As requested by @gangesqueen for a Part Two

Lial was in a sweaty prison around Trey, the team captain's waist. He could hear the team celebrate their victory on the bus ride home. He could even hear their coach joining in on the celebration. He so wanted to scream for help for the coach to convince the team captain to let him go. But as an article of clothing, he couldn't do anything but cradle the waistline of who wore him. The sweaty prison was a nightmare. He was completely saturated by Trey's sweat and started to smell like the musky odor he was attached to.

After a two hour drive back, Trey got to his car and drove home. It was then he realized the sentient underwear he was wearing. They were enjoying the celebration so much he had forgotten about the special trophy the losing team gifted them. "Sorry to say, but your old life is over, buddy. My team and I get to have all the fun with you." He gloated over his transformed underwear.

Once home, Trey decided to let his transformed underwear know just how much of an object he was. He got undressed with just only his underwear on. He went to his computer desk and put on a porn video. As the action in the video intensified, so did his dick. He stroke and stroked it through his underwear until his load spilled on the inside. The release felt so wonderful. He gained a sense of superiority as he saw the underwear front wet with hot cum. The thought that he just did that to a former human actually felt great to him.

Lial felt so disgusted at his face being rubbed around Trey's dick. Feeling the warm cum wet his face made his feelings even worse. The guy literally ejaculated in him as though he was a simple object, a simple article of clothing on his body. He no longer felt human anymore. "I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did, underwear bitch. I think I will sleep in you as well. You need to truly realize what your teammates did to you." He heard Trey laugh at him. Trey took a shower and put him back on his body, much to his disagreement.

The next day, Lial found himself turned back human again. He still smelled horrible from the musk from being Trey's underwear. He looked up at another of Trey's teammates. "I want a pair of bitch socks, Trey" Antoine spoke to his team captain. Lial thought being underwear was bad enough, but being socks on the jock's feet didn't sound pleasant. "Please, just let me go, I promise I won't say a word about what you have done to me" Lial pleaded, only to see Trey flash a light at him from his TF phone. He didn't have a chance to say another word.

Antoine picked up the Nike socks off the floor. "You have him for one day, then another person gets to play with him next." Trey spoke as he left Lial with Antoine to use as he pleased. He really was looking forward to this. He quickly slips him on his feet. It felt wonderful on feet, unlike normal socks. The former human was super comfortable to wear. Antoine decided to go on a five-mile jog for good measure on the transformed human. He didn't even get the guy's name, but that really didn't matter. He was socks now and socks don't need to have a name.

Lial saw this new experience was far worse than being wrapped around Trey's waist. Each step brought on levels of pain he never thought was possible. He mentally screamed in agony as Antoine started his jog. The pain seemed never ending. The pain wasn't the only thing he had to contend with. The sneakers he was shoved in smelled so bad, he wished he could have passed out just so that he didn't have to smell the foul stench. He mentally begged that he was having a bad nightmare and could wake up from it. After twenty minutes, he saw his nightmarish hell go from bad to worse. He was now tasting the foot sweat that was saturating his sock bodies. Being a transformed object heighted his senses 500% beyond normal. Every smell, touch and taste made his hell a place of torment. The jog seemed never ending.

Antoine returned from his jog to relax. His feet didn't hurt one bit. In fact, they have never felt better. He knew it was all due to his current socks. He wanted to thank his socks for doing such a good job. He knew one special way to do just that. He took off one sock and placed it over his dick. While watching porn, he ejaculated in it for good pleasure. With the other sock, he used that to clean his dick off. He didn't formally thank his socks, because who really speaks to their socks as though it's a person.

For the next several months, Lial was treated to being an object for each member of the team as something that person wanted him to be. He had been shoes, socks, underwear, a dildo, a condom, insoles, boots. He just wanted his nightmare to end. He was finally given back to the team captain after everyone had their fun with him. He was so hoping he would at last be free. He found himself human once again, not sure what was going to happen next.

"I give you the option, I turn you into a permanent pair of Nike Air Jordans for my feet forever, or you can suck my cock and be set free afterwards. Your choice." Trey told Lial. What Lial didn't know was that Trey had a devious plan if he chose to suck his cock.

Lial saw this as his opportunity to return back to normal life, even if that meant he had to suck the jock's sausage to get it. He quickly put Trey's dick in his mouth and started sucking it. He wasn't paying any attention to what Trey was doing above him.

Trey had the setting on the TF phone and snapped his picture. Lial vanished before him. All that was left was an extra six inches to his dick. He laughed as he realized that the guy was permanently his cock now. There was no way to reverse what he had done to him. Yet, he didn't want to reverse it. The loser was given to his team, so they got to do whatever they wanted with him. He pulled up his underwear and pants, trapping his new cock in darkness. He promised he would give the guy some action soon enough. There would be plenty who would want to suck his new dick or an ass he could be shoved in. The thought of subjecting the former human to that made him laugh

Lial realized that Trey had lied to him as he now found himself as the man's dick. His fate was sealed; his humanity was permanently gone forever. He was now the jocks sex tool for the rest of his life. He could only weep and feel contempt for his former teammates, who put him in this predicament.

here’s a megs drawing i did for my friends

alt vers & sketch

I decided to remake some of my old captions.

