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slyratex · 27 days

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Great Story!

StraightShot

Jax was about to have his very first one-night stand, and it was going to be with two pornstars.

Just an hour ago Jax had been flaunting his twinky physique at the clubs. With a group of his friends, he had been making waves along one of the city’s most prominent strips. This was mainly due to his flirtatious attitude and newfound sense of freedom, after having been dumped by his boyfriend only a week before. The two had been going at it for almost a year, but after six days of grieving Jax was ready to be reborn. With a glittery crop top and tight black jeans, Jax was to have fun.

The night had luckily provided him with what he needed. Jax’s typical shy, romantic personality was ditched after a few shots of tequila, instead adopting a more flamboyant, slutty nature. Jax rubbed his body against any male figure he could, no matter how attractive. He was feeling easy and sleazy, a look that suited his 5’5 lithe frame quite well. His friends even commented on it, encouraging him to embrace his more feral side. And they were the ones who encouraged him to go home with Malik and Martin.

The pair had bumped into him on the dancefloor. Jax had first started grinding his perky bum up against Malik, the shorter and tanner of the two. Martin approached shortly after, sandwiching Jax in between their bodies. Both well over six feet, Jax melted into himself, the pure walls of masculine meat like heaven. His own meat, a solid 4 inches, displayed his ecstasy. He quivered as he realized the two massive sausages poking at either end of his exposed torso were not even hard yet.

“How about you come home vith us,” Martin requested in a slightly accented English.

“Yes,” Malik agreed, his English notably rougher. “Ve give you good time.”

After a confirming nod with his friends, Jax left with the pair. They rented a house that even in the night appeared desperate for some renovations. Jax’s heart was pounding as he entered the home, trying his best to disregard the unkempt space. The place reeked of sour food and musky men, each floor painted with an array of unwashed clothes and unknown stains. And he would not even try to discuss their intellects–Jax was not that picky but he at least wanted a guy who could hold a conversation. Yet he reminded himself that he was here for one good time, not a relationship of many.

“Let’s see vat ve are vorking vith,” Malik chuckled, helping Jax remove his small shirt. His pale, beautifully thin torso often led others to assume he was years younger than his actual age of 22.

“Ah yes,” Martin began rubbing one of his thick mitts along Jax’s bare skin, examining him. He had removed his own shirt to reveal two sculpted pecs and a muscular build gifted by the gods. “Zis vill do nicely.”

Malik smiled, “I agree, big money.” Malik’s own revealed torso was just as marvelous.

“This is insane,” Jax replied giddily. “You two are built like pornstars.”

The pair looked at each other before laughing, “Zat is because ve are.”

Jax gulped, “Really? What site do you guys work for?”

“StraightShot” Malik said. “Have you heard of it?”

Jax nodded slowly. He had never actually seen any videos from the site, but he was familiar with the name. He remembered thinking it was clever, assuming it to be some joke on forceful ejaculation.

Martin noted the concern in Jax’s face. “Do not vorry, ve are both clean.”

“Yes, very clean,” Malik added. “Very talented too.”

Jax began to feel the downward slide of his adrenaline, the logic and doubt he had tried so desperately to force back seeping in.

“If you are vorried, ve can give you aid for fun.” Malik suddenly voiced, extending a hand slowly to cup Jax’s bulge. Instantly, his softening cock began expanding once again.

“‘Aid’?” Jax questioned.

“It is vat producers give if we have off day, are nervous,” Martin answered. “Vould you like some?”

Before he could answer, Malik dug the hand fondling Jax's dick up and into his skinny jeans, his rough calluses completely rubbing erotically against Jax's skin. Jax moaned a little in response, rolling back his eyes as Martin opened a drawer beneath the sink in front of them. Inside was a stack of syringes, each filled with a hazy white liquid.

“W…wait,” the sight momentarily broke Jax out of his glazed state. “What is that?”

“Do not fear,” Malik cooed, tightening his grip on Jax’s shoulder and dick. Martin's giant hand landed on Jax’s shoulder, their combined strength suspending him.

“Guys?” Jax’s voice cracked nervously. “What is going on?!”

“Just relax,” Martin notched the cap off of a syringe. “Zis vill take one second.”

“No, wait, I don’t consent-!”

In a flurry of action, Malik yanked Jax’s dick out of the tight jeans while ripping down his jeans with the other hand. With Jax held still, Martin jabbed the syringe into Jax's hard dick and slowly released the milky liquid. The pain was incredible, paralyzing Jax until the last drop had entered his system. Once he was finished, Martin slowly removed the needle and tossed the syringe aside. The pair then released Jax, watching carefully as he collected himself.

“What the…” Jax started slowly. “What did you do to me? What was that?”

“Zat vas ze Straight Shot,” Malik answered.

“The what?”

“Ze Straight Shot,” Martin over-emphasized each word dramatically as if Jax did not understand what they were literally saying.

Jax backed out of the bathroom naked and in disbelief, the two carefully following. The muscles Jax had previously wished to be wrapped up and tangled in were now frightening to his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Malik and Martin did not know how exactly to respond, and luckily, they did not have to. With a groan, Jax felt his dick stiffen up again. Unlike before however, his boner was more intense, more demanding. It was so stiff and rigid that Jax could have sworn it was bigger. It globbed out a spurt of precum, and to Jax’s shock, his dick grew. The previous 4 inches had plumped up into to 5.

“What the-” but Jax did not finish his statement. He groaned again as another drop oozed out of his head. Only this time, the growth did not only come from his dick. Slowly, his bones creaked and extended as his height was altered. His legs were stretched out, torso lengthened, and even his midsection was vertically pulled. More precum began pulling out, only fueling Jax’s ascent until he reached Martin’s height, a glorious 6’5.

Jax’s height was not the only thing affected by the steady trickling leaking from his current 6-incher. Across his body, Jax’s skin began to inflate, as if filling with cotton. At first, Jax thought it could be some temporary allergic reaction, but after some painful recognition he realized it was quite the opposite.

Jax's thin frame was bulking out with muscle rapidly. It was granting him biceps the size of footballs and quadriceps the size of watermelons. Calves with steel tendons, triceps carved by intricate valleys, gigantic hands built for cupping gigantic pouches. Even his buttocks had discovered a new harder, tighter curve. In the back of Jax’s mind, he reckoned it would be harder to bottom now.

Another groan showcased Jax’s new voice: a deeper, gruffer tone. It made him sound much older, his vocal color introducing him as a more experienced person. Through the agony of his transformation, Jax realized his voice was not the only thing that aged. His body proportioned itself differently–a more even distribution of his muscle mass, tighter skin, a sharper jaw that was covered quickly by a luxurious beard.

Body hair instantly followed, dusting Jax’s pecs, pits, and coating his legs all the way down to his new monstrous Size 15 feet. The skin around his face grew a little taut, plumping out his longer nose and larger brow. With one hand on his 7-inch pump, Jax ran his other giant mitt through his taller, lusher quiff, just barely feeling the new age lines upon his forehead. No one would ever assume he was younger than 22 again.

“You are almost zere, brother,” Martin cheered.

“Yes, so very close,” Malik encouraged. “Ze viewers will love zis, love you.”

“‘Ze viewers’?” Jax questioned, his rich bass now also tainted with their same accent. “Vat you mean by zis?”

Jax followed Malik’s and Martin’s eyes, discovering a phone had been propped up onto a stand to his right the entire time. Its screen mirrored himself back. His entirely new, muscular, naked frame was currently gracing the audience of their livestream. And according to StraightShot's numbers, the audience had just hit four digits.

“I am being live streamed?”

“And later, your video vill be published on our channel,” Martin grinned.

Malik added, “You vill join our content house.”

“But vat if-'' Jax grunted, thrusting his hips forward. “Vat if I don’t want zis? I liked being tvink!”

“‘Tvink’?” Malik questioned, as if Jax had just spoken a foreign language. Jax stared at Martin for help, but was met with the same dumbfounded expression. That was what he was, or at least what he had been. Any gay man should have known what a twink was.

Jax blinked. Even through the pain, the unwanted ecstasy, and the fear, he now began to fully grasp the scene before him. StraightShot was not some pun on ejaculation, it was a literal conversion drug. And the signs had been there all along. Malik and Martin's continuously soft cocks, their inspection of his body, their unfamiliarity with queer terms.

“Does zat mean…” Jax moaned, his 8-inch dick throbbing and quivering. “...you two…you two are straight?”

The pair chuckled, with Martin replying, “And you vill be too.”

Jax’s heart skipped a beat, the rush of despair clouding his judgment. He did not even recognize his guard faltering, lowering just enough for the ecstasy to completely override his system.

