You'd Found The Tracksuit While Looking On Vinted For New Clothes, And Had To Have Them. They Were Cheap

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Emergency Model (for Barber Exam)

This story is based on the themes from @joshslater story by the same name, linked here:

https://joshslater.tumblr.com/post/750324919700799488/emergency-model

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Alex grew up in a wealthy family, surrounded by every comfort money could buy. His father, a successful businessman, had always emphasized the importance of self-reliance and hard work. Despite their riches, his father insisted Alex make his own way in the world, particularly when it came to paying for college. “Success,” his father often said, “is earned, not given.”

This principle led Alex to a relentless pursuit of part-time jobs to fund his education. Balancing his rigorous academic schedule with work, he found himself perpetually exhausted and constantly broke. His dorm room was neat and orderly, a reflection of his disciplined upbringing and his hope for a bright future.

One fateful afternoon, as Alex scoured job listings online, a peculiar ad caught his attention: “Quick Cash! Emergency Model Needed for Barber Exam.” The promise of easy money was too tempting to resist. Skeptical but desperate, Alex decided to take a chance.

Arriving at the barber school, Alex was greeted by a burly instructor named Mike, who explained the process. “We’ll be giving you a full treatment, mate. You up for it?” Feeling the pressure, Alex nodded.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, trying to sound confident.

“Great, let’s get you suited up so your clothes don’t get messy,” Mike said, handing Alex a jumpsuit typically worn by the barbers.

Once he had changed, the students began their work. The first cut was shorter than Alex was used to, but he remained hopeful. As the cuts grew bolder, his hair transformed into a chavy, sporty style. Before he could protest, a student named Dan approached with a piercing gun. “Hold still, mate. Just adding a couple of studs,” he said, not giving Alex a chance to object. Before he knew it, Alex’s ears were pierced, adorned with small silver studs.

When the final haircut was done, Alex looked in the mirror, barely recognizing himself. “All set, mate!” Dan announced with a grin. Alex went to change back into his clothes, only to find them missing. “Uh, where are my clothes?” he asked, panic rising.

“Oh, must’ve misplaced them. Don’t worry, we’ve got some spares you can borrow,” Dan said, handing him a bundle of clothes. The outfits were all chavy and sporty, much like the students wore. Reluctantly, Alex put on the new clothes, feeling awkward and out of place. He collected his phone and wallet, but the cash he was promised wasn’t there.

Alex left the barber shop, confused and upset about losing his clothes. He headed to the bus stop, only to realize he was short on cash for the fare. As he stood there, unsure of what to do, Dan and a couple of the lads from the barber shop appeared. “Need a hand, mate?” Dan asked, noticing Alex’s predicament.

“Yeah, I don’t have enough for the bus,” Alex admitted, embarrassed.

“No worries. We got you,” Dan said, covering the fare. They rode the bus together, the lads chatting animatedly. Alex, still in shock, barely registered the conversation. When they reached Alex’s stop, the lads walked him to his door. “See you around, mate,” Dan said, patting him on the back. Alex nodded, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and apprehension.

The next day, Alex was awoken by a knock on his door. Groggy and disoriented, he opened it to find Dan and a few of the lads standing there. “Morning, mate! Time to pay up for yesterday,” Dan said with a grin.

Alex’s heart sank. “I don’t have the cash right now. I didn’t get paid from the barber exam,” he explained, his voice wavering.

Dan’s grin widened. “No worries, we’ve got an alternative method. Come with us, and you can work it off.”

Alex had no choice but to agree. He followed the lads, his anxiety mounting. They led him to a local gym where they spent the day working out and playing sports. The lads encouraged Alex, pushing him to embrace their lifestyle more fully.

As the days turned into weeks, Dan began to subtly alter Alex's reality. Using an uncanny ability to manipulate time and space, Dan slowly rewrote Alex's past and present. Alex’s body began to change, growing taller and more muscular. His once lean frame filled out with bulk, his muscles becoming defined from the daily workouts. His bone structure shifted, his features becoming more rugged and less conventionally attractive. His face developed a rougher edge, his jawline more pronounced and his skin tougher.

Alex’s intelligence seemed to drain away, his thoughts slowing and his vocabulary shrinking. He began to speak in the slang and accent of the lads, his speech patterns changing to match theirs. His mind transformed, his memories and identity reshaping to fit his new life. The well-spoken, diligent student was gone, replaced by Alec, a school dropout with a rough, chavy demeanor.

Alec’s heritage seemed to change as well. His affluent background and disciplined upbringing were erased, replaced by a working-class origin. His DNA, once a reflection of his rich ancestry, now bore the marks of a lad who had grown up in a tougher environment. His once clean, well-mannered appearance was replaced by a more average, rugged look.

Alec found himself working at the barbershop for money, his old aspirations and dreams replaced by the immediate need to earn a living. His apartment, once neat and orderly, transformed into a messy, athletic-themed space. Weights and gym equipment cluttered the living room, and sports posters adorned the walls. Alec even found himself sharing the space with a new roommate, Jay, another lad who fit seamlessly into Alec’s new life.

