Soccer is a sport makes people exhausted. A nice pair of human sock can solve that tho.

How long are you gonna last on this Alpha Jock's foot? That last guy couldn't even survive a week as his gym sock.

"So you like my feet boy? Get down on the ground and stare at them. You're so weak for them aren't you? They hold so much power over you already and you haven't even sniffed them? Pathetic. Just give in and smell my feet so I can repurpose you to be one of my socks." Master said.

His feet held so much power over me already, just one look and I couldn't look away. Everything about them was so hot, how big they were, how sweaty they were, and their musk which was slowly already melting my mind. I couldn't take it anymore, I needed his feet, to be his sock, to serve his feet more than anything else. So I stuck my nose in his toes and inhaled.

I felt my body get lighter and lighter my mind melting away, everything about myself leaving until I was just a sock for his feet to use and wear out.

"Look at you." Master said holding me up to his eyes. "Just another pathetic little sock for me to wear out until its nothing but trash around my big sexy feet."

For @wakeup01 who provided the pictues for this caption

Start sniffing and keep sniffing… it’s the only thing you will ever do

#madebyafriend

Clothing is more than just fashion

Upon entering the bustling city of Milan, Luke had anticipated a week of unforgettable experiences, art, and culture. He had planned everything down to the smallest detail, intending to make the most of his time in the fashion capital of Italy. As he checked into the hotel, the anticipation of exploring the city's hidden gems filled his heart with thrill and excitement. However, fate had other plans in store for him. As he stood at the hotel's reception, the attendant delivered grave news: the hotel had been unintentionally overbooked. His room was not available, and the only solution was to share a room with another guest. "But it's Milan Fashion Week, there's not a single spare room in the city," the attendant had explained with a sympathetic look. Left with no other choice, Luke was led to the room where he was to spend his stay, his initial excitement now overshadowed by a sense of apprehension. Upon entering, he found a man already there, standing by the window, his sleek silhouette adorned in fashionable attire.

"Ah, you must be Luke," the man greeted him with a warm smile. "I'm Giovane. Looks like we're roommates for the week." Luke took in the sight before him, a bit taken aback by the situation. "Nice to meet you," he replied, offering a courteous smile, but inside, uncertainty gnawed at him like a persistent little mouse. In the hours that followed, though, he found himself surprisingly at ease with Giovane. They embarked on impromptu dinner and engaging in conversation that flowed effortlessly. Giovane shared tales of his business ventures, his passion for fashion, and the city's hidden gems. Luke, in turn, regaled him with accounts of his academic pursuits and his wanderlust. Their camaraderie bloomed, erasing Luke's initial doubts about the living arrangement.

Returning to the hotel after a day filled with architectural wonders and delectable cuisine, Luke felt the weariness seep into his bones. "I'm utterly exhausted," he sighed, collapsing onto the bed. Giovane, noticing his fatigue, offered to give him a massage, a gesture that surprised Luke at first. Hesitant, but ultimately swayed by the promise of relief from the day's strain, Luke consented. As Giovane's skilled hands worked their magic, Luke's weariness melted away, replaced by a sense of relaxation he had not experienced in ages. "You have a remarkable touch," Luke murmured, his voice laced with approval. Giovane, taking advantage of the moment, shared his frustration about an impending business meeting that had unexpectedly been canceled. Luke, eager to lift his newfound friend's spirits, suggested they use the free time to explore more of Milan's treasures. "But you need a jacket," Luke pointed out, eyeing the chilly weather outside. Giovane turned to Luke with a warm smile and asked for his help with attire. Luke's mind raced as he pondered which of his own jackets would suit Giovane. The task at hand, however, took an unexpected turn, sending Luke's world spiraling into an inexplicable realm of bewilderment. As Giovane's massages continued, Luke's utter shock was followed by desperate pleas as he found his body gradually, inexplicably transforming into an item of clothing—a vivid orange bomber jacket. Panic rose within him as his consciousness became entwined with the fabric, leaving only his head intact, protruding from the collar. "What… what's happening?" Luke sputtered in a voice laced with fear, his eyes wide with disbelief. Giovane wore a smirk as he quipped, "You agreed to help with the jacket, Luke." Before Luke could protest further, a hand was pressed firmly over his mouth, muffling any outcry. The world around him blurred as he fought the inexplicable, bizarre metamorphosis that had befallen him, and his heart pounded in a frantic rhythm. And so, in a deeply confusing turn of events, Luke found his head had been transformed into orange boxer shorts. His astonished self was now reduced to a mere garment, silently witnessing the surreal development of an inexplicable phenomenon.

