Making Some Changes

Roommate Needed Six

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After a few cold days to remind us it was October, the sun decided to come out one last time. It seemed that everyone on campus was making the most of the nice weather. Many were wearing shorts , probably for the last time and schoolwork was the last thing on everyone's mind. As I walked back from class, I noticed a group of five guys playing basketball at the public court. A muscular blonde with red and white shorts went for a long shot. The ball bounced of the rim towards the sidewalk and road. I stopped the ball from rolling into the street and picked up.

"Thanks man," said the blonde as he trotted towards me, sweat glistening down on his shirtless chest.

"Hey Luke," called one of his teammates. "Ask him if he wants to join in. Three on three."

"That's okay," I said as I offered him the ball. "I haven't played in years."

"You sure," said Luke as he grabbed the ball. He looked me straight in the eye and added, "I mean, it's such a nice day and all."

At that moment something stirred inside me. These guys seemed nice enough. None of my friends played any sports and I had always liked basketball in high school.

"What the heck," I answered, following Luke back to the court.

"All right! Thanks dude!" said one of the guys. "I'm Dave. You gonna go shirts or skins?"

"Shirts ... for now," I responded, feeling a little bit awkward. These guys were clearly gym buffs and I was far from it. Everyone on the team introduced themselves. I would be on the shirts team with Dave and Chris, against Joey, Luke, and Sean. We were evenly matched, except I was clearly the smallest guy.

The game began slowly, but as soon as I was given the ball, I felt a new sense of confidence in me. I dribbled past Sean and sunk a short jump shot. When I landed I felt stronger and faster.

"Nice shot," said Dave.

After a few more minutes of playing, I was starting to get into a groove, like I was in perfect form physically. Our team was beginning to pull ahead.

"Water break," said Joey.

The sweat had begun to run down my shirt, so I pulled it off. Underneath, I was surprised to see that I had no tan lines. I never went shirtless, so I was very pale, but today, I had a perfect tan. My body has also grown larger and thicker. My chest was thick with muscle and my abs were well defined. I used my shirt to wipe down the sweat.

"Alright, so how about you go over to skins, because we'd kill them otherwise. Just trade with Luke," said Dave.

"Cool by me, bro," I said, giving him a high five, surprised for three reasons. 1) I never used the word "bro" or gave high fives, 2) I hardly knew these people, and 3) I was completely relaxed being part of this team, like I had played with them for months.

We played for another hour, trading teams and just messing around. I had a couple nice dunks, since I was the tallest and biggest player. We gave each other high fives, fist bumps, and made crude jokes. By the end of the game, they had all taken to calling me Brett. Which as far as I could remember was my name. When we left the court to walk home, I had completely forgotten my life before basketball and these bros of mine.

Ostello della Moda: Eduardo

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John hadn't heard from any of his friends in Italy for the last 24 hours. The last thing he got was a text from Luke, saying "Last flight to Milan!" but that was yesterday afternoon. "See ya soon Johnny-boy." In college, he had gone by Johnny, even though his name was John. He hoped that the lack of communication was because they were having too much fun to post any pictures or send a reminder e-mail. He hoped everything would work itself out.

It was around 3:00 PM when he showed up at the "Ostello della Moda." He was exhausted. He went to the front desk and gave his name.

"Sorry, sir. No reservation under that name."

He gave the names of his friends, no luck. "No reservation," the man repeated. He wasn't the one that made the arrangements, so there must have been a mistake. He sat down at a table and tried to text his friends. After a few minutes, still nothing. He went back to the front desk.

"No one checked in under the names Walter, Dylan, Tyler, or Luke. No one?" he said, a little irritated by the whole situation.

"No reservation. We don't have any rooms left," the man said, trying to be polite, but failing.

He checked his phone again. Still no response. He was stranded. What would he do? Should he find another hostel? Should he get a hotel? Would he ever get in touch with his friends. There were people behind him in line, so he stepped out of line for a second to think and let the person behind him pass. He was a muscular man with short wavy hair, a thin mustache, stubble, and a tight bro-tank. He chatted rapidly with the man behind the desk and handed him some towels and supplies in exchange for some paperwork. Suddenly, he looked straight at John and then fired off some rapid Italian questions. They talked together and John felt like they were discussing him. The man walked over and said, "You are John?" in a thick accent. "Yes ... I mean ... sì," John answered. "Antonio," he said introducing himself. "We have open bed ... uh ... I checkout ... apartment next door ..." his English was not very clear. I turned to the man behind the desk for help. "He has an apartment in the building next door. He comes here often." They nodded. I considered my options. "You stay free," Antonio said. "Show you," he added.

I followed him outside and passed a storefront selling what looked like Italian hip-hop fashion. We walked inside and Antonio greeted the owner of the store as we walked up a flight of stairs. "Some work here. We live here," he said opening a door at the top of the stairs. Inside was a small apartment with a couch, a few chairs, and an entertainment center. There was a small kitchen and bathroom and a room with bunk beds along one wall. The most noticeable feature of the room was the clothes. There were boxes of clothes everywhere. Most of them looked like the kind sold in the store beneath them. In the bunk room there was a small weight set and a treadmill. Antonio pointed to one of the bunks. "Empty. For you," he said.

Suddenly, he heard voices in the living room and Antonio left. John followed him cautiously. Antonio greeted the two guys that had walked into the room and introduced them. "John ... here is Bruno and Christofano." They conversed in Italian, and the only thing that John could understand was that they were saying the name Edoardo a lot. He wanted to ask, but he mainly wanted to sleep and try to call his friends to connect about the hostel fiasco. Bruno jumped onto the couch and turned on the TV, finding a football game. Christofano and Antonio were discussing something in the kitchen, which left John to awkwardly slink back to the bunk room and try to process this nightmare that he was in. The room was stifling hot, but he wanted to sleep, so he laid down on the bunk bed and closed his eyes. The bunk was already covered in sheets and blankets, but he felt something lumpy underneath him. He reach and pulled out a blue baseball hat from between the sheets. It smelled strongly of cologne, and had a musky scent that seemed to come from the mattress and bed. This bed belonged to someone, it wasn't just an empty bed. He hoped that Antonio wasn't putting him in an awkward position if their roommate came back and found some random American guy sleeping there. He threw the hat onto the floor and laid back in the bunk trying to relax. He breathed in the hot stale air of the room and could here the guys in the other room shouting at the TV as they watched the game. He checked his phone again, but no one replied to his texts. Some vacation.

He drifted off to sleep.

--

He woke up a few hours later and was covered in sweat. The room had grown hotter and his t-shirt was drenched. He wanted to take off his shirt, but felt that would be gross for whoever else used this bunk. Instead, he walked into the living room, hoping that someone was around to help him. He was also really hungry. Everyone was gone, but there was a note on the table next to a plate of food and a can of beer. "For John. Help yourself!" He took the plate of pizza and beer and walked over to the couch. He ate it and checked his phone again. The battery had died. He finished the food and beer and tried to find his charger in the room. But when, looked for his bag, he couldn't find it. His bag was gone and all of his clothes. Then he saw a drawer open on one of the dressers. Inside was a phone charger and some other hygiene products. "For John." There was also the blue hat that he had found earlier. He grabbed the charger and plugged in his phone. The charger was different than the one he had brought, but it was compatible with the Italian outlet, so he decided to use it. When his phone finally turned on, the main screen and the default language was Italian. It looked like he had received a few text message replies. There was a message from Antonio, all in Italian. A few from Bruno. Someone had replied to a message from Christo whose name was Edoardo -- was this even his phone? Was this one of there other roommates. He was so confused and worried that all of his stuff had been stolen. He started to feel sick and needed to go to the bathroom. After he relieved himself, he stumbled back to the bunk and found a towel, some shampoo, and a pair of red underwear waiting for him. Again, the blue hat had been placed on the bed. He felt sweaty and dirty. He hadn't showered since the plane and that nap hadn't helped. He grabbed the pile of stuff and found the shower.

