Player Of The Month

TheBurdenBorne Archive

Hi all! Thanks to efforts by @masterwolftfs I have managed to recover even more of TheBurdenBorne's (DeviantArt) old stories!

Below will be a huge index compiled by @imsrtman of most of the titles of TheBurdenBorne's written works.

What I have already posted on Tumblr will clickable on the list.

Similarly, anything marked with an asterisk means that I have a copy of it and will post it soon. I also have some stories that I'm not sure what the title is of so I'll need help with that as well.

As for the remaining entries on the list:

Please send me a DM if you have any of the stories that are not marked or posted yet! I

It does not matter if you only have say part 4 or part 2. If everyone contributes parts here and there we can recover most of it!

(All the stories are sorted from A-Z ascending)

Unknown:

Story 3

Story 4

Uncategorized:

Dog Tags

Hypnotizing Young Bro

Jock boy is hypnotized

Man's Best Friend

Missing Dick

Sculpted

Tailgating

Trash

Series: Black Power

Black Power Ch. 1

Black Power Ch. 2

Series: College Camp

College Camp Part I

College Camp Part II

College Camp Part III

College Camp Part IV

Series: Dancing Bears

Dancing Bears No 1

Dancing Bears No 2

Dancing Bears No 3

Series: Daydream Age

Daydream Age 13

Daydream Age 23

Daydream Age 33

Daydream Age 43

Daydream Age 43

Series: Enrollment Week

Enrollment Week 1 (Garrett-POV)

Enrollment Week 2 (Garrett-POV

Enrollment Week 3 (Garrett-POV)

Enrollment Week 4 (Louis-POV)

Enrollment Week 5 (Carl POV)

Enrollment Week 6 (Wesley POV)

Series: Extra Curricular

Extra Curricular: Filmmaking

Extra Curricular: Metals

Extra Curricular: Woods

Series: For Him

For Him Part One

For Him Part Two

For Him Part Three

For Him Part Four

For Him Part Five

Series: Manual Labor

Manual Labor Client One

Manual Labor Client Two

Manual Labor Client Three

Manual Labor Client Four

Series: One Fad Fits All

One Fad Fits All: Biker Chic

One Fad Fits All: Bodyguard

One Fad Fits All: Cowboy Up

One Fad Fits All: Lumbersexual

One Fad Fits All: Surfer Boys

Series: Ostello della moda

Ostello della moda: Antonio

Ostello della moda: Bruno

Ostello della moda: Christofano

Ostello della moda: Diego

Ostello della moda: Eduardo

Series: Pokémon Go Team Green

Pokémon Go Team Green: Battle

Pokémon Go Team Green: Captured

Pokémon Go Team Green: Hatched

Pokémon Go Team Green: Traded

Series: Primal Instincts

Primal Instincts: A Bit Overbearing

Primal Instincts: Men are Dogs

Primal Instincts: Monkey Around

Series: Product Placement

Product Placement: Free Exercise Healthcare Offer

Product Placement: Free trial Attraktion Kondom

Product Placement: Free wax and hair removal

Product Placement: Subway sleeper

Product Placement: Wet Dreams

Series: Roommate Needed

Roommate Needed One

Roommate Needed Two

Roommate Needed Three

Roommate Needed Four

Roommate Needed Five

Roommate Needed Six

Roommate Needed Seven

Series: Selfie Seduction

Selfie Seduction Interlude

Selfie Seduction Part 1

Selfie Seduction Part 2

Selfie Seduction Part 3

Selfie Seduction Finale

Series: The Collector

The Collector Part 1: Auction

The Collector Part 2: Acquisition

The Collector Part 3: Audition

The Collector Part 4: Abduction

Series: The Modern Man

The Modern Man-Step 1

The Modern Man-Step 2

The Modern Man-Step 3

The Modern Man-Step 4

The Modern Man-Step 5

The Modern Man-Step 6

Series: Uber Men

Uber Men 1

Uber Men 2

Uber Men 3

Uber Men 4

Uber Men 5

(Total amount not verified)

Ball Practice

--- Originally posted on 2018-08-13 by time-to-transform ---

I saw you checking us out at our practices. Can’t blame you, I mean watching a bunch of muscular jocks getting sweaty and tackling one another is pretty fucking hot.

I decided to do you a favor and transform you into the football that we’ll use from now on. Now, instead of watching from a distance, you can be up close to all of the sexiness going on here. I bet you’ll love being gripped tightly by my strong, meaty hands. And just wait until we start sweating even more, the manly odor we produce from all this exercise absolutely reeks.

If you got turned off simply by looking at us practice, you’re going to be in a horny paradise from now on. Hope you enjoy spending the rest of your life being roughly handled and tightly held by a bunch of sweaty football jocks. You’re welcome.

Absolute favorite. A brutal story written masterfully

End of Shift

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

My life is over. I’ve been playing a high stakes game, and somehow landed on one side of the odds all the time, but my luck was bound to run out sooner or later. I guess I should be happy that it turned out to be later, but it sucks no less. I got sloppy. I was looking through the items near the cashier, as always, trying to mostly use reflective surfaces to see what was going on, as always. I need to be within 15 feet or latency becomes an issue. Some old lady still using the old wallet was buying KokaKola and a pack of Ziffs. This would be easy, as always. I discreetly pressed my watch as she was ready to make the purchase, activating my EM-swiper. I wouldn’t take much, a few credits more. She probably wouldn’t notice it, or think the store stiffed her, or think she bought two packs of Ziffs and lost one. I’m not stealing to get rich, just to get by.

As the EM-swiper went off a high pitched beeping starts behind me. I barely have time to turn my head enough to see the charging police officer, before he slams me into the side of a KokaKola fridge. Shit, I hadn’t done a survey pass through the store as I always do. I could barely register what he was screaming in my ear. “Drop it,” I realize, and let go of the magazine. He must have thought I had the EM-swiper in my hand. He told me to put my hands against the wall and performed a pat-down. It’s only him, so he must be off duty or not on a real patrol. He empties my pockets on the cashier table. Nothing of value, and certainly not something incriminating. I may not have been fortunate enough to afford academy, but I’m not stupid.

