rakurairagnarok - Tumblr blog

rakurairagnarok · 4 days

Note

I’ve been looking for a fraternity to join at my new college, but none of them have really been letting me in. The only one left seems to be full of horny jocks that are dumber than a bag of bricks. Think you could help me… fit in?

FML: In

As you laid it all out in front of your friend, your plans, your goals, your desires, he just kind of shook his head in disbelief:

“I know that I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but damn that’s disappointing.”

“What’s so wrong about wanting to pledge?” you replied, “It would just make getting connected the university so much easier. Plus, the parties are legendary.”

“No I get it,” he scowled, “but really? Pi Kappa Epsilon?”

“Listen, they weren’t my first choice either. I would have preferred a group a little less… dim.” I knew he wouldn’t leave it there.

“Dim? Dim still implies some light on upstairs. You can just call them what they are: brainless frat bros. They think with their dicks and muscle their way through academics. I can’t believe you’re asking me to use my power for this.” He began walking towards the door.

I called after, “Look, I’ve seen you do crazier shit than this. You turned the guy upstairs into a dog for a week.”

He stopped in the door frame for a minute to chuckle, “If he was going to call the RA a bitch he may as well get first hand experience.”

“Please dude.” I stared at him.

After a moment he relented, “Fine. But are you sure you want this? You want to change for this? A frat?”

“Yes. And I promise I’ll get you into any party you want!”

“Fine. Give me a bit. But remember, you asked for it.”

He returned in a bit and tossed me a necklace from across the room, “Here’s your frat solution. Wear this to your next thing with them at their house.”

You inspected it. It looked like a basic chain necklace like you had seen other guys wear around “And do what? What does it do?”

He rolled his eyes, “And do nothing. It will help you fit into the frat, I promise.”

“No magic words or anything?” I asked.

He grinned, “Oh come on, think of me as better than needing all that crap. Now put it on so you don’t lose it.”

It fits well around your neck, “I’m headed over there tonight, I think it is the last event before they drop everyone. You sure this will work?”

“Trust me,” he says, “You want in the frat? You will be in the frat.”

When you arrive at the frat house, you do feel the necklace almost pulling you inside. It feels warm against your chest as you wander around, talking with some brothers and checking in with your fellow pledges. You get a sense of magnetism from it, like the necklace is pulling the frat house around it towards you. As the party kicks into gear, you focus less on the chain and more on socializing. But whatever it’s effect, it seems to be working. Brothers and other pledges are seeming to stumble over themselves trying to talk with you. Even the pledge master gives a knowing glance and tilts his head in approval. In a little under two hours, you begin to feel more at home in the house, more comfortable in the crowd. Maybe for the first time you feel a sense of brotherhood. So it is a shock when you step into the bathroom to take a piss and take a look in the mirror.

You don’t recognize the face that stared back. You blinked in confusion, assuming you had too much to drink. But no. The stranger in the mirror stared back into your eyes, copying your every move as you tilted your head and inspected your face in awe. The trance broke as you glanced down and saw the truth. Your polo shirt stretched against your chest as two pectorals firmly pushed out, flexing with each breath. Your pants had grown tight around my quads, now a good few inches short. They hugged your ass so tightly you were surprised they hadn’t ripped. Tattoos flowed down your arms, newly ripped and well toned. You noticed for the first time the power you felt coursing through your veins. You could almost feel your skin taut against your muscles as they slowly swelled. You pulled your top off to get a better look at the action.

‘Damn I look good’ you think as you admire the new cum gutters and still developing 6-pack. You try out a few poses in the mirror, just to see the muscles move. The necklace is no joke. No way PKE would drop you now, you looked like you fit right in. But, at the same time, you figured it may be time to get the necklace off. You didn’t want to change too much, and no telling how far it would go. You go for the back of your neck and and start to fiddle with the clasp when the necklace suddenly starts to warm up.

You feel the odd magnetism is no longer subtle. It feels as though the necklace is pulling against the frat house you, drawing it’s very essence towards you. At the same time, the growth within your body stops as the necklace channels all its energy towards your head. The sudden spike hits like a migraine, as you let go of the necklace and go to hold your temples. The necklace wants to finish its work. Your senses are sharpened to a point, as you feel the heat of the bros downstairs, taste cheap beer and seltzers, hear every footstep, see every muscle and bulge, and smell 100 horny men all at once. You feel the pure energy of the fraternity pull through your body as it shapes you. Beneath the pressure, your mind buckles as false memories push their way in. Memories of watching college football on TV. Working out during the summer to become a fucking stud. Playing the field as soon as you got to college. Meeting up with some brothers to get a foot in the door. Getting called a fuckboi for the first time on Tinder. Wearing it like a badge of pride.

Your brain throbbed as the energy reshaped your memories and personality, but your balls churned as it began to adjust your libido. They ached as they swelled to the size of golf balls. Your cock was rigid at attention as you grabbed it with both meaty hands and started to pump. Your body writhed as every stroke only makes the pleasure more intense. You are soon hot with the effort. An aura of testosterone and sweat formed around you as a frat funk sets in deep: a mixture of booze, yesterday’s workout, and cheap cologne. The smell only drives you more wild, and you start to feel your brain short circuit. Your mind, consumed by pleasure, gave into the pressure and lost any remaining will to resist. The necklace pulsed in time with your throbbing cock as it buried the old you. As you reached climax, you knew there was no going back. As you shot your load across the room, a new you was released. A dumb, horny frat bro ready to pledge PKE.

And then the door behind you opened.

The pledge master, apparently worried by how long you had been in here, walked in on your afterglow as you tucked your cock back into your pants.

“Hey man, you okay?” he asked before recoiling a step. You watched as he smelled your rank funk and nearly gagged. You took a step closer.

“Yeah bro, better than ever. What about you? You look like you’re about to vomit.” you said, leaning in a bit closer. You flex your muscles and let your pit stench join the lingering cloud. You feel yourself start to harden again as he tried not to react.

“Bro, you are fucking rank. You smell like a… like a-”

“Like a frat house should?” you taunted. He had stopped recoiling and seemed now to be fighting a different urge.

“I don’t know bro, you should get- get that looked at.”

His eyes were focused on your muscles as you slowly flexed them rhythmically to the music downstairs. I felt the necklace pulling him closer as he fought the urges he is having. Fuck, you remembered that feeling, that pull towards desire. You knew how to help him out though. You grabbed the back of his head and pulled his lips to your pecs. As his lips connected with your flesh and tasted the beads of sweat that rolled down your chest, he wrapped his arms around you and began worshiping your muscles. As he kissed and licked every inch of your chest and washboard abs, he gently rubbed against your rigid cock. It wasn’t long before he was licking at the fabric separating his mouth from his prize. But as he reached for the elastic band around your waist, you grabbed his hair and pulled him up.

Your mind reveled in in the power you held in your hands and the pleasure your new frat bro could cause with his mouth. But you only had one thing left on you mind:

“I wanna be in the frat bro.” You said.

He mumbled as his mouth still searched for your flesh, “Yeah man, sure thing. I’ll make it happen. You can be a frat bro. Just please let me suck on your-“

“No,” you boomed. You pulled him out of the bathroom and into the nearest bedroom, locking the door behind you. You grabbed his ass as he grew limp in your hands, “I want to be in the frat bro.” You slip your hand beneath his gym shorts and begin slowly finger fucking his tight, straight hole.

He understood his place as he slipped off his shorts and underwear, leaving his cheeks on full display.

He moaned like he was in heat, “Yeah bro. Please. I would be so honored.”

You bent him over and spat in his quivering hole before you pressed your cock against him. You didn’t wait for him to relax as you slammed your cock as deep as you could and watched him yelp in surprise. As you slowly sped up and heard him start to moan, you felt the necklace once again start to warm against my chest as its power flowed through your cock and into the bro beneath you. He too began to sweat with the funk of the frat as was remade in its image under your guidance. He was going to become just as unified with PKE as you were.

377 notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 4 days

Text

Dude you’ve gotten so hung… mmm I just wanna… wanna… oh fuck… bro… I can’t think straight… we need to stop.

Why stop dude? Look at us. After every round. You’re getting so hot. My cocks getting so thick. And all this muscle. We’re just going to get more dude.

Mmm I know bro. But like I can barely think straight. We just wanted to look hot. Get more confidence. Not become, like total horny- fuuuck you’re hot- drooling… dumb…

Fuckboys? Mmm but bro, that’s totally what I wanted. Fuck each other, cum our brains out, till we were both hot mindless himbos, perfect for like only fans. Now come on bro. Stop resistin. I can see that hot cock of yours already leakin out more of that pathetic anxiety. Those lips gettin more and more fuckable huhu. And check out my cock grow…

Oh fuuuuuck bro. Uhhhhh so hot. Like maybe one more round huhu

Fuck yeah

348 notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 4 days

Text

April Fools

"You actually found some!" Oliver was astonished when his best friend and fellow nerd, Jake, proudly entered his room with two conversion bottles. "How did you manage to get your hands on those!?"

"I've got my ways," Jake smugly replied, giving Oliver his infamously devious grin. "Now, let's down these bad boys!"

A chill of excitement went down Oliver's spine as he hastily got off his computer chair and sped over to Jake. Nervously biting his bottom lip, he took one of the bottles from Jake's hands. They removed their caps and took a curious whiff, immediately appalled by the strong scent.

