you'll end up forming completely new sexual attractions to whatever you're subjected to." He pressed something near my hip and I could feel what might have been a cockring starting to vibrate. "To what is however the question." He was about to leave when one of the other guys pointed at something on the floor.

He reached down and plugged in an air humidifier. "We put so much effort into this, and I almost forgot it. We've been pulling moisture out of gym clothes for months to create this experience for you. I'm really interested in what the outcome is. The original idea was to turn you gay for football jocks, but I think it's more likely you'll end up sexually attracted to locker rooms. Or bondage. Well, tell your bros at the frat we won the prank battle this year."

My mouth was filled with bitter, sour taste and my eyes started having trouble focusing on him.

"Fuck, it stinks. Let's leave boys before it sticks in the hair. I bet it takes weeks to get out. Sweet dreams," he said and knocked on my helmet.

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joshslater · 1 year

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Hypothetical #9

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It's almost closing time and you are dripping wet after your post-swim shower to get the worst of the chlorine smell off you. You have nothing but the swim trunks you wear, as you use the key to unlock your locker to grab your towel. You look at the locker contents in disbelief, then check the number on the key, then the locker again. They match, and you remember clearly this was the locker you put your stuff in, but that's not what's in it now. Your jeans, shirt, sneakers, and even the towel are all gone. Instead a pair of work boots with white-ish socks pushed into them, orange hi-viz trousers, a dark blue T-shirt with yellow print advertising a company you've never heard of, and a wallet in black and orange synthetic leather. You struggle to come up with a good reason for anyone to replace the contents of the locker. Almost all the other lockers would be empty at this hour.

You pick up the wallet to see who it belongs to, but what was an inconvenience just became chilling. The first thing you pull out of the wallet is your driver's license.

What do you do?

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joshslater · 1 year

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Granny’s Will

A rewrite of JD's story. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

"You should stay away from him," she hissed in a low voice. I turned my head towards Cody's creepy granny and saw her leaning my way. "What?" I answered, not understanding what she meant. "Tell Cody you don't love him. You were only with him for the sex, but now understand how shallow you are. Tell him you are not good enough for him, clearly. You're also not good for him. He's just so full of disgusting thoughts now. Soon his grades are going to suffer. You're like a parasite, pumping him full of poison."

Her voice went harsher the further she went on. I just stared into my empty plate wondering if she was for real. If she would end the tirade with a "j/k lol", but I hadn't heard a single joke from her all evening. "I'm..." I started, unsure what to say. It was just so unhinged, like a rambling better suited a century ago.

"Should I get the desert?" Cody asked, returning from his bathroom break, and clearly not reading the mood of the room. We made a good couple on campus. He was the captain of the Lacrosse team, and supplemented his hard training on the team with some extra gym time to have a fitness magazine cover toned body. I was on the cheerleader team with body of a nymph. All rack and ass, long smooth, tanned legs, and tall enough to kiss him without standing on my toes. I decided to give my response to his granny right away, and left my chair to join him. "It's already here," I said and kissed him on the mouth. Not a quick kiss either, but with tongue and passion. With my tongue still in him I turned him around so I could see his grandmother. She looked pissed and her saggy face had turned red. Good. I locked eyes with her and gave her the finger behind Cody's back. Her eyes were turning red too. And glowed.

There was a sharp slap in my face, as if someone hit me with an open palm, and I felt a shock of pain through my entire body. I was thrown backward and fell, or perhaps rather forcefully pushed down, crashing into a bed. All pain was immediately gone and I was lying on my back in a silent and dim room. Faint sunlight glowed through the drawn curtains.

My thoughts were a jumble. While I didn't feel cold, I was naked and the sheets were damp with sweat. I leaned up, my eyes still adjusting to the lack of light, and saw a room I hadn't seen before. At the same time it was a kind of room I knew very well. Beat up weight bench, piles of laundry, X-box under the TV, and fit babes showing lots of skin on posters on the walls. Your standard sports jock room. Also filling the room was the dank smell of sweaty dude I also knew very well, and never liked when visiting the guys on the team for some... at home exercise.

"No fuckin' way…" I muttered, grabbing my throat hearing the deep mumble that escaped my lips. I felt the thick bulge in my neck, then stripped the sheets off me to see a massive, bulky body that wasn’t mine! “FUUUUUCK!” I shouted, jumping out of bed and hurling my beefy self to the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door.

Staring back at me was a tall, tanned, and incredibly ripped jock, the epitome of a dumb fratboy. Handsome but dickish face framed by unruly curls. Wide, hefty rounded shoulders, pecs that bounced and flexed at even the slightest move, jutting out from my brawny chest. A killer 6 pack, shredded from practice, and the V-line of a god leading down to a big bulge in the trunks. My trunks. I turned to look at my back and suddenly the vision of my cheerleading friends giggling about “jockbutts” as we watched the guys play came to mind. Athletic, striated thighs and calves like footballs completed the look before ending in pair of big sweaty feet. The tongue of my kicks just by the door told me they were size 15. Dude, ya know what they say about big feet? Totally true, yo! I was starting to bone up just looking at myself, filling out the trunks! Wait till the chicks see me! WAIT! NO! Chicks?! I mean, my Bros… Nah, fuck dude why would they care? They’re just as swole! uuuuugh… my head….

I staggered from the mirror and fell back on the bed. What the fuck had just happened? My head was pounding and my stomach growling. I knew this was Cody's granny's fault, somehow, but spending any more time in this rank room wouldn't solve anything, and to leave I needed something more than the loose, grey trunks I was currently wearing. The room was a mess, but inside the wide open wardrobes I only saw winter clothes. I grabbed a pair of basket shorts from the floor next to the bed and put them on, and their pair of socks from the floor under the shorts. Just as I was about to open the door I also decided to step into the sneakers.

The house was foreign to me, but lots of the decorations and furnishings were familiar. I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen where my mother was making breakfast as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She offered me second helpings of everything, complained that I was eating her out of the house, and told me I needed to shower before heading to school. I tried to argue that I was going to the gym with Cody after school, but she firmly told me that wouldn't be of any help to anyone who had to sit near me. It was only after I was in the shower I realized I somehow knew my schedule for the day. What was going on?

The house was in the old suburb the city had turned into a rent-controlled zone. All the buildings looked much more dilapidated here compared to our real house, but the upshot was that the school was within walking distance. As I was short on time I threw on the same clothes and a sweatshirt, grabbed the backpack, and started to jog there. Halfway to school Cody's granny suddenly stepped out of nowhere just in front of me. "One week," she said.

"What the fuck is going on?" I said, still not used to hearing my deep voice. "You have one week to show you can control that lustful body of yours. If your dick squirts a single drop of your disgusting ball phlegm you'll be stuck like this where you can't hurt him," she said in her shrill voice and poked my chest with her nail.

Just as suddenly as she appeared she was gone, and I felt a chill down my spine to my balls. I'd never felt a sensation like that before, but then I'd been a dude for like an hour. It was like you needed to pee, but different, and I could feel my recent dick stiffening again. Obviously the old crow had gifted me with a horniness attack as a parting gift. It was almost physically painful to not touch my junk and rub one out right then and there. The remainder of the way to school was agony as I jogged past worn-down houses built for Korean war vets back when, with MILFs getting in their cars to get to work. Occasionally a car with a babe from school would zip by, and when Riley from my class waved I was so close to bust a nut. I don't think it was the actual jog that made me arrive at school all sweaty and smelly.

School was weird. Obviously I knew everyone in class, but somehow it wasn't a shock to them that I was suddenly this muscular jock. My usual spot had been moved to back in the room, and the teachers weren't really paying much of any attention to me. Which was probably a good thing, because man did I have a lot of issues to deal with. Who designed these desks? They were way too small to sit straight in. I found the only bearable way to sit in them was to slouch, legs spread apart to not slide off the seat. That however made a full display of my erratic boner. If I focused on what the teacher tried to tell us I could take attention away from my horny dick long enough for it to get soft, but as soon as one of the girls answered a question I could do nothing but stare at their back and remember from PE how they looked naked. Queue tenting and feeble attempts to cover it up.

I squirmed and sweated my way through the classes, half the time thinking a sweatshirt was the worst decision with how clammy I was and half the time thinking what a masterstroke it was to hide in it. I was close to losing it during lunch. You might think that just putting more people in a room wouldn't be an issue. You can only have so many people in your field of view after all, and the ratio of hot to average people is the same. But somehow the average-looking people melt away and your eyes keep darting between the super hot people, most of which I'd showered with at cheerleading practice. I did my best to keep focus on the food, and it kind of helped because as soon as I started eating I realized how hungry I was.

Time dragged on during the afternoon, and I did my best to stay unfocused. Listen to the teacher, but zone out from class interactions and certainly everyone in class, and above all don't think of your own body and how it feels. Most teachers left me alone, and the one that didn't I managed to give an answer that satisfied him enough that I wasn't totally asleep.

After school Cody and I went to the gym. I somehow knew that we usually did that on the days with no lacrosse practice, which was kind of unsettling to me. How much else of my mind and my memories had his grandmother soiled? It was nice to finally be alone with Cody, but he was acting quite different than he used to around me. I was after all just a teammate now, albeit someone he was friendly enough with to be his gym buddy. He seemed chattier and less guarded than I've ever known him. Lots of talk bout the cheerleading team and babes in general, which I did my best to deflect. We changed into our gym clothes, for me a grey tank top and shorts with a printed sunset on, and went to work. I was again shocked that I knew things I didn't know before, like how to use the gym equipment and spot for Cody. He for his part continued to talk about girls, and that's when it hit me, as I saw ourselves in a mirror wall. He was trying to impress me. Despite him being the captain, he clearly saw me as the top dawg, at least regarding girls and sex. The player among his peers.

As unsettling as some of the revelations at the gym had been, at the end, once I got Cody to focus on the exercises, it felt cleansing to work as hard as possible. It was like all of the sexual buildup over the day got released and replaced with glowing muscles. Most of it anyway. Walking back home from the gym alone with my thoughts I was confused with how the day had ended. Not only was I still with Cody, but I had somehow become his best buddy. It was bewildering why his granny had made that change, but I was grateful for it. Above all though it felt like I had a shot. I could survive one week of this and come out better for it.