The transformation was complete. Alec’s interests changed; he now enjoyed working out, hanging with the lads, and the rough, chavy lifestyle. His wardrobe, once filled with preppy, clean-cut clothes, now boasted track suits, hoodies, and trainers. His clean, academic demeanor was replaced by a confident, almost cocky swagger.

One day, Alec looked in the mirror and fully embraced the reflection staring back. His rich upbringing, his disciplined studies, his aspirations for a professional career—all were distant memories, replaced by his new life as a proper chavy lad. His brain had fully adapted to his new identity, erasing any lingering doubts or connections to his past life.

As Alec sat in his now cluttered living room, surrounded by his new friends, he felt a sense of belonging he had never experienced before. The job that was supposed to be a quick cash fix had given him a new purpose and a new family. Alec embraced it fully, ready for whatever adventures lay ahead with his newfound brothers. Thus, the wealthy student transformed into a proper chavy sporty lad, his old life replaced by a new, exciting reality.

Magic Mike III: Part 5

“Hello, Mr. Gyllenhaal”

Finally some time to breathe - whilst everyone else was enjoying casting season where they can finally get picked up for other films, Jake Gyllenhaal was just ready to enjoy some time away from the set as pre-production crawled into the focus of everybody’s lives. 

Cast and crew all busying themselves whilst Jake was cast away to some forgotten island off the coast of Hawaii for a holiday.

He had his luggage brought up and continued to listen to the words of the staffer helping him, not even minding how odd it seemed that the man helping him didn’t even look like typical staff. Dressed in a navy blue suit, the staffer stared at him with his hazel eyes as Jake tried his best to pay attention to what was being said.

“Sorry er - what exactly is it that you do?” asked Jake, snapping out of the odd haze momentarily as he began looking the man up and down, taking in his confident demeanour and his striking resemblance to…someone else, another man that he swore was prowling around the studios from time to time on another project.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Gyllenhaal,” said the man, stepping up towards Jake as he leaned in, the mere moments of touch were exhilarating, Jake felt he should’ve backed away but instead let the man close the gap between them. “I’m just a staffer. Why don’t you go outside and relax? And why don’t you leave that shirt of yours behind?”

For a mere moment Jake thought this was odd and would have declined, the last thing he wanted to do was…relax? But then he realised how silly that sounded. After all, he went away on vacation for that very reason. And this man was someone who at least seemed trustworthy. Jake slipped off his shirt. He suddenly found himself somehow, as if being led by an odd voice in his mind, heading outside to relax and was already thankfully dressed for it.

Soon shirtless in shorts, sandals and sunlight, resting back on a deck chair as he continued to just sit there, resting in the heat.

“And how are you feeling, Mr. Gyllenhaal?” came a familiar voice before Jake’s vision was obscured somewhat in darkness, suddenly seeing spirals emerging in front of him as sunglasses were slipped over his head.

“Good,” murmured Jake, nodding as his body automatically began feeling limp and relaxed, starting to slowly fade away from reality and stare at the spirals in sunglasses. As he started to stare and give in, his own body began to change, aligning itself with his muddled mind.

The deeper he drew himself further into his hypnotic state, the further his face started to change. At first shifting only from his own jaw, growing sharper than it already was and with the hair that formed his beard growing darker as his face began to grow longer. His head enlarged slightly with his forehead widening and his hairline started to come down. 

Age began to fade away from Jake’s visage, small wrinkles that once started to appear in were now a distant memory as his ears grew and suddenly the last sane part of his own mind realised that his face shifted to suit the sunglasses, perfectly keeping them in place and no longer drooping down his once smaller nose.

Jake moaned as he felt his eyes adapting to the spirals, his eyes enlarging, focusing further and further as the sunbaked tone of his face began trickling down towards his neck. His own vocal chords deepening before his own bare torso began to cause his body to bulk and sprout, stretching as he grew towards his full height.

As Jake shifted in the seat, still somewhat confused as to what he was experiencing but letting himself bask in the warmth of pleasure and sunlight as he could see his skin almost moving like the waves as if something was underneath causing his muscles to implode his body into the muscularity of a bodybuilder.

His biceps became bulging brawny limbs as the tone travelled down towards his hands, having no choice to grow in order to adjust to the size of his large arms, the knuckles cracking and the fingers flexing as they adjusted in their lengthened and larger state. All the while his own abs pushed out, pulsating as a great ridge began to form betwixt his pecs carving out the beautiful brown pecs that were now on his own chest.

The same kind of ridge formed down at his stomach where he could see his hard earned abs grew even harder as they soon continued to grow and swell one by one, just as his hypnotic commands were telling him to do so.

It was almost as if his mind was able to alter his body and he was loving how it continued to change as his legs parted slightly, relieving himself as his thighs began to thicken. His own shaft broadening as he could feel his own cock against his shorts. The last dregs of himself fuelling the rest of his body as his feet lengthened in his sandals, stretching them to their limit.

“Now, Mr. Gyllenhaal, just relax, I think the others will be here soon and after all this is the perfect place to begin filming. After all, I think this is going to be a fantastic step in your career.”