"Damn, that's quite a stench!" Oliver said in shock, followed by a slight cough. "You sure these are the right ones?"

"Come on, dude. You think I'd fuck up something this important!" Jake scoffed.

Oliver took a second to gaze longingly at his newly opened bottle, his mouth-watering. "So, these are going to transform us into jocks, big, muscly jocks permanently. Fuck, I've wanted this for so long."

Jake smiled. "Then let's not waste any more time, dude." They clinked their bottles together and chuged. Oliver could feel the effects of the magical concoction immediately kick in. His shirt and sweatpants instantly felt tighter. He glanced at the mirror, amazed to see his skinny, little body suddenly bulge and swell with ripped manly muscle. A wave of pure joy poured over him as he finished his bottle, ecstatic that his nerdy life was finally history.

However, Oliver's excitement ceased when he realized Jake wasn't transforming; he hadn't even downed his bottle, either. Instead, he was smugly crossing his arms and grinning maliciously from ear to ear, a look that gave Oliver a pit in his stomach.

"Why aren't you-?!" Before Oliver could finish, his mind became overwhelmingly fuzzy, the second phase of the magic kicking in at high gear. He tried getting out his words, but it was impossible to think straight as his body swelled and bulged even further.

"There, there," Jake said while softly petting Oliver's newly chiseled head. Let those worthless thoughts slip away. Just relax and enjoy your transformation." Jake then casually walked behind Oliver, his hands seductively caressing Oliver's newly bulked biceps as he turned. He slid his hands up Oliver's shirt and removed it, exposing Oliver's ripped chest and plump nipples to the cold air. He softly rubbed his throbbing bulge against Oliver's tightening ass, turning Oliver on. Jake stroked his fingers over Oliver's tender nipples, heightening Oliver's lust. Oliver's eyes rolled back in ecstasy as Jake licked the black of his neck and worked his hands down to his stiffening crotch. "Your gonna be such a good, dumb jock, aren't you?" He playfully whispered into Oliver's ear. "You'll be my big, dumb jock. My mindless, obedient toy. Only wanting to satisfy my every desire."

Oliver's transformation was close to finishing. It wouldn't be long till his mind was completely gone. Drops of sweat started flowing down his body as if he had just returned from a rigorous gym session. His mind was getting so empty, except for the new desires for working out, playing ball, and obeying Jake, his new master.

"Didn't I say you could trust me?" Jake playfully said, stepping back in front of Oliver and grinning deviously, pure lust in his eyes. "April fools, dude."

And just like that, Oliver's old self was gone. His transformation finished. Rippling abs, broad shoulders, wide chest, perfect biceps, a firm ass, massive feet, and an empty head. He was now the jock of Jake's dreams. Oliver smiled like a dumbass and vacantly stared into Jake's evil eyes, awaiting his master's command.

Jake got down on his knees and pulled Oliver's sweatpants down, revealing a precum-stained bulge in Oliver's boxer briefs. He looked up at Oliver, feeling like the king of the world. He took a moment to appreciate the magnificent view of Oliver's sweaty chiseled perfection before taking Oliver's newly-enormous cock into his evil, greedy mouth.

592 notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 4 days

Text

Adam flexed. After he had pulled up the boxers around his legs, they almost immediately increased in size. Double, triple, almost quadrupled in size. Quickly following his chest and back exploded, widening and bouncing. His arms thickened, ready to crush anything. Finally his dick and ass filled out the boxers, a big bubble butt and thick bulge endowing the now towering man, the logo barely visible as its stretched onto his manhood "Rakurai Inc."

#transformation #rakurai #male transformation #gay tf #male muscle growth #clothing tf

162 notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 5 days

Text

No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he’s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air.

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.”

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears.

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole.

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right?

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control.

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom.

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view.

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent.

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at.

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

539 notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 5 days

Text

Anywhere But Here!

The last thing Luke Carmichael wanted to deal with was this! He had just come back a...job interview? He couldn't even remember. All he could remember was the immediate past, the moment where he took out his phone and suddenly saw a message from the potential employer:

GOOD BOY.

He didn't know what to make it of. He didn't even know what number it came from. All he saw was the message and suddenly his body felt stiff. As if he was frozen, he suddenly dropped his phone as he felt stiff.

He couldn't move no matter how hard he tried. All he could think about was Good Boy. It felt so good to be called a Good Boy. He felt so mindless whenever he was called a Good Boy. And Good Boys obey. A Good Boy listens. A Good Boy gets ready to change.

Fuck. Luke thought to himself. He had something important to do, he couldn't get distracted. But as he was stood frozen, he continued to hear it echoing in his mind. It took almost all his strength to look down and realise the same phone he dropped was playing some audio message from an unknown number.

He had to turn it off!

Good boys listen.

As he reached for his phone, he found his fingers fumbling as if he didn't know how to control them. The phone suddenly felt like something that could slip from his grasp at any moment. As he tried to turn off the audio message, he found his hands weren't obeying, instead the hands began to warp and shift.

The sound of wet flesh moving and growing was almost enough to drown out the sound of whoever had sent him the voice message. But that was until he saw his fingers were lengthening, hands were growing, the skin tone was growing slightly warmer.

But the biggest change was how disobedient his hands were. He tried to turn the phone off or close the message or do something.

Yet his larger hands instead just pulsed with new life as they grew and turned the volume up, causing a couple people to look his way as his phone blared.

Fuck! He had to get out of here!

Good boys cant move away.

Just as Luke tried to move, he moaned as he could feel a tightness in his shoes and realised that he was stuck like some statue. His feet weren't budging and that's when they began to grow wider and larger. His toes pushed up against his expensive suit shoes and he whined, begging that the growth stopped.

But as if some force was drinking up his resistance, he watched as his feet suddenly began to burst through the confines of his suit shoes. They were left in tatters as his feet extended a few size forward, the pleasure of the growth making his cock throb.

"F-Fuck what's happening to me?!" Luke looked around, shocked as he saw he was getting more people's attention but the more he tried to move the more his feet refused.

Then the next message appeared:

Good boys have a good ass.

"No please god- ohhhhhhhh~" Luke moaned out loud as he almost fell on all fours if his feet weren't forcing him upright. He still leaned forward, a hand instinctively grabbing his own ass. The more he tried to push against it, the more that he could feel the ass fattening up.

The more he could feel it growing more sensitive.

The more it felt like his hole was empty like it needed something to fill it as his previously flat ass was starting to thicken and fatten up even more. Like a balloon it was inflating, like rolling dough, growing bigger and bigger as Luke moaned and groaned.

"F-Fuck! Please help!" He begged to the passerbys looking at him, some muttering to themselves and others taking out their phones.

Good boys are so horny.

"Please!" Luke begged as he heard the next command and found his cock growing. But it wasn't just growing erect, it grew an inch as if it was so horny that his boner was having to grow bigger to contain all his libido. He couldn't handle it at all as his cock grew tanned, once circumcised, the foreskin was growing back and his cock was drooling pre-cum.

Good boys have good bodies.

"S-Stop recording! Help!" Luke moaned as his muscles were the next to begin growing. Good boys were meant to have good bodies after all, just like the message was telling him.

His ass and feet weren't enough.

The tan began to spread over the rest of his body and the more it enveloped the rest of him, the more that his body changed. His torso started to stretch taller. His pecs pushed forward as they grew even more muscular and his previously skinny stomach started to bloat with muscle forming a six pack.

His thighs expanded as his quads and lats started to grow muscular too, like he was practically living at the gym. But his body was curated in such a way that it seemed more so carved to show off how appealing his body was rather than focus on actual strength.

But even with this strong body, he couldn't move and he saw more people recording what was happening to him. He held up his hand to try and block their view before-

Good boys show off.

He suddenly felt his hips gyrating, the muscles being slick with sweat from his anxiety. But now that same slickness was making everything all the more appealing as he continued to show off his body in all the right ways.

"No wait! What am I doing please-" Luke flexed his arms, unable to stop himself as he looked around. "Please! I can't stop-"

But there was a part of him that didn't want to stop. There was a part of him that continued to want to gyrate, to move, to show off his hot bubble butt or flex those sweaty biceps.

"S-Stop taking pictures! It's not funny!" Luke yelled as he saw more of the crowd giggling, phones out as he moaned.

Good boys are good at being dumb.

"N-No I'm not dumb I have a degree from...I mean like a paper from...Some important place!" His mind was already dulling down. Memories being replaced and rearranged. He was no longer some businessman that had graduated from Stanford and had experience working in business.

In fact he never even went to college.

He barely even made it through highschool.

If it wasn't for his hot body, he wouldn't even know what he would be doing, as he continued to get dumber and grin, finding satisfaction in showing off his body to a random crowd.

Luke shook his head.

"No- Please help...This isn't an act, I need to-"

Good boys cant resist.

"I need to...Need to...Cant resist..." Luke moaned as he flexed again, the dregs of resistance leaking out through the thick pre-cum that drooled out the head of his fat cock as he...

Good boys CUM

Obeyed.

Came.

Everywhere.

The pleasure ran so hot and good that it basically flooded his body, making him feel every last ounce of pleasure that his body could possibly create and then some. He came again and again as the people looked on shocked. But Luke couldn't care. All he cared about was being a good boy.