“You are detained under suspicion of committing proximity fraud. Do you understand?” he asks me in that commanding yet bored tone of a laborer having to recite corporate bullshit, only in his case it is in the pretense of justice. “Yes,” I answer him. He doesn’t have anything on me or he would have arrested me right away. Probably. “Put this on to acknowledge you’ve read the Citizen Rights Act and agree to an investigation in this matter.” He hands me a pair of handcuffs to put on. I hesitate for a second. He is behind me and in the way of the store exit. I can stall for time and tell him to recite the CRA, but that immediately counts against you, as it is your duty to know it. I have no choice but to put them on. It’s the latest model. I haven’t seen any up close before. Light, thin, all metal, no key hole. Probably opened remotely or only inside a police cell or some shit. I put them on.

“Turn around, pick up your stuff, and exit the store.” I do as told, turn around and begin to pick up my stuff and put them back where he took them. It’s an older police officer. None of them young, jacked up types. Perhaps he is one of the fair ones. But then I am the criminal, so what good would that do me? There’s a small, black duffle bag by his side. So he is on his way home. Perhaps he is tired. Perhaps I can shake him. Have Leo remove the shackles and then stay low for a fucking long time. Or this just doesn’t amount to anything more than a slap on the wrist. I walk towards the door, him behind me.

“Nice watch,” he says, pointing at my wrist as I reach or the door.

He knows. Unless I can get away now my life is over. All I can think of is the monstrosities the state churn out as punishment. Equal part labor force and sadism. I open the door as little as possible and as soon as I am through I dash down the block. I don’t dare look behind me, but I don’t hear him in pursuit. Halfway down the block I swerve into the alley that cuts across the building and out on the block on the other side. If I can cross that block and then down south I’m in the park and there are plenty of places to hide there.

My hands are not on fire. This surprises me as I look down on my hands, screaming in pain. There is a high pitched sound coming out of the handcuffs, like capacitors charging, but it is continuous. The pain emanating from my hands is something unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. My legs buckle. I know I need to move, somehow, somewhere. It’s just so difficult to think of anything but my hands that are not on fire. It would probably be a good idea to not scream my lungs out, but I don’t really have a choice in that.

Just as suddenly as it started it stops. I’m still writhing in pain, but my hands are not on fire in a much more comforting way. “The payment proxy is in your watch, is it not?” the policeman asks, standing a few steps away. I’m panting, I realize when I attempt to answer him. Panting and sweaty. I can’t manage to speak. I just nod my head.

“The state vs. item RK-220553 finds the defendant guilty to breach of contract with the state, executed by judicial AI 5” he reads off his handheld screen. I’m confused to what just happened. “No trial?” I manage to wheeze out. “You entered into a cooperation contract when you put on the handcuffs, as you are aware of as you claimed to know the Citizens Rights Act. Disobedience at that point allows for immediate trial by AI as long as no forensic work is needed.” He sounded like the same bored cop as he was in the store, reciting memorized text for the thousandth time.

I struggle to get up on my feet. Not only am I shaky, but having my hands locked together makes it surprisingly difficult to get up. “You know, this is bad timing,” the cop starts. “I was on my way home and don’t have all the standard gear. It’s supposed to be a swift punishment, for deterrence, but there is really only one thing I can do.” Why is he so apologetic? He opens the bag and pulls out a fucking tactical human transformer. I’ve never even seen one in person before. He turns it on, selects something on the screen, and points the device towards me. “No, I can…”

This time I am on fire, if only so briefly. There is a blinding light, a pulse of heat, and the smell of burnt plastic. As the transient heat subsides it keeps falling colder and colder. I’m naked. All my clothes have been singed from my body. My watch is gone. My shoes are gone. Underwear gone. And, I realize, my hair is gone. The cop keeps punching in selections in the menus of the devices. I manage to get up on my feet. “Stay on the ground,” he tells me. Not so much as an order, but as an advice. I sit down again and he trains the device on me.

I don’t know how to describe it. It’s not pain exactly. There is something about rewriting the code and cellular structure of your body while your brain is engaged that makes it give up in disbelief. “This can’t be what’s actually happening,” it thinks and gives you completely nonsense sensory interpretations. But it also gives up on all other tasks. Time becomes irrelevant. Critical thinking put on hold. When the device stops you are utterly confused for seconds. Possibly by design, but it makes sense that you can’t rewire the brain in flight without some glitches.

“I want you to stand up,” the cop says in a firm voice. “Who?” I ask, still dazed, just to make sure. “You. Get up on both feet. Take this.” He throws an orange bundle to me, and I feebly grasp for it but my one arm yanks the chain to the cuff of the other arm. The bundle brushes by and lands on the ground next to me. He looks disappointed, more at himself for thinking it would work than on me for not catching it.

I look down at my hand and see something orange in my grip, but it is not the orange that interests my but the grip. My arms, thin from lack of food and nimble from grabbing P2 storage modules out of vendor racks. are enormous. Big, well defined muscles with popped veins going up and around them. They look longer than before and even the hands are larger than they used to be. I can see that not only my arms are different. My chest is all lean and strong-looking as well, the legs have these weird lines showing different groups of muscles under the skin, and I can almost bet that the ground is further down than it used to be. Orange! I’m holding something orange in my hand.

“I only have an emergency kit with me, so not very many options for you I’m afraid. If you had come with me I think they would have found some better use for you, but as I said, I didn’t have much to chose from beside himbot,” the cop said while putting some beat-up looking boots from his bag next to me. He grabs the chain between my cuffs, and both of them pop open instantly, and he folds them up and begins to place them back into the cuff holder in his belt.