He stripped down and stepped into the warm stream. It felt good. The shampoo and body wash smelled clean and inviting -- they reminded him of the smell of his bunk in the bedroom. He relaxed and let the water wash away the stress of this doomed vacation. Suddenly, he heard his phone ringing. He turned off the shower, grabbed the towel, and raced to the counter of the bathroom.

"Hello?" he said.

The voice answered in rapid Italian.

"Who is this?" he said. He tried to listen, and oddly every few words he started to understand. Casually walked over to his stack of clothes and dressed as he listened. The phone cut out and he set it down and looked up into the mirror. The first thing he was was the blue hat. He was wearing it. He followed it down and realized he didn't recognize the face in the mirror. It was a dark, swarthy, face of an Italian man. He had also absent-mindedly put on a pair of tight red underwear, which accented his slim waist, and hairy pleasure trail that covered a rock-hard set of abs and chiseled torso. There was a knock on the door.

"Edoardo, è che tu?" said the voice.

"Sì, solo un momento," he rattled off without thinking. He dried himself in the towel and opened the door. He instantly recognized the man as Diego, which was odd because he didn't think he had been introduced. But, Diego didn't seem to care and continued saying that he needed to take a shit and that if Edoardo would be so kind as to leave! They joked and he left him in the bathroom. He walked to his room and felt an odd sense of recognition as he laid down on the bunk. He felt comfortable and relaxed. He put on some more clothes and knew that tonight he was working in a show with Christo in the fashion district. He texted him to confirm the time. A few minutes later, Antonio and Bruno returned with food for supper. They asked if they had met "John from America." He said no. Antonio shrugged his shoulders and said "He must have found his friends. Glad you're back, Edoardo! Or you would have had to sleep on the couch!" Edoardo punched him in the arm and they all laughed. It would have been fun to meet this John person, but somehow he felt that he had met him somehow. In any case, he was home now and was glad to be living the dream with his roommates!

Born to be a father

--- Originally posted on 2024-07-10 by breedertfs ---

--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---

I'm a gay man in my early 20's. I know I'm young but I keep having these thoughts.....or this desperate need to be a father. I don't understand where it's coming from.

That's your body telling you how things are gonna be now, bro. This is your new normal.

It's in your muscle memory - even if you claim to have never wanted to be a breeder before now. This urge to spread your seed has been lying dormant in your DNA, just waiting for your desires to waken inside your throbbing cock and for the hunger for wet pussy to cloud your rational mind. Don't you love the way I talk about women and their bodies? The way the men in my stories just can't help but to suck on a pair of fat, bouncing tits? How their thick, slobby tongues want nothing more than to slide between some wet, slick pussy lips?

Imagine the squelch, the squirt, the sound of her high pitched moaning. The way her eyelids will flutter when you unleash your hot, thick load inside her.

You're rock hard, bro. Don't deny it. Your hips buck with pleasure, your package feels so fat and hot, your wide cock head rubbing the fabric of your underwear with each needy thrust you make. The young gay man who made his home inside your mind finds himself surrounded by a sudden harem of hot women, blondes and redheads and brunettes, all with their huge breasts exposed and their greedy fingers between their juicy thighs. This makes you moan in the outside world, your boner raging as you continue to gyrate, your work pants growing taut around your much stronger, hairier legs.

"Yeah, you like that, bitch?" an unfamiliar voice speaks from your lips, bristles of dark hair framing your strengthening jaw. Your hands grow larger and callused, reaching out in front of you and gripping around the waist of an imaginary slut. Your eyes turn dark and brooding, your once youthful face growing older and more grizzled. The strange voice continues to deepen and shift as you moan, your arms growing thick with muscle as your larger fingers pretend to reach towards a pair of jiggling tits. You swear you've never touched a set of breasts before, but your new body can conjure the feeling so easily, as if you were just squeezing a pair the very night before. Perky nipples under your fingertips, jiggling flesh in your palms. It's so natural. "Fuck. Tell Daddy what a needy whore you are."

Your once trendy hair pulls back into your scalp and darkens, becoming a close cropped masculine hairstyle. Your work clothes become more professional, colorful pastel shirt becoming a simple short sleeved blue button up, your khakis fading into simple denim. You're a straight man, after all. You don't feel the need to dress up or stand out. You just feel the need to push your cock into a wide open cunt, to feel the pussy juice accepting your shaft and allowing your nine inches to slide right in. Your nuts swell inside your underwear, full of virile seed that desperately wants to be fired into a waiting womb. You moan again, drool sliding down your stubbled chin, your expression taken over by primal lust.

The former you is still trapped inside his mind, staring at the group of women that have him cornered. To his horror, he watches as the moaning bimbos begin to cry out louder, reaching their soft hands up to grab their breasts as each of their tits begin to swell with milk. The old you watches in horror and amazement, all these big boobed beauties suddenly taking it to a new level, but your awe settles into shocked terror as suddenly all of the women begin to reach down to their stomachs, which begin to rapidly inflate as pussy juice squirts and runs down their trembling legs. In a matter of seconds, your fading former self is trapped with a harem of pregnant women. Everywhere you look is a wet cunt, a fat tit dribbling milk, a pair of kissable lips sighing a moan.

The old you doesn't stand a chance inside the mind of a breeder. He begins to shake, his image blurring and beginning to fade, all of his youth and former goals burning away to make room for the superior man who has made your body his home. Inside and out. This is you. The women in your mind are just memories of former and future conquests alike, an endless sea of women that will swell with your seed and raise your children. Nothing turns you on more than this. You have found your purpose in life.

And there's no shame in that. You want to be a father because you were quite literally born to be a father. And now, my dear friend, your new body is going to make sure you have no choice but to be fruitful and multiply.

Better clock in those hours at your new office job. You're gonna have a lot of hungry mouths to feed - and no shortage of women to impregnate.

Bro-Job

--- Originally posted on 2023-12-04 by dumb-and-jocked ---

BRRRRRRING!

Rodney paced awkwardly in front of the door, two voices in his head battling viscously for control. The first, which begged the question “Why am I here?!” over and over was the more persistent. A 5’5 skinny gay psych major on Greek Row? Yeah, that voice was definitely winning. The other however, the one prompting the single response of “Money.”, was enough to make Rodney stay.

“Hello?” Rodney called out, his bright tenor a little too nasally. He had come in response to a job offer put up on campus. He didn’t actually know what the job was, but it promised “All dudes welcome, free food and drinks.” The free amenities would certainly help pay for his student housing.

After still hearing nothing, Rodney decided to investigate. Someone had to be home, it wasn’t like all the frat boys would already be out and about town. Actually, that possibility didn’t seem too far-fetched. With a huff, Rodney marched his way around the massive frat house, following the driveway to the backyard. Three frat boys were parked by the detached garage, their muscly forms on full display.

“Uh,” Rodney started out. “Excuse me?”

The three men, in a heated argument over big tits or big butts, turned to face the boy half their size. Two of them wore a face of disgust, but the third popped a smile of delight.