“Oh god,” Jax tried to protest in agony, but he had already lost. Both of his hands were working him towards release, one pumping his long, girthy cock and the other cupping the succulent, drooping sac that had already removed all of its former homosexual occupants. Jax held himself for just a moment before releasing his head back, the pleasure overpowering his will.

"ICH KOMME!" The roar was that of a mighty manly beast, accompanied by hot, sticky cum. After a few labored breaths, the new man settled back into reality.

The young, romantic, little gayboy Jax was gone, now splattered across the room and even partially onto the phone in front of him. Malik, Martin, and their subscribers were now presented with Maximillian. Bolstering 32 years, 200 pounds of pure muscle, and 9 inches of pure heterosexual meat, the newest member of Malik’s and Martin’s content page was bound to rack up views and money.

Maximilian’s memory of his past and transformation had been erased, along with a notable chunk of his intelligence. Now lacking the certain motor skills he had once looked for in a partner, he simply began to flex for his fans in front of the camera, still covered in sweat and the afterglow.

“Hey,” Malik whispered eventually, breaking Maximilian out of his mindless haze. “Time to sign off.”

“Vat?” Maximilian growled. “Zey love me.”

Martin winked, “Zink of ze slutty babes zat vill love you more.”

To the delight of his viewers, Maximilian’s massive dick instantly sprung up. To their dismay however, he grabbed a pair of tight black undies and covered his package. Flexing one last time, he confirmed his departure quickly with the pair before addressing his audience.

“It is time to go,” Maximilian remarked matter-of-factually. “I’ve got to StraightShot into some chicks!”

Maximilian signed off, ignoring Malik’s and Martin’s comments that he would have to work on his English to create a better closer. As they left, the pair began discussing how they could catch their next content creator. Maximilian did not listen however–he needed pussy and he needed it now!

#gay to straight #nerdtojock #dumber #bottomtotop #age progression tf #unintendedresults #shared photo #shared video #shared text #orientation play #male transformation #brain washing #forced transformation #memory swipe #personality change

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slyratex · 1 month

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Damn! That sexy big gut!

I want to meet the owner of this bear belly! It would be a piece of cake (of which he obviously had many!) for him to seduce me! I will first start to lick up the cum on his belly, whoever left it there!

Maybe he can even work with hypnosis. Make me sit down on his giant belly while he is chilling on the bed. Have me rub my dick against it, through his fur, feeling the friction of every single hair.

Going into trance doing this, I will start drooling all over myself like a dumb slut while looking into his manly, bearded face with drowsy eyes. Then he‘d make me slide down onto his fat cock. Filling my bowels entirely. When riding him, he should definitely drain my manliness out of me through his cock, making it grow while mine is shrinking, making me become younger and slimmer and him even manlier and bulkier, making my body hair and beard disappear and his thicken up.

I will be his little femboy! The ecstasy of transformation will make me cum all over him. Like the little faggot I have become, I will rub all the jizz into his fur and skin and then lick it up as he commands.

But this is not the end…

Round two follows right after the first, and I will feel even more of my strength be traded over to him. My arms and legs becoming thin and weak, my body shrinking, my dick disappearing completely. I will be consumed completely in the process, and by the time I will be spasming again in orgasm, I will be absorbed into his giant monster cock, making it grow even further in the process. Adding to his mass, I will be digested inside his balls into thick, juicy cum, full of his semen, full of his DNA.

And then he will have his fun, having his giant shaft explode, shooting the jizz I have become all over himself. I will have several litres to offer, and he will rub it all onto his furry bear body like body milk. I will be stuck on his hairs, be rubbed into his fatty skin cells, mixed with his smelly sweat and musk. I will remain there, spread over his body, covering his animal fur and skin in a sticky layer of dried up sperm.

He will even stop showering for me. I will spend my time as his protective layer, intimately coating him. But as nature goes, in the end I will be fated to be slowly washed off over the course of weeks or months only by his smelly sweat, slowly dissolving more and more into the abyss of unconsciousness, having my dried up jizz essence turning into dandruff which will be shedded everywhere he goes, falling to the ground or being whirled up by the wind, being trampled on the street, falling into mud or water, being eaten by the dogs or inhaled by other men.

Speaking of other men, maybe he will be so nice to have someone else lick me off his skin before that happens. Just like I licked up the remains of his previous victim. Being consumed by the next one, joining him in his following transformation, I could become part of the endless cycle of furious sex, transformation into sperm, exploding onto my masters body and becoming a dried cum stain on it until the next faggot comes along…

#hypnosis #transformation #slut #faggot #chubby gay #gay bear #gay #slave #shared photo #original text #brain washing #cum dump #cock vore #absorption

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slyratex · 1 month

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The Zipper on my Back

(Story based on @kinkliers reaction to my invite to transform me!)

After coming home from a long day's work, my daily routine of shedding the stress in the shower is a welcome respite. The steam envelopes me this evening as I step beneath the warm cascade of water. The sound of droplets echoing off the tiled walls calms me down. With each lather of soap, I feel the weight of exhaustion slowly lifting from my shoulders, relaxing my muscles more and more, as if loosening them up like tangled strings. The suds glide down my body and swirl into the drain, I close my eyes, momentarily lost in the soothing rhythm.

I reach for the shampoo, and suddenly, a peculiar sensation interrupts the tranquility. My fingers brush against an unexpected obstruction on the back of my neck. My initial instinct is to dismiss it as some dirt, but the texture is unmistakable. It's hard and unyielding, like polished metal. Confusion creases my brow. I tentatively explore further, my fingertips tracing the contours of the foreign object. It's not just a bump; it's protruding, almost as if embedded on the surface of my skin.

A shiver of unease snakes down my spine. I try to rationalize the objects presence. Could it be a forgotten piece of jewelry, lodged in an odd angle? But no earring or necklace could adhere to my skin with such stubborn permanence. Panic begins to gnaw at the edges of my mind. I struggle to comprehend what I'm feeling.

With trembling hands, I inch closer to the mirror. The steam is obscuring my reflection. Each beat of my heart reverberates in the hollow silence of the bathroom. I confront the unsettling truth – whatever this metallic protrusion is, it's firmly affixed to me. Dread coils in the pit of my stomach. I contemplate the implications of this discovery. What secrets lie dormant beneath that object?

Through the steam clinging to my skin like a humid embrace, my gaze locks onto the mirror with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. Droplets of water bead along the edges, distorting the reflection. With a deep breath, I wipe away the condensation.

Turning my head to catch a glimpse of the back of my neck, a gasp escapes my lips. I spy the unmistakable glint of a zipper. My heart lurches in my chest. „What the fuck?“, I mutter, my voice barely a whisper in the quiet of the bathroom. The sight is surreal, almost absurd in its implausibility. Has someone orchestrated this as a prank, a twisted joke played at my expense? But as I entertain the notion, another thought insidiously creeps into my mind, stirring embers of a long-suppressed fantasy. Could this be ... ?

No, it's too outlandish, too surreal to entertain seriously. Yet, the vividness of the imagery refuses to be ignored. My cheeks turn red and burn with a flush of embarrassment. Is this the manifestation of a desire I've long harbored in the hidden recesses of my mind? The fantasy of shedding my human guise like a discarded shell? Revealing the true essence that lies beneath – nothing but a blank, pitch-black, but slick and shiny humanoid form? Devoid of identity or inhibition?

It's a notion that once danced tantalizingly at the edges of my consciousness. A forbidden reverie that now threatens to materialize with chilling clarity. The implications are dizzying. What once seemed impossible now looms before me with a disquieting sense of inevitability. I don’t know if I should be scared or horny. With trembling fingers, I reach out towards the clasp, hesitating on the precipice of revelation. To unzip myself would be to unravel the very fabric of my existence. And yet, the allure of the unknown beckons with an irresistible pull. I feel tempted to surrender to the seductive embrace of transformation.

As the zipper glides beneath my hesitating touch, a surge of conflicting emotions floods my senses. Arousal intertwines with apprehension. With each inch of slow progress, with every heartbeat, my anticipation is mounting. My fingers tremble as they dance along the cold metal teeth, teasing out the truth hidden beneath the surface. It's as if the zipper beckons me, daring me to unravel the mysteries that lie beyond. With a reckless abandon borne of desperation and desire, I seize the zipper with a determined grip. With a swift, decisive motion, I pull the clasp downwards with all the force I can muster, the sound of metal teeth parting the silence like a herald of change. Oh, the excitement. It‘s orgasmic.