The next morning dawned with Luke, being donned by Giovane. The fabric wrapped snugly around Giovane sculpted physique, emanating a warmth that was foreign and perplexing to Luca. "We shall go sightseeing today," Giovane declared, adjusting the jacket on his shoulders. "Please, Giovane, change me back," Luke's voice echoed within the confines of his new form, a hint of desperation tingeing his words. Giovane, however, paid it no heed, proceeding to prepare for the day's endeavors. "We shall visit the Duomo di Milano. Such occasions call for the utmost elegance and style," he remarked, his fingers smoothing down the orange fabric as if to accentuate Luke's purpose as an accessory rather than an individual with desires—seen but seldom heard.

Throughout the day, as they ventured through the city's treasures, Luke struggled to grapple with the perplexing reality of his existence. At times, he felt grievously encumbered by Giovane's cavalier disregard for his bewilderment and distress. Yet, as the day progressed, an unforeseen transformation began to surge within him, fostering acceptance of his newfound purpose. The musky fragrance of sandalwood that clung to Giovane's being, once an alien presence, gradually wrapped around Luke, its calming scent possessing an inexplicable allure. "You rest nicely against my skin," Giovane murmured, the corner of his lips curling into a smug smirk. Despite himself, Luke found a strange sense of solace in Giovane's reassurance, a feeling that grew stronger with every passing moment. As the day transitioned into evening, Luke's erstwhile anxiety slowly waned, replaced by an unexpected sense of contentment. "Giovane, I…" Luke began, hesitating to voice the bewildering realization that was encapsulating his very being. Giovane arched a brow inquisitively, his dark eyes fixed upon Luke's form.

"Yes, my dear accessory?" he prompted, a faint edge of amusement threading through his tone. "It's peculiar, but I find myself… oddly comforted by this," Luke admitted, his own admission startling him. "Your scent, the way the fabric envelops your frame—it's… relaxing." "You find yourself at ease playing your role, as you should be," Giovane remarked, a shadow of possessiveness underlying his words. The following day began much in the same vein, with Giovane reaching for the familiar orange bomber jacket and boxer shorts that was once Luke. However, as he extended a hand toward it, a pleading note woven into Luca's voice fell upon the air. "Giovane, I implore you, please release me from this form. I am not your accessory," Luke entreated, the urgency palpable in his words. An exasperated sigh escaped Giovane, his patience wearing thin.

"You are mistaken, my dear accessory," he chided gently, his fingers curling around the collar of the jacket. As his touch grazed the fabric, a curious thing occurred—the tense knots in Luke's consciousness seemingly unraveled, replaced by an inexplicable calm. "It's alright, Luke. Embrace your purpose," Giovane murmured, yet the undercurrents of his words held a weight that eclipsed mere reassurance. Luke's countenance relaxed, a sense of tranquility pervading his essence as though it were written into the very fibers that enshrouded him. "You're right," he uttered, a glimmer of newfound understanding lingering in his voice. "My purpose is to look good and to keep you warm." A subtle tremor of compliance reverberated through his being, one that left no room for dissent as the awareness of his purpose blanketed his being.

From that moment onward, Luke embraced his existence unquestioningly, a veil of docility shrouding his every thought and action. When the time came to bid farewell to the enigmatic garment that was once Luke, an unforeseen transformation eclipsed the moment. As Giovane peeled the fabric from his form, an astonishing development unfolded, revealing a strikingly attractive young man in the place of the once inanimate accessory—a figure who bore no semblance to Luke in any form.