Immediately as I stepped into the mess that was my room I wasn't so sure anymore. The walls were filled with scantily clad women, just at the line of what is acceptable to sell to students. Pop stars, actresses, and photo models. But worse than that was the smell. That jock room smell, heated by sunlight all day. Even before this transformation nonsense I would associate it with sex, though from an entirely different point of view. I could feel the horniness coming crashing in fast and rushed to the bathroom for another shower, a colder one.

I spent all the time between dinner and bedtime playing on the X-box, trying to avoid thinking about anything but the game. Several times during the games I caught myself joining in with all the sexist shit my teammates kept saying over the voice chat. It wasn't that it got me hard again, but it did make me worry about how easily bro speak kept creeping in.

The boner I woke up to was almost painful. The room was warm, I was hot, and my dick strained the fabric of the trunks I had gone to bed with. Barely awake my right hand almost automatically started to slowly grab and rub my hot rod when all of a sudden the last clouds of sleep vanished and in panic I realized what I was dangerously close to do. I jumped out of bed, rushed into the shower, and had another close call before I lowered the temperature. I needed to come up with some sort of plan to survive this week.

I threw together a shitty lunch box, protein bars and fruit, so I could avoid the school cafeteria. I put on a cut-off T to not melt in the classroom, and compression shorts as underwear in the hope of keeping that troublesome dick in place. I brought the tangled mess of headphones with me so I could tune out the class and focus on the book and the board. I was determined to not fail.

The day started out fine, though Mr. Carlton in English objected to me wearing the headphones. I told him to back off for one week, as I was on my period. The rest of the class laughed, he blushed, and left the matter. Honestly I scared myself again with that response as I kept having these short moments when I didn't act like myself, but like this douchy frat dude.

At lunchtime I was starting to feel real horny again. If not for the compression shorts under my loose basket shorts I would be visibly tenting. I went to the stadium to get away from everyone and do a few laps in the hope that physical exercise would keep the libido in check, like what happened when I worked out with Cody. Just as I had hoped the area was deserted. No one else was dumb enough to be out on the track at midday in this hot weather. I wanted to get two or four laps in, to get 800 or 1600 meters, but it was too hot. After one lap I could feel the sweat running down my back. Instead I ended up cooling my dick in the drinking fountain by the bleachers to numb it a bit, downed half a gallon of water, and ate my packed lunch.

It felt like things were going downhill from there. Jessica kept staring at me during US history and then invited herself to team up with me during chemistry. It was like she didn't care I had practically soaked my shirt during lunch. It took me longer than I want to admit, and a fragrant lab with ammonium chloride, to realize that perhaps she reacted the way she did because of how I smelled and not despite it. Of course that witch must have done something with my pheromones, if that wasn't new-age bullshit. That meant I would have to keep my distance from girls too, because no way her magic worked one way.

Thankfully next on the schedule was Lacrosse training with Cody and the team. I knew all these guys since I started cheerleading, some longer, but this was way different. I was one of them, moreover one they looked up to almost as much as Cody. I ought to have been harder than ever getting into gear with all those muscled bodies, but I barely rocked a semi. Though to be fair I was probably the best looking guy of the bunch. All those thoughts just vanished as soon as we entered the field. It was just me, the team, the coach, and the game.

I don't think I can put in words how exhilarating it was to not think of anything but what was happening right there and then. Time just rushed me by and we were heading back to the locker room again. Cody made sure to walk just next to me, patting my shoulder, and telling me how great it had been. He was right.

We talked about what had gone well, what we needed to improve, how Alex had screwed up all his passes, how Lauren from the cheerleader squad had looked at me throughout practice, how Cody's group project in Spanish was falling apart, what games I had been playing last night. Not until we stepped into the showers did it hit me that this was all wrong. I was his girlfriend, not his mate. I don't know if he noticed any shift in my demeanor, because as I was lost in those thoughts he began staring at me. "Fuck, you really are hung as a donkey" he said, and I looked down at my soapy hand absentmindedly jerking my fully erect dick off. Fuck! I stopped immediately. "Keep at it, bro. Looks like you need it. Why's everyone so quiet?" he said and left the showers. I realized we were the only ones left, though we had been the last ones back into the locker room from the field.

The showers only had one setting, lukewarm, so I couldn't go for a cold shower. I desperately needed one, apparently. I hadn't even noticed what I was doing before Cody rescued me, and I wasn't even through the second day. I quickly rinsed off the soap, made hasty work with the towel, and returned to the locker room.

"Looks like someone is ready," a smirking Lauren said from across the empty locker room. I was too surprised to hide anything with the towel in my hand. I stood frozen, like a deer in headlights, completely naked, and with a raging hardon. "I asked everyone if we could have a moment," she continued. She was wearing the white sneakers, the knee-high socks, and the cheerleading skirt from our uniform, but was topless. Her beautiful sand blonde, wavey hair reached down to her perky, round breasts. I had always been envious of that hair, but it was the boobs, jiggling as she approached me, that kept my attention. I could feel hormones rush into all the primate parts of my body while I stood still. She kept getting closer until at last her chest touched mine. It was like something snapped inside me, like a glass ampoule in a glow stick, that couldn't be put back. I grabbed her and kissed her, long and deep. To hell with Cody's granny's witch games. She did this, so she can undo it. I just needed to empty my balls into this slut. She wasn't wearing her spankies and I knew for a fact she was on her pills, so we were almost instantly on my towel on the bench with her legs over my shoulders, squeezing my fuck stick.

It was everything I had hoped for, though probably much quicker than she had hoped for, when my shattering orgasm came. Whoever said girls' orgasms were better had never tried out this body. Fucking hell how good it felt filling the bitch up. She was still smirking when I pulled out my dick and leaked our smoothie blend on my towel. "Now be a slutty boy and keep the rest of the chicks off Cody," she said, eyes glowing red.

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joshslater · 1 year

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5,000

Thousand more followers in less than a year, and that’s despite me being very busy with other things. As a celebration my next story will be another rewrite of a story by jd07201990, which was how I really started. Until then a summary of what I’ve done since 4,000 subscribers.

Bewitched Nice guy tries to help a drunk girl who totally misunderstand the situation. Also she’s a witch. A drunk witch.

The Cards A mainly narrative free choose your own adventure caption inspired by a twitter post.

Chinstrap A douchebag transformation based on a meme image.

Dark Fields Cutting edge technology always find its way into the porn industry as soon as possible.

Delayed Graduation Reinstated story blocked by tumblr for unknown reason. Fairly straight forward story of a student being pressured into becoming a dumb wrestler jock.

First One Free Personal trainer trail turns out to be a mutual trial.

Foreign Exchange Reinstated story blocked by tumblr for unknown reason. A story of organ transplants.

It started with coffee From coffee to diapers in one simple step.

Kidnapped Being kidnapped is bad enough, but it sounds like the plan they have for you is worse.

Manhood Exchange How would the world look like if you could trade dicks between people? The rich guy would both have a good size dick and a sports car, but does the random guy with a sports car buy it for the dick he sold?

Recovery Reinstated story blocked by tumblr for unknown reason. This came out of a discussion about what reasons people have for inflicting transformations on other people, and it was suggested it could just be like any other physical assault.

Spy Games Lots of cloak and dagger when everyone is after your secrets.

A Star is Born How about a porn start TF origin story?

Sucker Punched Reinstated story blocked by tumblr for unknown reason.

USMC Just two photos I thought went well together.

YMMO You handsome classmate offers to trade places and misunderstands the response.

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joshslater · 1 year

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Chinstrap

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

The woman that opened the door and let her into her apartment looked nothing like what Abigail had expected. She was about the same age as her, fit and healthy, pitch black hair, and wearing comfortable home clothes. Without waiting while Abigail removed her coat and shoes the woman walked out of sight into the apartment. "You're disappointed. You were expecting an old lady with a black cat?" she asked from a room away.

"No. Yes, maybe. I don't know what I expected," Abigail answered, trying to figure out in what direction to walk. The woman appeared again in front of her. "His name is Steven," she said and held up a docile black cat. Abigail not really liking cats gave it a perfunctory pat. "This way," the woman said and led the way to a room that looked perfect as a cigar room at a men's club. Two large armchairs with a small round table and a bar trolly in between them at the center of the room, otherwise decorated in dark green and brass. The walls were filled with shelves containing books, boxes, and trinkets.

"Sit, please. You told me in the email this was about a boy problem."

"Well," Abigail started, uncomfortably, "he made me... I..."

"Don't bog yourself in details. I don't need details, you don't want to relive the past. Pastis?"

"Relive pastis?" Abigail asked confused. The woman grabbed a bottle from the trolly with a big "Pastis aperitif anise" label. "Oh, no. Thank you. I'm driving."

She put the bottle back. "Just tell me what you want for him."

"I just don't want him to hurt anyone else as he hurt me, but you said that wasn't possible didn't you?"

"You can't change who people are, fundamentally. Everyone has a role to play. If you try to change too much somewhere, something else gives somewhere else. There is the occasional pawn that turns into a queen, but otherwise the best we can do is to move the pieces around to where they make the best contribution. Or the least damage anyway." She grabbed the pastis again and poured a shot each in two glasses. "Or you can remove them from the board."

"No! No, I don't want that. I did think a bit about what you wrote in your response. What if he can be the cautionary tale? That guy you date to discover everything that's wrong with guys. I think my problem was that I didn't see it coming."

The woman slid one of the shot glasses over to Abigail's side of the round table. "How do you mean?"

Abigail struggled to get a folded piece of paper out of her jeans pocket, then placed it on the table. She hesitated for a second before she emptied the glass of pastis next to her. The woman unfolded the paper and made a giggling snort. "I am 100% on board."