“What can we do for you, little man?” the third greeted with two Natty Lights in one massive mitt.

Rodney gulped, noting the major size difference between him and them. “I’m uh…here for the job opening?”

The other two frat boys smirked at that response.

“Hey Chet, looks like someone finally replied,” the first chuckled.

“Cheers to that, broski!” the second, who would make any excuse for a celebratory swig, cheered.

The third, Chet, couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright little man, let’s head in the frat house and get this interview started.”

Rodney nodded, surprised at how simple this whole ordeal was. The much larger jock tossed a bulky arm around the gay nerd and led him to the mansion. Rodney tried to hide his blush at the physical touch, praying that the frat boys wouldn’t see his small, but very present boner.

“First things first bro,” Chet started, tossing Rodney a beer. “We gotta get you a little more comfortable.”

“'Comfortable'?”

“Well sure dude,” Chet laughed, falling back into a crusty couch behind him. “I’m already four deep, so we gotta catch you up.”

Confused, but desperate enough for a job, Rodney cracked open the cold one. He took a timid sip, much to the disapproval of the frat boy.

“Nah bro, don’t be a fairy about it.” Chet shook his head as he patted for the nerd to sit behind him. Trying his best to ignore the previous comment, Rodney placed himself beside the jock. Immediately, Chet grabbed the can and lined it up to Rodney’s mouth, forcing the smaller boy to chug the rest of the beer.

“What the…!” Rodney sputtered, catching his breath. “What was that for?!”

Chet handed the kid another beer. “That’s how you smash, bro! Alright, next one.”

Rodney hated this situation, but he knew he would more despise a situation with no money. After some slight hesitation, Rodney pounded the second beer. Chet made him move through one more, joining the nerd with his own can, tacking their totals to three and five.

“Ahhh…” Chet moaned, patting the stacked eight abs underneath his sweaty tank. He then belched proudly, letting the alcohol take its course. Rodney could only watch on in amazement and an embarrassing amount of arousal.

“Now,” Chet tossed his meaty arm back around the nerd. It took Rodney a second to realize the warm, wet liquid coating his shoulder was sweat from the frat boy’s jungly armpit. “So the job-”

“Oh yeahhh...” Rodney followed with a short giggle. He guessed the alcohol was beginning to assimilate into his system.

“That’s what you’re here for!” Chet exclaimed. “It’s so easy, there’s really only so much you have to know and do.”

Rodney took a swig of his fourth beer, copying the movement Chet had displayed with his sixth can. “Well, what’s to know?”

“There’s that confidence, bro!” Chet took the arm wrapped around the nerd and gave him a playful noogie, the tangled mess cropping up into a neater bro cut. “I was wondering how long it would take for that beer pressure to start hitting you!”

Rodney wanted to correct the jock’s expression, but instead he let out a solitary hiccup. That was followed by a second swig as he watched Chet open into a grand explanation of the job’s responsibilities. 

There was a lot to take in, more than Rodney had thought there would be. The exercise standards, the room-and-board requirements, the daily bonding with bros. And while Rodney listened to everything Chet said, he didn’t realize he was also paying attention to the frat boy’s mannerisms. Rodney was so entranced at every movement of the broadcast. Every scratch, every subtle flex, the way the Adam’s apple bounced with every chug. Even Chet’s dazed-out dumbness and increasing amount of slurring was absorbed by the nerd.

What Rodney didn’t realize however was that each time he picked up on one of these moments, he mimicked it as well. The behavior was being digested into his psyche, the frat boy’s macho ideology sinking down into his core with each new swig of beer. 

While Chet discussed the height requirement, Rodney’s frame shifted underneath the jock’s grasp to notch him up to a proper 6’3. When Chet mentioned the necessary sizes of the biceps, triceps, and quadriceps, Rodney failed to notice his own arms and legs bloating out to gigantic muscular portions. And with each and every swig of beer Chet took, Rodney copied and pasted.

BUUUUUUURRRRRP!

“Ah yeahhhhh!” Chet proclaimed, dropping his seventh empty can. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, bro.”

With a hearty swat, the frat boy smacked Rodney’s small gut. His torso immediately deflated under Chet’s touch, sharpening out into eight stacked abs that fit perfectly underneath his cushy pectorals.

Buh-UUURRRP!

“Huhuhuh,” Rodney chuckled, not noticing his voice was morphing into Chet’s silky-smooth baritone with every syllable. “Like…that felt sooo gooood.”

“Of course it did, bro!” Chet obnoxiously replied. “That’s how frat life always is!”

Rodney watched as Chet groped himself with his free hand. Although it was more than that really: tugging at his massive cock and balls. Rodney then noticed the swath of pubes spilling out over the waistband of Chet’s tiny shorts, realizing the frat boy was going commando.

This typically would’ve excited him, almost to the point of bursting right there, but Rodney's meager dick had surprisingly gone dormant. Rodney rationed it was the alcohol, noting that he’d already started his sixth can. And he was thankful for the lack of attention anyway. If Chet would’ve seen him get hard over another dude, that would’ve been awkward. Yet Rodney couldn't exactly figure out why...

With one hand still handling his boys, Chet suddenly grew quiet and leaned in close to Rodney. His breath was warm and laced with alcohol, each tickling Rodney’s neck before climbing down his shirt, the shirt that had removed its buttons, expensive material, and sleeves.

Rodney watched as Chet got his hand out of his shorts and began feeling up Rodney, piece by piece.

“These arms, brochacho…” Chet murmured, wiping his ball sweat across Rodney’s thick, tanned canvas. Small hairs poked up in Chet’s wake. Chet then lifted one of Rodney’s arms and took a sniff, as if inspecting for quality. Sure enough, a rotten smell emerged from the chestnut groves that had erupted within Rodney’s pits, yet that was the fresh quality Chet had been looking for.

After a quick swig, which was repeated on Rodney’s part, Chet’s massive hand swooped down towards Rodney’s legs, evaluating the meat. Rodney only watched on with a lazy smile, propping his legs out into a typical, bro-ish manspread to accommodate. Without warning, Chet’s hand then launched underneath Rodney’s buttocks, giving one of his cheeks a sharp pinch.

“Hey! Watch it, homo!” Rodney shouted, not catching the slur or the fact that his exclamation had come out with complete clarity.”

“Woah woah, broooo…” Chet slowly pulled his hands back. “I’m just checkin’ if we’re sealed shut dude, wouldn’t want the fairies intruding.”

Sinking immediately back into his drunken haze, Rodney nodded along pleasantly. He thanked his bro for watching out for him, his hole silently shutting tight in response.

Chet let another belch loose before continuing, “Minddd if I tell you a secret, brooo?”

Chet got closer to Rodney, even going as far as to place his sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet on top of Rodney’s.

“Yyyyyeeah dude…” Rodney slurred back.

“Huhuhuh,” Chet started. “See the sorority…rity next door brah?”

Rodney shifted a bit in his seat, slightly turning his own sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet.

“I just banged like…” Chet had to take a second to count. “Ten…eleven…eleven…twelve of those chicks last week. I set…like…a completely new record brochacho!”

The pair burst out into a massive drunken laugh fest, tossing their heads back in an exaggerated manner. Rodney chugged the rest of his beer messily, some droplets splashing onto the bushy mustache crawling over his upper lip like a caterpillar. They both tossed their sixth and eighth behind them.

“Nowwwww…” Chet slowly started again. “We’ve discussed the bro-knows, but now we oughta get to the bro-dos of the Bro-Job.”