There was something he said that was important. Like, really important. I feel cobwebs like I had just been awakened from a deep sleep. “Put on the jock,” he tells me, and again I am confused, but of a different kind. It’s like I urgently need to know what he means, somehow. “You’re holding them in your hand.” I again look down at my hand and see the orange piece of cloth, which obviously is what he meant. I flip it around in my hands and finds it to be an orange jockstrap with a generous pouch. Looking down I also see the reason for that, since my dick and balls are large. Much larger than I remember them to be. I don’t want to keep him waiting, so as quickly as I can manage, with my balance a bit off, I manage to place one leg in each loop and pull up the jockstrap. It neatly collects everything in front into a large orange ball.

Himbot! That’s what he had said. It’s like the government robots but human. What was the I and M now again? Wait, those are just mindless sacks of muscles roaming around doing whatever menial task is available.

“Himbot?” I ask him. “Yes, you are a himbot,” the cop answered. “Put on the shirt.”

I immediately grabbed the orange bundle from the ground I assumed to be the shirt. To my delight I was right and with just a few tries I managed to get it on me. It isn’t a real shirt, but one of those without arms, whatever they are called. Quite a lot of skin showed. The shoulders were bare, as were the sides and the nipples unless you positioned the strings just right. Stringers! It’s called a stringers, or something close to it. I feel so tired thinking of words.

“And the boots”

I grab one of the boots. There is something missing, but I’m not sure what it is. I has something to do with the small holes, I think. Well, the large hole is missing a foot, so I put one in it. Then I put the other foot in the other boot, and looked at the cop to see if he approved. He looks about the same. Good enough I hope.

“Face me and raise your hands” I comply immediately. He is pointing the large gun at me again. I don’t like it, but I must do what he says. He presses a few buttons and then there is a sharp headache.

“Who are you?” “Himbot 220553.” “What is your assignment?” “Walk along path 228-red responding to requests.” “What types of requests?” “Any type of requests.”

Drawn

--- Originally posted on 2024-06-29 by breedertfs ---

I find myself getting drawn to your stories more and more often, it's scary! It's like I go into a trance anytime I'm horny and find my way to your blog

It’s almost like that’s my goal, bro.

All guys need a strong, masculine presence in their life. Someone who will guide them and mold them, and I can tell this is attracting you. Do you want someone to talk about what a big, powerful, bad mannered straight man you are? Did your parents fail to set you down the path that now excites you to no end? It’s not your fault, it’s not even theirs.

Sometimes, life isn’t able to give us the tools to become the men we want so badly to be. Maybe you’re a little heavier than the average, maybe you’re too delicate, but something in your upbringing has set you apart from the men that are making you shove your hand down your shorts, stroking your shaft to mental image of musk and muscle and douchebag behavior.

If it sounds so appealing, that’s because your deeper being is begging you to realize this is what you want. It makes you so hard, huh? When I describe a thin guy’s shoulders spreading outwards, broad and strong with bouncing pecs. Beefy arms, tree trunk legs, thick beards reeking of dried pussy juice. The men I specialize in are a special breed, the elite. Of course you’re attracted to them, of course your little brain goes fuzzy and dizzy when you start to jerk it to the idea of a fag becoming a conservative, straight man.

Your cock throbs in your hand, each jerk like a flash in your mind, urging you to look through the illusion you’ve created and see the truth. You get so turned on by these stories because you wish it would happen to you, as if these changes need any magic. Imagine a beautiful woman cupping her fat tits, her slender fingers squeezing her nipples, her body jiggling and shivering with pleasure.

If the idea of sliding your fat cock between her boobs excites you, thrusting until your seed coats her bimbo face, then I’m sorry to tell you, my friend: you’re a straight man. And your body, your former values, are clouding your former rationality and urging you to recognize the kind of man you should allow yourself to become. Just stop taking everything so seriously, allow your thoughts to slow, stop worrying about manners and woke views.

Just think about those huge tits, bro. Think about a squirting pussy, imagine your thick tongue sliding up and down her folds, plunging into her. Imagine your strong hands on her tiny waist, your own stubble on your chiseled jaw growing slick with sweat and juices. Lick your lip, listen to yourself growl, your voice is low and powerful and so demanding. This isn’t a story, this isn’t a wish gone wrong, this is a human male realizing how badly he wants to be a traditional man. No more holding in your farts or belches, no more caring about people’a opinions, no more seeing this woman as anything more than a sex toy to blow your load into. She’s not wife material, brah, but that doesn’t mean she’s not ready to be a mother. Women should know your place like you know yours.

Your bones crack and shift, your expression turns to a sneer, your smile is always so cocky. You are thick with muscle, a cloud of body odor lingering around your glorious muscles, and your fat nine incher is already oozing pre. This is the life you want, the version of you that you want so desperately to take the steering wheel. So let him, bro, let that lustful trance take you where you need to go. Hit the gym, change your political opinions, accept that your cock wants to be deep inside a warm, wet cunt.

Don’t wait for magic, my bro.

There’s nothing more magical than a man who knows his place: and you’re never going to forget where you stand. At the top of the ladder, biceps flexed and your grin smug. Lesser men will wish to be like you, fags are gonna jerk it to your pictures. You just focus on the finer things in life. Sports, cigars, letting your nasty habits be heard and smelled.

Like pulling that blonde bimbo closer, your huge cock thrusting inside her slick folds, her silicone filled tits jiggling from the force. She moans, and you echo the sound with a low growl. You’ll never need to stroke your cock again to my stories — knowing you’ll never run out of fresh, tight pussy to ruin.

Let the trance win, brother. Let the better version of you free.

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.

Swapsidite stone

--- Originally posted on 2019-10-17 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

ROMAN’S PERSPECTIVE

“Come on Roman, let’s get to work.”

I kicked off my small shoes and sulkingly walked into Mr. Jefferson’s house. I was still embarrassed that I had scratched his car during a neighborhood soccer game. All the other kids in the neighborhood were playing soccer with me, yet here I was, the only one who had to pay up. Just because I was the one who ran into his car and scraped my cleats across his door shouldn’t mean that I have to make it up to him all alone. I mean, how much can one twelve-year-old do anyway?