Matt couldn't peel his eyes off her body as she pulled off the tight, white shirt. He liked how the light color made her tan stand out, how her tits jiggled as the sports bra lost its friction grip on the shirt, and how her long blond hair fell out in a cascade over her body as she finally pulled it over her head. She was only wearing the pink bra and matching panties now. She held out the arm holding her shirt straight out to the side and demonstrably dropped it on the floor near the rest of her clothes while looking straight at Matt. His gaze locked with hers, though he desperately wanted to keep undressing the remaining few items with his sight. He had heard someone say that if a girl's underwear matched she was the one who had decided to have sex that night. Her bra and panties did match, but he was too excited by what he saw to draw any conclusion from the quote.

Slowly she walked towards him where he was lying on his bed, propped up by a big pillow his ex had left him with. She was clearly putting on a show for him as she climbed onto him and the bed, straddling him. As he looked up on her he could see himself in the ceiling mirror reflection. Of course she had decided to have sex with him. White socks, blue, straight jeans, black Ed Hardy T-shirt, chinstrap beard, sparkling ear piercing, and the cap on his head at just the right angle. No shit her panties matched. How could you not decide to get to bed with him?

She leaned forward into the reflection and put her pink, lipglossed lips on his and started to kiss him. The first few kisses were tentative, but the next one was almost forceful, ending in an almost slurping sound. Before he could inhale she threw herself on him again, kissing him harder than before. Her blonde hair enveloped him on all sides and he started to squirm to get free. He could feel his lungs burn and darkness creeping in into the edges of his vision as his consciousness was fading.

With a sharp, inhaling sound Matt sat up in his bed and looked around confused, heart racing. He fell back into his pillow and stared at the white ceiling. It had felt so real, but clearly some of the details were wrong. There was no bombshell girl in the room for one, but it had all felt so real. He tossed a bit, trying to calm down, but he knew there wouldn't be any more sleeping after that dream/nightmare, and he needed to piss.

He got up and walked into the bathroom. Looking back from the mirror was a man that didn't look as he expected. Something was off. He touched his smooth earlobe where the clear stud had been in the dream, but now there wasn't even pierced hole. He scratched his chinstrap beard and looked at the reflection of the rest of his body. Had he always been that skinny? And his hair was too long, wasn't it? Fuck, that dream had really rattled him. He badly needed a smoke.

Having finished his business in the bathroom he found himself standing half naked in the middle of the bedroom, completely lost. Where did he keep his cigarettes? Or lighter for that matter? It was like that part of his brain had been wiped out. And everywhere he looked in the apartment he just saw appalling shit he knew that he had bought, but couldn't for the life of him understand why. Chinos and shirts and nerdy shit. He needed to get out of there, have a walk to try to collect his thoughts. Maybe buy a pack of cigarettes somewhere. The clock showed 4:11, but there was a 24/7 convenience store a mile away.

He found socks and jeans, but only ugly shirts until he reached the bottom of the pile and pulled out a completely white T-shirt. Better than the rest, but just like the rest of the clothes it felt like a size too large. He would need to do some serious shopping. He was just about the leave when he remembered his hair. He would need a haircut today too, and a piercing.

He grabbed a promotional snap back from the rack just next to the door, made a mental note to add a proper Chicago Bulls cap on the shopping list, and put it on just as he had seen in the dream. Brim 3/4 to the back.

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joshslater · 1 year

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First One Free

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

"Exceed your widest dreams," the spam had said. It was a cheesy sales pitch pun from some local trainer. Try one PT session for free. It had stuck in Jordan's mind all morning though. Apparently there is a real advertising strategy to sneak spelling mistakes into ad copy to make people read the text slower and remember it better. He didn't think the amateurish spam had been quite so calculating, but the effect was the same nevertheless. He had thought of starting to exercise, and a free PT session might be just what he needed, so in the post-lunch lull he replied to the e-mail and was pleasantly surprised to quickly receive a response with suggested time slots. He had kind of expected it to be a scam. All the time slots were for four hours as well, so way more than any of the other offers he'd seen. Was it even effective to train for that long? Well, Wednesday 4pm to 8pm he would know.

The guy, Gary, an athletic but not crazy built man in his late thirties met him outside of the gym and walked him in through the front desk. The super-blond, super-tanned girl waved them through. He showed Jordan the locker room and handed him a shaker with opaque contents. "You're gonna need all of it," he said with a smile. Jordan emptied the shaker, changed into his workout clothes, and joined the trainer in the exercise room.

What followed was the most intense training he'd ever had. It was low intensity, but relentless. The guy had him do the same exercise over and over again with very light weights. They were basically going from machine to machine. After two hours he was handed another shaker, this time with a translucent red liquid that tested like synthetic strawberry. "Electrolytes" Gary had told him. He felt like he was running on fumes when finally Gary told him how proud he was of the work Jordan had put in. There was still one hour left of the time, and Gary explained that one very overlooked part of proper exercise was to properly stretch and relax the muscles after a workout, so they recovered as quickly as possible and increased in strength and volume as much as possible.

They went into a small side room with a massage bed where Gary slowly and methodically worked on Jordan's body with some kind of soothing oil. It felt heavenly on his sore muscles. Gary told him he would feel more soreness the coming days, but it was just natural while the body built muscle mass. While massaging he gave Jordan some easy tips on post-workout care, basically drink a lot, and went through some rudimentary dietary recommendations, all of which Jordan thought he would never do.

As they were getting close to part ways, Jordan was bracing himself for the inevitable sales pitch. $1000 per month or whatever the going rate for a PT was. There are only so many hours per day for them to sell after all. He almost felt robbed of not having to use any of the scenarios for wiggling out of any commitment that he had run through his head the night before. "Just email me if you have any more questions," he said. Not until Jordan had already showered and left did he consider that perhaps Gary was working for the gym somehow. Get people in for a killer session and then have them return, but shouldn't there be some follow-up then too? He was going to follow the hydration advice after all, he thought as he was heading home. He was incredibly thirsty, which wasn't a surprise after such a workout. Perhaps even buy a case of isotonic bottles as Gary had suggested?

Jordan was in pain as he woke up early morning the day after. He'd expected to be sore, but this was worse than he had ever experienced before, and he spent some time contemplating sleeping in. After minutes of tossing and turning he decided it was not going to happen, and perhaps a shower would better ease his angry muscles. Immediately getting up he realized what a transformation he had gone through during the night. His belly which had been slowly expanding since graduation was gone and his chest looked a little bit more like pecs than boobs. His arms looked about the same as yesterday, but when he moved and flexed them the difference was obvious. The shoulders looked more pronounced as well, perhaps more from posture than more muscles, but the change was obvious there too. He was shocked how one session could make such a big impact, and in just one day. Maybe he would follow the diet suggestions. This was close to his dream body that a few boring dishes and some crunches would nudge him that little extra step to visible abs and arm definition. Besides, he was starving.

It was impossible to concentrate on the work because of his constant low-level discomfort. Whenever he sat still for just a few minutes he felt stiff and as soon as he moved he felt sore. Only halfway to lunch he was starving again and raided the office kitchen's snack bar for trail mix and energy bars. He was hot too. He imagined all the worker cells being busy repairing all the muscle damage from the workout. But it meant that his normal cup of coffee wasn't anywhere near enough and he ended up with a water pitcher and a glass on his office table that he kept refilling.

For lunch, still hungry, he had plenty of helpings from a China buffet. He tried to think about the advice he had gotten from Gary on chicken, broccoli, and rice, but in the end he got plenty from all the dishes. By half past two he decided he needed to leave early and rest up at home. The feeling of burning hot had just gotten worse and he felt clammy from sweating. Perhaps he had the flu? That would explain a lot, the body aches, the slight fever. On the way home he bought a big four cheeses pizza and plenty of isotonic drinks, devoured it as soon as he got inside, and promptly crashed in bed for a nap.

It was dark as Joran woke up in agony. As he reached for the lamp switch he heard the sound of fabric tearing. He froze with his hand on the switch after he had flipped it, staring a the alien arm controlling the bedside light. It was massive, even in this stretched-out form, with finger-sized veins snaking up the tanned skin. He slowly drew his arm back, shocking himself with the size of the bicep as the arm bent. His mind raced with thoughts. Is this a fever dream? Don't think so. How did this happen? Don't know. Is it even possible? Sure looks like it. What does the rest of the body look like? What will the guys at the office say? What about mum? Tanning while sleeping?

He lept to his feet to the sound of more clothes ripping apart and stumbled over to his dressing mirror. Why his shirt wasn't holding up was immediately obvious. His shoulders were inches wider, as were his chest and his arms. His trousers were visibly straining from the size of his legs as well, and probably ripped apart on the back.

Getting out of the clothes turned out to be complicated. Where the seams hadn't given up the fabric was straining aginst his muscles, hugging his body. His attempts to undress were also hampered by him suddenly not being able to reach everywhere. His muscles had gotten bigger everywhere, but he or his arms hadn't gotten longer. He gave up and used some scissors to undress, and then cut off the arms of a T-shirt to get something on his upper body that fit. Just as he was about to put it on he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and for a split second thought someone else was in the room with him. Just a day ago he was considering getting visible abs, and now he had ones big enough to show through a tight sweatshirt.

He drove to a 24/7 supermarket wearing just the cut-off T-shirt and a pair of basket shorts to get some real clothes, then, having changed in the bathroom he went to the gym just as they opened. It was the same girl at the front desk as when he and Gary were there. She obviously didn't recognize him, but to his surprise she told him Gary didn't work there. She was at first hesitant to talk about any other customers, but must have decided to treat Jordan as "one of them" given his pro-body builder physique and said a guy had paid for two people including access to a treatment room. She hadn't seen him neither before nor since.

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joshslater · 1 year

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Manhood Exchange

The premise is based on a story I read a while back and forgot to bookmark. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I was in a shopping mall when I got the notification on my phone. Out of habit I just tapped the icon and suddenly I got a large, erect cock filling the phone screen. I immediately became aware of where I was and had a few seconds of panic before reassuring myself that no one else saw it. I moved a few steps to somewhere less open, where no one could walk behind me, and had a look again.