For a moment, I hold my breath. I‘m suspended in the liminal space between what was and what will be. Time stands still. And then, as if responding to the silent call of destiny, I feel it – a subtle shift. A loosening. A warmth spreading beneath my skin. A sensation both exhilarating and terrifying in its intensity. With my eyes tightly shut, I surrender myself to the inevitable. My skin crackles, almost like foil. In this moment of revelation, I stand poised on the precipice of transformation, ready to embrace whatever is coming. Maybe I will finally be a pure rubberised being?

As the zipper completes its descent, an unsettling sensation grips me. It's as if the very fabric of my being is dissolving into nothingness. Irritation claws at the edges of my consciousness as I struggle to comprehend the sheer magnitude of what is happening. My body betrays me. I feel weak and dizzy. My limbs grow limp and unresponsive, drained of all vitality.

With growing horror, I watch in disbelief as my arms, once strong and muscular, flatten out, fall down and hang limply at my sides, devoid of purpose or function. Desperate fingers twitch feebly, attempting to grasp at the zipper, to reverse the irreversible. But they are as impotent as the rest of my arms. By legs begin wo weaken and I know I can‘t keep myself standing for much longer.

The world spins around me. My senses reel from the onslaught of transformation. With each passing moment, I feel myself shrinking, collapsing inward upon myself. My head, once filled with complex thoughts and desires, caves inward, the hollow shell of my former self crumbling like an empty bag.

My body follows suit, folding and contorting upon itself like a marionette with severed strings. Limbs turn to empty husks, cascading downward. My chest caves inward, a hollow void where once a heart was beating. Legs buckle beneath me, the very ground slipping away as I plummet into the abyss.

And then, with a soft sigh of surrender, I collapse onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Just a heap of discarded clothing. Devoid of the essence that once defined me. I’m an empty bag of skin. Inside of me, on the left side of the flat fabric that is now my entire being, I feel a cold, slick surface. No longer am I a person, but a mere shell, a hollow vessel emptied of all that once made me human. The silence of the room is deafening. It‘s broken only by the whisper of human skin settling against ceramic, with an inside of rubbery consistence crackling along as I come to rest on the ground, in the position of lowest energy, meaning I become totally immobile, unless someone who has more life in them gets me out of this position. I lay down there on the ground helplessly just as my clothes did so often after dropping them there.

As I lie there trapped, my senses dulled by the fog of confusion, I strain to make sense of the situation. “Took you long enough,” I suddenly hear someone say. It‘s that voice. Your voice. It cuts through the silence like a blade. I heard it before. I heard you talking behind me today. And now, here you are, standing over me like a puppeteer surveying their handiwork.

I can only listen to your cocky words: „I had a bet you’d have pulled that zipper in the space of five seconds,“ you say it as if you‘re grinning and winking at me, but still I can‘t see as my flattened out face lies down on the cold bathroom. The realization dawns like a cold wave crashing over me – it was you who orchestrated this surreal nightmare, who set the wheels of fate in motion with a simple zipper and a whispered curse.

What game are you playing at, and what role do I play? Unable to move or speak, I am at your mercy. I try to muster some semblance of defiance, to rail against the injustice of my predicament, but my thoughts scatter, elusive and fleeting.

You stand there, towering, your presence looming over me. I can't help but wonder what comes next. What plans do you have in store for me? The answers elude me. All I can do is wait, trapped in a limbo of uncertainty. The echoes of your laughter reverberate through the empty confines of my mind.

I just lie there. Perhaps you see me as nothing more than a test subject, you may seek to assert dominance over me, to bend me to your will. You may see me as nothing more than an object to be controlled, a tool to be wielded. Will I become little more than a plaything in your hands, stripped of agency? These thoughts swirl in a maelstrom of uncertainty and … strange arousal.

I just lie there. Helpless and alone. Your fingers trace the contours of my empty skin. A shiver courses through me. I can only listen in silent dread as your voice echoes through the void, each word laden with ominous intent: „Now lets try you on for size!“ And then, with a gentle but firm touch, you seize me, the lifeless object that you created out of a person that ceased to exist in mere seconds that felt like hours.

I feel myself being lifted, a sensation akin to weightlessness enveloping me. You maneuver me with practiced precision, as if you were doing this regularly. The zipper on my back yields to your touch, parting like a gate, as if my hollow body was eager to welcome you as its bearer. With a surreal sense of detachment, I watch as my form melds with yours. Your legs slide into mine fluidly, as if the inner side of my skin were itself covered in slick, oily latex. Our bodies start merging in a grotesque parody of intimacy.

My head hangs limply between my legs, as your hands wrap around my waist, guiding me upwards. My skin, once belonging to a body that was slightly smaller and skinnier than you, wraps around you tightly, the inside squeaking in the process. I feel the pressure building from within, an overwhelming force that threatens to fill me up entirely. The boundaries between us are blurring, their goal being to become all but indistinguishable.

Our hips meld together seamlessly, our very essence merging into a singular entity. The further you are pulling me up, the more I cease being myself, but instead an extension of you. A vessel. A body suit. With each inch that you are pulling my skin up your body, covering your skin in my rubbery insides, my own identity slips further away. My sense of self is replaced by the chilling realization that I am nothing more than clothing. A skin tight full body suit for you to put on whenever you want to become me.

With each movement, our bodies intertwine further, until there is no distinction between where I end and you begin. Even our most intimate parts join, your shaft sliding into mine like into a sheath, filling it with a thick and hard erection, and your balls filling mine so tightly, making me surrender to the inevitability of our shared fate that gets me so horny.

My waist embraces yours. I am overcome by a sense of profound intimacy. You pull me further up and I feel my autonomous consciousness fading, swallowed by the yawning abyss of a shared existence that is coming over me. There is no escape. I am about to become yours, bound to you so intimately. I cannot deny the strange sensation of completeness that accompanies our union. Fear mixes with excitement and arousal. No, I can‘t deny the kinky feeling this forbidden ritual awakens in me.

And then, I feel your arms slipping into mine, filling these empty sleeves, filling the void with solidity and purpose. Suddenly, I am aware of movement, of sensation returning to my limbs. Your arms, my arms, there is no difference. They move with a fluidity that is both familiar and foreign. I watch in silent horror – no, in rushing joy, as they reach out, fingers curling around the edges of the empty mask that was once my face, pulling it upwards.

Finally, as if in a trance, you guide my face towards the mirror once more. In the reflection, I see both our faces. Your head is set firmly on my body as if it had always been there, protruding from the opening between my shoulders. My neck and head are there, right next to it, hold by your hands. I stare into those familiar eyes on an empty mask. And into your piercing gaze telling me the transformation would soon be over and our shared fate thus sealed. All I can do is watch as a silent observer. A twisted smirk curls upon your lips.

„You were right about the fake skin suit – but wrong about what would be under it. Enjoy your new life! Not as what would be hidden inside the skin suit, but as the skin suit itself! My skin suit! Don‘t you worry. I will make good use of your identity that is now mine to put on whenever I want!“ I feel you pushing your head into mine. It’s such a strange feeling, you slipping into my face through my throat. You smooth my head onto yours, making it suck onto your head tightly, my eyes gliding onto yours like contact lenses, our lips becoming one, your tongue filling out my hollow tongue and your teeth taking the place of mine. We are finally merging together as one being.

From the beginning of our transformation I was awaiting this moment, my excitement about this growing by the second as I was more and more manipulated and brain washed by your power. My personal desires and character erased and replaced by the simple needs of a skin suit that wished for nothing else but being worn as much as possible! And now, at last, you finalise your transformation into me by pulling the zipper back up. I sigh in excitement as the zipper closes completely and then the clasp breaks off, sealing you inside my skin – and sealing me as your skin, the zipper disappearing until you put on the magical clasp again to make the zipper reappear.

Gratefulness rushed through my entire, shallow being. I was finally being worn, fused to another person. To you, my bearer. The manifestation of my lifes purpose. „Finally one,“ you say with the voice that was once mine, „one person. Joined together. Forever. Or at least as long as I wish.“ I look – no, you look – or… we look at our reflection in the mirror. The person standing in the bathroom looks exactly like I did. But it is really you. You stole my skin and thus my identity. And I can‘t even feel angry or sad about it, as you are changing even my mindset into that of an obedient skin suit, happy to be allowed to cover your skin as tight as I can. I perceive myself as merely a part of your body, your skin. It's a surreal sight, seeing my own face adorned with your malevolent grin, a cruel mockery of the person I once was. But there is no denying the reality of my situation – you have usurped my identity, stolen my very essence, and left me a mere spectator in my own body.