At least Mr. Jefferson was a pretty cool dude. He let me off fairly easy, saying that I just had to come over for one day and help around his house. He had moved into our neighborhood a few years ago, buying the entire rambler to himself. I’d always hear my parents talking about him, how they feared he was growing a little too old to stay a bachelor. I’d seen a few women come over to his house and stay the night, but no real signs of commitment. He seemed to be in his late 30s, maybe already in his 40s, the guy was definitely past his prime. Unkempt beard, flabby stomach, and poor choice in clothes, he wasn’t the best looking neighbor on the block. I didn’t know much about fashion, but everyone knows that the dress shirts, jeans, and flip-flops don’t go together. He even had a weird-looking necklace on, something I’d never seen before today.

No matter what I said about his body or clothing, my opinion was rather meaningless. Still waiting for puberty, my short, skinny, and hairless body wasn’t anything special. I wore a bulky football jersey and mesh shorts to make my appearance seem bigger, but I’m pretty sure it just made me look smaller.

Mr. Jefferson led me to his kitchen and showed me a stack of boxes.

“I need you to bring all of these downstairs,” he said in a deep voice, “I don’t have much for you to do today, so I hope you remember that, even though I don’t think you will.” He walked towards the living room and out of my view. What did he mean he didn’t think I’d remember this? Was he trying to make a backhanded comment or was he just being honest?

“It’s all super easy, Roman. I promise!” Mr. Jefferson shouted from the other room, dragging me out of my thoughts.

I shrugged it off and grabbed the first of the boxes. It was a little heavy, but I’d be able to manage. I walked around the house slowly, the weight causing my stride to be a little off. Once I had eventually found the staircase, I placed the box down and wiped my brow of sweat. It had become a little more than I had expected. Procrastinating the inevitable, I surveyed the area around me. I noticed Mr. Jefferson sitting in a yellow chair--he was in my view, but luckily I wasn’t in his. He held the necklace up to his face, examining it as if it was the first time he had ever seen it. I swear I saw him whisper a few words into it and saw it glow lightly, but before I could focus any more on it, he began to shift in his seat. I quickly picked up the box and, forgetting its weight, marched down the stairs.

— —

I carefully placed the last box down next to the others and ran up the stairs, my mediocre-sized feet making little noise. I walked into the main area, and, after pushing the brown hairs away from my eyes, found Mr. Jackson still sitting in his chair, smugly reading something on his phone.

“I’m done, Mr. Jackson,” I exclaimed proudly, my soft baritone ringing in the room. He slowly got up from the chair and guided me over to my next project.

Mr. Jackson and I had been pretty close these last few years. Ever since that one day I had stupidly run into his car during a soccer game, I had often come over to help with his other chores. Although he was only in his mid-thirties, the single man still had a lot to do around the house. After a while, he began to pay me for my work, persuading me to come over every summer. He even offered me a raise this year, saying that I should get some extra money before college in a few months. I probably could’ve gotten a better paying job, but my personal connection with Mr. Jackson made it hard to turn down. Luckily, it turned out to work for the best.

Ducking under a short ledge, we walked into a small closet behind the main bathroom.

“Alright, Ronan,” Mr. Jackson began, pointing to rolls of paper towels, “I need you to bring these down into the laundry room. Once you’re done with those, come and find me again; I’ll be in the same place as usual.”

Being that both Mr. Jackson and I were the same height, he didn’t have to grab anything down for me. He walked off as I grabbed the first few rolls, being able to fit a decent amount in between my large palms and toned arms. Over the school year, I made sure to start the healthy habit of working out, hoping to get ahead of the freshman fifteen. I had never really gotten into sports through high school, but I made sure to keep my body through the school gym during my senior year. It took me a while to start working at it, but progress eventually began to show. After only a few months, my body had firmed up with the beginnings of abs and some perceptible biceps and triceps. It wasn’t much, but I was fairly proud of myself. It also made an impression on my boyfriend, which became an extra motivator for me.

I strolled out of the closet and walked back towards the staircase downwards. I saw Mr. Jackson sitting in his chair again, scratching his small beard as he read a small book. I itched my own stubble with my shoulder as I descended, remembering how I had forgotten to shave this morning.

— —

Once I dropped the last load into the laundry room, I guided myself up the stairs, ready for the next assignment.

“Next thing?” I shouted as I strolled into the room where the other man sat.

“Finished so quickly, Robbie?” He quipped, getting up from his chair. He knew I was going to fly through that job in minutes. I barely had to put out any effort; my military experience made it rather simple to carry everything down.

“Got anything harder for me, bro?” I said, itching my buzz cut. I had just returned after four years in the service, which I had come to realize were some of the best years of my life. After graduating with a bachelor’s degree, I decided to draft myself into the military and spend some time overseas. My parents and friends didn’t approve at first, but after a while they realized it was good for me--and by that I mean my physical appearance.

Coming home to see my parents shocked faces a few days ago was one of the funniest moments I had experienced. When they saw the lumbering, muscular man walk out of the airport, they didn’t expect to hear their names coming from his [my] mouth. The military had given me a rather strict routine, providing me with an impressive 6-pack, defined upper arms, and powerful quads.

After spending some time with my family, I decided to visit my old friend next door. We had gone through most of school together, with my neighbor only two years older than me. I hadn’t been able to spend his thirtieth birthday with him a few weeks ago, so I was making it up by helping him move into his new house. He had bought his house from his parents, now owning the very place he grew up in. Assisting my old friend reminded me of when we were younger and I scratched his parents’ car during a game of soccer. I can still vaguely remember all the chores I had to do that day to pay for the damage.