It was beautiful. Massive and uncut, with the skin pulled back to expose the pink, gleaming head. Actually the entire cock glistened like he had made a few strokes with precum on his hand and then positioned himself with just the right lighting to make the veins pop a little extra. The truly remarkable part was however the overlay at the bottom of the screen. "$400, quick trade"

I'd been on the Manhood Exchange app long enough to know a cock like this is usually hundred times that price, if not more. Whatever impression you've got from watching porn, people are on a bell curve with cock sizes, and the ones on the higher end of the scale aren't selling. All the people who used to compensate with a big truck suddenly ended up in the same market, competing for the same cocks, and they make a hell of a lot more big trucks than big cocks. Oddly enough there was a market for really small cocks as well, not quite as high prices, but just as small supply. Normal people like me in the middle of the bell curve with no cash to buy and no cock to sell just had to make do.

It's not enough for a cock to just enter the market either, which itself is a thread to needle with the 18-35 eligible age span and clean health declaration. For you to find one it has to be bio-compatible for science reasons and roughly the same race for ethics reasons, though the latter is just a matter of money. Obviously I tapped the "Deal!" button in the app before I even checked out his profile. With that kind of cock everyone would know you either had a shit ton of money, or you could get it by selling. The profile didn't add much though. Just more good-looking images of him and his cock. A text message function as well, but was there really anything to talk about?

You'd think I'd be a bit more careful swapping cock with another man, especially since you can't swap again until all the cells have been replaced because of some quantum spin entanglement bullshit. Ten years with bad meat is a long wait, but I already knew he was a bio-match and healthy, so it was more Fear Of Missing Out. I had some shit I hope I could fence, so I took an instant online loan and had the whole deal closed before I'd passed Baskin Robbins on the way out. Both I and my normal size cock were excited.

Just ten minutes later the phone chimed again with a proposed time for the swap at 7:20 pm, almost three hours away. Though I didn't know anything about this less than an hour ago, any delay felt too long, like I hadn't realized how much I wanted this. What it would mean for my position in the crew. Every minute of waiting was a minute where something could derail everything. My phone could be stolen. The exchange could cancel it for some reason. I tapped "Accept" and headed home with the phone in a secure grip in my pocket.

The instructions after I had accepted were straightforward. Be seated with a naked crotch and open the app ten minutes before the scheduled time for exchange. I decided to be pantsless until then just to be safe, and I set three alarms on the phone. One at 6:50 to sit down, if I wasn't already sitting, one at 7:05 to be ready, and one at 7:09 to open the app. I sent a text to Shawn and told him I wouldn't be joining the crew until later, if at all. No details of why.

Then I just sat down in the comfy chair. Three hours to go. I was only wearing my hat, socks, and T-shirt. And my bling of course. The sweatpants and my trunks were in a pile on the floor, and the phone was charging next to me. My cock was pointing almost straight up.

I realized that it would only be my cock for another few hours or so, and I should say goodbye properly. Normally I would jerk off in the shower or in front of the computer, but since I was already perfectly seated and with an erect cock in front of me I just grabbed it and started to remember all the highlights we'd had. When my neighbor Jamar excited came over and wanted to show me something. He was a few years older, but still occasionally spent some time with me. He showed me into the bathroom, lowered his pants, and told me to do the same. Then he showed me that by pulling on his cock he could get it to "bend" in his words. I remembered waking up one early morning with my boxers wet and worried I'd peed my bed. To my surprise they were filled with slime, but just to be safe I put them under the bed to dry so my mother wouldn't know. I remembered that time I got an erection during a movie screening, and slowly wanked but desperately trying to avoid cumming or anyone else noticing what I did.

I remembered the first time I had sex, the first porn I jerked off to, the first time a date ended in sex, the first time I had sex in a car, the first time I jerked off to a porn video on my mobile. All while doing this I tried to go as slow as I could, like at the movie. Flashing before me were dates, partners, and porn stars, while the top of my cock had some frothy pre-cum. I was shocked when the alarm went off. How the fuck could time have moved that fast. I scrambled to get hold of an old T-shirt within reach, and pretty quickly came into it with a few pumps of cum. Not really the satisfying climax I had envisioned.

Suddenly time was moving slowly again, and I was stuck watching dried off, limp cock in front of me. I became self-conscious about how it looked, worried about if the seller would cancel the trade last minute seeing what a lousy deal it was for him. He'd seen my photos already though, but they were taken erect and with good lighting. What was the cancellation policy anyway? The next alarm went off. Why did I even set that one? I was getting nervous. What if it hurt? There was a lot of news about misteleportations some years ago, and this was way more complicated. I didn't even understand how it worked. I knew the basics of standard teleportation from school. Every particle is a probability wave that exists everywhere, but the probability of it actually being at a specific point is overwhelming. By manipulating the quantum state you can poke the probability so that it is more likely to be somewhere else. Just a change in probability, so it can move instantaneously anywhere in the universe, given enough math. Swapping body parts between people was way harder, so it was bound to have lots of issues that could happen.

The last alarm interrupted my train of thought. I kind of felt not ready. Rich people did this, so it should be safe to do I reasoned, and tapped the activation button on the phone.

"This will start a legally binding contract with Manhood Exchange Incorporated adjudicated in the state of Delaware. Please identify yourself." the phone voice said. I pressed the white circle on the screen with my identification finger, the middle one of course.

"Please sign that you are aware that concluding this transaction will replace your penis, testicles, prostate, and relevant connecting tissue, glands, and other structures with a third party as preliminary agreed." I pressed the circle again, wondering what would happen if I didn't. The $400 would certainly be gone.

"Please sign that you are aware that this is a one-time transfer option with Manhood Exchange Incorporated that cannot be reversed through quantum transplantation." I pressed the circle a third time.

"Please sign that you are aware that both set of testicles will be made infertile through this swap." I pressed the circle a fourth time, not so nervous I barely registered what I had signed. The screen of the phone changed to showing a live video from my selfie camera, showing me half-naked in my lounge chair. "Tap to connect" it said on the screen. I did.

The image quickly changed to show the man from the photos lying down in a white, far more upscale couch than I was sitting in. "Yo, man. You ready to do this?" he asked. His erect cock was just as big as it had looked on the photos, almost looking bigger as it was swaying with his breathing. The instructions on the screen said "Verify the other party is the selected exchange party and that he is seated with exposed crotch."

"Yeah, let's do it." I said, and tapped the Verified button on the screen. I could see from his motions that he did the same, and a timer started on the screen, counting down to 7:20. "So, will it fit in speedos?" I blurted out, still feeling nervous and with several minutes to kill. He chuckled. "Shorts are better for swimming, but you want some tight trunks to keep it in place when you're wearing normal clothes. I use compression shorts a lot."

"Well, you can use whatever with mine."

The last 40 seconds we just stared at the countdown in silence. The actual swap was instant, almost silent, though I wouldn't be able to describe the sound, and without any shimmers of light as you can sometimes see when teleporting. It felt like someone spilled warm water over my crotch, though that quickly went away, but it was replaced with the most amazing, intense horny hardon I've ever felt. It was like the cock was buzzing, craving attention. "Enjoy the wank" the other guy said. "What? Oh. Thanks!" I said and the video was closed from his side.

I grabbed the cock with my hand and instantly felt the difference in size. It was almost the size of my wrist. I just moved my hand up and a trickle of precum oozed out and trickled down over my fingers. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and continued where I had left off, thinking about the most recent porn videos, and in not too long I could feel the buildup of a climax, only this time I was unable to force it back. It just kept building and building, and I think I actually moaned out loud as the first rope of cum erupted. Then another one, and another one. Then I had to open my eyes to look at the mess, and it wasn't any small squirts of cum either. It looked almost comical how my T-shirt was completely soaked in cum, and I was still pumping out a few more ropes.

To my amazement the cock was still semi-erect. I got up and hurried to the bathroom and threw the cum-wet T-shirt. After a quick look at my sticky chest I decided to have a shower. I stripped out of the few remaining items I had on and proceeded to have another wank in the shower. This one lasted a bit longer and produced slightly less cum, but it was still a shocking amount.

I had barely dried and put on my underwear before the new cock started to firm up again. I grabbed the phone and sent a text to the seller in the app. "What the hell is happening with my cock? Were you always hard?"

The app sat silent for a few minutes until a response chimed. "It's called hyperspermia. It's a genetic condition, so not a disease in Manhood Exchange's definition. You'll learn to cope several hours between wanks. It was the precum that bothered me the most. Just drink a lot of water, always wear a condom, and compression shorts really help, as I said. Good luck!"

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joshslater · 1 year

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Sucker Punched

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I was the last one from the crew left at the bar. Andrew had left early, Jon and John had to catch a bus, and in the end it was just Michael and I for a last whiskey. I had finished mine quickly, and was halfway through my second “last” whiskey when he left. He had some contractor he needed to meet in the morning, leaving me to empty the remainder of my glass alone. I reckoned I should take a piss before walking home as well, to avoid having to make a stop in the park.

Just when I was headed to the men’s room I saw one of the girls from the annoyingly loud table at the other end of the bar walking toward the ladies’ room. In my tipsy state I thought it would be a fun joke to follow her and give a funny one liner. "Is this where I pick up ladies?" perhaps. That wasn't really funny, but I was sure I would have something great to say. I didn't have time to find out. As soon as I entered the ladies’ room she pivoted around, shouted "CREEP" and slapped me. At the same time someone exited a stall, grabbed my shoulder, and swung me around.

In front of me was a petite, goth-looking girl with raven hair, black lips, and a nose ring. "Go back to the boys’ room and play with their toys, you fucking creep!" she shouted, and kneed me in the groin so hard I blacked out.

When I came to I was sitting on the floor of the ladies room, with my groin in agonizing pain. I staggered into the men’s room and emptied my bladder under excruciating pain. As I exited the bar everything looked pretty much the same as before, so I could not have been out for long. I walked home and crashed in bed. Had I not been so drunk I would probably have tossed and turned in pain, but instead I went out like a lamp.