You wink at the reflection with my eyes. You are teasing and mocking what is left of my dying personality, which – in the final seconds of its existence – is experiencing all this as my body doing stuff I don‘t want to. But I‘m not that person anymore, and in my simplifying and collapsing mind I silently sigh, watching that person disappear into oblivion. Whatever you do, I will just think I did it. Because I did. We are one. „Yes, we are one,“ you utter my thoughts that you programmed me to think, „as long as I want to wear it. And when I get bored, I will just take you off and – “

You chuckle about your triumph over me – and I chuckle with you, as if laughing at myself. „Well, I could hang you into my wardrobe until I‘m interested in you again, making you wait for a felt eternity for your master to return,“ you tease me with my voice, „or I might give you to someone else to wear, so they‘d live and run your life for a while.“

As you continue telling me your sadistic ideas, making me more and more horny, knowing that whatever you would do to me would be a dream come true for me, you begin to explore your new form. Your hands wander down your conquered body, down to the crotch that was once mine. You grab my – no, your dick – our dick, already wet from precum, and you start stroking and rubbing it passionately, loving yourself and loving your new skin.

"Look at this!“, you taunt me, „I know you enjoy it, too!" We give our reflection an air kiss, enjoying your new looks. Of course, you will round that up with my rubber clothes – sorry, your rubber clothes. You steer us into my – your bedroom to choose your favourites out of your gear, slowly gliding into piece after piece, telling me in my voice that it is all yours now. I am fated to be but a silent witness to the havoc you are about wreak upon my life, changing whatever you might like to change about me, all while I am manipulated into enjoying – no, loving every single decision you make – even if you turn that life absolutely upside down and this body will become unrecognisable!

Fully covered in rubber gear, you take out the phone you find in the bedroom, make a selfie and upload it to all social platforms. „I‘m out for the hunt, so prey beware! 😘 “, you put in the description. Then you leave your apartment to enjoy what you can achieve with your new form.

Transform me!

Just sharing a casual picture of me wearing my fake skin suit, covering my true rubber skin to disguise myself as a real human.

Feel free to tell me what you‘d do to me if you had unlimited powers of reality shifting, mind control, transformation, body stealing or whatever you can imagine 😏

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slyratex · 2 months

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I would keep hour bright red hair, but cut it short. Make your features more masculing, and blow you up with huge buldging muscles, you'd be a totally dumb linebacker. but with skills to do awesome in the NFL.

What a change! Once renowned for my sharp intellect and sophisticated demeanor, my mind being my greatest asset, you’d utterly change my personality, transform my physical attributes and mold me into an elite athlete. Once knowing almost everything except for sports stuff, you‘d change me to know almost nothing except for sports stuff.

In the beginning, I might resist your advances. But you‘d know exactly how to use my weaknesses and manipulate me to give in to the transformation. Maybe the change would be sudden, maybe gradually, but in the end I would definitely find myself drawn into your web, developing a brute strength and athletic prowess and being manipulated to prefer these over intellect and refinement.

My once sleek and slender frame would swell with muscle, my features harden into a rugged, chiseled visage. My mind, once sharp and analytical, becoming clouded by a fog of aggression and single-minded determination.

Where I once never cared for football at all, I‘d then live and breathe football every second of my life, reveling in the thrill of the game, relishing the bone-crushing tackles and thunderous cheers of the crowd. Every ounce of my being would be devoted to my newfound passion, my former life nothing more than a distant memory.

My old personality ceasing to exist; in my place there‘d stand a hulking behemoth of a man, a living embodiment of your vision to create an obsessed NFL athlete.

Make sure to make good use of your creation!

#transformation #shared photo #original text #male transformation #football #nerd to jock #personality change #mind change #reality shift #ask me anything #transform me #writing prompt #dumb and jocked #dumbification

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slyratex · 2 months

Photo

Yeah. Wrap me in rubber. Hide my pretty face in a gas mask forever. Put thick gloves and boots on my hands and feet to deprive me of the sensations of the outer world. Push me down to the ground where I belong. Place your boots on my crotch. First gently, then with more force. Play with my bulge a bit, making me go hard under the rubber suit. Press your soles on my balls, teasing and squeezing them. Harder. More force. Then go all in and stomp them down. Crush them with your heavy boots. Down, down, until they fully retreat into my body where they will shrink to the size of peas, wither like old raisins and crumble into nothing. Then continue with my hurting erection. Stomp it until it goes limp and starts to shrink, too. Kick after kick, destroy my dick. Ram your boots between my legs until there is nothing left but a smooth surface, but one that will be covered in latex forever. After that violent special vasectomy, after you killed my masculinity, I will be an asexual latex drone. Naturally chaste, a castrate, never to experience sexual satisfaction again. I won‘t miss that tiny dick I once had, I never knew how to properly use it anyways. Without balls and a dick, I will be way more focused on satisfying you - the only purpose left for me to fulfil.

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slyratex · 2 months

Text

Transform me!

Just sharing a casual picture of me wearing my fake skin suit, covering my true rubber skin to disguise myself as a real human.

Feel free to tell me what you‘d do to me if you had unlimited powers of reality shifting, mind control, transformation, body stealing or whatever you can imagine 😏

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slyratex · 2 months

Text

DUMB

I had always been a smart guy. IQ 180, an all As student, summa cum laude graduate, one of the youngest scientists in my faculty.

That is, until I was challenged by one of the jocks from my old school to listen to his favourite song. I had always looked down onto him for his simple taste in music and now he dared me to listen to it without giving in to the beat. ‚You cant judge what you don‘t know, right? That‘d be so stupid!‘, he mocked me when I hesitated, not knowing what I could gain from listening to something else than Mozart or Vivaldi.

I couldn‘t leave this challenge without reply, so I took the bet and listened to that tune of some guy called ‚Timmy Trumpet‘. https://youtu.be/D4m737SW2yc?si=upG5zB5Y_HKoKA9y After just one second I knew I hated this style of music. But I had to keep going to not lose the bet, so I decided to just endure this test.

‚I play my games, you work away the day! You’re blowing up your brains for something smart to say!‘

Yes, that‘s me.

‚But I don’t wanna know it, rather focus on the fun!‘

Yes, that‘s him.

‚So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

I‘d definitely do that.

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

Did they have to repeat it so often? I just counted 26 times! Well, I think that‘s because the typical audience of that supposed ‚artist‘ can‘t memorise more lyrics than that. But just as I was thinking that, an image of said artist flashed before my eyes, looking at me as if he was swearing revenge for insulting him.

‚But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun! So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

34! I caught my feet going with the beat and instantly stopped it. No chance he was winning this bet!

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

55! I suddenly felt like I had forgotten something. But I couldn‘t figure out what it was.‘

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

76! I recognised that strange feeling was connected to a drop. A drop? A drop of what? A drop of temperature? No, it was actually getting rather hot and I felt the urge to pull of my shirt.‘

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

97! Was it the beat dropping? Hell, yeah! Timmy Trumpet always dropped the beat like a pro! I didn‘t even know what dropping the beat meant, being new to all this, but who cared?

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

118! I suddenly realised what was dropping, but it was too late. With every ‚dumb‘, my IQ was dropping down! Something told me it had to be… like… half a point per repetition? Damn, that sounded like math… how many ‚dumb’s had there been? Divided by two… damn, this is hard… and subtracted from… and… 121!?! That‘s barely scratching the mark for being highly intelligent! Come on, this has to be a bad joke!

‚I’m just a jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

123. A jerk. One, two, three. Just a jerk. Yeah, these are numbers I can work with. A jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb. I couldn‘t stop going along with the lyrics while my old class mate smiled at me like a silly jerk.

‚I’ve got a worth in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

128 ‚dumb’s and my IQ dropped down to 114, only one standard deviance over average. No, I can‘t let him do that to me! I’m special! I have a worth in the world of the smart and educated! I‘ve got inventions to create and discoveries to make!

‚I won’t be the one you want!‘

Right!

‚If you can’t be one with dumb!‘

Oh, damn! I have to be one with dumb! Wait, that doesn‘t even make sense grammatically!‘

‚Cause I’m just a jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

134! Ha! One, three, four! Haha! Did I forget one number? Hahaha! Who cares? I‘m just a jerk!

Suddenly I found myself singing out loud along with the song:

‚I play my games you work away the day! You’re blowing up your brains for something smart to say!‘

Stupid nerds wasting their time with work and learning when there are weights to be lifted, parties to be held, holes to be filled!

‚But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun!‘

They‘re the stupid ones. I‘m the genius, because I don‘t waste time trying to be one!

‚So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!

And my jerk bro joined in, both of us jumping and partying like idiots:

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb! But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun! So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

169! Hahaha! 69! So good! I laughed. I didn’t even know why. I just had fun. I didn’t even count anymore. And the beat dropped, and my IQ dropped, all down to 95, and we dropped our shirts and showed off our jock bodies. And while all of it dropped down, Timmy Trumpet bowed down, as an artist having finished another masterpiece.