The Old Luke was no more. They may as well had been left in that office somewhere. You see Luke did get the job at the company after all.

But not as some executive.

No, he got a job as one of the executive's prized dancers for one of their more...intimate businesses at a bar. They would make them a lot more money that way with the way they looked and Luke giggled as he couldn't wait to entertain the men at the bar like he did this crowd.

He's always been such a good boy.

If you want to read more stories like this, then head over to my PATREON for much more including captions, edits, commissions and stories for all your transformation desires.

475 notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 5 days

Photo

Marcus had been my rival on the chess team for years. It seemed like anytime there was a regional competition, it always came down to a match between the two of us. He was like an evil twin. Nobody outside of the chess world even knew we existed of course, being two ugly nerds, but every time I played him, it felt like an epic battle between hero and nemesis.

Finally, one day, we had both had enough.

One match, he said, to settle it once and for all. How could I refuse?

I met him after school at his place. He was already setting up a board on the floor, squatting in a pair of too tight shorts on his heavy body, suspenders straining. Whereas I weighed about ten pounds soaking wet, Marcus clearly had never met a Twinkie he didn’t like.

“Zachary,” he sneered, in his whiny voice.

“Marcus,” I nodded, gritting my teeth.

Soon the board was set.

“But first,” he said. “You agree that this is it? At the end of the game, it’ll be clear just who deserves to be on the team, and who doesn’t? Loser never plays chess competitively again.”

I couldn’t wait until I’d never have to see his pudgy face glaring at me on the other side of a table again.

“Deal,” I said.

Marcus grinned.

The game began. I made a couple big moves at the beginning, a bit risky, more aggressive than I usually played. It was intense. I didn’t even look up from the board. I realized that I’d been clenching my teeth. Even my shirt felt tight. I unbuttoned the top button. Just when I thought I had Marcus a little off-kilter, he took a knight I wasn’t expecting.

I felt a sudden pain in my legs. A leg cramp from sitting on the floor? I looked down at my legs and my jaw dropped. Gone were the scrawny, hairless chicken legs I was used to. Instead, quads! Calves! Hair! I looked like I had the legs of a soccer player. I winced as I felt a sharp, sudden pain in my head.

“What the-?” I said.

I looked at Marcus, the first time all game, I realized. But, he looked… different. His suspenders were gone, and instead, he was wearing a t-shirt. And the way it hugged his chest- had he lost weight? And where were his glasses?

“Oh, you realized,” Marcus said. “When I said we were playing to settle this once and for all, I meant it.”

“What do you mean?” I growled.

“Every piece you lose turns you more into a dumb jock,” he said, smiling. “When I beat you, you’ll be nothing more than a drooling gym rat.”

My head spun. That asshole! And yet, it clearly had to be true- he was looking more and more fit by the second, and my legs! Well, that was it then, I had to win. I dragged a bishop over and plunked it down.

“Just as I thought,” Marcus cackled. “Sure, I let you pick off some of smaller pieces, so you’d get cocky. But now it’s time to take you down a peg or two!”

And with a quick move of his arm, he took my castle. Fuck!

I doubled over in pain as my stomach clenched. And suddenly, abs, popping out in a four-pack… six-pack! I grabbed my head as another sharp pain hit. I felt… foggy. Like I’d chugged a bottle of cold medicine. Fuck. And my shorts… when had they gotten all shiny? Was I… was I wearing gym shorts?

“Fuck you!” I snarled.

Marcus laughed.

“And now it’s just gonna get easier and easier, the dumber you get!”

The game continued, and I tried to stick to the basics. I started playing simpler, more conservative. But it felt like I kept making stupid mistakes. My shoes morphed on my now larger feet into a pair of gym shoes. My shirt evaporated, leaving my new chest on display. Still, I had taken down some of Marcus’ pieces too, and he was looking more and more jock-like as well, with a matching pair of sneakers, and shorts. He actually looked… hot? My dick grew a little harder in my shorts. Fuck. Even my dick had changed.

“Just a couple moves and you’ll be too dumb to play!” Marcus chuckled, his voice deeper than I remembered.

My head hurt. If only I could focus. I stared at the board. I couldn’t lose my smarts! I couldn’t end up just another idiot gym bunny who could only count as high as he could lift!

But then- his queen! There’s no way Marcus could have left that open without realizing it, right? I mean, it was like, a really important piece, right? Last chance! I picked up a piece and dragged it across the board, taking out his queen.

The effect was unreal to watch. Marcus’ whole body began to contort, legs getting more toned and growing dark brown hairs, shoulders rounding. He had to be four or five inches taller. He grinned what looked like a typical dumb jock grin. My erection strained against my gym shorts.

“You idiot!” he laughed. “You fell for it! Now I just gotta move one piece, and…”

He trailed off.

“It was a trap,” he said. “I give up my… what’s this one called again?”

Marcus held up the queen I had just taken.

“And then, all I gotta do is… move one piece, and I win…. but, like…”

He stared at the board.

“Fuck,” he said. “I don’t… I can’t remember…”

“Hah!” I laughed. “You’re too stupid to even remember how to play! Can’t win now!”

He stared at the board, went to pick up one of his pieces, but stopped.

“Go ahead,” I dared him. “Move that one.”

His hand hovered over a couple and stopped.

“Can’t do it!” I grinned. “You’re just some dumb sexy jock boy.”

He froze, and stared at me. Fuck, that dumb look on his face was hot.

“Yeah, well, you’re basically just some hot dumb asshole too, bro.”

Did he… did he just say I was hot? My now bigger dick twitched.

“Smarter than you,” I said. “Probably all you can think about is working out, and like, sex, and stuff. Make a move so I can end this, and you can go back to basketball practice or something.”

The new jocked-out Marcus looked at the board.

“I…” he started. “I…. Fuck it.”

He picked up a random piece and moved it forward a space.

And suddenly, I realized I didn’t even know if he could move that one like that. My brain felt full of cotton. My biceps swelled a little more. My delts! Oh man, my traps! Fuck, bro.

“Fuck that’s hot,” Marcus said, grinning at me.

We both looked at the board.

“So… who the fuck won?” I asked.

Marcus stared at me like a dog eyeing a steak.

“Who the fuck cares, bro? It’s just, like… some stupid game.”

I stared back at him, my eyes tracing his arms, his chest, down his treasure trail to his shiny blue gym shorts, then back to his intense stare.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

We stared, frozen for a few seconds. And then we leapt over the board at each other, groping each others’ hard body, my tongue thrusting into his mouth.

“Fuck bro!” he said, his hand thrusting down my shorts and onto my raging hard on.

The board and pieces lay scattered on the floor. I moaned as Marcus’ hand pumped my cock. I pinched his nipple, earning a matching groan from him.

Marcus wasn’t my rival at chess anymore, alright.

We started fucking right there on the floor, flipping the other over, grinding, breaking apart, pinning the other, fucking again…

Now the only place he was going to be my competition was in the bedroom.

2K notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 5 days

Photo

Artist: http://lelia.deviantart.com/

3K notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 5 days

Text

Scottish Treat

“Hey, Collins, come over here for a moment.”

Football practice had just ended, with all the members of the team sweaty and changing in the locker room. With the numbers of the team slowly increasing thanks to Mark’s master plan, practices had slowly become more and more efficient. Coach Sorenson had loved the new numbers, for the work on the field was just as great as their work on their knees. With all the new team members, and Coach’s always heavy balls, there was always a member of the team who would lend a helping hand.

Cole Collins was the best example of “strong and silent.” Although he was powerful, he usually tried to avoid making a scene. Cole was a physical Adonis, but his personality seemed quiet and almost shy. He was about to finish undressing when Coach called him in. Although not completely undressed, Cole knew he had to obey orders. Plus, Coach had seen him wear much less than a wife beater and jockstrap many times before, and sometimes nothing. Although Cole was comfortable with himself, he was still nervous about what Coach may have wanted him for.

“Don’t look so frightened,” Coach chuckled as Cole approached, patting his beefy hand on Cole’s back, “I just got a favor to ask.”

Cole lightened up a bit. Cole wasn’t really afraid of Coach, but Coach’s physique was certainly intimidating. Cole got comfortable, scratching the hair on his chest with the paw he called his right hand and beginning to grope himself with the paw he called his left. Coach Sorenson was always an exciting sight to see.

“So,” Coach began, “you haven’t recruited anybody yet, am I correct?”

“Yes sir,” Cole responded back quietly.

“Now I know Mark wants you to choose someone yourself, but I need you to get someone for me. I have a little experiment for you.” Coach explained the situation to Cole, telling him about the student and further explaining the favor. Coach’s whispers were barely audible, but Cole got every word. As soon as they were finished, Cole nodded and walked out.

“Think you can handle it?” Coach Sorenson called from behind. Cole responded with a simple thumbs up as he walked away.

——

Cole lurked around a tree, noticing his target sitting on top of a pile of rocks. The student studied alone, with the rest of the park empty. The student, Ben, was almost as quiet as Cole himself, but was much more meek. He was small, with a height barely under average, but he was a nice kid overall. Ben was always willing to help anybody, may it be with studies or a simple request.