“Brahhhh…” Rodney echoed. “The way you’re sayin…sounds kinda gay man…”

Rodney didn’t even consider why this could be a problem.

Chet moved on, “Brah, how I handle my initiations…it's gotta be personal.”

“Init…inuiti…initiations?” Rodney tried to ask, struggling on the word.

“These Bro-Jobs dude…” Chet tried again, screwing off his backwards cap before fixing it onto Rodney’s head. “They're serious busy-nesss….”

Rodney snickered at the odd pronunciation, his jaw and browline growing more pronounced after each chuckle. He then tossed back the rest of his beer, crushing it in one of his massive paws.

“Brah…I need more beeeeerrrr, stat.” 

“Heh, don’t we all bro,” Chet crushed his own empty can before adding it to the disarray of the messy house. “But you gotta pass the initiation man! Your next beer can is your own!”

The frat boy said it in a way where even though the statement made no sense, in their drunken comradery it held like a secret code. 

“Wha…bro…arrrrre you sayin’-?”

“No homo man” Chet immediately quelled the alarm that had been arising in Rodney’s system. “It’s just a part of the Bro-Job…gotta…gotta add more of that frat sauce to the brew or somethin’...”

Both of them stuck their hands down into each other’s packages through their tiny shorts, which Rodney didn’t remember his own had been long slacks before. Or that he had been wearing underwear before. But what did strike Rodney as odd was the manner of this exchange. It still felt off.

“But…” Rodney tried to find the clarity he needed through his drunken incoherent mass of thoughts. “Kinda...gay brah?”

The not-so homosexual man flinched, his lingering sexuality slowly succumbing with the strangely tough pulls that enlarged his precious tap forcefully. It wasn’t long until Rodney’s pride and joy were surging with the same potent and propagating brew of the frat boy who was pumping him. His manhood was now a giant spout, with his swollen balls filled with the pure, raw hormones that ensured his kegs were always juicing.

“Dude…” Chet chuckled. “It’s not gay if you’re thinkin’ of all the chicks that will be beggin’ to ride this thing.”

After a hefty amount of thought, Rodney realized Chet was right. He wasn’t thinking about dudes or bros or nothing. None of the homo crap was even in his mind. In fact, the very idea of being a faggot disgusted him. All Rodney could think about was chicks. Tits and pussies and breeding them one by one with his vaccination shots. Except these shots weren't protecting these babies from anything. Rather, he was contaminating them. And that made Rodney feel good. Absolutely frat-tastically good.

“Ahhhh….brooooo…!” Rodney moaned. “I think I’m gonna blow!”

“Then do it, dude!” Chet replied.

“NO HOMO BROOOO!!!” The frat boys shouted in unison, their gigantic splooges pouring out into their bro’s hand. After the ecstasy had released, they both removed themselves from the other’s shorts and returned the babymatter to their owners, wiping each other’s work on the other’s tank top.

“God dude,” Chet replied. “Nothin’ beats THAT part of the Bro-Job.”

The newly-minted frat boy could only guffaw. His dreams, aspirations, and uniquities were completely gone, let alone his intelligence deteriorated down to the bare minimum. He was now only gifted with the simple desires of a sexually-overdrived culturally-accepted delinquent.

“I never got your name by the way,” Chet laughed. “I’m gonna need it for the prez so he can register you for the frat.”

“Hot Rod,” Rodney replied, the nickname coming out as if it was a programmed response.

Chet gave Hot Rod a brotherly swat before lifting him up off the couch. “'Hot Rod', huh? I think that will suit the other bros well once you finish the last part of the job.”

“There’s more, dude?” Hot Rod asked, following the other frat boy out to the front yard. “We both know I’m perfect for the frat life!”

“Well of course!” Chet then grabbed a computer and handed it over to Hot Rod. After looking for a little too long, Hot Rod eventually realized it was an online job board.

“I gotta get a job, bro?” Hot Rod asked, somehow making the dull timbre of his tone sound even dumber.

“No, dude!” Chet rolled his eyes. “The last part of the Bro-Job is recruiting the next member.”

Hot Rod’s empty expression signaled his lack of understanding.

“I just completed the Bro-Job,” Chet explained. “Now it’s your turn.”

Again, after a little too long of a pause, the pieces finally managed to place themselves together in Hot Rod’s head. With a thick guffaw, he made the job opening available once more before closing the laptop. He then placed the device behind him and took a seat at the end of the driveway, twisting his cap and assuming a cocky pose.

“What are you doing, bro?” Chet laughed.

“Sittin’ pretty, brah,” Hot Rod shot back. “Wanna make it easier for the next fag that rolls around.”

Product Placement: Free Exercise Healthcare Offer

--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---

The girls in the locker room snickered behind her back as Janet pulled off her gym shirt. They didn't have to shower before class (thank God!) but everyone needed to change out of their sweaty gym clothes. Janet always felt like an outsider and didn't have many friends in her class. It was partially to do with her tomboyish features: tall, lanky, flat-chested, a little bit muscular; but also because she preferred "guy" things to "girl" things. She was the youngest in her family and her twin older brothers let her tag along with their friends growing up. They were always skateboarding, riding dirt bikes, wrestling, or getting into trouble. It was a great childhood, but that all changed in late middle school. Her brothers where in high school now and their friends thought it was weird to hang out with a middle-school girl. And so she was left on her own. Now a junior in high school, Janet was isolated and lonely. She heard someone laughing nearby and tried not to look up. They were around the corner of a row of lockers, but she overheard anyway (that was probably the point anyway...)

"...such a freak. I mean, did you see her in the weight room..." "...what girl bench presses that much..." "...a girl with a dick, that's who!"

Janet tried to fight back tears as the laughter continued. She didn't have a dick, of course. She was a woman, but sometimes wondered if maybe she was transgender. She liked guys, not only because she could relate to them better, but because she was attracted to their bodies. Was that why she liked lifting? Was it because she wanted to be a man?

The laughing continued.

"Bitches..." Janet whispered under her breath. That was a mistake, because the laughter stopped. She would pay for that later, she was sure of it. These girls were your typical high school "mean girls" and she was an easy target for them.

"Hey Janet," one them called out. "The boy's locker room is on the other side!"

"Yeah, you must have wandered in here by mistake," said another girl.

They walked formed a circle around her and laughed. Janet grabbed her gym bag and ran out of the locker room before they saw her crying. She was so worried they were following her, that she sped up. As she turned the corner, she ran headfirst into a group of guys coming in from the gym and tripped. One of the guys caught her as she fell. His name was Cody, the captain of the basketball team and one of the tallest, fittest, guys at her high school.

"Sorry..." Janet mumbled.

"Dude, it's fine," Cody answered.

His basketball jersey was damp with sweat and the smell of his body odor mixed with deodorant and body spray was musty and raw.

"Hey, I know you," he added. "You're Davey's little sis, right?"

Her older brother David had played basketball, so they probably were on the same team at some point in high school.

"Yeah, that's me" she added as she grabbed her bag and tried to leave the conversation.

"Woah, dude, why don't you play. You'd be great," he said. His kindness made his face look even more attractive. But Janet saw that the girls were leaving the locker room, so she didn't answer and snuck out of the gym to the parking lot.

At home, she kept thinking about what she had overheard that day. It left her feeling empty and confused. Her parent's were gone that night, so she spent the night playing video games online. She was a big fan of games that were by no means "girly." It started with games like "Halo," "Borderlands" "Call of Duty", but she was a huge fan of "Gears of War." She always seemed to identity with the hyper-masculine heroes of the games, with their strong muscles, heavy guns, and no bullshit attitudes. Even when there was an option to build a female character in a video game, she almost always made herself the biggest, tankiest, brute, and played melee style.