And I bowed down in front of him, thanking him, laying my drained out IQ points to the ground before him, giving my life to him to never have any goals again than getting swole and partying half naked to his great songs.

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

And as the song faded, my favourite song from my favourite artist, my thoughts faded into simplicity, my IQ settling at a comfy 85, one standard deviance below average, right before the beginning of a light learning disability. Not that I was interested in complex stuff like that anymore. Or even able to comprehend it. All I knew was that I had reached the jerk spot, that sweet spot right between your everyday stupidity and concerning imbecility, where I was still able to manage my daily routine and training plans, but was assured to get a headache from hard stuff like… doing equations and reading science stuff. So I think I‘ll make sure to stay far away from that shit from now on!

I put the song on repeat to make my IQ click into place and lock it where it was to make sure I‘d never lose that silly happiness and fun a jerk like me enjoyed. And I proudly sang along:

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

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slyratex · 2 months

Video

Exactly what I like to read and imagine! 🤤

As much as it pains me to watch it, I can’t help but keep playing it over and over again. You see, the guy on the left is my boyfriend, Jon. Some guy called Kyle had a massive crush on him, but was always taking it too far and messaging him and waiting outside his gym. It was super annoying to me too, because I knew how much it concerned Jon. One day, I had had enough and confronted that creep. I got angry with him and pushed him, probably a little too hard. But then I was the one that fell to the ground! We had switched places! He looked down at his new body and stroked my beard, before saying “Fuck yes, it worked!” He beamed with happiness before clearing his throat and shouted “Stay the fuck away from my boyfriend, you creep!” He grinned at me again, and said in a hushed tone “But thanks for the body, my friend, and don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Jon.” And with that, he turned away to Jon.

I was now stuck in the body of that creep, but I needed to tell Jon about the imposter. I waited outside his office and tried to catch him after work, but he just walked away. Then I tried to text him to tell him we needed to talk, but he blocked me immediately. It’s no use. Then to make matters worse, I started getting pictures and texts from my old self. He sent me this video a few days ago, and it’s like the hottest thing I have ever seen. It makes this body go crazy. I can’t stop watching it, because Jon looks so hot in it. If anything, he’s hotter to me now that he was before. I might join the same gym as him soon so that I can get close to him in the real world and watch him workout. In the meantime, I hope I get more videos!

#shared text #shared video #male transformation #male body swap #body swap #boyfriend steal #boyfriend theft #gay #brain washing #sexy tease

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slyratex · 3 months

Text

Begging for Success

Lysandre was a quirky student in his early twenties, full of pride over his gay identity and his love for latex. Whenever he looked at the material, his eyes glowed up in excitement. He wore skin-tight clothes whenever he could. It was his idea of authenticity to wear it in his daily life in which he tried to celebrate his individuality and freedom.

Only when he worked his student job he never dared to wear rubber. He was too dependent on his job and he knew his boss was an outspoken homophobe. So he had to limit his kinky adventures to his nightlife or wearing the clothes under regular cotton clothes.

Lysandre could only imagine how great life would be without his worries about his job. If he was just more successful, having more money so he wouldn‘t need his job, he could wear latex whenever he wanted, never having to care about what others think. But he‘d have to be criminally rich for that, rich like his boss. But even if that homophobic old man had earned his money in honourable ways that didn‘t disgust Lysandre, he would never be able to reach these heights anyway. He was way too shy and self-doubting for that, and he knew that, so he dismissed that idea.

The wish to be more successful remained strong in his heart, though. And after a night of strange wet dreams about that, Lysandre awoke to an irritating view in his mirror.

Over night, Lysandre seemed to have aged to the last years of his twenties. His formerly soft hair he used to dye red had changed to a strong brown hue and stubble had grown on his once androgynous face, with eyes having been transformed from blue to green. While looking definitely more masculine, Lysandre still was a beautiful sight, still clothed in the rubber catsuit he put on the evening before.

Sandre didn‘t know what to think. It seemed so surreal even though he knew it had to be true. And somehow, Sandre was filled with a new self-assurance and feeling of value. Still trying to figure out what had happened, Sandre left his sleeping room and went to the bath room to wash himself. But on his way there, he felt further changes happening to his body.

Arriving in the bath room, Sandre found another man looking at him from the mirror again, this time with light brown eyes. He panicked as he found his long, gorgeous hair suddenly having disappeared and his skin tight rubber being replaced by soft artificial leather. He couldn‘t decide over which loss he should be more angry.

André ran his fingers through his short, dark brown hair and over his thickening three day beard. As a man of thirty years, he suddenly remembered having decided just recently it was getting narrow for him as he still hadn‘t found a partner. Reflecting on his life decisions and identity, he found himself thinking about dating women, not just men. Being bisexual would bring him twice the pool to choose from, after all! And thinking about being interested in women and men the same, he suddenly lost the regret from losing his rubber suit.

In fact, suddenly the thought of wearing latex was disconcerting to him. Why should he run around in a squeaky full body condom? His leather made him look like a tough rogue. He was a way too cool guy for faggot-y stuff like that. A cocky grin appeared on his face. Dismissing thoughts about fetish stuff, he imagined meeting up with women and exploring their bodies.

While he was still thinking about this, his process of aging continued, bringing him to the age of 35 years. His beard had no grown full and the soft, kinky artificial leather suit dissolved and transformed into plain cotton clothes. Seeing even the last bit of kinkiness being wrung out of his clothes, he regretted making his wish the evening before.

But these feelings didn’t last for long. He felt body hair sprouted from his chest, his arms, his belly and legs as his eyes and hair darkened further. The rush of testosterone excited him. His face became more chiseled and masculine as he choked and had to clear his throat, hearing a deep voice doing the coughing.

Andrew clasped his suspenders and fastened them, remembering he had to hurry to get to his carpenter job. He was the most dominant of his colleagues, the one his comrades looked up to. By the moment he left the bath room to go down the stairs, all thoughts about the beauty of men left his mind, and the base of the staircase was touched by the feet of a straight man. What made him special and individual before was gone, he was just another normal guy working in a normal job wearing normal clothes. Suddenly a whole bunch of vocabulary - everything he needed to talk about fetish, kink, gender, queerness and stuff like that - was erased from his head. For a moment, he even felt the urge to deny the existence of pronouns. But his transformation was not over, as time shifted to move him into another scenario.

On his way outside, 40 years old biker Drew put on his hard leather jacket. After working all day in the carpenter workshop he was leading as a foreman, he was on his way to a bar to meet his girlfriend. She was the first person to ever get him in this world which got crazier by the day. She shared his conservative values and wanted to have a family, so she was the right woman for him.

After a ride on his bike to the city he checked his looks in the mirrored facades of the business buildings. He adjusted his black, stylish hair and straightened his greying beard. Tonight, Drew wanted to take his girl home and show her what a real man is, laying the foundation for their family.

But it would never come to that, as fate chose even this stage just as a stepping stone to his destiny.

Dreyson passed the bar without even thinking about entering it. Not remembering any date or a person he could have one with. He was a middle aged man straight as an arrow, but - besides one night stands with various women - Dreyson had no time for romance. He entered one of the business buildings, heading to his job interview. He had enough of working as a carpenter and planned to climb a corporate ladder to earn a fortune and live as he always wanted. He heard this corporation had some layoffs recently, mostly gay crybabies breaking down under the pressure of a boss who didn‘t care for their faggot shit. Dreyson saw this as a chance to get a high position in the company of someone like-minded.

He took the elevator to reach the highest floor of the skyscraper. As he stood in the tiny cabin alone, going higher and higher, his black hair and beard faded, showing more and more grey spots. His voice became rough and his skin tone got a bit darker. His views on women became more condescending, reducing them from trophies to be conquered in the love game down to tools of pleasure made accessible by obnoxious wealth.

The moment the elevator reached the top and the doors slid open, Drustan adjusted his black suit and loosened his tie. He put a cigar in his mouth and lit it up. Taking a few puffs from the cigar that costed more than the monthly salary he paid the pitiable peasants working for him, he pressed a button on his phone to connect to one of his secretaries. ‚Come up. You know what to do,‘ he scarcely ordered with the dark voice of an experienced business man in his fifties. Waiting for her, Drustan looked down to the city from the tower that symbolised the success of the empire he had built. That empire he just had cleansed of all the faggots and feminists reducing it‘s productivity. Now it was time to expand his power over the city, using his wealth to make the right men come into the right positions and making the right decisions for him.