As Ben sat with the textbook in his lap, Cole slowly crept behind him. Although his body was immense, his agility made sure he could stay quiet even as his large feet carried him across the uneven stones. Eventually, he got to the right behind where Ben sat. After looking around to confirm no one else was in sight, Cole slowly took off his shoe and grabbed a small cologne bottle from his pocket titled “HEIR-SC.” As soon as Cole was in position, he grabbed Ben and pushed him behind a rock, making sure he was out of sight.

Ben squealed out of fear as he was hurled behind the rock he was sitting on. He tried to resist his captor, but the jock already had his hands pinned down. Ben opened his mouth to shout something, but instead was met with a heavy spray from the cologne bottle the jock had been carrying. Ben closed his mouth, trying to get the disgusting taste out of his mouth. It tasted like soap, sweat, and… scottish whiskey? Ben was so confused by the cologne in his mouth that he hadn’t even realized his captor had let go of him and had started spraying the cologne all over. The scent of the cologne began swirling around Ben, dulling his mind and clouding his thought processes. Ben tried to get up, but instead decided to just stay down and relax.

As Cole saw Ben begin to numb out, the jock slowly removed his clothing, stripping him from his polo and khaki shorts. He threw the soon-to-be former nerd’s boat shoes behind another rock, and ripped off the sad boxer shorts to reveal the skinny, naked body of Ben. Cole felt pity for the little guy, but knew he would become a beast in a few minutes. Cole took the last bit of the cologne and - after peeling off his tight shirt - sprayed it in his right armpit, the juices sinking into his dark hairs before resting it on the confused student’s face.

“Sniff it,” Cole growled, and Ben obeyed.

As Ben sniffed, Cole watched his body expand slowly. He first noticed Ben’s calves, which plumped and grew longer, looking perfect for running and tackling. Next, his quads beefed up too, his thighs expanding with pounds of meat. His legs stretched out along with his chest, making the little shrimp stretch to a whopping 6’5”, easily making him the tallest member of the team. Next, Ben’s chest began to fill out, with abs popping in one by one. After the 8 pack appeared, two hearty pecs placed themselves on top. Once Ben’s chest had filled out, Cole noticed that Ben’s transformation had suddenly come to a halt. Cole thought for a moment - something he did rarely - and came up with an idea.

“Lick,” Cole commanded, “the scent may be gone but the juices are still there.”

Ben began to eagerly lick, the cologne still clouding his mind. The taste of scottish whiskey quickly filled Ben’s mouth again as the transformation spurred back to life. Ben’s arms began to quickly plump out, his triceps and biceps expanding with muscle. In less than a minute, Ben had quickly gained arms that were the size of basketballs: something that would have taken any man years to gain, but seconds to appreciate. Ben’s fragile hands expanded as they grew meaty, with veins snaking themselves across his wrists and forearms. Next was Ben’s butt, which slowly raised his body higher off of the crooked rocks. Ben’s butt firmed up, with the two blocks of flesh becoming as soft as pillows. Ben’s body might have lured people in before, but now everyone would want a piece of his cheeks. Following right after were Ben’s delicate feet. They began to swell, his toes slowly pushing themselves farther away from Cole. As his feet got meatier, small veins began to appear on top, making Ben truly look more masculine. His feet had now become a gargantuan Size 15, a size previously only reached by Mark.

As the transformation began to slow again, Cole pushed his armpit deeper into Ben’s face, making sure Ben would get every drop of cologne before going on the second part. Ben’s neck began to fill out, and with it a huge Adam’s apple began to push forwards. The former nerd’s moans began to deepen as he dropped from a tenor to an extremely low bass. Next, Ben’s head began to grow bigger as his hair began to style itself differently, taking on a fiery, red hue instead of the boring black. The change in hair color surprised Cole, he’d have to report this to Coach. Then, Ben’s nose became bigger and longer, and his lips fuller. His eyebrows became a little darker as his ears pushed away from his head.

“And now, the hair,” Cole muttered to himself.

Except, nothing came. Instead, all the hair that was once on Ben’s body nearly disappeared. The only hair that remained was on his head, the thick, luscious red beard, and the fiery bushes in Ben’s armpits and around his below-average cock. Cole also noticed Ben’s skin tone lighten dramatically, looking almost pale, but still healthy. Ben would have to report both the absence of hair and skin tone to Coach as side effects of the experiment.

Cole lifted himself off of Ben, who was still a little clouded but was beginning to pull himself out. Before Ben could completely resettle, Cole placed his shoe on top of Ben’s nose and blocked his mouth, making sure he could only breathe from the one entrance. Ben, still confused over the whole ordeal, began to sniff Cole’s shoe obediently. The other half of Coach’s experiment was in Cole’s massive shoe: A plaid scented shoe sole that also reeked of scottish whiskey.

As Ben sniffed away, he felt his memories of his past slowly drain themselves into his enlarging testicles. Memories of a lonely childhood, constant studying, and prepping for a life as a neurosurgeon were replaced by memories of men in kilts, learning the bagpipes, and growing up in the rural greenlands near the ocean cliffs. Ben’s memories of of being intelligent were pushed away, being replaced with a new, better history of him playing rugby throughout his high school and being offered the chance to play on an American college football team in the States. His grades hadn’t sold him, but his physique and rough personality had. His personality had also lured him to the best frat house, where he met tons of new bros to hang with.

Cole watched as the large man beside him continued to sniff the shoe. Cole reached for the new jock’s hardening member, which had already grown three inches and was still going. The red-head began to moan as Cole steadily pumped him along. Ben’s balls began to ache and the more memories were replaced. His heterosexual qualities leaked into his massive pouch, being replaced with memories of gay sex with many different bros, but mostly with his boyfriend, Cole. A Scottish accent had officially grinded itself into Ben’s head, along with an outgoing personality to contrast his partner’s. Ben began to remember the countless frat parties and outings with his bros, who he became immediately popular with do to being a foreign exchange student. He wouldn’t be foreign for much longer though, because he and Cole would be tying the knot after they graduated.

Cole smiled as he saw Ben’s cock reach a maximum at 10 whole inches. Ben’s last bits of intelligence began to drain into his massive balls, leaving his mind permanently slow. Instead of his previously nerdy self, his thoughts would now always be trying to push through molasses. Cole, still fondling Ben’s pouch, leaned over and whispered into Ben’s ear quietly, finally pushing him over the edge.

“Cum.”

Ben’s body lurched up as a white fountain bursted from the rocks. The last of Ben disappeared into the cracks of the earth, soaked into the dirt beneath the stones. The IQ of the jock was 79, lurking just above complete stupidity. The new Scot pushed himself up and immediately kissed Cole. The scent of scottish whiskey and the Heir cologne swelled around both of them, along with the new musky scent of Brodie. They both made out passionately, before slowly breaking apart.

“Aren’t ya a bonnie lad?” Brodie said, smiling at Cole, “I would go taps off, but I need me shirt.”

“Of course,” Cole responded, “but before that, can you answer a question for me?”

“Aye.”

“Are you missing anything?”

Brodie thought to himself for a moment, and then a moment became a minute, and a minute became minutes. After about three minutes, Brodie finally perked up and thought of an answer.

“Ah’m no missing anything when I’m with me braw! Now hand me the clothes before ah wank yer bawsack!” Brodie guffawed at his own joke as he grabbed the clothes from Cole, which included a pair of too small blue shorts and a red wife beater. Brodie had long since forgotten underwear, deciding at 15 that he’d stop wearing them due toe messes he’d make from his precum. Instead, he always wore shorts that wouldn’t stain from his constant leaking.

Brodie slowly got the shorts on over his massive cock, the material straining to contain his large member.

Next came his shirt, but before he put in on he decided to take a sniff at his pits.

“Hmmm,” he moaned, “these oxters are boggin’. Cologne’s already off.”

Brodie then took a seat on the rocks, waiting for Cole, who was wrapping a sweatshirt around his waist to hide the stain at his crotch.

“Ready, laddie?”

Cole nodded meekly, the presence of the Scottish alpha in front of him made him feel small.

After grabbing his impossibly large flip-flops from Cole, Brodie began to walk off the rocks and down the stairs back towards their shared room in the frat house.

Cole got up and thought to himself again, realizing that Coach’s experiment was successful. Coach had been trying to find a way to get foreign members to the team without taking from the already small foreign exchange student population. The prototype - Heir-SC - had not only successfully created another jock, but also had made him assume a new nationality as well. The only side effects: not much body hair and incredibly dumb - but Cole loved how dim-witted Brodie had become, so he wouldn’t tell Coach.

“Come on, laddie!” Brodie yelled, not even bothering to turn around, “Aye still got more to chug on me knot, ya buftie!”

Brodie ripped off his shirt and threw it back to his boyfriend. Cole’s dick lurched in excitement as he took a deep whiff of the shirt while simultaneously watching Brodie’s huge bubble butt bouncing with each step. Cole was ecstatic for the Scottish treat he’d be receiving tonight.

1K notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 5 days

Text

Size 13 and Gay as Hell

Inspired by an Instagram caption that came through my feed.

The answer Peter was given was nowhere near what he had been looking for.

It was just another plain, boring day for him in the beginning. Wake up, take a shower, eat some food, get dressed. He had done it a billion times; the exact same routine everyday before work. He had done it so much in fact that it only took him a short amount of time, allowing him to catch more sleep. Practice does make perfect.