"Luke?" Giovane's astonished query hung in the air, his gaze fixated upon the unfamiliar countenance. The young man offered a serene smile, one that bore no trace of the uncertainty that must have once permeated Luke's being. "My name is Luca, and my purpose is to look good and be your accessory," he proclaimed, a blend of assurance and adulation resonating within his tranquil voice. It was then that the revelation unfurled—Giovane's involvement in the fashion industry, his influence as the proprietor of a modeling agency, became evident. Luca became an integral part of Giovane's world, his existence intertwined with a role that transcended that of a mere confidant. As Milan Fashion Week drew near, Luca's metamorphosis was soon unveiled, and the runway beckoned as his new domain.

Adorned in the splendid attire that Giovane provided, Luca graced the catwalks with an ethereal elegance, embodying an allure that captivated each onlooker. His presence commanded attention, standing as a testament to the seamless union of fashion and beauty.

Some days later Luca's consciousness skyrocketed and memories of his time as Luke flooded back. He struggled with an inexplicable desire that eclipsed the boundaries of his previous existence. “Giovane, I must confess – there is an unspoken desire in my entire being,” Luca murmured. "I knew that my inexplicable transformation into boxers filled me with a newfound longing that draws me inexorably to you, for the intoxicating scent of your essence and the longing desire to find comfort between your legs and suck your fluids."

"Giovane, your scent turned me gay and I want to smell you," Luca's husky whisper hung in the air, laden with an unspoken hunger. Giovane's lips curved into a knowing smile, a glint of unabashed allure shimmering within his gaze. "Then come closer, Luca. Indulge in the intoxicating fragrance of sandalwood that envelops me," he beckoned, the rasp of his voice weaving a beguiling melody that stirred Luca's every fiber. As Luca inhaled the heady fragrance that encased Giovane's form, an enigmatic fervor surged within him, igniting a primal yearning that seared through his being. Mere moments later, he found himself sinking to his knees before Giovane, a simmering hunger blazing within the depths of his gaze. Giovane's hand threaded through Luca's blond locks, guiding him steadfastly toward the pinnacle of sensation that awaited. " You look exquisite between my legs, Luca," Giovane's voice teased, a whisper interwoven with a potent undercurrent of desire. Giovane, whose enigmatic gaze danced on Luca's sculpted form, smiled as Luca eagerly sucked his cock. “Your purpose is to keep me warm in the most intimate way possible.”

Credits to @FmjReal (Twitter) for picture!

The Unusual Prank

The Unusual Prank

Mark always had an inkling that his college roommate, Ben, had an odd fascination with his underwear. Occasionally, he’d find his worn boxers missing from the laundry, and the few he did find seemed oddly stretched out. Mark had a hunch about what Ben might be up to, and while it was a strange situation, he also saw an opportunity for a unique prank. One evening, Mark stumbled upon an online store that sold "TF potions," elixirs that could temporarily transform humans into objects. An idea popped into his head, and after confirming the potion’s reversible effect, he made a purchase. The next morning, Mark discreetly poured the potion into Ben’s orange juice at breakfast. Within seconds of drinking it, Ben found himself transformed into a pair of boxers, neatly folded on Mark’s bed. Mark, hearing Ben's confused thoughts, chuckled.

“You’re in for an experience today, Ben,” Mark teased, picking up the underwear. “Ever wanted to know what it’s like being someone’s boxers for a day?” The shock was evident in the fabric's subtle quivers. Mark put on the Ben-boxers, making him feel sensations he’d never imagined. Every step Mark took, every sit, every jump was a new sensation for Ben. He felt stretched, compressed, and warmed. As the day wore on, Mark attended lectures, played basketball with his friends, and even went for a run. The intense physical activity made the Ben-boxers sweaty and damp. Initially, Ben's mental protests were loud and frantic, but as the day continued, they lessened in intensity. The scent that he had once secretly admired now enveloped him, and he found himself feeling more at ease.