That night, she was playing with random guys all over the world. It was commonplace for them to either not care about her gender, or just assume she was a guy. Though some might say that was sexist, she didn't care. She just wanted to be one of the guys anyway.

That night, she had a strange dream. It started as a scene from the video game earlier that day. Her squad was clearing out a bunker, but it transformed into her high school locker room. There she was, standing in the middle of the guys locker room. She saw a group of guys showering, there wet asses covered in soap and their hair matted down on their faces. She saw Cody, his calves round, his thighs thick, and his muscled bubble butt. She felt uncomfortable, but no one seemed to notice her. She started to back away when she heard someone shout out, "Look guys, Janet's got a cock!"

She stared down at her crotch and saw that she had a massive boner sticking out from her naked body. She heard echoes of laughter from all sides, but couldn't escape the dream. All around her were shadowy figures taunting her.

"Be strong. Be yourself. Fight. You have to fight. You have the strength. Fight through. Be strong."

Her hands curled into fists and she felt a primal, almost orgasmic rage, rise within her. When she lifted up her arms, she saw that they were ripped with muscle and covered in tattoos. Her chest and abs were chiseled and she felt taller. She took the stance of a fighter and landed a punch on one of the shadowy beings. She let out a grunt of satisfaction and turned to swing her hand across the jaw of another shadow.

"Good. You are a fighter. You are stronger than them. You must fight."

The fighting continued until all the shadows were gone. She let out a shout and pumped her fists together. Suddenly, the dream ended and she jumped up in her bed.

She turned on the lamp next to her bed and saw that she was back in her normal body. Her heartbeat was racing, but she knew it was just a dream. Probably caused by playing video games too late at night. She turned the light off and tried to go back to bed.

The next day at school, Janet figured there would be bullying. But she wasn't prepared for what she found on her locker. Someone had cut out a picture of her head and taped it onto a bodybuilder. Written across the top was "Roid Janet" and "Tranny Janny" (both new ones to her). She tore down the picture and walked away from her locker. She knew everyone was watching her, so instead of just hiding in the bathroom, she actually went and sat in her car. She pounded her fists on the steering wheel and thought to herself, "Why do I have to be a girl..."

Just then, she heard a voice in her head start to talk. "You are not a girl. You are a man. You are a fighter. You can become what you want. You choose to become strong. You choose to become a man. You choose to stop being Janet. When you become a man, Janet no longer exists. No one will know who Janet is. You will become a new person. A new man."

The voice grew louder in her head and she just laid back in her seat and let the voice put her into a deep trance. In this trance she felt strong, she felt powerful. At one point, it felt like she was having an orgasm, but it was different than anything she had felt before. But before she climaxed, it went away and the trance faded. She didn't want the teachers looking for her, so she back inside. But everyone was shuffling the halls as usual. What was strange was that no one made eye contact with her. This wasn't completely out of place, but it felt different somehow. She went back to her locker, but the combination she tried didn't open.

She banged her hand on the door, but no one stopped and looked. She stood in the middle of the hall and felt invisible. A nerdy kid that she had never seen before walked over to "her" locker and opened it. He took off his hoodie and hung it up on one of the hooks. It looked like all of her books and pictures were gone. On the intercom, she heard an announcement:

"A reminder to all students that the assembly with celebrity fighter and trainer Andy Hunt will start in the gym at 9:00 AM." She walked down the hall and passed the group of girls that bullied her staring at a poster. They were giggling about a shirtless man that was flexing. It was a poster for the special assembly. "OMG, he is SO sexy," they said casually. These girls paid no attention to Janet, even she was standing right next to him. Something about this man's body seemed familiar, like something she had seen in a dream.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered.

"Who is this?" said the voice on the other side.

"Janet, who are you?"

"Don't worry Janet. You are going to be fine. Just listen carefully."

"What! Who is this?"

"That doesn't matter. All that matters is who you are. Who you are becoming. Go to the locker room by 9:00. Andy needs his phone."

"Andy? Who is Andy? What's going on."

The caller hung up and she saw that the screen of her phone looked different. The time was 8:55. She had no idea what was happening, but saw that the halls were emptying out as everyone gathered in the gym.

She followed carefully, but the phone in her hand kept pinging with messages and text.

"Where r u, Andy?"

"Andy, you have less than 5"

When she entered the room, she saw a crew of cameramen and people waiting for the assembly to start.

"Andy, thank God you're here!" said a short thin man with a bald spot.

"I'm not Andy," Janet wanted to say, but the man was dragging her by the wrist.

"Just wait in the locker room until your cue, alright!"

As Janet walked down the hallway, she started to feel dizzy. She turned right, but the man laughed.

"Wrong way, Andy -- the men's room is that way" he said, pointing down the hallway on the left.

"Men's room, but, I ... uh ... what is going ..."

Janet turned down the hallway and walked through the door into the boy's locker room. It felt like dream. The room seemed steamy and Janet started taking off her clothes. As she stripped, she heard the voice again.

"Andy, you are so close. You are ready. Look at yourself Andy. You are strong. You are popular. You are an inspiration. You can be the man you want. You can inspire others to greatness. Look at yourself Andy."

Janet turned toward a mirror and saw the face of Andy Hunt staring back. This was the face of the man she always dreamed of being. His eyes were dark. He had a beard and styled hair. His bulging arms were tattooed. His chest strong, with only a little hair between his pecs. His abs were perfect and below was a forest of dark hair and a massive towering cock.

"Let go Andy. Allow yourself to let go."

Janet took the massive cock and stroked it back and forth. With every invigorating stroke, her mind emptied and she allowed herself to drift away. The sensation of being this man in the mirror took control. Andy wanted this, so Andy kept going. With a few thrust, Andy sprayed come into the sink and felt a wave of relaxation wash over him. Usually, he wouldn't do this before a show, but today felt different. He cleared his throat and spat into the sink. Outside, he heard people chanting his name.

Andy walked over to a bench and pulled out his underwear and the track suit and fitness wear with the words "Andy Hunt: Trainer" printed on them. He saw his luggage for the rest of the tour.

As the crowd chanted his name, Andy took the stage as high energy music played. He dropped down and did twenty push ups in rhythm as they cheered. He walked over to the microphone and greeted the group.

"Hello! Hello!"

Over the course of his show, he encouraged everyone in the room to commit to being themselves, to become strong, to stand up for what they believed, to transform their lives. Afterward, he took selfies with adoring fans, gave them advice, and signed their notebooks. He posted some of the pictures on his massively popular Instagram and Twitter pages. Tomorrow, he would train a local gym to stay fit, but then continue the tour. His message was empowering and he wanted everyone to feel like they had the power to make their dreams a reality.

Growing into it

Andy was a skinny gay kid. New in the college scene he asked your help giving him a makeover. Looking into his closet, you were dismayed to only find cargo shorts and graphic tees. No way you guys were going to the club wearing that. You took him to the local goodwill and told him to bring you stuff he liked. 5 minutes later he comes back with a red flannel shirt four or five sizes too large. This kid was hopeless. But you weren't going to give up that easy. Hoping he'd see how ridiculous he'd look in that oversized shirt, you took him to a trying booth and asked him to try it on. For some reason he took off the basic tee he was wearing to try the flannel on. Just as expected it looked silly. Like a boy wearing his big brother's clothes. The sleeves flowed way past his hands. Half of his thighs were covered by the shirt.