After Peter had finished all of his usual, he had got dressed in a rather bland gray suit to go to his accounting job deep in the city. Luckily, his apartment was only blocks away, so he had plenty of time to walk the streets of the bustling metropolis. As he walked down one such lane, he noticed a man sitting smugly on a step to another building. The man was fairly handsome, and by what Peter could tell, fairly athletic as well. The man gave off a kind of aura that screamed confidence, and Peter could see why. He looked to have the perfect male body. Peter definitely wasn’t gay, he had had many girlfriends throughout the year, but Peter could tell that this man was a fine specimen.

As Peter walked closer, he began to notice the man a little more. His clothes were rather simple, a tight, gray tee and a darker pair of cargo shorts - but what really intrigued him was the man’s shoes. On the bottom of his expensive tennis shoes where bright ombre rainbows, each color fading into one another. The shoes were alluring, and for some reason Peter was strangely attracted to them like a magnet.

“Excuse me?” Peter asked, trying to get the man’s attention as he stood in front of the stairs.

“Yeah?” The man smirked. Even though the man’s eyes were behind a pair of aviators, Peter could still feel them looking into his soul.

“I was curious about your shoes, they’re… fascinating.”

“Oh, thanks,” The man replied, sticking his feet out proudly. Peter then noticed the coffee in the man’s hand - it to adorned a rainbow pattern on the cup.

“What are they?” Peter asked, for some reason excited for the answer.

“Size 13 and gay as hell.”

Peter blinked, not believing what he had just heard, He was expecting something like Nike or Reebok, maybe even Adidas, but not that.

“I’m sorry, I meant th-”

“I know what you meant,” he replied before getting up, “Let me show you.” The strange man motioned his and for Peter to follow. Peter knew he should never trust strangers, but he was honestly curious about these shoes. Plus, he had some time to kill anyway, so why not. If he felt like he was in any danger, he’d just leave. The man opened the door to the building, letting Peter in before following. The man led Peter to his apartment, introducing himself as Matthew along the way after Peter introduced himself. When they finally got to Matthew’s apartment, Peter thought he might vomit. It was 15 floors, but his tubby body hadn’t seen much exercise since his highschool years.

“Follow me, bro,” Matthew’s voice echoed throughout the large apartment as the door opened to his abode. By the clothes he was wearing, Peter hadn’t expected the size, or luxurious amenities of the apartment. It was styled and built in such a way that it almost looked as if to be a penthouse.

“Gay men do know how to decorate,” Peter mumbled under his breath, adressing the stereotype. Matthew quickly led Peter throughout the lavish apartment until they made it to a large sitting room with a television adorning the back wall. Matthew invited Peter to sit down, and as he did, Matthew pushed a hidden button alongside one of the numerous chairs. As Peter got comfortable in his chair, the wall began to turn. It flipped over quite swiftly, revealing a wall filled with different variants of shoes.

Peter could barely fathom all the different shoes. Each one of them was different from the next. There were boots, loafers, sneakers. Every once and a while he’d see something he’d recognize, like a flip flops or dress shoes, while other times he saw something he didn’t recognize at all, like a pair of leather boots that looked like a kinkier version of something a cop would wear. The wall had to have at least 100 different kinds of shoes. Peter also noticed a few shelves had empty spots, maybe Peter wasn’t Matthew’s first customer. If it was true, that would make Matthew a little more trustworthy.

“You see, this wall is the epitome of homosexuality,” Matthew expained, knowing that Peter was to focused on the shoes to actually register what he was saying. “Each of these different pairs represents one of the many different breeds of gay men. For example, the boots over there in the far left corner could represent some kind of closeted cowboy otter.”

Peter, not really thinking about what Matthew was saying, looked over towards the boots. They were a darker brown leather, with shiny spurs in the back. They looked as if they had been used. Matthew tossed his empty cup in the trash before continuing.

“This place is a sanctuary, no one actually lives here, and most people don’t know it exists. You see, this place - these shoes - are only able to be seen by the inner fag inside of you, and if that inner fag is strong enough, it can guide you here. The only reason I know about this place is because I’ve picked one of the pairs from up there. My inner fag lead me to these tennis shoes, which helped me adopt my breed, the ‘gay gym bunny’ as I like to call it.” After saying this, Mattthew sat down next to Peter, placing his arm around the other man.

“Before, I was some weak college student who had a degree in astronomy, but after I was lead here and found my inner fag, I became this stud. I don’t remember much of my past life, if any of it, but this new one is so much better. I have way more friends, make a lot of money, and get laid nearly twice a day everyday. I used to bow down to others, but now they all bow before me. I used to like women, but now this monster only wants men. This behemoth never seems to want to sleep either,” Matthew chuckled, yanking at the thick piece of meat between his legs. Peter still hadn’t really processed any of this, but he didn’t really care. He was too focused on the shelves of shoes.

“Now, it looks like it’s your turn to become the real you. By the look on your face you seem to be really invested in this wall. You’ll know when you’ve found your inner fag, because whatever pair you chose will adorn the rainbow pattern on the bottom. All you have to do is look for a pair that really calls out to you. You’ll know it when you see it.”

Peter gazed along the wall, looking at each pair of shoes. Right after his eyes passed a pair of slippers, he noticed a plain, white pair of canvas shoes sitting quietly near the middle. As his eyes centered in, he began to notice their simplicity. They were bright, kept clean, and yet they looked so regular and minimalistic. Matthew smiled, knowing that the pair that Peter had centered in on was his chosen pair. Matthew pushed himself out of his tight spot in the chair and walked to the shelf, grabbing the casual shoes before bringing them back to Peter.

Peter glared at the shoes, his eyes slowly investigating what Matthew had in his hand. The other man held out the pair, and Peter eagerly grabbed them. He carefully felt down the canvas, caressed the strings, and adored the shockingly white color. He took a timid sniff of one of the shoes. It didn’t have that new smell he was expecting, instead, it reeked of man. A strong musk perpetrated from the shoes, as if they had been lovingly worn. Peter should have been disgusted, but for some reason, he was infatuated.

“Try them on, bro,” Matthew said, pulling up a chair in front of Peter. Peter looked at the shoes, noting the size was 13. That was almost four sizes larger than his own feet, but he didn’t care. He carefully took off his own dress shoes before placing the canvas shoes on. They were way to big, but Peter still enjoyed it anyway. There was a soft, worn felling to the inside. It felt a little moist too, as if somehow had just recently sweat in them.

“And now, for the magic to begin,” Matthew chuckled, relaxing himself in the chair.

The first thing that changed were Peter’s legs. They weren’t anything special before, but now they were changing into something delectable. All the fat began to suck in, creating tighter calves and quads. His thighs and lower legs began to quickly fill up with muscle, but not too much. They looked to be somewhere between athletic and toned, skinnier yet powerful, light brown hair began to overcome the black that previously existed, before giving him a softer, more innocent coat covering.

Next was his chest, which quickly sank in once the legs were finished. Years of little exercise became year of precision. Hard routines that made sure everything was perfect destroyed the body fat on Peter’s body, sending it to oblivion. A light coat of brown hairs adorned his new torso, which previously had nothing it all. Solid abs and hard pecs appeared, but not anything drastic. Peter immediately remembered that his chest was all for looks, not for something like bodybuilding. He wanted to look impressive, but not like he was in charge.

Following were his arms. Peter didn’t have much definition before, if any, but now he became the definition of “toned.” Although the rest of his body was meant to look a little past that muscular level, his arms perfectly fit the title. They became slender, showing definition in both biceps and triceps, but nothing to powerful. He wanted to be handsome, appealing, lustable, but now alpha. His pits filled in with coatings of soft brown hair. They emitted a rather unpleasant scent before being masked with some kind of cologne. Peter instantly remembered that it was a local brand, vegan too. He always went local, he hated big corporations.

As Peter sat there quietly, he began to feel his butt tense up. Years of squats and proper lifting began to fill his two globes, muscles beginning to form in his butt as it became bubbly, soft, sensitive. Memories of specific workouts began to fill his head, he had to make sure his rear would reel in the right sort of people. As instantly as the thought came, it was corrected. Not any people, just men. He wanted to make sure men would be interested.

Matthew watched in silent glee as Peter’s upper body began to evolve. As his shoulders widened out slightly, Peter felt as if he was being pushed down. If there was any part of his body he was proud of, it was his height. 6’3 was a pretty promising height for women, but as he was lowering down to a soild 5’10, he began to like being shorter. It made him seem smaller, more inferior. He didn’t want to be in charge - in fact, he wasn’t meant to be in charge. He liked to be the bottom, it was more fulfilling, and literally more filling.

Peter’s neck straightened out as his Adam’s apple began to recede a little, making his voice settle for a lower tenor. Peter’s jaw lengthened out as his face rearranged itself. His nose became straighter as his eyes became a simpler brown. A light brown stubble appeared as his hair styled itself, a lush swoosh giving his thickening hair extra definition. His teeth became pearly white as his face began to soften, giving him a sexier aura.

Next were Peter’s feet, which had become quite tense throughout the whole process. They quickly spread out, pushing themselves to the very edges of the shoes. Light hairs began to tickled the tops of his feet as they began to produce the same musk the shoes already adorned. They began to sweat too, adding to the already previously moist texture of the canvas. As his feet began to settle in, Peter began to develop a foot fetish. He remembered how much he loved mens’ feet, so that’s why he worked on his own so much. His feet became strong from years of training, working out, and running. His nails became polished from plenty of pedicures. He had to make sure he loved his feet as much as he did to others.