“Since you’re so good at this,” he snarked, “I think I’ll give you something a little more difficult to do.” We both walked to his front door and, after grabbing my average-sized shoes, made our way to the backyard. I had been over here plenty of times, the two of us spending hours here when we were little, but now it looked almost completely different. The old playground and slide were removed, now replaced with a disheveled patch of grass and a modern fire pit. Where once stood the garden was now a brand new shed, and as my neighbor opened it, I realized it was where he stored all of his seasonal gear.

“I’d love it if you could mow the lawn for me,” he began, “it’s never really been my thing.” He smirked arrogantly, knowing I’d do anything he said because I missed his birthday. I pulled out an old lawnmower and pushed it out of the shed, my old friend had already gone back into his house. I adjusted my jersey, which fit perfectly tight on my frame, and pulled at the engine. The motor revved up, purring obnoxiously as it began. Although I was very athletic, mowing was still such a bore. As my long legs glided across the yard, I reminded myself to never miss another one of his birthdays again.

— —

I brushed over the last part of the lawn and let go of the brake, causing the motor to stop. I brought a palm up to my sweaty forehead, pushing the black hair back back on top of my head, revealing my receding hairline. I still can’t believe I agreed to mowing for Jackson--the guy’s no older than 25 afterall. He had the body for it too: we had worked out together before, so I knew he was fairly toned.

Then again, I had no problem at all with the physical exercise. Ever since returning home from the military 12 years ago, I had made sure to keep my body in shape. My muscularity isn’t exactly what it used to be (age does that), but I still take a vast amount of pride in my work. I still have the torso, arms, and legs of a football player, but now with the firm maturity of adulthood. I also still have the libido of a football player; no one told me that your cock gets meatier as time passes.

After pushing the lawnmower back into the shed, I made my way to the front of the house. I opened the door, kicked off my large shoes, and made my way to the living room. There, sitting comfortably in his yellow chair, was Jackson, reading his phone once again, his shirt lying on the floor.

“I was hot,” he replied, seeing my confused face. His voice was smooth, deep and youthful.

“Alright,” I said before yanking off my shirt, revealing a shaved, muscular torso with a black treasure trail. Bulging arms and wet, hairy pits also became visible to the world.

“I’m hot too.” The smell of my sweat and odorous armpits began to flood the room.

“I think I’m done with you for today, Richie,” Jackson muttered before plugging his nose, “but I think you do need a shower.”

“What?” I replied sarcastically, my deep, gravelly voice shaking the room, “You don’t like the smell of this?” I brought my furry underarm up to his face and shoved him playfully. I’ve known him since he was born, so we’re almost as close as we can be. I was already in highschool when he was born, and, being the neighbor, I became his babysitter. As the years flew by, babysitter became friend, workout buddy, and brotherhood, so teasing him with my pungent body odor wasn’t anything new. I knew he didn’t like it because he was straight, but I loved it. Being a homosexual, and a top, made dominating very erotic for me, but Jackson had no idea of my true sexuality. That was why I had to hide my giant boner as he found his way out of my pit.

“Ha!” I guffawed, “Now your going to smell like my pit sweat all day long.”

Jackson glared at me furiously, my beads of sweat on his forehead.

“Go take a shower before I kill you,” he said, pointing to the master bathroom.

“Oh, sure,” I retorted before walking off. He could never beat me: I was a man still in his prime. As I stripped myself of my clothes and stepped into the shower, I quietly stroked my dick. Once I got home, I’d have to furiously beat one out like many nights before, probably once again to the thought of Jackson.

— —

JAX’S PERSPECTIVE

I still can’t believe it worked!

With my life lately going to hell, this was my last, desperate choice. Nevertheless, it’s surprising that I even found the necklace in my basement; the people who had lived in the house before must have left it.

When I had found it a few days ago, there was a little note attached describing the name and purpose of the necklace. According to the description, the Swapsidite Stone, the strange chunk at the bottom of the necklace, would switch one of your traits with another person. The trade off however was that whatever you’d swap, the other person would receive double the original bargain. For example, if one person had decided to take a quarter of someone else’s intelligence, the first would receive the quarter bargained for, but the other would dumb down so much that it would seem like the first had taken half. As an added factor, only the person who had the stone one remember their own swap, the rest of reality would change accordingly. That was why I had to consider what I would take and give to someone else.

A few days after I had found the necklace, Roman scratched my car. It was only a coincidence, but I knew it was the perfect time to strike. It took me a while to figure out what I would trade between the two of us, but after a lot of thought I figured out what I desired the most: I wished to redo my past and find a woman to love. I regretted that most of my life I had remained a bachelor, and know was my time.

I decided to trade 20 years of my age to Roman, which meant that he would receive 40 years in total. I felt bad at first, but as I saw him change and reality adjust around us, I began to care less. I had gone from Mr. Jefferson, a 38-year-old loser, to Jax, an 18-year-old stud, in the course of one day, and the best part was that the changes were permanent. I was so excited that as soon as I saw the stone darken to its finish, I stripped down to my underwear and sat back in my chair. I now had the body of a high school jock: thick muscles, blonde haircut, pronounced pouch--it was perfect.

“Hey!” I heard a gruff voice shout from the bathroom, “Where did we put the towels?”

“Back counter!” I yelled back, my voice now a lighter baritone with a more innocent tone. As I sat in my chair, a large, older man walked out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around his waist. Usually, the sight of a naked man would disgust me, but right now I was completely enthralled. In front of me stood a true adonis.

The man, who was now 52, had the body of an alpha male. Strong forearms, calves, and hips were brought together by incredibly large biceps, triceps, and quadriceps. Not only that, but there were a powerful set of abs hiding beneath two massive pecs, adorned with large nipples. The man’s face showed lines of maturity along the forehead, which were easily visible thanks to his recently-gelled graying hair. The beginnings of a beard also framed his lantern jaw, its shape just as perfect as the ridges of his collarbone. The last thing I noticed was the military academy ring he wore on his left hand, which lay in front of his graying pubes. I assumed there was both a massive dick and large set of balls hiding right underneath.