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.”

This faggot wanted to suck his Bullie's dick...now he gets to worship it forever. What a lucky fag.

Picture: @muscles_worship

PART TWO (From the perspective of the objects, see part one for what happened previously)

Alexe had a temper issue.. if anyone pissed him off too bad, something happened to them, mostly non life threatening. It wasn't until he was in his forties that his temper issue gotten worse. Before only non life threatening injuries occurred on his victims, but that all changed after his first murder. He enjoyed seeing the life drain from the person that really made him angry. When he was finally caught, they were able to pin only ten murder victims on his record. That was only because those were the bodies they found with his DNA evidence on them. In fact, he actually had killed over thirty in total. The big difference was that the majority of his kills, he was able to completely dispose of the evidence or body. He never mentioned the other murders they couldn't find.

Regardless, Alexe was serving life in prison. Not long after that, he was informed of his status change. He would be offered up to be an object for another person to use as they saw fit. Unfortunately, he had no choice since the prison system sold him away to some company. He was extremely pissed when he saw a giant foot enter his sock body. The foot filled in his hollowed out insides and secured to his owner's foot. Back in his human days, this guy would just be another murder victim he enjoyed killing. But now as a powerless sock, he was forced to provide comfort to his owner's feet. He hated the very moment being wrapped around the guy's feet. The fact that the guy knew his sock is a former human and still used him as an object really made him angry.

Alexe was never remorseful about all those he killed. He had fun murdering them. Every urge he felt now was to kill the guy whose foot he was on. Being a powerless object really sucked horribly. He knew the foot would eventually smell foul, and he would smell like the guy's foot. It still didn't stop him from thinking what he would do to this guy if he could ever regain his humanity. For now, all he could do was be stepped on, stand on and shoved into stinky shoes. All of that totally against his own will.

Vice was out to make money selling high-end cars. Unfortunate for him, he was eventually caught, arrested, and sentenced to prison time for his crimes. He was only given 15 years, and he would be back on the streets, but the prison system made a change. He was sold away to be material to be transformed into an inanimate object for a person to use as they pleased.

Vice had hoped, at least, it would be a woman owner since he had no choice in his fate. He was disgusted when he saw it was a dude. To make him feel even more sickening about it, the guy chose him to be a sock. He would be forced to be wrapped around a guy's foot unwillingly. Powerless and no ability to move on his own made his fate mentally unbearable. He would have preferred a woman's foot over this guy's foot. He could feel the guy wiggling his toes in his sock body. The thought of smelling like a stinky foot disgusted him. He would be marked by foot odor of his owner's feet. He felt so degraded even thinking about that part, too.

Chaze tried in his new socks. They felt so wonderful on foot and super comfortable. He wiggled his toes in them. "I know my two socks are criminals, so I don't feel bad for you on my feet. In fact, let me show you how sorry I feel for you." He spoke directly to his new socks. He took them off his feet and unzipped his pants. He pulled out his dick. He placed one sock over it and thought about the hottest woman he knew. His dick got hard, and he began to jerk off in the sock. He released hot sperm into the sock, marking it as his property. He then did the same to the other sock. He rather enjoyed using the criminals like a cum rag. "You guys did the crime and now is paying the time as my property." He laughed as he put the unwillingly socks back on feet.

Alexe was cursing like crazy. A guy just jerked in him and marked him with his man juice. If he was human, he would first torture him and then murder him. He hated being so powerless.

Vice mentally cried, still taste the guy's cum. It was disgusting. Sadly, the guy could jerk in him again, and there was nothing he could do to stop him. If he could go back in time, he definitely would not be in his current situation

Cam was tired of day to day life. He just wanted a worry free life of not paying bills, doing chores, and just a life completely free of tasks or objectives to accomplish. The company gave him that solution. He now found himself as a boot for some stranger to wear. At first, he thought it was a bad idea as he felt socked feet enter his boot body. He heard that the socks were also former humans. He felt the socked foot press down on his insole face. It was painful as his owner stood up, applying even more pressure.

Cam realized he was just an object to him and nothing more. The owner didn't get a care about the human life under his foot, only that it served his purpose of supporting his feet. It was a painful existence and purpose. Not only the pressure of the whole body, but walking on all sorts of surfaces crossed his mind. He could feel the hard floor beneath his soles. The thought of walking on rocky ground worried him. He would feel all of that while his owner would feel nothing but cushion comfort. His life was now just to be under foot. Yet, it was the worry free life he wanted. He didn't have to do anything at all. It was a fair trade, he thought.