"Maybe something a bit smaller, buddy. Guys wanna see some skin." You said.

But before you could say something else you notice something happening. Were you getting shorter? No. It was Andy. You'd figured you were both the same height but now you saw he was taller. Suddenly way taller. In the seconds you stood in awe, Andy's body had apparently extended itself to over 6 feet.

Despite still fitting largely, the shirt's sleeves were now the correct length.

"I don't know, man. I kinda like it." He said. His voice sounded deeper. More masculine. "You think I should show some skin, though?" He asked as he undid the first two buttons. You couldn't help but feel a twitch in your crotch from hearing his new voice.

As he finished undoing the buttons and studied his reflection again, you noticed the changes weren't over.

His face became more angular, more handsome than his usual cute.

With every breath Andy took, the shirt's fabric pushed further out, as big meaty pecs formed underneath. Round thick shoulders pushed the shirt into shape and now the sleeves were taught with bulging biceps and forearms.

"Uhh. Maybe tie it around the waist to see how it looks." You suggest. "The club can get really warm."

He nodded and began disrobing, giving you a smirk. You just wanted to see the results of his transformation, of which he seemed mostly unaware. As he slid the shirt off you witness 8 solid abs popping out as the process continued.

"Dude these shorts you got me are way too small." Andy said as he fumbled to unbutton his cargo shorts with his now bigger hands, the waist of which seemed really close to bursting from accommodating the swelling of his thighs and the appearance of a voluminous and bouncy bubble butt.

Huh... Somehow he thought his shorts came from the store instead...

As he ties the shirt at his waist you see the rest of his body bulking up as well. Feet extending and widening, calves tensing and swelling. The final growth happens as the vague silhouette of his dick through the fabric of his boxers became longer and thicker and then started bulging indecently out as the pouch became fully packed.

You just then realized the throbbing hard on you had after seeing your friend hulk out into this muscle god.

"I think I look great! Don't you?" He asks you, flexing and posing.

"Ye-yeah man. You look great actually." You stutter.

"I knew this one was just perfect for me! I can't wait to show it at the party." You just don't know if he means the shirt or his new hot body.

"You sure you don't want to pick something for yourself?" He vacantly asks, still absorbed by his own reflection.

Looking at Andy and then at yourself you quickly reply.

"Actually, can you show me where you found that shirt?"

Cop Out

--- Originally posted on 2021-06-25 by newyoutf ---

Nick, a young, headstrong journalist, had been investigating strange goings-on at the police department for months. Odd reports of trainees at the police academy disappearing while the number of senior cops seemed to increase, and without any known source of extra funding. But his only informant, a trainee at the academy himself, soon mysteriously vanished as well. Convinced the police were covering something up, Nick felt compelled to investigate.

Before they fell off the grid, Nick's informants mentioned a company that seemed to be tied up with the disappearances - New You Industries. But despite his best efforts, the intrepid investigator couldn't find any reference to such a business ever having existed. The last he heard from his mole was that a shipment was due to arrive at the police training academy in a week.

And so, seven days later, Nick found himself staking out the storage garage of the academy in the dead of night. From a long distance in the safety of his car, he snapped pictures of a man getting out of an unmarked car and handing three small boxes to someone Nick recognized the city's police chief, Chief Barrow. But this evidence was meaningless without knowing what the shipment contained.

He waited patiently for all parties to depart and snuck up on the garage, snapping the lock with bolt cutters and using his camera's flash to illuminate the pitch-black room. Nick was dismayed to find two police badges sitting on the shelf, along with three boxes, now empty.

"Did I just stake out a shipment of police badges?" Nick muttered to himself. He jumped back in fright as the lights were suddenly switched on.

"C-Chief Barrow?" Nick stammered as he turned to see the police chief standing next to the light switch.

"You think we didn't know you'd been following us?" he growled as he stepped toward Nick.

"What happened to the students?! Did you kill them?!" Nick yelled as if to try and bolster himself against the fear he was currently experiencing.

The police chief stopped in his tracks and made a sly expression, "They're not dead. They're in the station, working."

"W-what?" Nick replied with the same look of bewilderment, "I-I was told students were vanishing from the academy?"

"They got - how should I say this - fast-tracked through the program," Barrow responded with a smirk, "You're about to find how. Catch!"

Nick flinched as the chief tossed a small metallic object at him. Reacting instinctively, Nick caught it in his hands. It was a badge, just like the two behind him. He shuddered and his hand tensed around the badge. Incredible energy surged up his arm and spread through him. He desperately wanted to let go of the enchanted badge, but he couldn't.

"Sorry, but we can't have you reporting on this," Barrow chuckled as he exited and slammed the garage closed behind him. As the door crashed down Nick's legs gave out and he fell to his knees, his fingers still firmly grasping the badge. The young journalist was terrified, but at the same time engrossed in the power bubbling through his body. Finally, his fingers unclenched and dropped the badge to the floor, but the damage had been done. Nick pushed onto all fours and let out a long moan as his body began to change.

His legs stretched out from his slacks, exposing more and more of his shins. Likewise, his arms extended from his sleeves while his entire torso was pulled longer and longer. "What's ah... happening to me?!" Nick groaned as his cock hardened to full mast.

Muscles fluttered and twitched all over his body. They grew across his arms, bulging from his biceps and triceps as his shoulders grew wider, tearing at his shirt. Pecs slowly protruded from his bony chest, growing large and dense. Abs rippled out along his stomach, leading down to a sharper, V-shaped set of cum gutters. His legs surged with strength, copious amounts of muscle growing and forming in his thighs and calves, stretching his fly apart and revealing the wet, hard, bulging underwear underneath. Behind him, his flat butt began to press outward, bigger and rounder, matching his thick, muscular thighs.

He couldn't help himself, clasping at the exposed muscle as hairs darted across the surface. Soon he found himself grabbing fabric, much to his surprise. He opened his eyes to see his tattered clothes repairing and reshaping into the uniform of the local precinct. His bulging arms still strained the new shirt. A bulky, heavy vest replete with a radio and utilities formed over the top.

"Ngh! Fuck!" he grunted, bucking his hips involuntarily as his feet stretched and pressed against his tight leather brogues just as they too morphed to accommodate his changing body. The pressure lowered as his size nine dress shoes rapidly bloated outward into heavy, size fourteen boots. Long toes shredded through his socks, clutching at the insole as they stretched along with his extending soles.

Nick clambered to his feet, clutching his head, only to feel his hair pulling inward, short and tidy. Not only that, but he could feel some hair vanishing completely from his temples, leaving him with the slightly receded hairline of a man maybe five or more years older than he was. His fingers cracked as they began to slide longer across his scalp, pushing through the neat, handsome cut of hair. He held the stretching, trembling hands in front of him, gasping as he watched them swell huge and powerful.

He slammed his massive fists into the wall with a deepening roar, feeling his head creak and reshape. His features broadened and enlarged. A strong chin and jaw pressed out of his face and light stubble sprouted from the skin. "Must be... some way to s-stop this..." Nick groaned, his eyes widening at the sound of his new and completely unfamiliar voice. Nick frantically reached for the police badge on the floor that had started all of this, hoping, praying for some way to revert his changes. His eyes scanned the metallic chest piece, but there was no sign of any method to stall or revert what was happening. Rather, he caught a glimmer of his new reflection in the shiny metal. Nick's wide, handsome jaw fell open at the sight. Not only did he look easily seven or more years older, but he looked completely different; he couldn't help but think he looked much manlier and sexier.