“What are you looking at?” his husky voice rumbled.

“Oh, uh, nothing,” I lied dumbly. Before I could react, he leaned over and snatched the necklace of my neck.

“And what have we got here?” he asked, looking at it oddly.

“Oh, just something I found in the basement,” I replied, giving him half the truth.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I tried it on?” he requested, catching me off guard.

“Sure?” I responded cautiously. He placed the necklace around his neck and smiled smugly.

“This is the Swapsidite Stone, correct?” He already knew the answer, but before I could react he had already muttered something into the stone. The stone began to shine dimly.

“Richard, I can explain, if you’d just-”

“Jax, I know you did something to me. I have no idea what you traded, but at least I know that you did something.”

“But Richard, I-”

“It’s Sir to you.”

“But, Sir-” I froze. Why had I just listened to what he had told me?

“I’ll tell you what I swapped between us, because it won’t matter soon enough.” ~~Richard~~ Sir pulled up a seat from across the room and sat right across from me. He placed the towel aside and let his naked body hang free, his enormous cock standing tall.

“I’ve had a crush on you ever since you entered high school. I’ve known you since you were born, I’ve raised you, I’ve made you who you are today, but now I’m going to make you into who I want you to be. You’ve never appreciated what I’ve done for you, so I’ll make it that way.” I had no idea what he was talking about. He was referring to the new reality, while I was still living the old, causing me to have no way to respond.

He took a deep breath before continuing, his tone becoming more serious, “You see, you stupidly left the description card in the bathroom, not even thinking about me finding it. Once I got out of the shower, I finally figured out why you were wearing that ugly necklace. Now it’s my turn to trade and I think you’ll like what it is.”

I tried to get up from the chair, to run away, but I was stuck. It was like I had no control.

“I’m taking half of your dominance. You know what that means right? I’ll become 150% the alpha male.” He leaned over closely, his hot breath on my cheek.

“And you’ll lose all free will. WIth this, I’ll be able to change anything about you that I want, no magic stones needed. Oh, and just to be safe,” he ripped the necklace off his neck and crushed the small stone between his hands, never to be recreated again.

“So I hope you remember that,” he smirked, leaning back, “even though I don’t think you will.”

— —

Something was poking at my hole, and I had now idea what. I slowly opened my eyes, finding a hairy forearm draped over my side. The smell of my dad’s body odor and cum poured from the sheets like a flood, almost as if they had been washed in them. Memories of the pounding dad gave me last night came into my head, causing my miniscule dick to harden. I remember my dad telling me that although it was almost as big as his, it was tiny. I knew he was right--he is always right.

“Morning, Jax,” I hear my dad groan as his dick pushes further inside of me. I moan as he begins to push in and out. This is how mornings usually go: waking up to the smell of old sex, discovering how intelligent and arousing my father is, and then him filling me with his cum. It was always a pleasing cycle.

About ten minutes later, after my insides were filled with his semun. I got up and went to go make breakfast, still in my birthday suit. It only took me minutes to prepare a protein shake and some eggs for my dad. It only took seconds for him to come clomping down the stairs with his abnormally large feet. He always had to specially order his shoes.

Before sitting down, my dad, who was also naked, brought a dirty cup to the tip of his penis and began to piss. A dark, yellow stream dripped in until it was full to the brim.

“Drink up, son,” my dad said as he handed me the cup, “it’s good for you.”

I greedily slurped the steaming liquid down my throat. It was going to be a long day of work ahead, so I had to eat and drink healthy. There were chores to do, dirty laundry to sniff, and fathers to please. I was excited to do it all.

One Fad Fits All: Cowboy Up

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

"Oh God, take a look at this shit," Cody said to me as he took a pair of black leather boots off the shelf and tossed them at me.

"I know right, who would wear this!" I said back.

Cody and I often went to the mall after school. We were just two good-for-nothings at home, and most of the time the skate park was overrun by much more hardcore punks then us. So we'd head over to the mall and talk shit with each other. Today, we walked into a store that sold a variety of men's clothing. We were wearing your basic high school freshman dark hoodies, loose-fit jeans, and skater shoes. Cody brushed hair away from his eyes because his bangs always got in the way. He picked up a big shiny belt buckle and held it in front of his crotch. I laughed out loud.

"This shit is so gay," he said. "I know, right?" I answered.

"Can I help you find anything?" said a young girl's voice. It startled us both.

"Nah, just screwin' around," I answered.

"All right," she said. "How about you try these on instead?" She handed me and Cody each a pair of blue jeans.

"No, we better go," I said.

"C'mon dude! It'll be funny," whispered Cody. I followed him and the girl back to the dressing rooms. We glanced at each other and Cody grabbed his crotch, suggesting something dirty about the girl helping us. I smiled back, trying not to laugh.

"Here you go," she said, pointing towards two adjacent rooms. When she left, Cody and I both busted out laughing.

"Dude, you have to try it on. I gotta see this," he said. "No, man. This is stupid," I said as I took off my shoes and dropped my pants. I pulled the bright blue denim over my skinny high-school legs. They were clearly too big for me. I look around the room and saw that the girl had left a big leather belt, so I used it to hold my jeans up.

"Oh, shit," I heard from the stall next to me. Suddenly, the room started to feel really warm and I could feel myself starting to sweat.

"You boys almost ready," I heard the girl say on the other side of the door.

"Yes, ma'am," Cody said in a polite Texas drawl -- but I only assumed he was joking. "Well, that's good," here I brought these for you. She slid a pair of leather boots under the door. I picked one of them up. It smelled like fresh hay and cow shit, like they had been worn for years. I reached to put them on but noticed that my jeans were no longer loose. Instead, they felt tightly fitted. I slipped into the boots and stood up. I felt inches taller but was still sweating like a pig.