As the new memories of his gayer life began to set in, his clothes began to adjust themselves. His entire suit disappeared, being replaced with a pastel plaid shirt - something every homosexual man should have. Next, a sleeveless vest popped on top of the button up, followed by a pair of gray cargo shorts that barely made it down his thighs. An expensive watch and wrist band appeared over his wrists while his dress socks shortened down to the ankles. Matthew leaned over and buttoned the top of the shirt, confirming the legend that only gay men have the top button fastened without a tie.

Once his new outfit was finished, different brand logos began to appear inside of the items of clothes, each from different local businesses within the city. Peter never shopped from large companies, he despised capitalism. Peter was never really into politics before, but now he recalled being a stone-hard leftist. He was completely democratic, so much some accused he was too far left. He fought for everyone’s rights, attended every rally, and even lead a few protests. He wasn’t only democratic because he was a proud homosexual, but because of his other views too. Peter was pro-choice, wanted no guns, and he expected the government to take care of everything. He was extremely liberal and proud of it.

The last of his memories began to flood his head as his pouch began to shift. Before, Peter had a length of almost 7 inches when hard, and his balls were quite impressive as well, but as memories of his many boyfriends and hookups began to appear, it all changed. As he thought of all the times he got pounded, his dick began to shrink. His obsession with social media began to escalate while his penis descended. Posts supporting local brands, politics, and pride flooded his head, pushing his cock even smaller. It finally ended at a pathetic 3 ½ inches hard, but Peter would claim it was 4. He didn’t care too much about his dick however, or his lesser balls, he was more focused on being a bottom. Why give it when you can recieve it? He loved having a dick in his mouth or butt much more than his own dick in some other hole. He had always been complete fag, and he was proud of it.

As Peter began to accept his new reality, the soles of his shoes began to change. A bright light flashed from the bottom of his shoes as the rainbow pattern appeared, sealing his new fate. Matthew smiled, excited to meet the inner fag that had now been released. Peter’s eyes blinked slowly as he forgot the majority of his past, his new life becoming complete - the only thing left being the knowledge of the apartment and magical powers of the shoes. As his sight focused, his little pecker got immediately hard at the sexy alpha in front of him.

“Hey,” Peter said, getting up placing himself on the man’s lap, “did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

“Oh, you’re a sly one,” Matthew remarked coyly, his massive dong beginning to perk up underneath the other man.

“How about I show you a good time before I go back to blogging?” Peter said, grinding his thick bubble butt into the anaconda beneath him.

“Sure thing, but first, what do you go by?” Matthew asked.

“Paul, but once we get going, you can call me ‘boy.’” Paul got up and slowly walked out into the hallway towards the bedroom. Matthew smiled, knowing that Paul was a classic queer name. As he got up, adjusting his crotch, he noticed Paul’s phone going off. He grabbed it, seeing the background was a heavily filtered picture of Paul on the beach in a speedo. Tons of notifications from numerous social media sites flooded the screen, mostly likes, but some comments.

“Let’s call you a ‘social influencer slut,’” Matthew muttered to himself, referring to the breed that was attached to Paul’s shoes. Matthew threw the phone back on the chair before ripping off his tight shirt, ecstatic to showed this new bottom where he belonged.

— —

Paul sat there calmly in the park, texting his boyfriend while making another post about being queer for his many social media accounts. Matthew had just fed him a healthy amount of cum an hour ago in the apartment, but he was already hungry for another load. As he texted back and forth, a young man slowly approached him, completely enthralled in something.

“Hey, um…” The young man blushed, embarrassed. Paul looked up to meet the eyes of somehow who looked barely over 18. The young man looked away, terribly shy.

“I really like your shoes,” he began, “I was just going to ask you what kind of shoes they were.”

Paul quickly texted Matthew and cancelled his plans, smirking at his phone before looking up. He placed his soles on the ground, ready to get up after his reply. Paul knew what was happening, so he turned on his most innocent smile before giving the teen the unexpected answer.

“Size 13,” he replied, “and gay as hell.”

785 notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 7 days

Note

FML: In

As you laid it all out in front of your friend, your plans, your goals, your desires, he just kind of shook his head in disbelief:

“I know that I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but damn that’s disappointing.”

“What’s so wrong about wanting to pledge?” you replied, “It would just make getting connected the university so much easier. Plus, the parties are legendary.”

“No I get it,” he scowled, “but really? Pi Kappa Epsilon?”

“Listen, they weren’t my first choice either. I would have preferred a group a little less… dim.” I knew he wouldn’t leave it there.

I called after, “Look, I’ve seen you do crazier shit than this. You turned the guy upstairs into a dog for a week.”

He stopped in the door frame for a minute to chuckle, “If he was going to call the RA a bitch he may as well get first hand experience.”

“Please dude.” I stared at him.

After a moment he relented, “Fine. But are you sure you want this? You want to change for this? A frat?”

“Yes. And I promise I’ll get you into any party you want!”

“Fine. Give me a bit. But remember, you asked for it.”

He returned in a bit and tossed me a necklace from across the room, “Here’s your frat solution. Wear this to your next thing with them at their house.”

You inspected it. It looked like a basic chain necklace like you had seen other guys wear around “And do what? What does it do?”

He rolled his eyes, “And do nothing. It will help you fit into the frat, I promise.”

“No magic words or anything?” I asked.

He grinned, “Oh come on, think of me as better than needing all that crap. Now put it on so you don’t lose it.”

It fits well around your neck, “I’m headed over there tonight, I think it is the last event before they drop everyone. You sure this will work?”

“Trust me,” he says, “You want in the frat? You will be in the frat.”

And then the door behind you opened.

The pledge master, apparently worried by how long you had been in here, walked in on your afterglow as you tucked your cock back into your pants.

“Hey man, you okay?” he asked before recoiling a step. You watched as he smelled your rank funk and nearly gagged. You took a step closer.

“Bro, you are fucking rank. You smell like a… like a-”

“Like a frat house should?” you taunted. He had stopped recoiling and seemed now to be fighting a different urge.

“I don’t know bro, you should get- get that looked at.”

Your mind reveled in in the power you held in your hands and the pleasure your new frat bro could cause with his mouth. But you only had one thing left on you mind:

“I wanna be in the frat bro.” You said.

He mumbled as his mouth still searched for your flesh, “Yeah man, sure thing. I’ll make it happen. You can be a frat bro. Just please let me suck on your-“

He understood his place as he slipped off his shorts and underwear, leaving his cheeks on full display.

He moaned like he was in heat, “Yeah bro. Please. I would be so honored.”

377 notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 8 days

Text

"Babe, are you sure you want this?" Gabe stared lovingly at his perfect boyfriend, Will's green eyes sparkling with affection. "Are you sure you want to do this for me? Will, you know I like you just the way you are."

Gabe took a hand in his boyfriend's, rubbing his skinny, pale arm with the other.

"Yeah, I- I do." Will smiled, trying to summon confidence as he started at the blue candy on the table. "Become your partner's ultimate fantasy!" it read.

"Babe, I don't know if I can do this." Gabe said solemnly. Will was perfectly attractive as-is, why would he want to risk messing that up?

"You know-" Will began. "You never know. We could end up enjoying ourselves."

"Yeah, maybe." Gabe's eyes lingered over Will's cute button nose, his nerdy disposition buried in a book being what drove the happy couple together so many years ago. "If this is what you want...I know we will." Gabe stated shakily.

"And I want to do this for you." In a rare show of confidence, Will leaned over and kissed his boyfriend softly on the lips. He reached down and picked up the candy, unwrapping it and holding it to his mouth.

"Ready?"

"Not quite." Gabe's hands wrapped around Will's head, pulling him closer as their lips pressed together. Will opened his mouth, letting his tongue mingle with Gabe's as the two embraced. The taller boy felt a hand wrap around his shoulder, another grabbing his leg, squeezing firmly. Gabe pulled away.

"Alright, go ahead." He breathed.

Will closed his eyes, and popped the candy in his mouth. It tasted like strawberry.

"Oh god."

Gabe stared intently as his boyfriend's eyes began to roll back.

"G-gabe.."

"Are you okay babe?"

"Yeah...just." Will panted. "Oh fuck, oh fffuck." His face went beet red.

"What is it babe?" Gabe asked.

"Ffffffuck." Will's whole body shook.

"It's really working isn't it?" Gabe asked, staring in amazement. Will's body was already changing. His lips were getting thicker, plumper. His nose shrank, and his hair began to lighten, his freckles disappearing. The muscles in his face contorted, his cheekbones becoming higher and sharper, his chin narrower.

"It feels so good." Will whispered. His body trembled. "FUCK." His voice deepened as his Adam's apple expanded. "It's changing me."

"Will.." Gabe was astonished. "You're..beautiful."

Will's face was almost unrecognizable now. His hair had become blonde, his once cute features having matured into those of a supermodel. He was even more handsome than before. Gabe felt himself getting hard, staring at his boyfriend's new, stunning face.

"Oh god. Oh GOD." Will cried out, his body writhing.

"Will, are you okay?"

Will's hair began to lengthen, becoming curly and unkempt as his eyes shifted from green into a sparkling blue. He gasped, his chest heaving, his formerly flat pecs starting to swell up inside his shirt.