But first, he‘d show his secretary her place in the food chain…

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slyratex · 3 months

Text

No matter how much I try to be the smart, casual guy in the public, a normie who never raises a commotion, everyone who really knows me, that deep down inside, I am this guy.

He is like a photo of my true personality.

I‘m a pervert. I‘m degenerate. I‘m a slut.

Always rubbered. Always horny. Always hunting prey.

I‘m a cock-steered animal. I can‘t deny it. I‘m a pervert.

It‘s only a matter of time until he breaks free and shows his true personality to the world.

#rubber #latex #gummi #fetish #kinky #hunk #gay #degeneracy #perversion #lust #alpha #shared photo #original text

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slyratex · 3 months

Photo

Sharing my boyfriend!

(Please read and share to boost the effects described here even further! 😏)

It was at our first Folsom Street Fair. My husband and had been together just for a few months and decided to go there to wear rubber in public for the first time. Together. We were amazed by all the guys in latex. We finally felt like having arrived at a place with people like us.

Some photographers took photos for us and we enjoyed a small sneak peek into the life of famous people, getting many positive reaction for our outfits: Him in his black and blue cyber punk gear and me in my black and red mythical suit with ancient symbols and a skirt. We also met some guys in real life that we already knew from the various online kinkster communities.

Then there was that black rubber doggy. He was following us eagerly, wagging his butt plug tail as if it was the most natural thing to do. He seemed to be completely absorbed in playing his role, as if he was born to be a rubber pup more than to be a human.

Then, somebody recommended him and my then-boyfriend to have some pictures taken together. I kinda liked seeing my lover in such a dominant role.

After the fair, we enjoyed the bunch of cool pictures we got together and when the photos of him and the rubber dog were posted online, I made sure to save them in my folder for kinky stuff. It was really cool.

Until I first read the comments, that is.

As I said, our relationship was young then. And I was not resilient enough to read the load of comments from people online saying my boyfriend and that rubber dog were a great couple. People imagining them having sex, wanting to participate, people claiming to know them both and knowing how much they love each other. It felt like that dog was trying to take my boyfriend from me. I was even a bit scared something like that could happen. I didn’t want to share, so I tried to reach out to the rubber dog asking him for a clarification, never receiving a response. I thought he might even like people thinking they were together. I was devastated and in the end could do nothing but trying to forget about it all.

———

Months later, the pictures resurfaced. I saw them reblogged again and again on tumblr and other sites, each time with more comments. As our relationship had become more steady by then, I was not as angry and sad about it again. I just sighed and ignored it. Deep inside me, I knew this would still bother me for a while and I wondered what that rubber pup was up to.

A few years after the incident, I was confronted with the pictures again. Reflecting on my own emotions, I learned that I had processed the experience. It had stopped bothering me. We were already engaged and I didn‘t fear for my relationship as much as back then, so I didn‘t even sigh. I could really have a neutral stand towards the photos and felt no grudge anymore. My grief changed into acceptance and I went on with my life, not thinking about it again, as I didn‘t see a threat here anymore.

More time passed. It was shortly before our marriage. The popularity of these photos brought them back to my dashboard again. This time, I looked at them a bit longer and closer. All negative emotions gone and our relationship coming close to it‘s official finalisation in legal terms, I was finally able to look at them positively. I recognised my soon-to-be-husbands happy face in them. How well he played that role. I remembered that great day and how sexy he looked. I felt happy for him and caught myself shortly fantasising about being that dog myself. I looked at him in the picture and as he was looking directly into the lens here, I almost felt observed by him. As if he wanted to tell me something. ‚Look what I‘m doing with your boyfriend.‘ Knowing that envy was a vice and a sin, I did my best to let it not rise again. I decided to take the initiative and shared the photo on tumblr myself.

*click* *love*

*click* *share*

By loving and sharing the photos that I initially despised, I raised their reach myself, helping my fiancé gain popularity. It felt good, like a power move freeing myself.

———

When we had been married for three years, of course, the pictures came up again, even more than seven years after they were taken. I was a different person than back when we got to know each other, I had much more resilience and self-esteem. I didn‘t see anyone as a threat for our trusting and intimate relationship. That included these photos from the past. In fact, I was excited seeing how popular they still were, and all these guys adoring my husband! I wasn‘t envious, as I knew they wouldn‘t get him, I even felt some sort of pride.

*click* ‚I‘m so happy to call that rubber goth my husband ❤️‘, I commented, and

*click* *share*

It even felt better than the last time! Having the pictures on my own tumblr blog gave me a boost of strength creating an almost sexual pleasure. Something was giving me the kicks here. Was it adrenaline? Because I was showing the world: ‚This is my man and you won‘t get him!‘? It was certainly nice to see all these men lust over him! I even felt happy for these men, as I noticed myself lusting more over him seeing these photos, even finding some drool run out of my mouth, I could totally understand the other men! How could I be mad at them?

Like, another year later, I found them again. I definitely got aroused this time! Every single

*click* *share*

made me more excited. I shared my husband with the world. And I enjoyed reading comments from greedy, lustful men fantasising over him. I even found some comments of a friend saying it was me in that dog suit! I didn‘t mind correcting him. This was my triumph! Suddenly I was in the picture too! That‘d show that dog I‘m not easy to defeat!

*click* *share*

I liked the idea, and since the real dog never bothered to set things straight and tell people the truth, I didn‘t feel any obligation to do the same now.

*click* *share*

I shared my husband with the world. With all these men. And it

*click* *share*

made me so horny showing them all how sexy he was, making them all lust for him, imagining what they all wanted to do with him. I myself started fantasising about him as a super muscular alpha male, a dominant dog handler, a famous porn star, a rubber master to many slaves and pets. I even from time to time slipped into intrusive thoughts about my husband actually fucking this rubber dog, not me, but the one we met back then, having me watching them doing it, maybe in bondage, chained to a chair, both gazing into my eyes while doing it. I quickly buried these thoughts in other stuff.

*click* *share*

And yes, he was such a powerful master to this dog! There was quite a fascinating power dynamic between them! I noticed he seemed much more powerful and dominant in the photos than he ever did in our sex life. I read the old comments again, people claiming they were a couple, and what a great one they were!

‚They really are a great couple!‘, I suddenly thought, ‚that alpha punk and his sexy rubber dog!‘

*click* *share*

More and more I shared him with the world. It was getting me so excited and horny sharing him with everyone! I couldn‘t keep him for myself! I wanted everyone to have his bit of that great, sexy hunk! ‚I wonder what these two do when they‘re alone 😏 ‘, I suddenly found myself commenting. As if I didn‘t know! I read more comments and the more I read, the bigger my desire to share him grew, and the more my own thoughts were assimilated by the comments I read, making my reality that shown on the screen. Each comment I read removed a memory I had with him from my mind, replacing it with a new thought that was identical to the thoughts of the men online, which I then commented, and each following share confirmed that thought in my memory and made it solid.

*click* *share*

My mind and soul lightened as all the memories faded, I felt the ease of not being responsible for someone else. I finally had shared him so much with every guy on tumblr, in the end the rest I had kept for myself wasn‘t any bigger than what the others got. It somehow was like I actually shared a tasty cake, giving everyone a piece, sharing evenly. I kept the same portion for me everyone else got. We were all carrying the weight of that rubber punks sexiness on all our shoulders, I was not alone anymore, I was one of many shareholders

‚Or maybe they don‘t even have to be alone to do it? 🤔 ‘, I commented the pictures, finding my comment sinking in the flood of other comments, sinking into indifference, one comment among a hundred others, not really distinguishable or original. My last memories of love and marriage crumbled away as I was also erased from my boyfriends mind and disappeared into unimportance. And like my comments, I found myself being one guy among hundreds, becoming just a friend, then just a loose contact and in the end a total stranger to him. That rubber cyber punk (whose real name I didn’t remember) didn‘t know I even existed, and that fact was not a sudden realisation I got, but a natural matter of course: We had never met, after all! I just found him online and loved to share his photos!