"Hey, Cody, you all right over there? Sort of hot, ain't it?" I opened the door of the stall and saw Cody standing by the three-way mirror, but he looked completely different. He was a rugged six-foot-tall cowboy. His jeans were faded and worn. He put his hands in his pockets and I noticed how the belt buckle accentuated his bulging crotch. He had taken off his shirt and I could see smooth lean muscles on his upper body glistening with sweat.

"Howdy, stranger," he said when he noticed me. "Oh, shut up, Cody," I said. "What's going on. This isn't funny anymore." He walked over to me and pulled up my t-shirt. "You've changed too," he said. "What?" I pulled off my shirt and stepped in front of the mirror. Just like Cody, my skinny teenage body had matured. My pale flabby arms were tan and taught with muscles. My pecs flexed a little as I moved and my abs were rock-hard. My upper body was shaved smooth, but the skin was tan, tough and leathery, like I had worked outside bareback for months.

"Where's your buckle," Cody said. He knelt down and fastened the big silver buckle he had found in the store earlier. I could feel my cock stir and press against my jeans.

"You guys look great!" We both looked up and saw the girl walk in with two cowboy hats -- one black and one white. She walked over and put the white one on my head and the black one on Cody. We said nothing, but as she walked away, I tipped my hat, winked, and said, "Thank you, ma'am" in the same droll voice as Cody used earlier.

I turned to look at myself in the mirror again, amazed at this transformation, but then saw Cody walk up behind me and nibble my ear playfully.

"What was that for?" I asked in protest. But when I looked into his steely blue eyes and saw his five-o-clock shadow and his rugged body, I moved in for a kiss. Within seconds, we were up against the mirror, making out with an infinite series of reflections of ourselves. Our sweaty shirtless bodies pressed against each other. Everything that we were before that kiss was wiped from our memory and when we walked out of the mall later, I could resist putting my hand on Cody's ass as he held a shopping bag full of worn denim, chaps, flannel, chewing tobacco, jean jackets, and leather boots.

Gym Goggles

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

--- Note: Pokémon Leader TF ---

POOOOT!

"ALRIGHT! NEXT ONE!"

The Coach blew his whistle, and off goes another successful victim--applicant! Gomennasai for that error. But yes, we are all applicants here aren't we?

The next one of us is a delightful little chap who was personally invited to join us in Dorm Desire Academy. Average build, you can tell since he's stripped naked aside from the privates which are covered by swimming trunks. He should be getting rid of them soon anyway.

By the way, you could tell that he's one of those anime-obsessed teenagers if you pay a visit to his room, devoted to reading tons of manga and playing many kinds of anime-based games. Well, you could tell that too if you knew the man personally. I mean, that's why I invited him after all.

Boy, don't you know how these types just absolutely love to imagine being fit, more muscular versions of themselves. Charismatic, shouting and boasting about in their teenage-slang. Cheerful and popular, basically total jocks. I mean! Just look at how great they turned out back in the Academy!

No dumbing down in case you guys are wondering, just pushing aside and reorganizing their talents in academics and pushing it all into sports and leadersip. Though its really case by case scenario if you are going into detail.

But yes, time to start narrating properly again. Let's call the chap "Baikoha" for now.

"WHERE are your GOGGLES?!" The coach shouted."Don't you know that all new students are required to wear their FULL-SET of equipment before the lesson?"

Baikoha winced, his hands fumbling about in his trunks. Attempting to find the branded pair of swim-gear that's tucked in. "Why did I sign up for swimming lessons again?" He thought. Noting that this week is "Sports Week" at campus, a tri-monthly Dorm Desire event in which its a mandatory for new students to take part in one sporting event each time in the year.

He took out the swimming goggles, light blue lens with rubberized ocean colored sides. It was quite similar to the rest of the goggles of the other participants in line. Although, like what the mini-swimmer's package that was sent to me has said. It's of a completely different branding.

"Congratulations, you've obtained one of the two limited edition "Marlon & Brawly" branded goggles." It said, and judging by the rest of the swimmers' mass produced "Dorm Desire branded" goggles. It looks like him and one other guy are the lucky ones for this semester.

Well, you would be if the coach wasn't pissed off at you.

He quickly wore the eye-wear, a loud "Click" sound signifying the goggles being attached to my face. The surroundings gained a dark-blueish tone, as the chap stared at the deep blue open-aired swimming pool, which seems to be remodeled and designed like the ocean itself.

Stepping forward...little by little. Nervous to mention to the coach that he's "not particularly sure how to swim"..., especially considering that this side of the pool only seem to be really deep. And that's only what it seems! Imagine how deep it actually is!

"So you're one of those newbies huh? The coach spoke,uh ohWell once this week is over, I'll have you diving like a professional!" He gave a really fierce-looking grin, as he raised his right arm and--

"SURFS UP!" SLAP! SPLASH!

The helpless chap is slammed into the pool, water flows and culminates around the branded goggles. Bubbles bubbling about.

"WhaBLURRBBBLEGHHHH!"

Bubbles beam towards the corners of the student's lips.Streaming past the edges of his tongue, the uvula, and into the numerous systems in his body. Body completely paralyzed, limp and light. But alive as ever, with red hot blood pumping to overcome the oxygen deficit in the lung.

Triggering the whole body, as the bubbles work inward. Down the legs, through the arms, chest, and most importantly the head. All of it beginning to realign themselves into a proper swimmer's form. New info being slowly bubbled into his thoughts.

The first were the arms. Starting strongly as they slowly align into position, arms bulking and tanning themselves deeply with the illumination of the sun. Mixed with the cool richness of the minerals in the pool, forming a light chocolate collagen-rich tan showing confidently on his swimmer-ised, nimble and exposed biceps.

Next were the chest. Pecs pumping out like a heart, chest firm, proudly synchronized with the darkening skin tone from each arm. Blood bubbling into the veins, lungs being completely filled with air bubbles, muscles aching for some action. His body stings up!

Arms moving further and wider, involuntary to the new brain sensors as they spread wide! Performing a powerful backstroke underwater, solidifying those strong back muscles that complement the skill and strength of the swimmer. Broad shoulders, with abs glistening with a healthy Tan like the rest of his upper torso.