Meanwhile, downstairs, his hard cock ached for touch as it stretched down the leg of his pants. "Oh, god!" Nick gasped. His balls swelled larger while his python thickened and lengthened against his muscular leg. He couldn't contain himself anymore, pulling the fly on his new pants down and fishing his swelling cock out, allowing it to stretch into the open. He couldn't believe how big it had already gotten, easily inches larger than what he was used to. Reluctant but unable to resist, he gripped it in his hand and pumped, growling loudly with every stroke. Nick was too busy relishing his increased size and virility to realize his mind was filling with policing skills and years of experience. Before he knew it he had an eight-inch weapon in his hand. He couldn't take it anymore; his height, his muscles, his size. He felt so virile, so masculine, so powerful. Screaming in ecstasy, Nick blew load after load against the concrete wall.

Once the post-orgasmic fog lifted, Nick quickly tidied himself and brushed a large hand through his shorter hair, dazed and confused. His memory was intact, but they competed for attention with new skills, desires, and traits. The muscular sergeant lifted the garage door with ease, spotting Chief Barrow waiting for him in the car park just in the distance.

"Ready, Sergeant?" Barrow asked.

"I... I...", Nick stuttered as he looked down at his muscular frame, suddenly noticing how much taller he was now. His huge cock twitched in response, causing Nick to moan just a little. "Y-Yes, sir!" he parroted as he proceeded toward the car, eagerly accepting his new life as Officer Nick Collins.

Body to Brag

--- Originally posted by unknown before 2018-08-22 ---

So you want a body you can brag about, well since you been so nice and kind and you have helped me along this journey I can.

All I just need is you to put these on. Ohh, there to big for you.

I am sure you will grow into them.

You're feeling hot?

Why don't you just jump into the blue sea and cool off?

Wow, nice jump man.

Are you still feeling good? No? How?

All a sudden you feel great pain in the chest and feel great muscle grow, you feel six punches in your belly, you uncover a sweet six-pack.

You feel more muscle growth in your arms and legs, as you get stronger.

You feel that tension between your arms and your moans as they grow bigger and deeper.

Your legs get straight as all the muscle gets into a balance.

Heat goes to your face as you feel a rash and the more you started you felt a small beard form.

You soon feel you get longer and your nose straight and your eyes widened to show you beautiful eye color as it changes from green to black and soon that red hair becomes a beautiful brown shiny hair.

You begin to moan as your small ass gets bigger for fucking people with, your dick gets bigger and so do your balls, as you cum all over them.

You begin to moan, as your mind becomes clear and you're dumber, as it gets cleared with sexy guys.

Well if you are feeling good, you look good instead.

Well, get out of that water if you feeling good? No, why?

Who are you starting at? Him? Wow!

Why don't you get a piece of him?

You can brag to him about your body, but I think you're too dumb to understand me.

Well just go gets some ass because I think he is starting at you too and I think he needs help down there man.

And maybe after that, you can tell me the details.

Well, I don't think you need that Brian to brag, even though you can't because you're too dumb to understand me and you can just let your body do the work.

Oops sorry man I that I used too many words.

Don't stand around to get him.

Sports Night - Into the Ring

Joseph was panicking. He had just emerged from a long shower, checked the front door and saw that his package still wasn’t there. His colleague Ian’s party was due to start in an hour and he was still waiting for his costume to arrive. Joseph was genuinely looking forward to the party; he was new to the company and thought this would be a good chance to make some new friends.

He wasn’t just new to the company, he was new to the UK. He had bounced around chemical companies after leaving college in the States about eight years ago, but had never really managed to feel settled. He thought working alongside other engineers would be easy, but whether it was his nerdy demeanour or his pudgy appearance he never ever felt like he fit in. For a while Joseph told myself it was because he operated on a different intellectual level to his old co-workers and while that may have been true, he also never really made an effort.

So he moved. All the way across the Atlantic to the UK and he was determined to make a difference, starting with Ian’s party. He wasn’t sure how seriously to take the costume element and really didn’t feel like spending lots of money on new clothes, so he had come up with a compromise - he had ordered some boxing gloves off the internet and figured he could pair it with his dressing gown and pretend it was his boxing robe. He could even wear his usual ratty t-shirt and extra comfy jeans. The only problem was the delivery was late and he was worried he was going to resemble an overweight Arthur Dent more than a boxer.

As if to answer his concerns, the doorbell rang. He ran (well, shambled) to the front door. He didn’t catch a sign of the delivery guy or gal, but shrugged and picked up the box. Oddly there were no labels - not even a delivery sticker with his address - but he shrugged and brought it into his hallway.

His excitement turned to dismay when he opened the box. He could specifically recall ordering boxing gloves, but the box contained some sort of strip of cloth all rolled up. Not only that, but the fabric quite clearly stunk, but he wondered if that was just the natural smell of the material. A quick Google search told him that these were hand wraps used for sparring. He grumbled; this was going to be a bit more work than just pulling on some gloves. He grabbed his glasses, loaded up a YouTube instruction video and got to work.  

He watched the video once and seemed to get the idea. He unravelled one of the rolls, throwing more of that stench into the air. He stretched out one of his thick, fat-leaden arms and got ready to go, hooking the end of the strap around his thumb and slowly starting to wrap the material around his hand.

The feeling after the first wrap around was almost instantaneous. An almost electrical surge travelling up his arm and travelled all across his body. He shivered with anticipation.

“What the hell was that…”, Joseph muttered, his quiet American accent echoing around his small apartment. He looked back at his stretched out hand with eager anticipation and wrapped around again.

The surge happened again, but this time it was not alone. A deep rumble echoed across his sizeable belly and he felt a strange… tightening.

He wrapped around again.

His belly caved in on itself, the fat seemingly disappearing into the ether. Joseph choked and was so focussed on the fact he could see his toes for the first time in years that he didn’t even notice that he was automatically wrapping around another time.

This time there was a creaking sound as Joseph noticed the floor and furnishing travel away from him. He now minimal stomach stretched out even further to the point where Joseph thought he was almost too skinny! Joseph knew he needed to stop; he rational mind kept telling him that no item - even mystery items from the internet - could make his fat disappear and make him grow by four or five inches. He needed to stop and think of a way to analyse this material.

He wrapped around again.

The sensation was wildly different this time, a burning and vigorous massage across his body and particular his chest, arms and stomach. Joseph moaned, closing his eyes as the burning intensified and got more pleasurable. It petered off and Joseph gazed down. He was disappointed for a split second when his toes were obscured again and then reality hit. It was his chest. His thick, beefy chest, with two plates jutting out. Peering down even more he could see rows of tight abs across a stocky but fit mid-section. And his arms - one still outstretched and the other still gripping the wrap for dear life - were loaded down with thick, veiny muscle. Joseph was speechless; he had the kind of body he had always envied, had always dreamed about. He was at a complete loss as to what to do.

So he wrapped around again.

A wild itch spread across his body and particular his chest as thick brown hairs leapt out of his skin.

He wrapped around again. 

There was a tight pulling sensation on his scalp as his lank blond hair fell out of his eyesight.

He wrapped around again, addicted to the pleasure it was bringing.

His glasses feel to the floor as he felt his facial feature reshuffle.