Waking up was something differentl entirely. Besides the normal trappings of hangover, I rocked a massive erection that screamed in pain. All morning I was contemplating just being naked all Saturday, but eventually managed to slip on some basket shorts. You know the brag warnings for penis pills "Seek medical attention if your erection lasts longer than 3 hours". By lunchtime, meaning 3 pm on a Saturday, I was seriously considering going to the hospital. I kept running the conversation in my head though. "Hi, a goth girl kicked my junk and now I have a chronic hard on. Do you have any remedies for being a pervert" Fearing my medical premiums being erected as well, and the fact it slowly hurt less and less made me decide to tough it out. Thankfully I had enough food at home to not leave the apartment, and went to bed that evening still with a considerable tent.

He was in his early twenties, dark hair, boyish face, pale skin. His lithe body was smooth, save for a faint treasure trail just below the belly button. There was a hint of a six-pack, but less from lifting weights and more from having very little body fat. He wore skimpy, swim diver trunks that hugged the body. Like a bright blue shrink wrap they highlighted his firm ass and average size bulge.

He smiled as he walked towards me next to the swimming pool. I looked around and realized that we were the only people in the massive swim arena. He was only a few steps away now.

"Good you came. I'm so happy I can help you." "What?" "It has to be a first time for everyone. I'm so honored to be doing this with you. I'll guide you slowly. Just do what I tell you."

He held out a thick, white shower towel to me. I took it.

"Put it on the floor and get down on your knees."

I realized that I too was almost naked. I had nothing on except for similar, white, body-hugging speedos. I put the folded towel on the tiled floor next to the swimming pool and kneeled on it, staring right into his belly.

"First, the best is if the other guy stands or sits straight. Make sure he can see everything you do. You want to involve as many senses as possible."

He put both of his thumbs inside the swim trunks and pulled down several inches, exposing a clean-shaven, semi-erect penis and scrotum.

"Try to always have more than one thing happening. Have at least one hand touching him at all times, even if it is just holding him. Here, place your hands on my hips."

He had a really soothing voice. I did as he said and put my hands on his sides, running my thumbs up and down his V.

"You don't want to just put it in your mouth. You want to at least start with a hand job. But do it in one direction, from the tip to the base, so there is a big upgrade when you put it in your mouth. If there is no lube, like now, start by licking it."

I started licking his dick from top to base, over and over. After doing that a few times I made sure the underside and balls also were wet.

"Great. You don't want to be too quick, but you also don't want to tease too long. A few minutes at the most. Now, the most important part, until you really know what you're doing, is that the teeth should never touch. For now, just curl your lips around them and start working on the tip. You decide how deep you want to go, but keep it slow and steady."

I did as he said and started doing shallow strokes, in and out. In and out.

"Yes, you got it. Focus on what you do with your mouth and lips. The tongue doesn't really matter nearly as much. Now, at this point you can start using your hands a bit more. Try tickle the balls or the perineum. That's the part behind the balls going toward the back.

Yes, like that. Be careful about pulling. Many times it is a safer bet to lift the balls and let go. Remember, it's all about creating as much sensation as possible, so move your hands around, stroke the upper, inner thighs. Keep the rhythm though. Slow and steady."

It was like playing some coordination game. While I was trying really hard to not mess up the actual blow job, my hands were going all over the place, trying out the different suggestions he was giving.

"Now let's go for a neat trick. Take one hand, make an O with your fingers, and do a hand job in sync with the blow job. Keep it just in front of the mouth so I can't feel which is which. Oh boy, yeah, that's it. You got it."

I was feeling really good about how everything was coming together and I could tell that he was getting close to his finish. Instead of giving any directions now he was just moaning, and he had placed one hand on my head, teasing my hair. For some reason hearing him moan made me glow with pride.

Then suddenly, without any warning, he just started pumping cum into my mouth. I hadn't really thought about what to do. Swallow? Pull out? Hamster? At the same time I could feel my own dick shooting load after load.

I woke up, almost gasping for air. In a confused moment I wondered where all the cum had gone. It had all been a dream. Well, not all of it. I turned on the light and checked the sheets, and I don't think I've ever had that much cum on me before. Whatever my dick had saved up during the weekend was all dumped on me now. It looked like someone squeezed a bottle of shampoo all over my mid section. Well, at least I didn't have to go to the ER for my erection, because that problem was solved. But what a fucking dream. I’ve never been tempted to do any gay shit before. The clock showed 4:14, so I did the least I could. Changed the bed sheets, showered the lower part of my body, and went back to sleep, this time wearing boxer briefs.

I slept until well after 9, and to my relief I could take a piss like normal. If anything my dick felt small and spent after its heroic act as a flagpole for 28 hours straight. At least it felt like things were getting back to normal, and I could spend the entire Sunday putting things back together as you would after any heavy party weekend.

Despite the overcast it is a suffocatingly hot day. The concrete ground and tiled buildings around us radiate heat, and the shade roof keeps the hot air stale beneath it. A chainlink fence separats us from the empty street. The black man has worked up a thin sheen of sweat dribbling the basketball, though his high tech blood red Nike Jordan baller shorts fabric looks the same wet as dry. He stops juggling with the ball and looks straight at me.

"Hey Boy! Come and suck black cock!", he demands loudly. I look behind me, but we are alone in the court. I hesitate. "Don't make me wait! It'll just be worse for you if you let me wait", he continues to shout. I walk towards him. I'm wearing basket shoes, calf-high crew socks, and basket shorts, but no shirt as well. I, too, am sweaty in the heat. As I approach him he makes no attempts to move closer or do anything at all. "Yo, get on with it".

I kneel in front of him. The rough concrete is uncomfortable, but not painful. Still with hesitation I lower his shorts. His body is tall and toned, athletic without being overly muscular. Once the glossy fabric passes his large dick and balls the shorts falls into a heap around his ankles. He is not wearing any underwear, so I’m almost getting slapped in the face by his long penis. I start licking the shaft of the dick, and then down to the tip. Just as I’m about to work the underside he suddenly grips my head and thrust his dick deep into my mouth, making me gag. “This is for me to enjoy, not you, slut boy!” and starts thrusting his dick back and forth, while holding my head in place.

Every thrust he makes is painful, forcing its way through my gag reflex and down my throat. He just kept going and going and going. My body makes the most horrendous noises of slurps and wet gagging. I try every way I can think of to make it better. Relax, adjust my breathing, position myself better, move with him. It gets better, or perhaps it is just my gag reflex giving up, but in the end I find that the best I can do is to attempt to take over. To stroke him, the dick, the balls, and to control how deep his dick goes. It seems to work, and for what feels like an eternity I work his dick. Suddenly he grabs my head with both hands, pushes as far in as possible, and buried my nose deep in his pubes. I can feel him pumping load after load after load deep inside my chest.

I was almost angry as I lay in bed. It was still an hour until the alarm would go off, but I had thoroughly creamed my boxers. As I stepped into the shower and pulled them off I thought my cock looked spent. My dick and balls were definitely smaller than usual. Just a thumb sticking out over a pair of balls running scared up into the groin. As if I had already had a long, cold shower.

I was off my game the entire day at work. Had the girl done something to me? It must have been her. Did she give me something while I was blacked out? On my way home I swung by the bar for an after-work beer, but couldn't see them.

Back home I decided to do something, anything to get things on track. I pick the normal items, position myself in front of the computer and load up pornhub top list. “Daddy Lets Me Ride His Cock”. Ten minutes and forty seconds later my dick isn’t harder than my earlobes, but I am getting horny. I spend another 20 minutes hopping the top list, personal favorites, and random suggestions. Step siblings, truck stop gang bang, and big tit ebony babe nympho only made things worse. I was going to bed as upset as when I woke up, but now it was more out of frustration and exasperation. What the fuck was happening to me?

It's a slow day in the diner, perhaps the lunch crowd already left. As I enter I recognize the patrons sitting by the bar from the truck stop gang bang video. "Look y'all it's him cocksucker" one of them says loudly as I approach the bar. "I reckon we all up for a good ol' BJ before we're on our way" he continues, before he starts to unbuckle his jeans.

He's neither caring like the swim diver nor assertive like the baller, but just stands there, passive, leaving the entire blow job up to me. I work and work on his fat, short dick, but he is taking forever to cum. I try all the different tricks, and finally after an eternity he shots a load in a few, small dribbles. That's a lot of work for very little fireworks. It feels like a chore. I move on to the next guy, who’d continued eating while causally observing me blowing the first trucker.

*meep* *meep* *meep*

I push the phone silent. Finally a full night’s sleep. I check the bed. Dry. The boxers however have like a teaspoon of cum. My dick has shriveled even further, down to prepubescent size. Is this the new normal now? And what the fuck is up with the gay shit? This is sick! I somehow managed to push it aside and not give it much thought during the day, but I desperately need to get hold of the goth girl. I decided to make another go at finding her at the bar after work.

It's after-work happy hour and not many patrons are in yet. I recognize the bouncer from last Friday. A tall guy that looks like an Irish rugby payer. Strong and athletic, without aiming for a six-pack. I walk up to him. "Hey, you probably get this a lot, but I was here last Friday and met a girl I need to get in contact with. Short, black clothes, black hair, black lips, white skin. Very goth feel. Oh, and a nose ring I think."

He gives me a long look before responding. "Yeah, I know who you mean. She said you would come asking. Left a message." My mood went from Yes! to Shit! in half a second. What did she tell the bouncer? "Nothing bad I hope." I'm trying to gauge him, but he is all poker face. "Not bad at all. Come with me. Sam! Take over five!"

We walk inside the bar and he leads the way. My head is spinning with thoughts on where this leads. What did she leave me? A bit too late I realize that we are not going to the kitchen or any staff area, but he is taking me to the men’s room. "After you," he says, holding up the door. He makes a quick glance that all stalls are empty and locks the door.

"Now, suck my dick, boy!"

Immediately I kneel in front of him, on the restroom tile floor, unbutton his city camo pants, and tease out his cock from his 2(x)ist underwear. I take command and try to be as active as possible, and he follows my lead. It's clear that he isn't used to someone doing all the things I do to him. He doesn't really know what to do with his hands, but judging by the moans he doesn't care. Not wanting him to come too soon, I pace him, switch around techniques, so he can come at exactly the right moment. There is that pride again, as I control his moaning and he is overcome with pleasure. Finally he pumps rope after rope of cum down my throat.