That evening, after a particularly vigorous workout, Mark threw the Ben-boxers into his laundry hamper, where they lay buried under other sweaty garments. All through the night, Ben felt the weight and warmth of other clothes on him. Come morning, Mark did his laundry. As he added detergent, he also poured in a memory-erasing solution that he'd acquired. The boxers swirled and tumbled in the washing machine, and with every rinse, Ben’s memories of his day as underwear faded.

Once the cycle was done, Ben found himself back in his human form, lying in his bed, groggy and disoriented. He remembered nothing of the day before, only a vast emptiness where memories should be. Mark looked at his friend, torn between revealing the truth and enjoying Ben's bewilderment. For now, he chose silence, smirking at the thought of the secret he held.

Mark found it hard to shake off the memory of how Ben had felt as a pair of boxers. The unique sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and it felt like an intriguing secret between them, even if Ben was unaware of it. The temptation was too strong to resist, and Mark decided to recreate the prank. Every few days, he'd discreetly administer the TF potion to Ben, transforming him into a pair of boxers. With every transformation, Ben's protests and discomfort seemed to decrease, becoming mere murmurs that faded quickly. It was as if, subconsciously, he was adapting to his temporary state, finding a strange peace in the simplicity of being an inanimate object. Mark reveled in the experience, feeling an odd connection with his friend during these episodes. He'd often wonder what went through Ben's mind during the transformations. Was there a familiarity? Did he somehow recognize the routine? Weeks went by, and Mark noticed a pattern. The initial confusion Ben experienced during his transformation shortened with each occurrence, replaced swiftly by a quiet acceptance. It was as if a part of him was surrendering to the experience, finding solace in the temporary escape from the complexities of human life. However, as the frequency of these episodes increased, Mark began to feel a growing unease. Was it right to continue subjecting Ben to this without his knowledge or consent? The ethical implications of his actions weighed heavily on him.

One day, Mark found a note on his desk. It read: "I don't know how, but I feel it. I know something's happening, even if I can't remember. Please, whatever you're doing, stop."

Mark was consumed by the sensation. The feeling of Ben as his underwear was incomparable, providing a sense of intimacy and power that he had never known before. Even though he recognized the ethical implications of his actions, the allure was too great. He rationalized his actions, telling himself that Ben didn't seem to mind anymore. The muted protests from the past were almost non-existent now, replaced with what felt like a silent acceptance. Weeks turned into months. Each transformation was followed by a cycle of laundry, complete with the memory-erasing solution, ensuring Ben remained unaware of his recurring plight. As far as Ben knew, he was just experiencing occasional bouts of fatigue or disorientation. But as Mark continued to indulge his desires, he began to grow bolder. Instead of returning Ben to his human form after a day, he let the transformations last longer. Two days, then three, and soon, Ben was spending entire weeks as nothing more than fabric against Mark's skin. With every transformation, Mark became more convinced that this was how things should be. Ben seemed almost at peace in this form, and Mark wondered if maybe, at some level, his friend preferred this simpler existence. Consumed by his obsession and the newfound control he felt, Mark began to entertain the thought of keeping Ben as his underwear permanently. The campus around them carried on, none the wiser. Friends inquired about Ben's whereabouts, and Mark would simply reply that he was visiting family or taking some time off. No one suspected the truth.

One day, as Mark was about to administer the potion once more, he paused. In front of him was an old photograph of the two of them, laughing at some long-forgotten joke. Memories of their friendship, their shared experiences, and the bond they once had flooded back. Was this fleeting sensation worth losing a lifetime of camaraderie and trust?

Torn between his desires and the weight of guilt, Mark made a choice. He decided not to use the potion again. The next morning Ben stands in front of his bedroom door and bangs on it It was Ben, looking confused and concerned. "Mark," he began, his voice quivering, "I don't know how, but I remember... everything." Their eyes met, a silent acknowledgment of the secret between them. The room was thick with tension as they faced the reality of their situation and the uncertain future of their relationship.