Legs giving a mighty dolphin kick, popping out those glutes as they form a proud bubble butt, shining out underneath the new trunks growing beneath. Tan line forming just around the waist. Bottom as clear and white as the gentle milky river.

Bubbles leave his pores via the lower portion, releasing the laziness, unenthusiasm, and stress. Legs marloning and Shoot!ing past the unathletic height. The Negative energy being destroyed and bursting all over his feet as two pair of plain-sticky dark blue sandals form over his well-developed feet.

His mouth forms a steady grin, unattractive thoughts seeping out of his new darkened coat, trunks expanding and wet-suiting down his tall legs, brightening into a positive light blue with three thick paler strips down each thigh. Pairs of fins youthfully pop by at the ends of each leg. Completing his favourite wet-suit.

The light brownish hue covers his entire neck and face. His eyebrows and hair dye themselves a sharpedo blue, angular jaw and prominent cheekbones showing off the cheeriness of the man. The man who enjoys being in the water.

"Study-nerd's essays, homework, and watching anime are total bummer dude!" His vocal cords cooled, laced with Surfer lingo. * "Radical thoughts like surfing, swimming and marine biology are totally in."* Hair styling itself into a fin of a sharpedo, with some white dotted sparkles spotted near the front.

"Yo, what's an anime? ...Man, for some reason. I feel like I was in one!"

The man thought, furrowing his well-shaped eyebrows before shrugging off almost instantly. The last bits of the negative bubbles leaving through his mouth, steady and high capacity lungs lay deep in his body. As the soothing wave carries him up the depth of the pool, shooting up as it transforms into a tidal wave and--

"SPLASHHHHHHHHHH!"

The new man rose to the surface.

Flipping up his special goggles and allowing the light blue aura of the pool's surface to diminish any doubt he once ever had. Eyes revealing to be a calm, and a refreshing blue, with the confidence and fierceness of an all time swim-goer.

Embracing and relaxing in his new identity, as Marlon, Former Gym Leader of Humilau City's Gym and now the Captain of The University's Water Sports Group. A Carefree Surfer Jock who loves nothing more than being in the water.

"Yo! Brawly! Sup!" Marlon raised his hand. HI-FIVE "Hey Man! Totally drenched me over here! Haha!" He laughed.

The two of them were inseparable, fierce competitors and the greatest of friends back when they met in orientation. Recognizing the other Gym Leader back when they were roomies. And having being given their own special goggles together by the higher-ups as a reward for being one of the best pairs in their category. The Ocean.

With their knowledge of the ocean, surfing as well as a healthy match of Pokemon battles and tons of working out. With Marlon and Brawly taking the lead in The school's Swimming/Water Polo and Dynamic Surfers Teams respectively, The Captains of the University's Water Sports Group were unstoppable together.

"Dude! Race you to the top of the diving board." Marlon swam. "Oh yeah? Well I'm gonna wipe you down man!" Brawly jumped in and swam right after him.

The two of them made their way to the diving board.

"Hey Man! Watch this--I'm gonna make--!"

"A Bigger Splash Than The Sea!"

SPLASH!

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!

Massive & Mindless

--- Original creation #3 ---

"You want to be a jock?"

Asher, the school's quarter back looked at you quizzically.

You didn't look like the type that would be interested given your small frame and size.

"Hmm. No can do I think. Not like this at least"

You became nervous as the quarter back stepped closer to you, giving a clearer view of his pecs that were nearly spilling out his stringer tanktop.

"You see," he started saying as he grabbed onto your arms, lifting them both up. "you need some serious arm muscle if you want to do a ball sport".

Pure ecstasy came over you as your arms expanded in size. You looked at your arms as you flexed them seeing them grow even larger in size.

Barely recovered from the kick you feel his hands touch your chest.

"Of course, you can't move your arms well if you don't have good pecs to match"

Immediately you felt the pull your shoulders pulling on your chest. What was once flat had now become two slim yet firm slabs of muscle to accompany your new strong arms.

"How could I forget about a good core?" Asher said, thoroughly enjoying your face of pure euphoria.

He now looks you in the eye as you feel him draw a line vertically across your chest. Next, you feel his finger go horizontally. As you look down you can see his work. Where his finger went were now deep grooves forming an impressive core, including beautifully sculpted obliques.

As you look up your eyes meet again and you could feel a heat start to rise inside you.

"You've also got to be able to withstand a good bash, can't have you falling on your ass while on the field" Asher said.

You feel your legs grow. The gap between is slowly closing with pure muscle. Soon you find that you can feel your thighs touching each other.

All the while, the heat inside you kept growing. You could feel your excitement rise.

"You need to have a good grip on the ground as well"

Your feet swelled, only able to accommodate size 13 now.

"Of course we like to have fun as well after our games" Asher said, shamelessly staring at the out print of your cock visible on your shorts.

"Like your muscles, we like it massive"

You already knew what was coming. You felt his touch and as he did you could feel your dick grow. It reached a bigger size than you had even seen before.

"Like your teammates, we like it mindless"

You could feel his hands plant themselves on the sides of your face as his face closed in on yours. A pair of lips planted themselves on your face as you felt his stubble rub against your skin.

If you weren't fully excited already, now you were. As you kept kissing Asher you could feel a haze encroach your mind. Every second, you felt your concerns, your worries, everything fading away.

You had reached cloud nine.

As Asher broke contact, he couldn't help but smile.

You were lost in pure bliss. You hadn't even noticed as a slight bit drool escaped from the sides of your mouth.

As a final act Asher stood right up against you. You could feel his crotch straining against yours. As he placed his forehead on yours you could feel new thoughts entering your mind.

Strategies, faces of your teammates, times spent together after practice.

What you would have considered foreign moments ago now felt right, it felt normal.

It felt like it always had been. Like the jock you've always been.