At exactly the moment he pulls out the dick with a final slurp, as I suck it clean on exit, the spell breaks. I realize that I've just given head to a real man. I'm on my knees on the floor in a bar bathroom and, apparently, have just jizzed my pants through the fabric. I stare at his work boots in disbelief over what I’d just done, too ashamed to look up.

"Dude, she was totally right. That's the best blowjob I've ever had." He pulls a well circulated $5 note from a pocket, tosses it on the floor in front of me, and leaves.

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joshslater · 1 year

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Foreign Exchange

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It all started in what was supposed to be a one week stay in Cape Town. I don't know what the airline had smoked, but a round trip from Europe sold for almost nothing during a few hours. Probably some clerical error in the pricing department. Whatever the reason, I shuffled some tasks around and manage to arrange myself a one week spring vacation. I had no idea of what to expect. Only thing I knew about South Africa was the Kruger Park, the worlds first heart transplant, excellent red wines, Apartheid and Mandela.

It started out amazing. I found a cheap place in Green Point, close to lots of the tourist places, and started to drink my way through South African wine bottles. It was on the third evening I made the wrong move. No, life altering move.

I was heading back to the hotel after some late evening sea side action. I had emptied a particularly good bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, rich with those mineral tones so prevalent in most South African wines. I was slightly sun burned, possibly lost and decidedly round footed when I walked up to two well dressed white men beating the shit out of black kid.

“Hey, stop that!” I said before my brain had fully reengaged. They did stop. One of the men stared right at me, eyes filled with disdain.

“What you say?”

I didn't have time to answer him when something hard hit the back of my head with a thud and everything lost focus and disappeared.

When I came to everything was black and my head hurt like hell. I was lying awkwardly, hands bound behind my back, feet tied together, and some sort of bag tied around my head. The sound made me think I was in someones trunk, but I guess it could have been a van or a covered pick up flat bed just as well. In any event, the vehicle was running fast on what I assumed to be a highway. After a bit of struggle I concluded that I was not just bound up, but also tied down and couldn't move much at all. After a boring hour or so still drunk me slipped back into sleep.

Next time I woke up the vehicle was standing still. I was still as tied up as before, but I could hear someone speaking Afrikaan a few steps away. He came close, shuffled some things around, and then I felt a small prick on my arm. I barely had time to realize it was some sort of injection when I lost consciousness again.

Regaining consciousness was quite different third time around. I still couldn't see anything, but I could feel some swim style goggles around my head, probably blacked out. Now I was lying more properly on a firm bed or padded table. I tried to move, but like before I was tightly restrained. This time it felt more professional, like cuffs around arms and legs, and some kind of material pushing against the chest. And I was naked, I think. It was hard to determine, as the temperature was nice and I couldn't move, but I couldn't feel any clothes on my body. I tried to say "hello", but nothing came out.

This quickly became incredibly boring. I couldn't see or feel much. The smell was basically just some generic clean smell of faint detergent. With sounds there were a bit more variation. I could hear some HVAC rumbling once every 5 minutes, or so I guessed. In addition there was a constant low humming in the room. I could hear some faint sounds from outside the room. Perhaps infrequent cars coming and leaving outside the building.

By my estimate I was at least into the third wake hour when suddenly a door opened and I could hear a conversation between the two men who entered the room. They sounded quite far away, so the room was probably large.

"...so many in the database?"

"We use five key measurements combined into one value as sorting key. The circumference and length, both on flaccid and erect, are approximated into two cylinders. Balls are approximated as spheres. Then we just multiply the three volumes together to make the sorting key. First selection priority is of course bio-compatibility, but this size metric allows for fast selection within that set. It only brings candidates though. The final decision is more complex, of course."

"Complex how?"

"Well, let's ask the doctor himself. His coming here."

A third person entered the room.

"You talking about me?"

"Yes, we were just discussing the selection criteria"

"Ah. Well, since this is a demonstration we want to be bold, while being mindful of proportions and aesthetics. In addition to appearance we want to maximize as many of the secondary factors as possible from the paper. For this one we landed in using the Congo supply."

They were standing right next to me now. The "doctor" continued.

"So this is the subject. The first agent is being administered right now, as you can see. Any questions?"

I tried to say something. Anything. But only wheezing air came out.

"Is he trying to speak?", asked the first voice.

"No, he isn't. Come, let's look at the model", replied the doctor, and they left the room as quickly as they entered it.

6-8 HVAC cycles later I heard the door open again and several people walking into the room. I heard a women's voice close to me saying "Everything is green. Go ahead." and I again lost consciousness.

The room was barely furnished, completely white and bathed in light when I opened my eyes.

"Oh, how good. You are awake."

I heard a female voice in a strong South African accent. I turned my head and saw a fat, black South African lady smiling at me. I was super confused. I was in a hospital bed, but this didn't really look like a hospital, and she didn't look like a nurse.

"Wheh...", was as far as I managed on "Where am I" before my voice gave out.

"You need to drink a lot. Here, let me help", said the lady and gave me something that looked like a hospital version of a gym bottle. As I drank she continued.

"You had a traffic accident. Nothing serious. Just a concussion, so you were dismissed from the hospital to make room. This is a recovery home."

I was gulping water. Man, was I was thirsty. "Where are we?" I asked.

"Just outside the city, so still close to Johannesburg."

That's like at least 10 hours away from Cape Town. What the fuck had happened?

"What day is it?"

"It's Thursday today, dear. I'll go and get something for you to eat", the fat lady answered, and started to move towards the door.

Something just didn't feel right. It was Wednesday evening when I was kidnapped. "No, what date?"

"Thursday the 28th", she said from the door.

A whole fucking week.

I felt a sucking black hole in my gut. The lady seemed nice, but there was no way I would trust her right now. Perhaps she believed everything she had just told me, but clearly some things were not true. My head felt fine, as opposed to the last time I was conscious, but what about the rest? I didn't feel any restraints, just my body in a hospital gown, under some white sheets. In fact, nothing hurt anywhere. Just thirsty, still, hungry and a need to piss.

I could see a different door in another wall than the nurse had just left through. Presumably a private toilet for this small recovery room. A pair of slippers stood next to the bed, so I threw off the blankets began to sit up and swing out my legs. That's when I first felt it. It was weird feeling, familiar, but yet very different.

I quickly kicked my feet into the slippers and carefully, still a bit woozy, shuffled into the bath room. It was surprisingly roomy. Well, perhaps not surprisingly, given the number of people with casts, wheelchairs and whatnot passing through. But it had plenty of room around the toilet seat and sink, and a full length mirror next to the sink, presumably for wheel chair bound people.

I raised the gown from my knees to expose my front, and just stared for a several seconds to fully understand what I saw. My dick and balls were gone. In its place was the largest, most aggressively male genitalia I had ever seen, even in pictures. The massive dick went almost down to my knees, and thick as a can of red bull. And even though it was completely flaccid it was veiny as cabbage and the outlines of a massive head was clearly visible through the uncut foreskin.

Behind the dick were two softball sized testicles hanging low, but unevenly so. It was all topped off with a large bush of coarse hair. And all of it, the hair, the balls and the dong, where dark chocolate black.

I just stared in disbelief. Then tentatively I touched the penis. Yep, it was real and it was now apparently mine. Standing straight my hands couldn't even reach halfway down to the tip. My mind caught up with reality and was filling with questions. Who did this? Why did they do this? How did they do this? Isn't there organ rejection? Aren't you supposed to eat some sort of pills forever after receiving a transplant? Are there even any pants I can wear anymore? Did baller shorts just become underwear?

I went to the toilet and emptied my bladder. It worked fine. Better than fine even, as aiming just became a lot easier with such a hose, although using paper involved lifting. Lifting! I could feel that it was much more sensitive than what I was used to, and felt it starting to come alive. I quickly dropped it and went back to bed. Just as I did lunch arrived.

Once fed, and having checked with the care taker, Amahle, that she wouldn't be back for two hours, I decided to try out my new dong. Tissues were already on the side table. I sat up in bed, kicked off the sheet and had another look under the gown. I was again taken aback with the sight. It wan't just massive, but somehow everything, length, girth, balls, looked to be in proportion. I must admit that I haven't spent much time thinking about, looking at or describing cocks, but the first words that came to mind were aggressive, intimidating and virile. The black skin made it even more so, as the light from the window created contrasting highlights on the veins.

Carefully I looked at the border, where the black skin met my pasty, white body. Rather than a sharp line, as I had expected, there was a narrow gradient where one color blended over to the other. How on earth was this done? It looked like perhaps a decades old surgery where the scar had long since gone soft.

I resumed where we left off in the bathroom, slowly stroking it. It reacted right away, and apparently was a grower as well as a shower. Holy fuck was it massive. I just lied in bed and over perhaps 20 minutes had the best wank in my life. I have no idea whose dick I was giving a handjob, but this was clearly his loss and my gain. It was filled to the brim with nerve endings, making every stroke amazing. Or perhaps it was designed and grown in a lab somewhere? In that case, props to the cocksmith.

The head was leaking precum like crazy, sending small droplets of man lube for every noisy slosh of foreskin riding up and down the head. I was probably suffering from some sort of auto-erotic asphyxiation with so much blood displaced, but it I managed get amazed of how long I lasted, in the fog of pleasure.

When I finally couldn't keep it contained anymore, I erupted in rope after rope of cum going everywhere. On my chest, in my face, and some overshooting me all together. As I was catching my breath, sweaty and sticky, I was thinking about what to tell Amahle. Or if I should get up and do some attempts to clean up the mess first. I realized I had plenty of problems ahead of me. Cleaning up, getting home, ever wearing pants again, figuring out how to use toilets. But at least there and then I could not care less.

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joshslater · 1 year

Text

Delayed Graduation

Repost of an old story that was previously flagged as too risqué for tumblr. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

- We might have a solution of sorts for you.

I barely registered principal Johnston talking. My world had been shattered, without warning. It all felt unreal, and most of all unfair. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, but there were no witnesses, just my word against hers. She wouldn’t press charges, Johnston had explained. I was almost demanding that she did, so I could clear my name, but thought better of it. If it went to trial all outcomes would be bad, to varying degrees. This way I would just be expelled. I guess I could use the term “drop out” to soften it further. It’s not like the job market is stellar even if you have a degree, but this would firmly pigeon hole me as manual labor.