"Gabe...it's too much." His voice was still deep, but now more sultry and seductive.

"What do you mean, Will?"

Will's face turned red, his breathing labored.

"It's changing..my cock."

Gabe could feel his own member throbbing in his pants.

"I can feel it swelling...growing bigger and bigger."

Will's cock pulsed, stretching out his shorts.

"Fuck, I'm huge. My balls are getting bigger too. It feels amazing. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

Will's bulge expanded, his shorts stretching further and further as his new cock grew to obscene proportions. Gabe watched with awe, his hand unconsciously reaching into his pants and stroking his member, a wet spot forming on the front.

"FUCK, it's so big." Will whined.

"Oh god."

Will's chest continued to expand, his pecs swelling up larger and larger as they grew into massive man tits. His shirt struggled to hold them in as a stunning set of washboard abs formed underneath, his body now chiseled and toned, a light dusting of blond hair spreading across his chest.

"Oh fuck, my ass." Will cried.

His ass swelled up, growing bigger and rounder, his once slim and perky ass now a huge bubble butt that looked like it was made for sex. Gabe's hand jerked faster, precum leaking down his leg.

"Gabe...I'm so horny."

Will's hands traveled across his body, squeezing his pecs and abs, feeling his ass and his huge package.

"Oh fuck...Gabe, I'm so horny." He repeated, his new body driving him wild. He reached down and undid his shorts, his gigantic cock bursting free.

"Holy shit."

"I'm so horny, Gabe."

Will's arms began to thicken, his biceps and triceps expanding as his chest and abs flexed, his cock twitching with each pump of his heart. His back muscles rippled as he stood up, his new 8-pack abs shining, his asscheeks clapping.

"Will." Gabe panted.

Will could only moan in response as his thighs swelled, his calves tightening as his new musculature became apparent. His huge cock dangled between his legs, his massive balls swinging below. His feet grew larger, his toes extending. His face was unrecognizable, his jawline chiseled and defined. His lips were full, his blue eyes piercing and lustful. His hair was disheveled and wild, his body a monument of manliness and strength.

"I-I...I love you." Will stammered, grabbing Gabe's face and pulling him in for a passionate kiss. The shorter boy's body trembled as their tongues wrestled, their cocks pressed against each other.

Pulling away, Gabe moved to speak but was stopped by a deep moan.

"Fuck, you really like 'em dumb, huh?" Will chuckled, as he felt the waves of pleasure from his cock begin to reach his brain. "You really want a dumb muscle stud to suck your cock?"

"Y-yes."

"Say it."

"I...want a dumb muscle stud to suck my cock."

Will dropped to his knees.

"You really want to make a muscle bitch out of your boyfriend, huh?"

"Please, Will. Please suck my cock."

Will looked up at his boyfriend.

"Call me Nico."

Nico leaned forward, taking the tip of Gabe's dick in his mouth, his hands squeezing his ass.

"Mmmm."

Gabe threw his head back, the warmth of his boyfriend's new, hot mouth enveloping his shaft.

"Oohhhh, yessss."

Nico's lips slid up and down the shaft, his tongue circling around the head.

"Oh god, I can't take it anymore."

"Do it, babe. Cum for me."

"N-nico..."

Gabe's eyes rolled back as he erupted, ropes of cum filling Nico's mouth. He moaned as he felt his lover's throat swallow every last drop, the light in his once sparkling eyes fading, the color becoming a washed-out blue befitting the new himbo.

"Thank you." Gabe whispered, the world going dark.

Nico stood up, wiping his mouth.

"That was sick, babe."

He picked his new boyfriend up and placed him on the bed, laying down beside him.

"I can't wait to see what you've got planned for me next." Nico grinned, looking both stupid and adorable. He kissed Gabe on the forehead and pulled him close, falling asleep with a smile on his face.

414 notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 11 days

Text

Holy shit it’s working. I’m growing. You sure this is what you want?

Yeah bro, I’m sure. Keep going, you’re getting so hot already.

Oh fuck man. I can feel it. My head getting all… all… dumb. And these pecs dude, I got pecs, and my cock… fuuuck bro.

So hot. Keep going, give in bro.

Bro feels so good. Gonna be dumb slut like you want. Huhu dumb hot muscle slot huhu. Muscle. Uhhhhhh fuuuuck yeah

Mmm that’s right. Pump it. Crave it. There you grow.

423 notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 12 days

Text

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How old are you, Santana?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

232 notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 17 days

Text

Intro to Advertising

Shit! I’m late. I grab my coffee, take a seat at my desk and open my laptop. Another semester of online classes… great. I like college. I swear I do. I’ve always been the smartest kid in the class. No other student’s brains compare to mine. That kinda sounds conceited but it’s true! I was top of the class last year. And I intend on keeping that title. No one will stop me.

I load up Zoom and enter in the meeting code. First module of semester 2… “Intro to Advertising” it reads. Ten minutes late. No one’s gonna notice, right? The call finishes loading. I am met with the faces of fifteen other students.

“Looks like we have a latecomer.” The professor scoffs. “Eh… let’s see what your name is… Robert? Is that right?”

I sit there like a deer in headlights, quickly regretting entering the class at all. I stare blankly at the screen before deciding to bite the bullet.

“Yeah, that’s me. Sorry for being lat-“

“We started ten minutes ago, Robert. This isn’t the best first impression. We’ve already started the discussion without you.”

We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. “Sorry” I smile awkwardly and turn off my microphone. Other students in the call smirk and snicker.

What a dick. I was ten minutes late. I’ve never been called out like that before. In fact, I’m usually never late. This was the first time. And he still made a mockery of me. Jeez. Screw this guy.

I had never seen him before either. He sat upright in his chair as his bulging muscles strained against his shirt. He was in surprisingly good shape for his age. He looked around forty, maybe fifty? He’s basically bald but his body seems hairy. I can see his thick forearms covered with jet black fur and a tuft of chest hair poking out of his shirt . His beard is manly and thick. His voice was deep and commanding. He might have been hot but he was still a prick for calling me out.

“So, as I was saying.” He glared at me. “Let’s discuss target demographics. When selling a product, businesses target their adverts towards specific groups based on factors such as income, age, race, sexual orientation and occupation.”

The moustached professor continued on with his big spiel. I passively took notes from the slides until I heard the dreaded words.

“Robert!” The professor sarcastically smiled. “How about we use you as an example?”

I let out a fake smile. Fuck. Why me? I unmuted myself. “Sure”

“Perfect.” The professor smiled and leaned back on his chair.

“Let’s say… I’m selling gym equipment, okay? And you’re my target demographic.” The professor smirks a devilish grin. “Let’s say your name is Jackson, okay?”

“Okay… my name is Jackson” I passively agree. Something about the professor’s words… they just spiralled in my head. Repeating. Spinning round and round in my mind.

“Class.” He addressed the rest of the students. “If I’m trying to sell gym equipment to Jackson. What kind of target demographic do you think he’s is in?”

Brad, the class jock, chimes in. “I’d say Jackson would be big and muscular. Like big pecs… and biceps and stuff.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Does he not hear how stupid that answer is? He sounds more like this supposed ‘Jackson’ than I do. I reach up and scratch my chest but something seems… off. I look down at my chest. It seems… swollen? It doesn’t normally look this big. I thought I was wearing an oversized shirt today. But it looks totally normal on me now. It fits me to a T. I lay my hand on my obsencely big chest, letting my fingers sink into my new fat pecs. Now that I’m looking, my hands seem unusually large too. My hands are supposed to be small and thin. I shouldn’t have thick fat sausage fingers. They’re huge! My eyes travel up my arm to see my huge biceps. My once think skinny arms are now monstrous beasts. I look like I lift weights every day, like one of those dumb jocks. Are people seeing what’s happening to me? Am I going crazy?

Brad continued rambling on about this ‘Jackson’ character. What better person to describe a jock, than a jock. “Jackson would also like… hate wearing shirts, bro. He’d wanna show off that big bod of his. He’d be just like me and the other bros.”

Suddenly, I feel the need to strip for my class. I want to just pull off my shirt and show them these new big muscles. Oh God, what’s happening to me? I can’t be actually turning into this fake ‘Jackson’… can I? That’s crazy. And yet, I can’t help but feel the need to just show off my beastly body. Maybe, I can just take it off for a bit. I can just show my muscles and then put it back on… yeah, totally. That’s not weird. People should see my body. It’s gonna feel so good to show off.

I grab the bottom of my t-shirt and strip, putting my body on full display for everyone to see. I can’t deny, it feels to right to be shirtless. I don’t even want to think about covering myself up. I should just stay like this for the rest of the class. It won’t hurt anyone. I bounce my new tits playfully at the camera.

“So, would a business target something like a book towards someone like Jackson?” The professor watches my bouncing tits and smiles.

Callum, the posh kid, scoffs. “Jackson probably doesn’t even know how to read. He just spends all day at the gym. Flexing his muscles and jerking off to porno mags.”