Confronted with fragments of memories that didn’t fit his normal life, Ben felt like he was grappling with two distinct realities. The first was his life as he had known it: a simple college student with aspirations, shared moments with friends, and the daily grind of studying. The second, a more visceral and intimate experience as a pair of underwear worn by his best friend, Mark. The initial anger Ben felt was inevitable. To have his agency taken away and to be transformed without his consent was a breach of trust of the highest degree. "How could you?" he shouted at Mark, the weight of betrayal evident in his eyes. Mark, guilt evident on his face, tried to apologize, but words failed him. There was no simple way to justify his actions, no matter how they might have started as a harmless prank.

However, as the days turned into weeks, a strange feeling began to grow within Ben. The more he reflected on his time as Mark's underwear, the more he found himself missing certain aspects of it. There was a primal comfort in the experience: the warmth, the closeness, the almost meditative simplicity of just existing without the worries and anxieties of human life. And, as strange as it was to admit, there was something about Mark's scent that felt reassuring, a constant in the disorienting world of being an object. One evening, Ben approached Mark, his demeanor softer. "Mark, what you did was wrong," he began, "but there's something I can't shake off. Some parts of being... well, your underwear... they weren't all bad."

Mark looked up, surprised. "I never imagined you'd say something like that." "It's confusing," Ben admitted. "I feel violated, but at the same time, there's this odd sense of nostalgia. Maybe it's the safety, the simplicity, or just the break from reality. I don't know." The two sat down, discussing their feelings at length. They shared their fears, desires, and the myriad emotions the situation had brought up. Mark confessed his obsession, while Ben delved into the unique sensations and experiences he remembered. Realizing the depth of their bond and the unusual circumstances that had tested it, they decided on a compromise. With full consent, they would allow Ben to transform occasionally, but with clear boundaries in place. The two friends entered a new chapter of their relationship, one marked by trust, understanding, and a shared secret that only brought them closer.

After their heart-to-heart, Mark and Ben agreed that any future transformations would require mutual consent, understanding, and set boundaries. Ben's curiosity, combined with the strangely comforting memories of his past experiences, made him decide to undergo the transformation again, this time willingly. One evening, with Mark by his side, Ben drank the TF potion. A familiar sensation enveloped him as he transitioned from his human form into a pair of soft, well-fitted boxers. Mark carefully picked him up, the fabric of Ben-boxers warm in his hands. This time, the experience was markedly different for both of them. There was no secrecy or guilt, just mutual understanding and trust. As the days went by, Ben became increasingly attuned to his surroundings. The rhythm of Mark's day, the play of sunlight and shadow in the room, and especially the intimate sensations of being worn became an intrinsic part of his existence. For Mark, the week was a lesson in empathy and responsibility. Knowing that his friend was fully aware of each moment, he was more conscious of his actions. The two developed a unique form of communication. Subtle shifts in fabric tension allowed Ben to convey basic emotions, while Mark would sometimes talk aloud, sharing his day or simply chatting as if Ben were still in his human form beside him. The week was a mix of mundane routines, introspective moments, and the occasional laughter. But as the end neared, both felt a growing anticipation. What would Ben feelings be once he returned to his human form? How would this shared experience shape their friendship?

When the transformation reversed, Ben sat up, taking a few moments to adjust to the flood of sensations that being human brought. Mark, watching closely, saw a mix of relief, contemplation, and something he couldn't quite pinpoint in Ben's eyes. "How do you feel?" Mark finally asked. Ben took a deep breath. "It was... enlightening. Being an object, especially something as intimate as underwear, is both limiting and liberating. I missed being human, but there were moments of pure contentment that I've never felt before."