The man smiled down at the slumping Jake Gyllenhaal, now unrecognisable and the perfect final addition to Magic Mike 3.

This is just the start, I suppose.  I resisted for a long time.  Fuck if I wanted to play football, and I definitely didn’t want to be parading around without a shirt like the older teenage guys were doing.

Then puberty hit me like a truck.  Almost overnight, I’m getting this hair in places I never wanted it, even having to shave my face, embarrassed, just like a lot of the guys are, prolly… not sure if I should shave the rest on my body, too… and my dick goes from this normal sized thing, to this protruding snake in my pants.  I mean, seriously, gets long and fat as hell.  So I’ve got this bulge in my shorts, now.  And it gets hard now, just like an adult guy, but I’m only a teenager and bam… I’m creaming loads of sperm into my underwear, I’m jacking off to porn late at night when nobody’s looking.  I tried not to at first, but once I started, pretty soon I was jacking two or even three times a night, staying up real late.  It was cray for sure, even though I knew it was just normal.

Then I get it, you know, the guys I want to jack off to are all the hot jocks, the ones with muscle, the… and I’m getting tall, man.  I keep thinking about how I’m not like that, but then… and they want me to join the team…

So, I go for it.  I can always stop, I tell myself.  But it feels good, doing my first pullup, and when I start to notice the muscle grow, I’m jacking off to my own reflection in the mirror, even.

I buy some new clothes at the mall, just to try ‘em, and it looks good so I decide I’m gonna change my whole wardrobe.  Athletic shorts, started cutting off my sleeves to show off these guns, a gold necklace like a lot of the guys wear, and I’ve gotten comfortable going without a shirt now, even when other people are around.  I mean, why not, I look good, might as well just be myself, you know?

Everything about it turns me on, and I changed so much over the summer that folks even said they really noticed it when I went back this fall, how tall I am, how deep my voice is.  Everybody seems to like me more, too, like I’m more popular and stuff.

So I want to stick with it, really work out hard this year.  Like, i love how I look now, and it makes me want to beat off hard… I can jack in front of the mirror for hours… and sometimes I just imagine how I’ll look once after I really start lifting even more, and I flex, and the pump gets me off.  Plus, someday I can imagine fooling around with another dude for the first time on the DL… and I want to look my best, ya know.  So yeah.

Update

Hi all

I've posted most of the stories that I could find for shapedbydesire/breedertfs/hogtfs.

Someone has graciously provided some more stories from older deactivated authors that I'll post somewhere this week so look forward to that.

If anyone finds stories from shapedbydesire or other authors just DM me the posts/links.

Taboo

--- Originally posted on 2023-05-13 by shapedbydesire ---

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

The gay to straight stuff is so taboo, but I'm loving that as well. That fantasy concept of being 'corrected'. Or more so, becoming the absolute opposite of yourself. That new version of you never allowing you out to 'ruin' your life again with your 'bad choices'.

You put it perfectly! And I’m glad you’re enjoying those stories — my favorite thing to do within my TF fiction is to have the main character struggle with their changes; I love when the person is disgusted and frightened by who they become, even if all the things they receive are technically what they were wishing for.

Here’s another treat:

Trent was trying on the compression shorts he received in the mail when he felt the influence invading his mind.

The twink was happy to see how they hugged his curves, at first annoyed by his father’s boring birthday gift but starting to see the appeal, slim waist sucked in as his perky bubble butt is pushed out. Right before he can snap a picture for his dating profile, however, he feels himself turning in place, directing his ass away from the mirror and now facing it front-on. His gaze lowers to his bulge, looking larger in the shorts. Normally the gold star bottom could care less about his dick, but something about watching it chub up was making him excited. Proud.

He lowered his hand, running his fingers over the fabric encasing his cock. Closing his eyes, releasing a sigh of pleasure, he waits to see a massive burly man appearing in his lustful daydream — but he’s shocked to see that his mind has dreamed up a vision of two large, silicone filled breasts bouncing up and down, blonde hair falling over them, no face in the video. “Fuckkk, Brah. I need to motorboat those titties.”

The dim, bovine voice speaking inside his mind does not belong to him. He opens his eyes in shock, taken aback by the comment he would have never thought of if he had control, glancing down to see his dick has begun to snake down his shorts leg, throbbing at full mast. His chest felt tight in his white shirt, his mouth open as he breathes deep and long, he tries to close his eyes again to cemetery himself, heat washing through his body — but anytime he goes to the darkness, all he can see are boobs bouncing, fingers slipping in and out of wet slits, blonde women kissing. All of his fantasies suddenly belong to a straight man! He rips off his shirt, sweat beading on his forehead, a waft of musk coming from his damp, dark armpits.

Trent was now unable to control himself, his cock engorging to the extreme inside his tight compression shorts, his swelling bicep flexing as he lifts an arm against his will to snap a selfie of his changing reflection.