As I absentmindedly play with my tits, I hear movement across the room. The noise is emanating from my bookshelf. I’ve spent years trying to fill it up. It’s got every book you can imagine. That bookshelf is one of the reasons for my grades. It’s filled with every literary classic you can imagine, from The Great Gatsby to Jane Eyre. The noise from the bookcase only grows louder. The books start vibrating. As if each book is trying to wiggle its way out of the shelf and onto the floor. My huge body sits helplessly in front of the Zoom call. I focus in on my favourite book, The Catcher in the Rye. I’ve been in love with that book ever since I was younger. I watch it wiggle and struggle as it slowly creeps closer to the edge. With one final wiggle, the book falls off the shelf and towards the floor. As the book falls, it elongates and becomes thinner. As it hits the floor, I hear a loud thud. I look down at the ‘book’ in horror. The book is now nothing more than a gay porn magazine. I try to think of the book it was before… but I can’t remember. All my knowledge of the book is gone. As if I had never read it. Each literary classic falls of the vibrating bookshelf. Each one of them becoming gay porn magazines as they hit the floor. With each thud, my brain shrinks a little bit more. All my literary knowledge is gone and now replaced by images of big cocks and fat fuckable asses.

The thuds become too overwhelming for my brain to handle. I panic after seeing I had drooled all over my laptop. I glance back at the Zoom call to see everyone staring at me. Some students were laughing. Some were scoffing. They now saw me as some big dumb brute.

My jaw drops open, becoming slacked and lazy. I’m left looking like a dumb ape who can only breathe through his mouth. My brain feels so small now. As if the words of my professor and classmates have just drained my IQ. My head is beginning to feel so light. So floaty. Airy. It feels so… goooooooooood. Huhuhu, I cahnt stap dreeewlinggg, brah. My hed is sooooh emmmptyyy, broooh.

“Everyone is completely correct.” The professor smiles. “Jackson would be in the target demographic of dumb gym buffs in their early 20s.”

“Huhuhuhu yehhhh I ammmm” I chuckled dumbly.

“Now Jackson, thank you for accepting to be our example for this class. But this degree is for smart, hardworking students. So, we won’t be needing you from here on out.”

“Huhuhuhu, okaaayyyyy, sirrrrr. Taht makezz senze” I slurred.

“Alright, Jackson. Say goodbye to the class.”

“Byyyyyeeeee, brahs” I dumbly chuckle before Zoom closes.

‘You have been kicked from the call’ appears on the screen. I chuckle, grab one of the porno magazines off the floor and begin beating my 9 inch cock until I shoot my thick potent load all over it.

———————————————————————

Jackson was now nothing more than a dumb smelly college drop out. The apartment which was once full of academic papers and literary classics was now littered with dirty underwear, gay porno mags and video games. By the end of the class, no one even remembered the high-achiever Robert. They only remember his new self, Jackson, the dumb fuckable jock who would never amount to anything in life.

2K notes · View notes

rakurairagnarok · 18 days

Text

Twink Death

Twink Death: when a twink is suddenly seen as more masculine with age. Usually invoked by twinks moaning about being past their prime at 30.

You had been fascinated with twink death for a long time. It was such a shame, that such a large group of gay men feared and hated the number 30. As if they would cease to be gay men if they couldn’t be silly young twinks. With that in mind, and no small guidance from your dick, you had combined your biology and psychology backgrounds with a reasonable amount of elbow grease and created the MANUP device.

You weren’t sure what the acronym should stand for yet. But you were pretty sure it would work. When turned on, the MANUP device would detect the presence of twinks over 30 through sympathetic vibration with a Lady Gaga CD taped to the inside. It would then release a barrage of pheromones and subliminal audio conditioning, detectable only by twinks, that would rapidly transform them into other kinds of more masculine gay man.

As a test, you had invited over a pair of your twink friends, John and Bobby, who’d recently had their 30th birthdays. Their groaning about the end of their lives at an arbitrary date had been part of your motivation to finish MANUP. You set it up on the coffee table and switched it on just as the doorbell rang.

From their blond side parts right down to their jeans and Vans, John and Bobby looked nearly identical, except John wore a red polo and Bobby a green T-shirt. The two giggled and chattered their way over to the loveseat, and you handed each a can of something fruity with a bit of vodka, excited to see what was about to happen.

On the table, the MANUP device whirled to life, too high pitched for you to detect but effective on twinks. John said something about your new decor, and you replied, watching him closely.

His feet stretched out across the floor, as dark hair started to replace the wispy blond that had been there before. His shoes and socks vanished, and his lengthening toes began to emit a funky odour, even across the room. The transformation slowly advanced up John’s legs, expanding his calves as they stretched the denim of his jeans nearly to the breaking point. As the expansion of his muscle moved into his thickening thighs, the hems of John’s jeans began to lose their blue colouring, fading to a leathery black. He started to manspread into Bobby’s space, showing off his thickening bulge as his ass rounded out.

Meanwhile, Bobby’s transformation started from the top. His hair darkened and curled, and his face squared up into a rugged, manly shape. His eyes darkened from blue to black, and his skin started to tan. As the transformation stretched down his neck, Bobby coughed for a moment, shook his head, and continued speaking in a lower register, a slight, lilting accent creeping into his voice. You stared in amazement as a light dusting of black stubble sprang to life on his sharp jawline

Bobby drained his drink. “What is this? So much sugar. Got any beer?” You nodded, and looked at John. He acquiesced with a shrug. Bobby shoved at John’s legs with a territorial growl, claiming back the space John had been manspreading into. You went and got the six pack you’d stashed in the fridge just for this. The two men cracked their beers and got back to talking.

Bobby was firmly in control of the conversation, his deep, hypnotic accent drawing you and John in. His shoulders broadened with powerful, striated brown muscle, which slipped down all the way to his hands, leaving him with a vascular yoke of huge, roided muscles across his upper body. His widening chest ripped the sleeves off his T-shirt, and they vanished, leaving him in a muscle tank that exposed his lats and the sides of his juicy pecs. Whorls of hair followed across Bobby’s transforming body. You mentioned his recent birthday, and he sneered, raising his arms to his a perfect front double bicep pose. “The perfect age. These muscles require years of work,” he growled. The musky smell of his hairy armpits wafted to you across the room.

John took a sip of his beer and said, “But Baabul—“ You were confused for a moment, then you realised. He was Indian now, so of course he had a Hindi name. The MANUP device was more powerful than you had expected. You should switch it off soon.

Meanwhile, John’s transformation moved up into his chest. His pants had transformed into black leather, and now his belly grew out into a sexy little gut covered in hair. Just like Baabul, his arms bulked up, but with less muscle and a bit more fat, and even more hair. His polo shirt darkened, too, the texture becoming more leathery. When you asked him about his 30th birthday, John shrugged. “Life’s just beginning, man. Imagine how big I’ll be at 40!”

When you asked if they wanted a third drink, it just felt natural to call John “Jack.” A leatherman like him could only be a Jack. Jack grabbed another beer. Baabul, meanwhile, ordered you to bring him an old fashioned. When you came back, the two men were standing. Baabul, his legs filled out with shrinkwrapped brown muscle, was posing and flexing, his expression ferocious.

Jack’s face had completely changed. His features were obscured beneath a thick curly beard and moustache, and his head had become totally bald, covered in a leather cap. The two men turned to you as you entered, and a predatory glint entered Baabul’s eye.

“Hey, guys, maybe we should wind down and head to bed.” You started to turn the MANUP device off. The experiment was an unmitigated success, but things might get weird if the two ex-twinks kept on being affected by the device for long.

“Stop,” said Baabul, in his husky Hindi-accented voice. You froze. “Good boy. We fuck now. Jack, door.”

Jack locked the front door as Baabul picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder like a sack. “I always wanted to make you a bottom boi,” Baabul rumbled as he climbed the stairs, stripping you of your pants and underwear with his free hand.

You were too stunned to struggle as Baabul threw you down on your bed. Jack pulled straps from a pocket on his leather pants and tied you to the bedposts. Baabul dropped his gym shorts, revealing his huge weeping cock, and climbed on top of you. Jack took his thick, stubby daddy cock out of his leather pants and climbed up in front of you to kiss the Indian bodybuilder.

As Baabul roughly fingered you open, Jack shuffled around and placed his sweaty foot on your upturned face. You found yourself sucking and slobbering all over his hairy toes between screams of ecstasy as Baabul started to fuck you. As the two men came inside you, you started to hear an almost imperceptible whine, like the MANUP device was attuned to the ex-twink sweat and cum you’d ingested and was starting to work on you.

The next morning, Jack shuffled out of bed to make pancakes for the three of you while Baabul shaved your whole muscle boy body in the shower. You’d thought you were smaller, that you’d had some belly fat, but Baabul had told you not to worry about it and you always did exactly what Boss said. At the breakfast table, both the ex-twinks were dressed for work (Jack at the local leather shop, Baabul as a personal trainer) while you just wore the thong Baabul had manhandled you into. But that was okay, since all you had to do was be a good horny houseboi for Boss and Daddy.

You spotted the MANUP device still running on the coffee table. Around it, inanimate objects were beginning to warp and change as it kept trying to eliminate any twinky qualities from the three of you. The old, beat-up sofa was becoming a premium La-Z-Boy. A floor lamp was twisting into a black leather sex sling. You made to get up from the table and turn it off. You were okay with creating Boss and Daddy to take care of you, but this was too far.

“Stop,” Baabul ordered once again, and you couldn’t move. “I like the new decor. Jack?”

Your leather daddy nodded.

Who knew how far the MANUP’s influence might spread if it just sat there, on, forever?

Idea with inspiration from a bot of my own creation.

179 notes · View notes