Mark listening intently as Ben began to delve deeper into his experience as underwear. He watched Ben's expressions closely, noticing the slight furrowing of his brow, the intensity in his gaze. It was evident this was a topic Ben had been mulling over, trying to find the right words to explain. "When I said the experience was enlightening, I wasn't just talking about the good parts," Ben began, his voice slightly shaky. "There were moments of pure discomfort, sensations that were, for lack of a better word, toxic." Mark leaned forward, genuinely concerned. "Toxic? How?"

Ben took a deep breath. "Your sweat, Mark. Over the week, I became saturated with it. And it wasn't just the dampness. It was... penetrating. I felt every molecule, every salt particle. It seeped into my fabric form, and I couldn't escape it. There were times when it felt oppressive, almost suffocating." Mark swallowed hard, guilt evident in his eyes. "I... I never thought about it that way. I mean, I knew you'd feel the sweat, but I didn't realize it'd be so... intense."

"It's hard to describe," Ben continued. "Imagine being trapped in a room filling with water, and you can't escape. It's like that, but at a microscopic level. There's a certain vulnerability to it. I was at the mercy of your body's natural processes, and while some moments were comfortable and even enjoyable, others were overwhelming." Mark nodded, absorbing Ben's words. "I'm so sorry, Ben. If I'd known-"

Ben interrupted, "It's not entirely your fault. I chose to undergo the transformation again, knowing the potential challenges. But I felt it was important for you to understand the full scope of the experience." The room was silent for a moment, the weight of Ben's revelations settling between them. Mark finally broke the silence, "Thank you for sharing that with me. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been. If we ever consider doing this again, we'll need to think about these things." Ben smiled faintly, "It's a journey, Mark. One filled with highs and lows. But I'm glad we're navigating it together."

Ben had tried everything. Showers, perfumes, essential oils – nothing seemed to rid him of the residual sensation and odor that clung to him since his transformation. Every breath he took, every movement reminded him of the week he'd spent as Mark's underwear. It wasn’t just a memory; it felt like a part of him now, and it was driving him to the brink of despair. One evening, he approached Mark, desperation evident in his eyes. "Mark, I need another dose of the TF liquid." Mark looked up, concerned. "Why, Ben? Why would you want to go through that again?" Ben exhaled heavily, "It's this smell, this sensation. It's like it's imprinted on me. I thought it would fade, but it hasn’t. I think... I think if I transform again and you wash me properly, it might cleanse this lingering effect." Mark frowned, contemplating the implications. "It's a risky proposition, Ben. We don't know if that will work, or if it might make things worse." "But I can't keep going like this," Ben's voice cracked, showcasing his frustration and desperation. "I need to try something, anything." After a long discussion, weighing the potential risks and benefits, they decided to give it a shot. Mark retrieved the TF liquid, and with a steadying breath, Ben drank it. The transformation was quicker this time, the familiar sensation of fabric replacing flesh. Mark gently picked up the Ben-boxers and headed to the laundry room. He wanted to be thorough, using a mild detergent and ensuring a complete rinse cycle to hopefully rid Ben of the lingering sensations.

Hours later, after a careful drying process, Mark administered the antidote. Ben slowly returned to his human form, the transition smoother with each occurrence. Taking a deep breath, Ben tried to gauge if the procedure had worked. The initial results were promising; the overpowering scent seemed to have faded. But it would take time to see if the residual feelings were truly gone. "Thank you," Ben whispered, gratitude evident in his eyes. Mark nodded, "Anything for a friend. Let's hope this did the trick." Over the next few days, Ben monitored his senses closely. The cleansing seemed to have made a difference. The intense, pervasive sensations had dimmed, replaced with his familiar, human feelings.

Despite Mark's careful handwashing, the effect seemed temporary. Within a week, the overpowering scent and sensation returned, casting a shadow over Ben's daily life. The persistence of the residual feeling was beginning to take a toll on his mental well-being. "It's like I'm stuck in this perpetual state," Ben admitted to Mark one evening, a look of desolation in his eyes. "The mild solution didn't work. Maybe we need to try something more... extreme." Mark considered this, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps a proper machine wash? Multiple cycles might help. Or even dry cleaning. They use chemicals and processes that might do the trick." Ben looked hesitant but determined. "I'll take the risk. If it means a chance to be free from this persistent feeling, I'm willing to try." Having made their decision, they used the TF potion once again, and Ben transitioned back into a pair of boxers. Mark was meticulous this time. He placed Ben inside a mesh laundry bag for protection and set the washing machine for a gentle cycle first, hoping that a gradual escalation might work.