Ever since putting on the shorts, a belated birthday gift from his estranged father, the former twink had felt increasingly strange. The muscles beneath his skin swelled up like water balloons, firm to the touch. He was supposed to be working from home that day, but he found himself unable to focus, hooking his fingers beneath the waistband and placing his fingertips against the sweaty, hard sausage in his shorts. His voice sounds low as he grunted, running his fingers up and down his fattening bulge, unable to process the changes happening to his body, the itch along his jaw as it widens and becomes firmer.

He hears a ping on his phone, looking down to see a text from his father sending him a GIF. He opens it and is shocked to see a video image of a woman with large breasts fondling herself, sticking her tongue out as if hungering for a cock down her throat. Even if he closes his eyes to look away, all he can see is this bimbo burned into his mind, turning the invader inside of his body on more and more. “Son, what do you think of this hot piece of ass?”

He was unable to control himself, feeling the fabric tighten around his cock, a rush of testosterone through his system. He grunted and moaned and whimpered, staring down in shock as the fabric began to work his cock alongside his trembling fingers, milking out his seed, all the while fat tits and wet pussies jiggle & drip in his mind.

By the time he splooged in his new shorts, Trey had traded places with the twink, now in the driver’s seat and happy to let the little queer scream and whine inside a straight man’s brain, forever bombarded by horny women — he sent his father back a simple “fuckkk dad! I hope there’s some sluts like that at the club tonight. The goal is for us to bring home twins lol”

He then snapped a selfie of his final form, smugly satisfied with hot straight self. His dad is certainly proud of him! Now, at least. Trent bangs at the walls of his mental prison, not at all wanting this life that has been thrust upon him. Hanging out with his father?! Disrespecting women?! God, his new self isn’t even cleaning up his mess, leaving the cum to dry inside his shorts and add to his man musk. “Bro, stop being a little bitch,” Trey’s eyes are gazing at his reflection now, his smirk cocky, looking deep as if at the twink trapped inside him. “Stop crying and try sucking on some of those fat tits I’m dreaming up for you. Dad and I are gonna go hunting for the real thing.”

Happy birthday to him, huh?

Hey are you still taking transformation applications? Just found this blog and it's great. I was wonder if you could turn my into a dumb himbo surfer? I'm white, 5'9 and a little on the fat nerdy side, but I'd love to be a tall tanned lean surfer dude!

“Alright dude, welcome to the Amalia Aquatics Center. We have been looking for more surf instructors and you are the man for the job. The name’s Kellan and I’ll be your boss.”

You look at the tall surfer guessing he had to be about 6′7″, almost a foot taller than you. His muscles are lean and his skin is tan. He looks like a stereotypical, but tall and slightly more built, surfer. He even spoke like one. Hardly the professional you were expecting from what you saw at the front desk.

“I’m just here to help you get used to your job. I’m sure it won’t take long for you to fit in, brah.” He chuckled, “Now why are you wearing a shirt?”

You look down, a little embarrassed for even trying this. You look back up at Kellan and he his simply looking back at you with a smirk on his face. Your eyes look down at the beginnings of moobs and gut pushing at your shirt. 

“You want to be a surfer or what?”

You grip the hem of your shirt in frustration. Struggling to pull it  off, you finally do, red in the face. Kellan is just chuckling, “See that wasn’t so hard.”

A blush fills your cheeks again. You look down at your lean, tanned torso wondering why you wouldn’t want your shirt off. You love going shirtless. 

“And we like our surfers to be blonde. Longer hair is preferred.”

You run a hand through your hair, remembering you got it died a few weeks ago.

“Oh and the clients usually like a big cock. From your swimsuit I see no problem there.”

You smirk, thinking of the 7-inch soft torpedo in your swimsuit.

“And our surfers always love getting fucked as a tip instead of cash.”

Your ass suddenly feels very hungry and your cock grows to a full 9 inches at the idea at your prospects for sex. Not that your brain even knows what a word like “prospects” means anymore.

“So dude I think your ready to start.”

You smile dumbly, not even realizing you had changed, “Awesome dude.”

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?"

An interesting request from me. What if a straight man wishes to become Chris Evans because he wants the attention from girls. Well instead he becomes Kris Evans and he doesn’t notice until he is completely Kris and love the attention from men.

(Check out the full, NSFW version of this story HERE!)

Who doesn’t want to be Chris Evans?

Stellar career, great body, super nice guy, dog lover, and, by all accounts, a total chick magnet.

But nobody wanted to be Chris more than Blake. He was everything Chris wasn’t: unattractive, untalented, unsuccessful, and terrible with people (especially women).

So when Blake got his hands one one of those rare changing stones—ancient magical rocks with the power to transform the user into whomever's name they wrote on the smooth granite surface—he knew exactly what name he was going to write.

Unfortunately, spelling was among one of Blake’s many deficiencies. He relied heavier on spell check than the average person. But this wasn’t Microsoft Word. The changing stone had no spell check, so whoever (or whatever) one wrote on the rock was… well… set in stone.

At first, everything seemed to go according to plan. Blake felt himself shoot up an extra nine inches in height, followed immediately by a drastic drop in size. His blubbery gut receded back into his stomach, so much so that when looked down, his feet came into view for the first time since middle school.