*click* ‚Wow! Every time I see these pictures, I get a massive boner! This hunk and his doggy are so sexy! I wish I could change places with the rubber pup and enjoy the strong hand of that guy on my leash! They‘re a great couple! I wish them all the best and lots of kinky rubber sex!‘ *share*

It had become self-explanatory and natural for me. It had become my reality, and it had always been that. Sitting alone in my single apartment, I shared the pictures of that sexy couple again and again, whipping out my dick, jerking it off while fantasising about how nice it would be to be that sexy rubber dog, being fucked by his master. Just like everyone else did. ‚I know them personally!‘, a friend of mine wrote, ‚they’re so lovely!‘ Lucky guy! I was so envious of that couple! I wanted what they had! I was one of hundreds of guys lusting and drooling over both of them. They were so greatly fitting each other. I shared and shared and shared their story and unknowingly intensified their intimate bond, engraved that new reality into the world, with every share I made that new truth more solid and irreversible. I was just another fan, sharing an equal part as anyone else of that famous guy who deeply loves his rubber doggy, and I will always keep

*click* *love*

*click* ‘They‘re so sexy! I never saw a better couple! I hope they stay together forever!‘

*click* *share*

-ing these pictures! Being strangely drawn to them, almost as if there was some non-existent bond between me and one of them that I couldn‘t really define but definitely felt, I couldn‘t help but look at the pics daily, each time getting an instant boner and furiously fapping over them. They had become my ultimate fantasy. After cumming all over myself though, every time I came to clarity again and decided: ‚It‘s good as it is. They‘re sexy and I will keep fapping to their pictures forever, but I don‘t want to actually do anything with the. I don‘t want to interfere with their marriage. They‘re the perfect couple and I know I could never live up to their standard of live and intimacy. We wouldn‘t really fit together at all anyways. Everything is as it‘s supposed to be. They will stay together and I will stay their silent fan forever, daily jerking off to their pictures, but nothing more.‘

It might happen one day that I will run into them at the Folsom street fair which they annually visit together, showing the world how sexy they are together. I’d make sure not to be a creep then, I’m not a stalker after all. We could just take some pictures as you‘d do with any celebrity. The sexy cyber punk with his beloved rubber doggy, me, and maybe the rubber dog that I will hopefully have until then myself. And then I would just say thank you and goodbye, not bothering them further. I’d probably even make sure to never meet them again, intentionally keeping them an unreachable fantasy for me. That makes it more sexy for me in a way. But most important: It will make sure they can stay together unbothered as the perfect rubber couple, and seeing them happily together forever will make me happy, too! Because I definitely know they don’t need me for their happiness and I won’t be a worthwhile addition to their life, I’d be glad to return to my own life and leaving them alone.

After all, I‘d bring back home what I am actually after:

Another picture I can share, share and share again on tumblr, reading the comments it gets while milking my dick empty!

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slyratex · 3 months

Text

Unbreakable Happiness

Dylan was a typical moody young adult. Emo vibes, not knowing his place, always distracted and dreamy, no goals in life. His parents disappointed of him despite him going to college, his teachers misunderstanding his intellect and creativity, his fellow students jealous of his good marks, and thus bullying him. He had no friends, no girl- or boyfriend, and nothing but his books and art.

The schools librarian was his only genuine social contact. A gay man, isolated like him, a well-read guy with mysterious knowledge like only a librarian would have it. He was known for having, like, three additional jobs, and rumours about which that might be ranged from taking care for animals over selling or renting dubious stuff over the internet up to trading slaves. The typical urban legend stuff bored students made up.

The librarian noticed him slowly slipping into depression and decided to act against it. „Tonight, head to the park downtown,“ he told him, handing him a black vial, „put a few drops of this into the fountain and tell it your wishes. You won‘t regret it.“

Sceptical but not wanting to hurt the only person that even slightly cared for him, Dylan accepted the vial, put it in his bag and went on with his day.

That night, after listening to another fight of his parents, he snuck out of his room and left for the park. He decided it couldn‘t hurt seeing what was behind the librarians offer. In the best case, it would work and help him. In the worst case, he would‘ve had a nice evening stroll to clear his mind.

When he arrived at the fountain, he took out the vial to follow the librarians orders. Opening the container and dripping a few drops into the water, he whispered: „I finally want to be free of all the things weighing me down, free of sorrows, never having to worry about all the stuff I worry about again.“

Clumsy as he was, the vial slipped out of his hand and fell down. He tried to catch it, only to find himself falling right after it.

He sunk into the water. Or what had become of the water, being changed by the liquid in the vial. He sunk into a black substance that became thicker and thicker, accidentally swallowing some of it.

His instincts made him stand up straight, bursting up through the surface of the black puddle. The black goo sputtered out of his mouth as he screamed, his lungs and stomach being fully grouted with the slime. His vision became darker as even his eyes were being covered in it, the substance flowing out like black tears. His whole body was covered in slick gunge, and where there was clean skin to be found, it was being covered with tattoos he never would‘ve gotten by any chance voluntarily, just like the piercings that started to appear on his nose, mouth and ears.

Dylan tried to scream, but that brought only more slime up from his torso, in which the substance seemed to spawn itself like from a magical spring. His screams were muffled and changed into a helpless gurgling as his head was filled with the goo and more and more of it flew out of every orifice, covering his skin and changing his body. Still moaning and gurgling in horror, Dylan barely noticed his hair shortening into a mohawk, more tattoos and spikes appearing on his body, his voice going deeper and dimmer, his slime covered face aging, his nose tip being flatted out and moving upwards while his belly was inflating and getting heavier by the second. Dylan lost track of what happened around him, completely caught up in the gruesome process he was going through that muffled any coherent or rational thought he might have had about his situation, turning him more and more into an instinct driven beast with ever simplifying thoughts.

And it was in this reduction of complexity in his thoughts where he suddenly found bliss. A wonderful, ignorant bliss. As memories faded, interests became less important, social bonds dissolved, knowledge went lost and personality traits retreated into bland indifference, Dylan was freed of any sorrows and worries he might ever have had. As even his name disappeared, almost letter by letter, out of his caving mind, his horror and shock were replaced with the unbreakable happiness of a stupid animal. The shackles of social norms and expectations fell of him and dissolved in a black pool of slick goo. The surface of the same showed him a reflexion of his new self: A black punk hog, dirty, fat, shameless, heavily tattooed and pierced, covered in shiny, latex-like pig skin and wearing studded and spiked leather biker clothes, with a big snout, boar tusks and a fat tongue hanging out dumbly and drooling greedily.

Seeing his new face, the pig punk was in fact far from feeling regret. His mental and emotional capacities were significantly too small to comprehend such abstract feelings. He just looked at his reflection, heavily panting and grunting, inhaling his own musk with every snort and feeling the never-ending flow of black drool dripping from his tongue. With his anthropomorphic, claw-like hands in fingerless biker gloves, he touched his fat pig belly, scratching it, stroking over his hips and thighs, reaching his groin. He grunted again loudly, grabbing it harder.

Unable to formulate any coherent thought in his head or even utter a complete sentence, he suddenly felt a primal urge in himself, a hunger driving him forward. He knew exactly what to do now, even though it was no planning and no understanding telling him that. It was like an order from another person appearing in his head. He had to go to the librarian. When a fat, old, shameless, dim-witted, greedy, stinking hog punk like he had become couldn‘t get his three brain cells to think of a plan for his new, worry-free life, the librarian could certainly use his mystical knowledge and dubious contacts to find a good place for this pig to enjoy itself while being of good use for those of higher evolutionary rank than him.

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slyratex · 3 months

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What a great outfit! I‘m so jealous, right now I‘d even agree to a body swap with him just to wear his shiny gear. Even if it meant sacrificing my youth, being stuck in that significantly older body forever, offering him my looks, giving up my identity, being forced to live out his life, whatever it might be like, bearing his name, and even losing my relationships, friendships and intimate bonds with anyone, becoming part of whatever social group or ties he might be wound up in, leaving behind all that I ever was or had. Just accepting to become him, being completely transformed, and seeing him taking my place and everything that was mine, taking it from me for good. All just to get to wear this shiny outfit that mesmerises me. Don‘t ask me for it, because right now, I would say yes without even thinking. And it wouldn’t matter if there was a way back or not, because from the second I felt these shiny clothes on my new skin, I wouldn‘t want to ever go back anyways…

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slyratex · 3 months

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“Hey, guys! Great Folsom this year, right? What? Why I am alone? Hah. Look what I brought for you guys! The newest creation of mine. I once had some kind of … let‘s call it an ‚intimate affiliation‘ with it. Some of you might even have known it in it’s former life. But some day, I spontaneously decided it had become dull and boring, in need to be replaced by something new and exciting. So I stripped that thing of all it‘s belongings, it‘s identity and personhood, effectively making it an object. I shaved it‘s whole head and body and destroyed every single follicle with a special cream. It‘s ass is permanently tunnel plugged and it’s cock locked in chastity, the rubber suit and mask eternally bound to it‘s body. It’s upper and lower legs are tied together so it can never move in another way again than on all fours. Some of you might still remember it‘s former looks, but now that you won‘t ever see it again, you will probably forget how it looked soon. The person is gone and won‘t come back ever again. It is just a mobile public toilet now. And as that it will be so much better and more useful as in any other function it might have had.