After the first cycle, Mark took Ben out, allowing him to air dry before repeating the process. Two more wash cycles followed, each slightly more intense than the last. However, after three cycles, they felt it was best to also explore the dry cleaning option. Mark carefully packed up the Ben-boxers and took them to a trusted local dry cleaner, explaining that the fabric was unique and required special attention. The dry cleaner, intrigued by the fabric's texture and the peculiar scent it carried, agreed to try a couple of different methods. After two days, Mark returned to collect the now-cleaned underwear, hoping against hope that the processes had done the trick.

Administering the antidote, Ben transitioned back to his human form. Taking a few moments to gather himself, he took a deep breath. "It feels... clearer. Less saturated." Days turned into weeks, and the oppressive feeling and scent didn't return. The combination of thorough washes and professional dry cleaning seemed to have purged the residual effects from Ben´s system.

Both friends sighed in relief, grateful for the return to normalcy. They had learned their lesson about the unpredictability of the TF potion and the potential ramifications of their decisions. As the days went by, they focused on rebuilding their lives, ensuring that their bond remained untainted by any external influences.

How much would you pay to become his sock?

Damien caught his brother smelling his feet. He figured if he liked them so much he should be as close to them as possible. Of course the transformation is permanent but he wont mind. The life of his socks is great, they love serving his feet, taking in their musk and sweat all day and night, its pure bliss for them getting to be wrapped around such powerful feet. Just ask Damien's ex...or whats left of him anyways.

#Made by a friend of mine 👟 🧦

support the troops

I was surprised when Daniel slid into my DMs on Grinder. For a soldier to message me felt surreal. I assumed all of them were fucking around with their girlfriends while stationed at home. He was pretty upfront with me about the whole situation. Daniel said he needed to let out some steam and basically asked me if he could use me as a simple tool—an easy way to vent.

I felt weird at first, but something about him made me agree to meet at my place. It was easier for him, and I couldn't disagree. When Daniel arrived at my place, I was even more surprised. He looked handsome in his pictures, but the real one was even more imposing. Still in his uniform and carrying a bag, he entered my home, looking for my bedroom.

I made sure to clean it and remove my dirty laundry and shoes. But Daniel didn't care. He tossed his bag to the floor and turned around. His eyes immediately wandered all over my body, but he didn't seem satisfied. With a low grunt, he ordered me to undress, and I did. It felt as weird as it was exciting. He even smelled good—musky, but good. His body tested the limits of his clothes. All those workouts paid off.

My dick was already hard, and my hole was ready to welcome his cock, but at first, he looked at me again before shrugging. "Not impressed, but it had to do", was something flashing through my mind. I felt embarrassed, but then he smirked at me. My whole pale body turned red, much to his amusement. Without much hesitation, he undressed as well, exposing his well-formed physique.

His abs were so beautiful, defined, and hard that I would have loved to touch and lick him. Follow his hairy treasure trail with my tongue. But the look in his eyes told me not to. I wasn't supposed to even look at him like that. Disgusted, he ordered me to turn around and lie down on my bed. And I did it without questioning anything.

I heard his belt opening, and his tight pants slipped down his thick thighs. His dick hit his skin a few times, accompanied by a low grunt. He must have felt good and in control.

And he was. I tried to turn my head to look at his member with my own eyes, but he stopped me. Easily, he grabbed my neck with one hand and pressed me into my bedsheets. Right away, I let out a long moan, and my dick started leaking all over the place. I couldn't help but whimper once he entered my body with his thick pole. It hurt—so much pain and pleasure.