Breathing heavily, feeling his hefty chest inflate and deflate rapidly, he went to wrap around one last time, but he was done. His left hand - far beefier than he remembered and now connected to a veiny, thick forearm - had a tightly wound hand wrap in place. He ran (and actually ran this time) to the bathroom and admired himself in the mirror. He could finally admire his wide, heavy-set shoulders and thick torso; his rug of sexy chest hair which gave off a musky scent not dissimilar to that from the hand wraps; his short, brown hair, buzzed at the back and sides; and his beautiful, rugged beard adorned with effortless stubble.

“Fuck me”, Joseph uttered and was shocked by the smooth but deep baritone that oozed out. “What now”?

He looked down again. His right hand was bare. He was only half way done. 

Joseph paused. He couldn’t imagine what other changes were going to happen and he genuinely didn’t really want his body to change any more. But a deep longing forced him to pick up the second wrap. He claimed it was due to scientific interest - the second half of this little experiment - but deep down he knew it was something more. For the first time in a long time we felt a raw desire and the for time ever, he planned to act on it.

He hooked the hand wrap onto his thick, hairy thumb and got to work.

His arms pulsated as they beefed up even further, while the pulling sensation across his scalp returned. He was pretty happy with his hair the way it had turned out before, but figured maybe a buzzcut would look pretty neat.

He wrapped around again.

He expected more burning, more massaging, more stretching but nothing came. Instead a new sensation - a slow, soothing draining sensation in his head. Joseph stumbled a bit in the bathroom, suddenly feeling almost blinded by the sharp light above the mirror. He felt dazed and confused, almost drunk, as his thoughts slowed and he tried to steady his unfamiliar, bulky body. One thought however did manage to creep itself through the clutter - he needed to stop; something wasn’t right.

He wrapped around again.

The dazed confusion was still there but it felt less sharp, less invasive, more… permanent. Joseph gazed down at the hand wrap in a wonder and tried to think about sort of material it could be made out of. But all his scientific knowledge escaped him, as he wrapped around again.

A part of Joseph panicked - why didn’t his years of scientific studying and working help him here? But those years got flushed away - he couldn’t even remembered what the hell he did now. An emptiness waved over Joseph as every element of his life began to drift away. His looked up and stared at himself in the mirror. His hair had been buzzed short and was receding at the temples. His body was thicker and meaner. And while he was still rugged, his face was now… meaner. But he couldn’t stop staring into his eyes. He had a brief memory of his old eyes - they were bright, lively and he had told betrayed his vast intelligence. The eyes looking back at him in the mirror now were dark and  vacant.

He wrapped around again.

His head was awash with new memories. A new history. Of course he didn’t fucking go to college or know any science stuff - he could remember dropping out of school at 15. He was too busy getting into scraps to learn and the teachers wanted noting to do with him.

He wrapped around again.

He had always been pretty dim, but his fists were his outlet. And after leaving school, he had more time to train. Started taking it seriously, putting the work and the hours in. Starting fighting in underground and backroom bouts all across the East End of London.

He paused, London?

He wrapped around again.

Born and raised in the East End he was. Was pretty well known about these parts and people generally knew to steer clear of him if they could help it. His was far from the sharpest tool in the shed and everybody knew that he should be taking home more money from the matches, but he didn’t fight for the money. He fought as an outlet for his aggression. He fought because it gave him the chance to prove his worth. He fought because he was fuckin’ good at it.

The wraps were done. 

“Freddie, get your arse out here” a rough voice called from outside. With that, the last remnant of Joseph fluttered away, and Freddie - the aggressive English bruiser - took over. Freddie didn’t even notice that his hands were now adorned with professional gloves and he was wearing tight shorts, showing off his intimidating package. 

“Out in a sec” Freddie grumbled, no hint of his American twang remaining. Instead a guttural, deep and vaguely Cockney accent emerged.

He stared at himself one last time in the bathroom. He hadn’t even noticed that the walls were damp and dingy, with a single flickering blub over the cracked mirror flickering. His eyes betrayed no depth, no intelligence but that’s not what his opponents noticed. They noticed the determination and the anger. They noticed… but only if they got the fucking chance.

Second story - hope everyone enjoys. Appreciate it is pretty lengthy; next time am going to work on being a bit more concise!

Any feedback would be welcomed! Have got a few more ideas in the Sports Night pipeline, but if you have any suggestions, ideas or requests do let me know!

Aronik

--- Originally posted by unknown on 2017-12-03 ---

I was a bit of nerd growing up. Actually, I was a complete nerd. Round red pimples dotted my face. Chalk white skin covered my body. Bulging stubborn fat covered my torso and thighs. Taped wireframe glasses hung on my large bird nose. I was quite the looker.

That all changed one day at the beach. I dreaded going to the beach. Where I'm from, the beach was the only place the good looking people ever went. Their tanned skin, taut muscles, sun kissed hair, glowing confidence all annoyed me. It was totally because I was envious of them. My parents urged me to come with them, and I obliged because what else would I do. I hadn't any friends and although going anywhere with parents at my age was social suicide, I was buried long ago, along with my social reputation.

Anyway, this time was different. I brought a hat and kept my shirt on to avoid the ridicule of the jocks I KNEW were going to be there, like Austin Keller, the hottest guy at school and the object of my affections since fourth grade when we shared my Crayola 64 pack. He didn't know who I was anymore but under my hat and with my book covering my face I would stare all day long at his glistening smile and big muscles bouncing in action. My parents urged me to go to the water and I finally obliged when I foot hit a hard object on my way to the waves. It hurt like a train on a track so I bent down and picked up what looked to be a small golden bee.

Suddenly a man appeared and smiled, saying "Hiya! Aw thanks man you found my statue!" I was perplexed and before handing it over asked why he had this weird idol with him. He responded "I use it for a little shoot I'm running. Thanks for returning it though. Here's a little something in return." He handed me a Speedo and continued, "If you want you can help me by modeling these. Just go into the changing room and swap out your shorts for these. I'm sure they'll look great on you!" I had a humble three inches down there, and my love handles were already spilling over my current shorts, so wearing these would be even more of a reason for the jocks to humiliate me. I gave the guy a deadpan look and he reassured me: "I swear it'll compliment your look. I'm looking for people with... unique looks... so I know you'd be the right fit."

There was nothing to lose so I waddled over to the changing rooms and swapped my shorts for the speedo. The second I put them on a wave of exhaustion came over me. I collapsed and passed out in the room. I opened my eyes and couldn't help but notice how I felt. Lighter, to say the least. I looked down and noticed my shirt was tight against my stomach anymore. In fact, I didn't even have a stomach anymore. The second I put my hand, my skinnier and tanner hand, on my stomach I felt nothing but abs and tight skin. I took off my shirt and was struck by the sight. Caramel tan skin adorned my body, covering round strong pecs and a tight six pack. I looked down at my legs and noticed their impeccable definition. The speedo fit me perfectly and showed off my butt, originally large because of my fat, but now tight and muscular. My arms were no longer chicken wings but huge with trained biceps and triceps that flexed with ease. I finally glanced at the mirror and took in my new face. My new sharp eyes pierced right into my soul. My nose looked brand new, as if I had gotten the best rhinoplasty in the world. My defined jawline was so defined. My plump lips pouted and made me look so. fucking. sexy.

I wanted to check out my new package, but there was a knock at the door. "Hey pal, enjoying the speedo?" I heard a familiar voice say.

"I've never felt better." I replied, hearing my new sultry deep voice for the first time. I opened the door and met the guy, who proceeded to take me down to the water for the photo shoot. As I posed, I noticed Austin not so subtly gawking at me. I offered him a wink and instantly saw his hard on. Let's just say the changing rooms were in need of a clean up after our little session.