But the view was short lived, as only moments later, a cartoonishly large pec shelf burst forth from his chest, once again obstructing his feet.

Jesus, Blake thought to himself, I knew Chris was big, but I didn’t know he was this big…

He had no idea.

Seconds later, the rest of his muscles began to come in: big veiny biceps, eight pack abs, a broad back, boulder shoulders, and legs the size of Thanksgiving turkeys.

It was then that Blake began to realize something was wrong. Chris Evans was a celebrity, not a supermodel. This was the body of a man whose entire career was his body. A model, perhaps… or a pornstar. God, I hope I’m not turning into a pornstar.

As if in response, Blake felt a tension in his groin area. He craned his neck over his muscle tits and watched as his cock grew to an impractical 9 inches, the fleshy sheath of foreskin inching up over the head.

Thanks to that screen sharing fiasco, everyone knew that Chris Evans was cut. This was not his dick… and this was not his body.

Blake assumed that the transformation was complete. He bore about as much resemblance to his former self as he did to the actor who’s name he’d written (or thought he’d written) on the changing stone. Instead, he had transformed into a 6’4”, 203 pound boy toy with a massive joystick.

I guess it’s not the end of the world, Blake thought as he explored his new body, chicks are gonna dig these muscles!

But there was still one last change. You see, Blake didn’t just accidentally write the name of any pornstar: he had written the name of a gay pornstar, and a prolific one at that.

As Blake entered the final stage of his transition, his mind flooded with fantasies of gay sex, images of guys sucking his dick and pounding his ass.

He tried picturing the busty blonde women he’d jerked off to his entire life, but his thoughts kept wandering back towards men: big, meaty men with big, meaty cocks, filling his every hole with their hot white spunk.

“No, stop! I’m not gay,” Blake cried out in a comically deep hungarian accent, “I don’t like guys! I like girls!”

But his dick begged to differ. The harder he tried to deny his new sexuality, the harder he got, until Blake’s dick was as hard as the changing stone itself. Whether he liked it or not, this was his new destiny: to live as a gay man.

A huge, hot, muscular gay man.

“Oh…. FUUUUUCK!”

He couldn’t take it any longer. All it took was one stroke and he shot his wad all over the stone. As the pornstar’s cum soaked the surface of the rock, the hastily scribbled black ink melted away.

His transformation was complete: Blake was no more, and in his place stood the iconic gay pornstar Kris Evans.

The hunky Hungarian gave a deep belly laugh, amused by the thought that not five minutes ago, he’d been some pathetic straight dude with a dream of turning into a Hollywood celebrity. Kris couldn’t fathom wanting to be anyone other than himself. He had the body of a god, an amazing job, not to mention the pick of any guy he wanted.

Every gay guy, that is.

Originally posted on 2019-09-12 by dumb-and-jocked.

Comradirization

Jacob woke up with a start. His eyes were groggy, adjusting to what he assumed was the morning light. He shifted his arm, trying to scratch his head, but found he couldn’t move it. He flopped over, a little annoyed, and was surprised to find his arm handcuffed to one post of the bed. He tried to swing his other arm over, but found that it too was cuffed. He raised his head to look at his legs to discover that they were also chained to the beds. His whole body was locked to the four corners. Before he could panic anymore, Jacob realized he wasn’t alone in the room.

“Chacoob Kooglerr?”

In a chair next to the bed sat a young, rather handsome man. His defined body and proud beard made him look to be approaching his 30’s. He sat there confidently, his large thighs spread out as he sat there in just a small pair of white briefs. A small tattoo adorned his right arm, while the rest of his body looked as pure as an angel. Although he looked stunning, he didn’t smell it; Jacob noticed the lack of hygiene rather quickly. The man was trying to smile, but it looked more like an awkward smirk. What Jacob didn’t see coming was his thick Russian accent ruining his name. Jacob hadn’t done anything illegal or wrong, at least nothing that he thought would attract a Russian man to kidnap him.

“Vow do yoo zay eet?” the man asked, scaring Jacob. Jacob slowly pushed himself up to a comfortable sitting position, not knowing how to respond. He was too frightened to think of anything else. He had heard of people getting kidnapped before, but usually not by men who wore just their briefs.

“Ya get vaht I mean, yeh?” the Russian added. Jacob slowly shook his head, not knowing what else to do. The Russian grunted angrily, obviously irritated, before speaking again.

“Yoorrr name?” He tried to say it as clear as he could, but the exaggerated “oo” and rolling r’s brought him right back to square one.

“Oh,” Jacob replied, “Jacob Kugler.”

“Chacoob Kooglerr.” The Russian brought a hand to his face, smiling almost proudly, not realizing he had butchered the name the same as before.

“You Amereeican zand zyoorr dumb names.”

The Russian got up and walked throughout the apartment, grabbing items along the way. As he searched, Jacob took his time to figure out where he was. The room was fairly small, housing everything from a kitchen to a bedroom in it. It looked to be some sort of hotel suite, but Jacob couldn’t find any windows to tell. Jacob also realized that as he looked around the room, he found he probably wouldn’t be staying here long. The room looked clean and devoid of any decorations, in fact it barely seemed like a home at all. No photos, no scattered laundry, and Jacob quickly realized that his bed looked to be right after the staff maid had stepped in. He also discovered that he too was in a pair of small white briefs, not at all like the boxers he had last remembered wearing. He was embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized his barren body had been exposed to the world.