Hey, piss drinker! Present your urinal to my friends! Yeah, that‘s it. Here, look at it, guys. Yeah, touch it, inspect what has become of it. I will get some beers for us now. Feel free to use that pathetic object for your relief, what was once belonging only to me I will now share with everyone! While filling it with piss you might be reflecting on the fact that - with the old burden of a person occupying me being transformed into an object forever - I, too, am not belonging to a single person anymore. Yes, I am single and free again, free for hunting and being hunted. Maybe you can tell this toilet what you would do to me now? Tell it how you will satisfy me so much more than it ever did. How you will all make sure I will never regret my decision to dispose of it and reduce it to this new purpose. I‘m sure it will get all excited hearing every detail. Knowing it can neither do anything to stop us from living these fantasies, nor do something about it‘s aching, horny cock pressing against it‘s steel cage hearing about it‘s former privileges being distributed to the masses!“

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slyratex · 3 months

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Sometimes a vision is so gorgeous you‘d sacrifice everything to make it reality for yourself. This is such a case. Hanging in mid-air forever, never touching the ground again? Being immobile regarding autonomous movements? Not having to ever make any decision again?

A dream for me!

I would love being a statue, a decorative object, never having to think again even about the simplest things as where to move. Even better if I know I‘m a permanent cause of joy for a viewer beholding my beauty!

Wearing rubber forever, never having my skin seen again by anyone at all? Being a product, becoming the outfit I am wearing, meaning there is no meaning at all behind who is wearing it, knowing exactly anyone else could fill that role just as well as I am, showing there is nothing special about me, reducing me to what I wear and making me totally replaceable?

A dream for me!

I would love knowing I am not an individual anymore, so I don‘t have to live up to the standards of individuality as I am forcing myself to do every day. Being replaceable lifts so much weight from my shoulders because it relieves me of the pressure to outperform others - if I fail, it‘s no problem - I will just be discarded of and replaced by someone else who will do a better job. What a freeing thought!

Having a boner forever, gigantic, stiff, rock-hard, magnificent? But still not being able to cum ever again? Being stripped of my sexuality for all eternity?

A dream for me!

I would love having everyone see my rubber cock standing up like a pillar, showing everyone what the human body can do, while at the same time having nobody recognise it is MY cock doing this. I like the moment before orgasm so much more than the moment after it! Never cumming ever again means never feeling guilt ever again, never losing that feeling of thrill again, never getting falling into that thought of wasting semen again. Just eternal horniness combined with pain - a pain that shows me my place and teaches me humility, strengthening the barrier blocking me from cumming, but still holding up my erection. I‘d become an asexual object, my dick not a reproductive organ anymore, but an item of art, decoration, an ornament on a statue, beautiful, but utterly useless. The permanent orgasm denial will make sure I remain in a state of horny thoughtlessness forever, never reaching clarity of thought again.

And eating shit? Being reliant on other men to feed me? Tasting the nastiest filth? Knowing I have to accept and munch and gulp it down to survive while my whole body tells me something is wrong? Being humiliated to the state of being a sub-human, shivering in disgust and grief about losing my identity and dignity?

Heck, yeah, a dream for me nonetheless!

Would I ever do that by intention? Never! But that doesn‘t matter. My wishes do not matter, my preferences do not matter, my character and desires and needs and personality do not matter and nothing else about me does. It is only my master, my owner and his needs that matter. And this is what gives me the kick I need. That is my dream. And to get all this - the restriction in autonomy freeing me of the burden of free will - the sensation of rubber covering and erasing my whole identity and making me an object - the permanent erection of a penis that will never ever cum again and that has lost it‘s reproductive purpose, it‘s manhood, it‘s natural reason to exist, replaced by a new reason, being a sweet compliment to the eye of my master and his guests looking at me - and the humiliation and bliss in serving someone completely to bring him into ecstasy and joy about his newest addition to his art gallery by submitting to his commandment to become the lowest of creatures - all this is worth gulping down masses of shit. It‘s a sacrifice I am willing to make to become that wonderful being that consists of all my dreams manifested in a single vision.

In short, it is a dream for me becoming a shackled and bound, a rubberised and fetishised, a permanently erected but asexualised and a humiliated and shit-fed pendulum, decoration, object, furniture, pig, slave and art project for you, @darkelement71, leaving all behind and tasting the sweetness of knowing: There will always be my master, my owner, my creator, that genius one-in-a-million artist looking at me and smiling, knowing he is an infinitely higher being than me but still finding joy in my pitiful, deplorable and pathetic existence, which is the only and the best thing giving my existence a purpose I never had before.

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slyratex · 3 months

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Some mistakes you only make once

I was warned by the shop owner that some of the second-hand clothes might be still connected to their first owners. „The bond between user and object becomes stronger over time, imprinted into the fabric of the object,“ he said. As if it was something bad. This was exactly why I purchased second-hand clothes! I always fantasised about being able to change into whomever I wanted to be. Recently, I created this rubber cap. I won‘t talk about the sinister things I had to do for this. But, creating ground breaking new technology, I gave the cap the ability to turn the wearer into another person. I only needed the essence of someone to do this. Essence like that clinging to frequently worn clothes. Now the time had come to test my invention and then plan on how to use it to my advantage, changing appearance whenever I wanted. I didn‘t know who the previous owner was, but it didn‘t matter - it was just a test, after all!

At home, I put on the rubber shirt and pants I just bought, hoping it was bearing enough essence for a recognisable change. Wearing these alone was an amazing feeling, but it wasn‘t enough for me. So I placed the cap on my head. Nothing happened. Of course not. I couldn‘t risk anyone else using my cap! So I made it to only work when a secret phrase in a self-made language was uttered. For someone creating technologies like mine, producing a new language was a piece of cake. Speaking it while wearing the cap turned forward would change my outer appearance according to the strength of the essence covering me. Speaking it while the cap was turned back would give me the abilities and traits of the person.

I took out my paper with the secret phrase written on it in a secret code. I whispered the sentence to myself, so quietly nobody could hear it, even if somebody was in this room. The rubber clothes sucked themselves tighter onto my skin as I grew to fit into them better. I felt my face change into that of another man of another nationality, losing it‘s germanic features and making room for a russian face. My hair disappeared into thin air just as my beard did. My whole body was replaced with that of the previous owner of the gear. It felt so good I fell onto the ground sighing and moaning. That guy certainly had a strong essence! He must‘ve worn these clothes on a daily basis for a long time if it could transform me completely into him so quickly!

It was a magnificent feeling to be in his body! I sat onto the ground, leaned my self against the wall, stroked my skin and the rubber and enjoyed this body. And the feeling of triumph, knowing my genius mind had brought a brillant contraption into existence! Then I got curious. What kind of person might be hiding behind this face? I had to test the second function of my cap!

I put the note with the activation phrase on the ground, snapped back the cap and read the sentence to myself. Electricity bolted through my body and a forceful wave flushed the thoughts I just had away. I was overwhelmed by the essence bound to the latex. Adopting the intense rubber fetish of the first owner, I instantly got a giant boner. At the same time, I felt dizzy and confused. I didn‘t remember anything at all and it became harder and harder to think for me. Where was I? Who was I?

Suddenly the name Andrei echoed through my mind, giving me a feeling of self-identification. I remembered secret fetish parties that I never really attended - or did I? Yes, I did! In fact, I was well-known in the scene for the things I did at these parties! If someone wearing latex flirted with me, I never gave it a second thought. Not that thoughts were a strength of mine, anyways! Yes, I felt the cap almost sucking on my brain, and with each second, I perceived my thought becoming slower and simpler - unto the point where I lost the ability to reflect on my own thoughts in such a complex way. My blurry vision went back to normal. I looked around me. I was sitting on the floor in an apartment I didn‘t know. I was wearing my rubber clothes… and a strange rubber cap? Cool, but where did I get it from? Looked like an ordinary cap, but made of my favourite material. I also found a note at my feet. Inspecting it, I saw nothing but strange signs I couldn‘t make any sense of. What was this supposed to be? Egyptian hieroglyphs or whatever. What kind of geek would draw something like this? I already had a hard time speaking proper english!

I shook my head, crumpled the sheet and threw it away. I focused more on myself again and stroked my sexy rubber gear and my gorgeous body. I didn‘t know what was up with that rubber cap, but I guess it was mine now. It felt like a present from a stranger who expected me to do something with it, but what should I do with a normal rubber cap other than rounding up my outfit with it? I pressed it harder onto my head with one hand while grabbing my junk with the other. Time to enjoy myself!

For a second I felt like I just had forgotten something important. But if I forgot it, it couldn‘t have been THAT important, right?

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