Mary had feared for her life after she betrayed the crime syndicate boss. She asked for the police to help, but soon found out some of them were on the crime boss's payroll. She received several death threats. She didn't know where to go to be safe. The company offered her the best solution. The crime syndicate would not know what object she was or who owned her. Only difference is that it would be a permanent situation. Her human life would be over forever, but at least she would be alive.

She felt the guy walk in her, pressing his socked feet on her face. She bared the pain of being walked on and crushed with each step. She contemplated whether this was better than running out of fear of death in her former human life. She was an object being crushed by a guy without a hint of mercy or care. But at least she was alive. The guy, in a way, saved her from being hunt down and murdered. This foot was her life saver despite all the pain it caused her to be under it. She decided she would worship the foot that kept her safe and alive. Her Master's foot was her savior and hero. She would gladly support every step it took on top of her with joy. This pain was worth it, knowing the crime syndicate would never find her.

Chaze loves the cushioning of his new cowboy boots. He didn't know if the two loved their new existence or hated, but they were really comfortable. Even if they hated, there was no way to reverse the process. They were forever stuck as boots, his boots. But he had more value placed on his boots than his socks. They willingly gave up their humanity to be owned. He sort of respected that part of them. He would take good care of his boots to show his gratitude for their sacrifice.

His new underwear was already wrapped around his waist under his pants. Blake made an excellent pair of underwear. He rubbed his crotch area. "How does it feel to have my dick in your face? You used to do this to me back in school. Now I get to do this to you for the rest of your life." He spoke as he let precum saturate his underwear with pleasure.

Blake remembered well the former nerd he used to torment back in school. He rather enjoyed it then. But never in his life that he thought the former nerd would own him as his underwear. He was his property now. He mentally pleaded for Chaze to have some semblance of mercy. Have precum on his face made him feel even more degraded than he already felt. He knew Chaze would sweat in him, and he would have to have a musky odor saturate his whole body. This was a fate he would never have wished for. But there was no returning to human life. He was forever underwear.

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.

TF Gun 1: Underwear

Jason and Zach were just getting out of their college class, when Jason asked if Zach would like to come over, being that Zach had nothing to do he agreed he might as well go with Jason. While walking over to Jason’s house, Jason mentioned his dad supposedly got an experimental transformation gun locked up in his safe. Due to his father being a genetic researcher and booking into the ways of preservation with human consciousness intact. Zach was intrigued by this and asked, Jason do you think we can use it and see what happens? I know you gotta be curious. Jason stated, what do you think I was planning on doing, i want to use it on you what do you think of being my underwear. Zach began blushing, not expecting Jason to say such a thing. Jason then started saying, yeah you can be my underwear I’ll stretch you out a bit and wear you around, I bet you’ll make a really comfortable pair. I’m just curious what color you will be on m gotta make sure you match my outfits. Zach was beet red and told Jason, you want me to be underwear for you, why? Jason replied, well you have alway been there for me and I did not know how to tell you this but I’m moving out of my parents place and going out of town figured I will take you with me. Zach was having so many thoughts run through his head, but by the time he comprehended everything it was too late, as he was already inside Jason's room waiting while Jason went to grab the transformation gun from his dads safe. When Jason returned he came in immediately and blasted Zach with the gun, Zach instantly dropped to the floor a pair of black underwear in his place. 

Jason marveled at what he had just done looking at his friend who had turned into underwear. Jason immediately stripped down and put Zach on, wow you fit like a glove, I love how your fabric feels. Zach could only be heard when worn is what Jason soon discovered, as he heard his friend saying this is not the perspective I was prepared for Jason. Jason replied, well too bad I love the way you feel, you have to see yourself in the mirror as Jason goes to take a picture of his body in the mirror located in his room.

Yeah Zach this is going to work out perfectly you get to be with me now everywhere being my underwear, what do you think? Zach told Jason, I didn’t want this to be an arrangement to turn me back, you had your fun. Jason says, no I think you’re better this way and if you can’t  this guess you’ll just be a piece of clothing from now on, well I think you need some alone time, lets get some pants on, can’t go walking around in my underwear like some kid.

Well guess we’ll talk later, gonna leave you be for now.

Hope you all enjoy this story, it’s my first one ever so please leave comments, also likes and re-blogs are highly appreciated.

If I give you the chance to fuck this sweet and delicious ass will you use your cock well ?

If yes hit me inbox ❤️🤩🇺🇸🤗

So last week was my birthday, and a few of the guys at my party decided to merge with my underwear as a birthday gift. Theres still room for more people if more people want to jump in or lowkey if you want to put people against their will in there thats fine too. All you gotta do is make contact with my undies. Only catch is EVERYONE has to agree to stop being merged to set everyone free. Its been a week and my 20 or so friends are still in here so it can be a while. But these are my favorite pair of undies, so I won't be taking you guys off until you guys unmerge yourselves.