Speaking of memories, he couldn’t remember what he had been doing before waking up. He remembered walking out of his office early that morning to catch a meeting on the other side of town. That lead him to a train station, where he bought his tickets and went to the bathroom. Once he was in the room, the memory went black. Jacob was rather ordinary; he worked as an accountant, lived alone at 24, had a moderate build. His blond hair and blue eyes weren’t as appealing as they could have been. He wasn’t fat or skinny, tall or short, but he didn’t have enough muscularity to attract anyone of the opposite gender. In fact, the last time he had a girlfriend was in highschool. Jacob hadn’t really done much with his life yet, so he couldn’t figure out why he - out of anybody - would be kidnapped.

“I am Pasha Vajda,” he said, bringing over everything he had gathered, “Eet ees time to zbegin procezz.”

“What process?” Jacob said, shivering out of fear and being cold from his lack of clothes. Pasha slowly gathered his things and dumped it on a table behind the chair he originally sat in. First, Pasha brought over what looked to be a virtual reality headset, but it looked different than what Jacob was used to. First off, it was a dark red color, with yellow stripes across the back side. The straps that were meant to go around the head also looked different, being shaped more to look like a helmet. Jacob tried to fight back, but Pasha easily placed the device over his head. As soon as the goggles went over his eyes, Jacob felt the harness tightening, so hard it felt as if it was digging into his skull.

As Jacob sat there in quiet fear, Pasha placed the other items in their proper places. He brought over a small tube and linked one end over Jacob’s nose and mouth before hooking the other to a small tank with multiple compartments. He quickly placed two earbuds in Jacob’s ears while connecting the cord to an old iPhone, one that still even had the headphone jack. The last thing Pasha did was jump on the bed between Jacob’s legs, switching on the phone before opening a Russian music app.

“Zee,” Pasha began, “Eez my chob to zhelp creehte new comrrades.”

“New what?” Jacob said, still confused and struggling to escape.

“Eez zimple,” Pasha said, “ve need morre comrrades, yoo’ll be ze comrrades.”

Before Jacob could ask any more questions, Pasha tapped the first playlist that had appeared on his phone, titled “товарищество.” The playlist’s title was rather obvious, for Pasha knew the two would be sharing comradery very soon. Once it began to play the first track, Pasha tapped a button and switched on the VR headset. He leaned back and sat there with the phone in hand, his cocky smirk returning as the process began.

Jacob tried to protest again, but before he could his eyes were blasted with a bright light. As soon as they refocused, all he could see was a red and yellow spiral. Jacob tried to look away, but he was sucked in mere seconds. He didn’t even hear the playlist beginning, starting with the National Anthem of the USSR playing quietly. He also didn’t register when words slowly began flashing on the screen, flying in and out before his conscious mind could register anything, or when he had started to breathe the air being fed to him. A deep melodic voice also entered, saying the words that were disappearing fast, but only in Russian. Jacob tried to ignore everything that was happening, but it was all too easy for him to succumb. The process began smoothly, easing Jacob’s mind open for comradirization. The first set of messages flashed quickly on the screen.

“Real Men have facial hair.”

“Real Men do not clean themselves.”

“Real Men put brothers before others.”

“Real Men listen to other men.”

“Real Men only trust Russian Men.”

The messages were repeated for almost an hour before the first track ended. As soon as it was finished, Pasha pushed the headset up on top of Jacob's head and removed the tube from his face, allowing him to see and breathe fresh air again. Pasha pulled up a different app on his phone, showing the procedures of what to do after each segment of the playlist.

Jacob sat there dazed. He knew his mind had been flooded with certain commands, but he had no idea of what. He was still in the weird apartment, still kidnapped and in white briefs. He was still tied up, both of his hands still cuffed to the bed; the only difference from before was that Pasha now sat right in front of his crotch. Strangely, he was fairly comfortable with the situation. It must have been the essence of the Russian Man sitting in front of him, Jacob could only trust Russian Men after all.

“So,” Pasha began, “khow long ya khad ze faczial khairr?”

His accent was still as thick as ever, but Jacob understood what Pasha was asking fairly well. Jacob brought a hand to his face and itched his subtle beard. It wasn’t large, but definitely worthy of praise.

“Ever since I could grow it.”

Pasha smirked and looked at his notes before continuing, “Ven Vas ze last zime ya zhowyerred?”

Jacob thought back to the last time he’d been in a bathroom, or water for that matter. The rising stench around him suggested it had been a while, but Pasha had a noticeable funk too. Jacob didn’t care that he smelled however - real men were supposed to reek.

“I don’t remember.”