- What? - I said we might have an arrangement that could interest you.

He pulled out a stack of papers from his manila folder and placed them in front of me, and continued.

- We have a little trial project we would like to push ahead with, to see what the full potential is. Coach Andrews would personally take charge of your training to see how far he can take you in a year. Similar to what he managed to do for Shane O’Brian. Since you will be heavily supervised, fully scheduled and not share any classes with your former class mates, she has agreed to allow you complete your studies under these conditions. It’s not that many months until she graduates anyway. Your graduation obviously will have to wait until next year.

Shane of course was the star of the basket team. He was two years below me, so I didn’t know him, but I heard he had basically never touched a ball before he met coach. He must have been active in something else though, with that body. The girls were swooning like crazy. Some of the boys too, as rumor had it.

- Sir, I’m really grateful for this opportunity, but I’m not really made for sports. Just look at me. Tall and thin. Not much track and field around here. - We are not asking for any miracles. Just follow all instructions given and do your best. That’s all we’re asking.

I started to flip through the papers. I was bored just looking at the page numbers.

- Should I bring this home to my parents? - This is a bit time sensitive, so I’d prefer if you make your decision already today. You’re 18. You get to decide this on your own. Why don’t I leave you for a bit? You can have a read through, and then decide what you want to do.

As he left the room I started to go read through the contract properly. Why do they make things so complicated? The contract really just said that I assumed responsibility for the “infraction”, but the school would not disclose it to anyone unless the contract was breached. I would agree to participate in the athletic education study for one year. In return the school would allow me to graduate next year. But written over 26 pages.

I didn’t feel like I had many options. Initials on every page and signature on the last. Then repeated on the second copy of the contract. I was about to leave and find principal Johnston when he returned, followed by coach Andrews.

- Have you made up your mind, or would you like Mr. Andrews to explain it in more detail. - I’ve already signed the papers. - Oh, well then. I’m so happy we could work something out.

Coach Andrews opened the gym bag he was carrying and pulled out a blue singlet and ear guards, and held them for me to take.

- Let’s try this on right away. - Now? Here?

Johnston opened a door to a side room of his office.

- You can change in the conference room here. - But wrestling?! Have you seen me? - As I said, follow all instructions and do your best is all we ask.

It was the first time I even held a singlet in my hands. I’ve never even thought of how to put one on. It wasn’t hard, just step in them like some shorts and then pull the straps over your shoulders, but I never imagined doing it.

I looked ridiculous. I guess size isn’t as important when the fabric is stretchy, but this sure wasn’t my size. The taut straps pulled the fabric in the groin, while at the same time my thin legs didn’t fill out the legs of the singlet. What a mess. I walked back into the office, naked apart from this one single piece of clothing.

- Should I put on the ear guards as well. - No, that isn’t necessary. Here.

Coach opened a small, brown, glass bottle and poured its contents into a white plastic cup from the water cooler, and handed it to me.

- This is the time sensitive part. Drink up.

This day was going from horrendously bad to confusing to weird. I emptied the cup. The liquid tasted like cough syrup. Sickly sweet and with bitter herbs.

- What is.. *cough* *cough* - Here. Take a seat.

It felt like drinking really hot cocoa when you are frozen. It kind of spreads from the chest to the rest of the body. All of me was getting warm, and an uncomfortable feeling or pressure. Everything was off, like I was drunk, or high or something. It was over in a minute, though it is quite possible my mind was playing tricks and it really was longer than that.

- Stand up against the wall, so I can take a photo.

Bewildered, and with unsteady steps, I did as told. He snapped a few pictures with his phone, and then showed me one.

- Don’t tell me this isn’t a great starting point.

I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was definitely me in the photo, but it was like the aspect ratio was wrong. I must be several inches shorter, but everything, arms, legs, chest, shoulders, neck, was wider. Even my face was altered, if ever so slightly. Where just minutes before, or whatever, I was a lanky gamer, I now was a hunk of muscle.

- How is this... - Don’t worry about the details. We must work quickly now while you are fresh, to get the wrestling technique right. Meet me in my office tomorrow at 7 am.

With that he slapped me on the shoulder and left. Just as he was about to exit the office, he pulled out a pair of shoes from the bag and placed them at a table.

- Oh, I almost forgot these. Your new size. See you tomorrow!

My head was spinning. What had just happened to me, to my body? Starting point? Principal Johnston had his distinct “anything else?” look.

- What about my studies?

My voice was lower than before, I think.

- You’ll be placed in the athlete’s reduced curriculum class. We just need to retest your proficiency levels first. - Why? I don’t understand. - My point exactly.

He didn’t make any sense. I felt tired, slow and almost dizzy trying to understand him.

- What about this body? What happens when I graduate? - You graduate with the body you have, like everyone else. It’s not like we can change it by magic or anything.

He smiled and chuckled to himself.

- Take your old clothes with you as you leave. Something might still fit.

Nothing did.

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joshslater · 1 year

Text

Recovery

Repost of an old story that was previously flagged as too risqué for tumblr. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

He was slowly getting his life together, piece by piece, day by day. After a month he’d lost all hope they would ever catch her. The police had been slow from the start. They didn’t even know how to classify the crime to begin with, once they believed his story. It was a crime though, they all agreed. The prosecutor made a whole list of possible charges, but aggravated assault was the one that made life the easiest for the law. Someone had been held against their will, bodily mutilated, and now the perpetrator needed to be apprehended and given the opportunity to tell her side.

There wasn’t really any counseling to be had either. They knew how to handle sexual assault. If it was a female victim, send her off to a shelter and place her in a support group. For male victims, tell them tough luck, and if they show any immediate trauma, send them to the normal shrink.

He hadn’t been raped though, or anything close to that. Quite the opposite. His dick and balls had just kept growing, and he had been hornier and hornier. She had just teased him. “Imagine how much cum you store in there. Can you feel the pressure?” Oh, how he did. He pleaded with her. He would do anything, if she would just let him cum.

“One inch longer dick or one inch wider chest?”, she had asked. He knew what would happen if he said dick. He had already answered that, and wasn’t sure he could take any more. “Chest.” he’d answered, and energy had surged through the body, followed by the now familiar feeling of growth. She rubbed her hand over the skin, still tingling from the transformation. “You are going to look ridiculous! So, again, one inch longer dick or one inch wider chest?”. He didn’t know if she would continue until he said dick. He suspected that it didn’t really mattered what he said. She was going to do whatever she wanted anyway. “Chest.”

It took a bit longer for science to let him down than the law. No one could tell what had happened to him. HIPAA made his “condition” confidential, but when you are the only known case word gets around. He didn’t mind, as long as there was help. In fact, he liked some of the changes. Big dick, chiseled, muscled all looks good on paper, until someone makes a cartoon version. “Huge ass fucking muscle morph” was what she had said. He had never heard the term “morph” before, but now knowing it he would agree.

They didn’t really offer any useful solutions. The changes in bone and facial structure were difficult and painful to undo. The changes in muscle fiber composition was done down to genetic level, and they had no idea how to alter that. The only real solutions they could offer were snipping his dick, injecting hormones and surgically move hair follicles around. No thanks.

He tried cardio only, calorie deficient regimen. Nearly collapsed of exhaustion. Didn’t lose a pound of muscle. It was all about acceptance now, as his counselor would have said if he had one.

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joshslater · 1 year

Text

The Cards

Attempting to repost stories previously flagged as too risqué for tumblr. This is some sort of story based on captions made by Himbo Heaven. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

"And it has to be one of these four?" you ask the man in the armchair across your coffee table. "We've been over this already. Just make your decision," he says, not even looking up from the device in his hand. You make a defeated sigh and pick the top card from the stack.

Thank God it comes with dumb, you think as you can't imagine living like that and keeping your wits about you. Deep down you wouldn't mind looking better, you know that. It's not like you are remarkably ugly. At worst you could be described as unremarkable, but handsome people have always behaved in a way that annoyed you. Like they got this genetic gift and act like they are better than everyone. The irony here is to get it literally gifted, or forced rather, to become the ultimate end of vain entitlement. No, you correct yourself. There was that "made to fulfill" part too, which makes you conflicted because it somehow makes it better holistically while also being worse personally. An ornamental slut eager to please. Frustrated you throw the card down on the table and pick the next one.

This is even less appealing to you. The first one at least had some air of luxury, but this is just crude. Even the description doesn't bother with any sophistication but simply states "Dude, bro". You've worked hard to never be anyone's dude or bro. There should be a comma after "socks" shouldn't it? And another one after caps. Why did it have to say "dumb"? Actually, that whole last run-on sentence sounded pretty horrible. You throw the card on top of the first one in disgust, though it glides almost to the middle of the table before it settles. You're trying to shake the mental image of socks, caps, and a locker room with sweaty athletes having sex with each other.

"Do they all have to be so vulgar?" you ask, but the man ignores the question, still staring at his device. You pick the third card from the stack and suppress a laugh.

That's not going to happen, is it? Just imagine being one of those sex-obsessed people, always trying to score, always making innuendos and flirting. Such a life would be so lacking, with no art, no literature, no real human connections, no science, no awe for the wonders of the world, no plans for how to make the world a better place. Just...

"One more minute then I'll pick one for you," the man interrupts. You throw the card next to the other two and pick up the last one.

Finally something without sex in the text, but then it has "Slut" right there in the title. In a way this is just the jock again, but worse in almost all aspects. None of the aesthetic part, no hints of any life outside of the gym or team or friends, and unlike the jock text an unqualified reduction in intelligence. If the last one's life sounded empty, this one is even more tragic.

"Fuck it! I'll take..."

Trophy Boy

It's the one with the softest landing after all. Sure, some people would be weirded out by a meticulously sexualized and objectified man, but there must be so many who'd love to care for him.