His deep groans and my high-pitched moans filled the air all around us as he started to thrust into my widening hole again and again. Daniel didn't even acknowledge me at all. For him, I was just another sex toy, a simple means to an end. He kept on fucking me for what felt like an eternity. His dick penetrated me, hitting all the right spots. He was so long and so hard, and his throbbing cock made itself feel at home. Daniel growled like an animal. Like a bull, or something even bigger and more feral. Feeling his hand on my neck and the other on my waist, I felt pain rush through me. But at the same time, I felt better than ever before.

I already came twice when his entire body got stiff and rigid, filling my hole with his steaming cream. Exhausted, I lay there, panting, while his hands ran over my back and his finger along my spine. Now he seemed to care, at least a little. Daniel's entire demeanor changed. He turned soft, like all of this pressure had left his body. His wet cock left my body, making me moan loudly again. And when I turned around, I caught him fondling it lovingly.

Then, however, he asked me something that changed my life forever. "You want to support our troops, right?" He said it eagerly and teasingly while getting dressed again. I enjoyed watching him tuck his member into his briefs, covering the package with his uniform pants. I didn't even notice him staring at me. But he just repeated his question, with his voice even deeper than before.

Our eyes met again, but he changed. They were so shiny, and his voice was so smooth; how was that possible? What was he talking about? Was he asking me to be his fucktoy? But that wasn't it. I was unable to form a coherent thought, and he knew that. He put his shirt back on and asked me one last time. His eyes pierced my mind, and I was speechless. Support the troops. Any way possible.

I nodded slowly, and he smirked. "Good boy." He licked his lips and grabbed his bag, pulling out another uniform. It was dirty and smelly, and just by the looks of it, it hasn't been washed in ages. "This is for you." Daniel grinned, and a spark of mischievous joy flashed in his eyes as he tossed those clothes at me.

Instinctively, I caught them, and their smell was even worse. Was I meant to wash it? Or wear it? I didn't know. I opened my mouth to ask him, but something was already happening. Those clothes were radiating some sort of energy, a warmth, which engulfed my hands at first, but it was spreading quickly. I was trying to ask for help, to yell, but my body didn't obey me anymore.

In fear, all I could do was watch my hands and arms transform. They turned flat and changed color rapidly. That uniform was taking over my body, pulling me into its fabric. Panicking, I looked at Daniel, who was happily watching me, enjoying my despair. He crossed his arms in front of his massive chest before lowering one hand, touching his member through his clothes.

As more and more of my body turned into fabric, he started to jerk off through his pants. He loved watching me cry out in agony. With all of my power, I started to scream, but as much as I tried, I couldn't fight it.

It didn't even hurt as much as it tickled, like multiple hands sliding across my skin at once. Suddenly, I blacked out. Too much pressure, too much stress.

When I came to my senses, I felt myself getting lifted into the air by a pair of beautiful, masculine hands. It was Daniel who looked at me with a playful grin spreading all over his face. As he talked to me, telling me about my new life in his sweaty uniform, I felt his hands enter me and touch me like no one had ever before. If I still had a cock, I would be leaking heavily by now. It felt sensational, free of any problems I had as a human. Even though I couldn't see him, I knew he was happy with me, which caused me to vibrate rhythmically. I wasn't even mad when he pushed me into that old military bag. It felt right, like my new home.

I got used to the smell pretty quickly and started to appreciate it. He washed me from time to time and wore me nearly every day for training, target practice, and missions. Feeling his skin press against mine, smelling his strong musky scent, or humming to his racing heartbeat—yeah, that was my new life. It got even better when he started to tease me, wearing nothing underneath me, so I felt his muscles, nipples, and, most importantly, his dick imprint through me. When I was lucky, he even pleasured himself through me. Anytime he came into me, he made me think about his steaming cream flooding my tight hole.

I sucked him dry—sweat, cum, or blood. No matter what he threw at me, I gladly took it. That was my job, and all I could think to say was.

Thank you sir.