Pasha smirked again before he leaned over and placed the equipment back on Jacob. The Russian Man told him to stay still, and Jacob, knowing to listen and only trust Russian Men, did just that. Everything was loaded back on and set to its proper settings before the second track begun. New words flashed along the screen with a new scent. The last one was plain, filtered air, but the one being fed to Jacob was now raunchy, sweaty, and extremely pungent. Jacob would have vomited at how odorous the new scent was, but he was too busy absorbing the new Russian commands to care.

“Real Men work out every day.”

“Real Men are proud of their bodies.”

“Real Men only respect Russian Men.”

“Real Men are only comrades with Russian Men.”

“Real Men wish to be Russian Men.”

The second track played for a little longer than the first, causing Pasha to get a little impatient, so he began to pleasure himself. Once it had ended, Pasha awkwardly found himself halfway through trying to bust a load. Not having time to finish, he quickly removed Jacob’s gear and began the next set of questions. As he asked away, he non-subtly stroked his massive steel rod, knowing Jacob was far enough along that he wouldn’t mind.

“Ya verrk out?” Pasha asked. Jacob looked down proudly at his built body. Of course he had worked out, you couldn’t be born with a body like this. He had large pecs, beautiful abs, strong biceps, and don’t even start him on his sculpted legs. Jacob made sure to always get every part of his body, ranging from the sculpted shoulders to sculpted buttocks.

“Of course I work out, bro! I always know when to get in a sesh,” Jacob replied, not noticing the jockish gym lingo influencing his deeper voice.

“Goud,” Pasha replied, “Vat do ya zink of Ruzjians?”

“I think they’re incredible. In fact, I’d say there the best!” Jacob had greatly adored the Russian race as long as he could remember. It was a deep passion of his.

“I’d be a Russian and only be friends with them if I could!” Jacob exclaimed excitedly, allowing Pasha move onto the next part of the process.

Pasha swiftly tilted himself up and once more placed the gear upon Jacob’s head. As he did, his exposed, leaking cock rubbed up against Jacob’s torso. Jacob shivered, the touch of a real, Russian man thrilling him. Once Pasha was finished, he leaned back and activated the next stage. Russian commands were fired through the earbuds again, but this time the words in front of Jacob’s eyes were now in Russian too. The gas from the tube was also replaced, now filled with a dark, yellowly liquid that flowed down Jacob’s gullet. The burning pain of the constant piss wasn’t even enough to take him out if his comradirization.

“Real Men have Russian as their first language.”

“Real Men do anything for Russian Men.”

“Real Men only love Russian Men.”

“Real Men are gay for Russian Men.”

“Real Men are Russian Men.”

After another hour of pounding commands into Jacob’s skull, Pasha removed the gear. This time, Jacob’s head really hurt, like he had just studied hours for a hard test. He brought up his hands to rub his temples, also itching at the short, brown-colored sports cut. When he opened his eyes again, Pasha sniggered as he noticed their new, dullish brown tone. Once the headache had passed, Jacob made eye contact with Pasha, feeling flushed as he observed the beautiful man in front of him. His cock began to inflate in his tight briefs, a full three inches longer due to his improved, Russian heredity. He was so infatuated with the male in front of him that he didn’t even realize he was no longer imprisoned, or the lukewarm cum drying on his pecs.

“Who do you love most in your life?” Pasha asked, speaking in full Russian.

“Um…” Jacob answered back in Russian, his thought process noticeably slower, “I dunno…”

Pasha wasn’t satisfied with his answer. As if a lightbulb flashed in his head, Pasha popped up with an idea. He leaned over to Jacob, giving his cock a quick tug. Jacob moaned in response, before muttering out, “I love other Russian Men.”

“Good,” Pasha said before continuing, “Where are you originally from?”

“Russia,” Jacob announced proudly, and as soon as the words were said, the equipment was replaced for the final part.

Pasha clicked a few apps on his phone before sinking up the last section of the playlist. The end of the comradirization was always the most difficult, as so many important parts were involved. First off, two new machines were added: a milking mechanism and an infusion pump. Pasha carefully placed each of the objects in their respective locations; one would inject the Russian sperm and the other would make room for it. The other component that made the ending the hardest was that if it didn’t go absolutely perfect, the whole process could fall apart. Pasha had to make sure everything was ready as he began the final section of the process. The final words flashed on the screen and paired track began to play. This time, lots of messages flooded the screen, while the rest of the equipment pumped Jacob’s body into the prime, Russian Man he was soon to become.

“Russian Men obey the stereotype.”

“Russian Men love football.”

“Russian Men drink vodka.”

“Russian Men love to smoke.”

“Russian Men have deep voices and are dumb jocks.”

As the new reality set in, Jacob’s mind became flooded with new memories. Memories of growing up in Russia, going to school with Pasha, learning how to be an incredible forward in soccer football, and making out with other hot, Russian Men in the locker room. The smell of vodka and nicotine always on their breaths as they passionately kissed.

“Russian Men never smile.”

“Russian Men reminisce the USSR.”

“Russian Men are Orthodox Christian.”

“Russian Men are abrasive, arrogant, and rude.”

“Russian Men are alphas.”