The man in the armchair nods and makes a slight motion with his hands. You recognize the scent of lavender, no its cum, no bubblegum, no lube. It's over so quickly you think you must have been mistaken. You feel warm, not in a feverish way, but as if you've been out in the sun a tad too long. You're thirsty but can't resist licking your lips. Your lips feel different. Your mouth feels different. Did the transformation already start? You're just about to ask him when your clothes turn to powder, perhaps more like sand than flour, because it falls off you cleanly to reveal the smooth, tan, perfect skin of your toned arms. A swirl of pride, horniness, and disgust wash over you as you trace the rest of your meticulously toned body with your gaze.

You lick your lips again. Your mouth is lacking something. Shouldn't there be something happening to you? Some sort of change, for some reason you can't quite recall. You think of bubblegum. Your mouth lacks bubblegum! There's a man you don't recognize getting up from an armchair, reaching for some cards at the table next to you. Or a lolly. A pink strawberry lolly to suck on. "Who are you?" you ask the man. He's fit, dressed in plain but expensive clothes. You stare at his groin as he collects the cards. A dick! Your mouth is lacking a dick to suck on. "It doesn't matter. You won't see me again," the man says and heads towards the door. "Aww," you whine and try to make a sad face, pouting your lips. There's a big glass bowl with strawberry lollies on the table though, so you stand up, adjust your thong, and head over there to find something to suck on. If only they made them cum flavored.

Jock

Once the transformation is done, this must surely be the best option. To be surrounded by teammates that support each other. Bro culture may be toxic from the outside, but as a dumb member it must be great.

The man in the armchair nods and makes a slight motion with his hands. Your eyes widen as knowledge rush into you, rules for sports you barely knew existed, famous players, games from history, not just who won or lost, but where it was played, who was in it, the notable swings of fortune. You know not just the rules, but how to apply them in practice, what to do differently when the grass is wet or when the sun is in your back. You know how to save every second when putting on football pads. You know what underwear chafes, what fabrics are good for running, how to pour out the contents of your training duffel on the floor so all the sweaty clothes dry over night. You know how to pace yourself in beer pong to come out winning more often than not, and how to cure hangover the day after in time for training. You know how to suck your bro's dick to keep him on the edge for as long as possible. You know how to recognize how many shots into the evening the teammates will let you make out with them with sloppy kisses. You know how to move your body to keep your bros inside you for as long as possible, and have them come back for seconds once they've creamed inside of you and recharged.

"What the fuck!" you gasp, as if gasping for air. As if you were drowning in knowledge you didn't want in the first place. You're panting heavily, frantically scanning the room with your eyes as if you've just woken up from a nightmare. You see the man across the room, sitting in the armchair, and suddenly you're reminded of what is happening. The cards, the choice, the transformation. Only you haven't transformed. You look the same as when you came in through the door from school. Doing what though?

You struggle to remember anything that happened during the day. You can't even remember what school you are attending, or what subjects. You glance at the wall clock and know there is basket on ESPN in 40 minutes. You desperately don't want to know that. You look around the room for any hints of what you are studying, of who you really are. You only see a line of football gear strewn on the floor, giving off a faint odor of sweat and liniment cream.

Your panting isn't coming down though, but instead is intensifying as if you were sprinting. You've been too confused and preoccupied to notice just how profusely you're sweating. You feel it one of the legs first, but within seconds you are cramping all over your body. Not just like a big ball of tensed muscle, but fading in and out all over the body seemingly randomly. You try to get out of your seat, but collapse on the floor writhing in pain and convulsions. Eventually the cramps begin to subside and you are aware that the only remaining discomfort is where your too tight clothes cut into you when you move. You're also aware that someone is walking around above you, getting ready to leave your apartment.

"Dude. Fuck me..." you exhale as you roll on your back, exhausted and soaked in sweat, waiting for your heartbeat to go down.

"Many will," you hear someone answer before he closes the door behind him.

Cumdump

It's the only one where you don't lose your smarts if the texts can be trusted. A smoking hot body and boosted libido must be possible to work with.

The man in the armchair nods and makes a slight motion with his hands. You feel both your butt cheeks spasm quickly, as if you flexed your muscles there for half a second. Then it happens again. And again. Every five seconds or so there's a contraction of your butt muscles. Then the fourth time it's followed by a quick clenching of your sphincter. Same with the next one. It's like involuntary kegel exercises. You can feel the contractions getting deeper each time, as if you are clenching harder or more muscles are involved. By the tenth or so contraction it's like a wave that travels from your butt muscles through your ass and out your dick. You can feel an erection slowly building, but the whole thing doesn't feel sexual in any way. It's just like an annoying hiccup. One you imagine would prevent you from walking.

It goes on for minutes and you are just about to ask the man how long this would take, if something is wrong, or if you were required to do something, when the contractions suddenly expand both up and down. You feel your thighs flexing as well as your abs. Every contraction is reaching further away into your body, like a ripple of flexing muscles, always starting from your butt cheeks. You're starting to feel fatigued around your ass and shift around to get more comfortable when you hear a short, ripping sound. It's your underwear you realize. Standing up would be unthinkable with the incessant muscle contractions, so you are limited in what you can do in between the increasingly violent flailings, but you manage to discover that your ass has been growing into a bubble butt, explaining the wardrobe failure. You scoot down into a half-sitting position that is at least closer to comfortable.

You don't know if the frequency had been increasing all along or not, but the thrusts throughout your body happen much faster now, every two seconds or so. The ripple of contractions has extended to basically cover your entire body, all the way down to your feet and all the way up your chest, neck, and out your arms. There's barely any time between one wave being finished and the next one starting. While your dick started out just getting hard it is now radiating horny energy. You're making a small, short moan for every contraction, more of a yelp really, but it is when the wave hits your dick you make the sound.

Then suddenly one wave, once it hit the throat, bounced back down the chest. It goes on a while like that until slowly, slowly the contractions drift out of sync with each other that it's really two different waves. One from the ass and out and one from the throat and down. They are timed differently and drift in and out of phase with each other.

This just goes on and you lose track of time. If asked you wouldn't be able to tell if it had been an hour or four. At some point you just gave up on trying to do anything about it, other than inching into the best possible position. You stopped trying to make sense of it, why it was happening, when it would stop. You just are.

"This is the one I enjoy the most," the man in the armchair says.

Startled you look at him, snapped out of your trance, and everything stops. No more waves of contractions. At some point you had shifted position to just lie on your back with your bent legs up in the air, arms behind your neck. You're confused to see silky smooth legs, shaved cock and balls, and smooth abs glazed in precum from all the droplets have have been flung around. You're just as much confused because you are naked as the fact your body looks like it does. But most surprising of all is the emptiness your feel from the lack of the pounding in your ass and your throat. The deep craving you feel to have that continue and the pervasive horny feeling that is like nothing you have ever experienced before. You know of course what was done to you. You selected the card.

"Why?" "All the other options are just stupidly content with what they become. You on the other hand have a whole journey of coming to terms with it at your own pace. That's why nothing in your apartment has changed." "Perhaps I am content?" you say as you sit back up properly on your new, plump ass and tentatively try to squeeze them to get back the feeling of being thrusted. You reek of sweat and cum after what essentially were hours of being ghost fucked.

He smiles a wry smile. "Well, you can stay with this decor if you want. Or, if you want me to fuck you, I can give you the cumdump interior and wardrobe." "Fuck me!" you say without hesitation.

Muscle Slut

It wouldn't be the first time someone would be fixated on getting the perfect body, and there's a lot of money to be made if you just play your card right. It's the only grown-up decision really.

The man in the armchair nods and makes a slight motion with his hands. You feel a flash of heat, like when stage pyrotechnics go off at a concert, but without any blinding light. No light at all, just a quick, searing heat that instantly begins to mellow out. You look at one of your arms and see it is deeply tanned, not quite hazel nut, but not far off, and completely smooth as if you've waxed it. It almost looks shiny to you as you turn the arm in the soft light of the apartment. You can easily imagine how it would look with some oil on, how it would bring out the contrasts. Heck, even a moderate sweat would send you glistening like a well-polished wood carving.

Fascinated you open and close your hand, watching the tendons and muscles work just beneath the skin on the inside of your forearm, creating ridges for the light to play with. One of the veins catches your attention as wraps around to the other side of your arm. You turn it and are surprised by all the veins snaking up and down the arm. It's exciting though, and mesmerizing. While still looking intently at the arm as you twist and turn it and your hand, you begin stroking your groin. Your arm never interested you this much before. Clearly not, because you never realized before how beautiful your veins are, or that you even had them.

You start to tension the muscles in your arm, as much as you can. You have never flexed before in your life, so you are not sure how to do it. To your disappointment not much happens. Perhaps you are imagining it, but the veins on the arm look even more pronounced. You make another attempt to flex the arm, this time with a bit more proper technique and your eyes widens as you see the response. The bicep bulge is like you've never seen it before. You fumble with your other hand to get it into your pants and underwear to fully grip your erect cock, but you don't want to look away from your arm. You don't want to miss a thing, as you relax and flex it again. This time it grows even larger than the last. Transfixed you flex and relax, flex and relax over and over, just admiring how the skin moves over the muscles, the shape and size of the football sized bulge, and how the light gives it all the most beautiful shimmer you've ever seen.

Suddenly a fear wash over you that you are just focusing on one part of your body, and not looking at the whole. How all body parts should be in proportion with each other, and balanced between both sides. Almost in panic you stop jerking off at inspect your other arm. "Fucking ace!" you shout as you see your other arm is just as muscular, just as bronzed, just as vascular, and just as beautiful as your first arm. You flex both arms into a front double biceps pose, and just wished you had a mirror in front of you.

You look down at your body. Your naked torso shows large pecs jutting out over a strong core with abs that look good even sitting down in this position. Below that your rock-hard dick hangs out of your body hugging trunks that cling to your ass and massive legs. You see a lot to be proud of, but just as much that needs work.

But you do have a mirror in front of you. There's one in each room of the apartment save for the kitchen. You tuck your dick back into the trunks, jump up and approach the mirror. You want to go through your competition program before hitting the gym.

"I trust you'll be all right then," said the man you had forgotten about. "No, I'll be the best," you answer, not looking away from the mirror and your side chest pose.

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