The milking machine chugged away, pulling out every bit of Jacob’s cum as the better, more powerful Russian semun was pumped into his veins. Pasha loved seeing the man become a comrade right in front of him. Jacob’s growing body pulsated out towards Pasha. Jacob’s once-scrawny legs not stretched over the edge of the bed, his feet bloating to a massive Size 16 - just like Pasha’s.

“Russian Men are superior above all other men.”

“Russian Men want all men to be Russian Men”

“Russian Men want to comradirize all other men.”

“Russian Men want to make all other men their Russian brothers.”

“Russian Men are Vadja Men.”

Once the final track had ended, Pasha removed all of the gear and towed it away. He placed the white briefs back over the now goliath dick and tucked the large, Russian Man into the bed. The new comrade had passed out, the final part overloading his smaller brain. Pasha cleaned up before leaving, his job done. He was ready to find the next person to comradiraze.

— —

Yakov woke up in his small apartment, the smell of a smoky, alcoholic locker room pleasantly filling his nose. He flipped over and slapped his large feet on the floor, the meaty sound echoing throughout the small room. He walked over to the dirty kitchen, grabbed a bottle of vodka off the counter, and turned on the small television to reveal a Russian football game.

As he took a swig, he picked up his old phone and looked through his notifications. He had forgotten to close out of the comradirization tracks; he could be such a dumb jock sometimes. As he scrolled through a Russian, gay dating app, a text popped up at the top of the screen. He clicked it, seeing that it was his brother: Pasha Vadja. He clicked the tab as the first set of Russian letters filled his screen.

Pasha: hey brother

Yakov: hey comrade

Pasha: how’s my little Vajda doing

Yakov: its Yakov Vadja, not little, I’m as big as you

Pasha: yeah whatever. hope you’re ready to go make some comrades

Yakov: yeah, I’ll get to it real quick

Pasha: send me a pic of you first, for fun

Yakov: alright, just a sec

Yakov heaved off the couch, mad that he had to tear himself away from the intense football game. He crouched down in front of the mirror by the bed and posed, making sure to get the best angle. Yakov knew that his brother would nut over this, and he knew he probably would too later. First things first, he had to go make some more comrades first. He was excited just thinking about it. He looked in the mirror and then at his phone before taking the pic. He was so glad that he couldn’t smile, it made him look much sexier. He quickly sent the pic to his brother, ready to go comradirize.

Gym Selfies

“We recommend installing the application. Confirm?”

Johnny looked at the screen of his smartphone. “What kind of app?”

The screen said, “Gym Selfies”

“Another app for these stupid jocks,” Johnny thought. He pressed the cancel button.

“Cancellation is not permitted. We recommend installing the application. Confirm?”- the sign has come up.

“WTF?!”- thought johnny - “ Maybe I can remove it after install?”

He confirmed the installation. “Load. 30%… 65%…87%…98%…100%… Download complete”

“Our app will teach you how to make the best selfies of your pumped body! With our app you will emphasize all your advantages!”

Johnny already wanted to delete this application,but then he suddenly wanted to take a selfie. He could not overcome his new desire. he pressed OK.“

"Take off your shirt and lie down on the sofa” - said the application. “Extend your left hand with your smartphone. Make a fist and raise your right hand to your head. Strain your muscles” Johnny knew that it was very silly, but he took off his shirt, lay down on the sofa and took the pose. On the screen appeared his skinny body and his bony hands. Johnny saw his face covered in teen acne and the dirty black hair that lay in his shapeless hair.

“Open your mouth a little, look into the camera and take a photo.”- ordered the application. Johnny heard the camera click. He decided to check the photo. But he was very shocked. It wasn’t him in the photo.

The photo was a beautiful Jock with bright blue eyes, well-groomed hair, a beautiful face and, of course, big muscles. He looked very hot. 

“Error. The photo does not correspond to reality. Reality needs to be replaced. Wait, the operation is in progress…”

Johnny felt a wild headache. He dropped the phone on the floor and bent in half, holding his head. His body started to grow rapidly, reaching a height of 6.2 feet. His spine was stretching out and johnny could hear his bones crunching. His muscles began to grow rapidly. The biceps swelled, the pec began to protrude much forward, and his abs appeared. Johnny could see his skin starting to take a darker shade, as if he was sunbathing on the beach every day and his hair was forming into a fashionable hairstyle. His face became more masculine, his cheekbones became sharpened, his eyes brightened and a bright stubble formed on his chin. The last shift johnny had felt in his pants. His cock began to stretch from his modest 4 inches to huge 9 inches, and the balls were at least 2 times the size! 

The headache went as quickly as it started. Johnny straightened up and ran to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and saw an exact copy of that dude in the photo. Only now this dude reflected in the mirror with a look of shock on his face. “Holy shit!” Johnny cried out. 

"Oh, my fucking voice is lower!” He looked in his pants. 

“Fuck! My dick bigger!” Johnny began rubbing it intensely. The more he jerked off, the slower his thoughts were. His mind gradually erased. Johnny, although now he prefers to call himself John, cum right on his mirror.

Now he wanted more selfies. He should go to the gym and take more selfies. He wants it very much.

This is my first story, so I will be glad if you like it.