Breedertfs - Blog Posts
--- Originally posted on 2023-06-15 by shapedbydesire ---
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A Better Ride
(inspired by a caption by the Abstract Vanity, this story includes muscle growth, gay to straight, wish gone wrong, reality change, musk & farts; as a notice, I’m aware some people are still having an issue with being able to see a Better Brother on their dash, so I’ll get to work on posting an updated version with cleaner pictures soon! thanks for your patience with me as always)
Neil, a skinny and fair haired twink, is inspecting the car his parents have given him for his twentieth birthday. He frowns slightly at the clunker as his best friend and only other gay guy in their small town, Kody, sits excitedly in the driver’s seat and tries to make light of the situation. “It’s really not all that bad, Neil! A car is a car, try to look a little more grateful.” Kody was always warm and kind, ever the optimist. In any situation, he could find the bright side of it.
But Neil just feels disappointed, envious and greedy. This thing looks like it barely has twenty more miles in it! He grumbles below his breath, “I wish I had a better ride,” thinking about all the popular guys at their college campus driving around in their fancy trust fund cars. As he imagines the straight jocks, he can feel his cock twitch a bit, coming to life in his tiny shorts. He knows the guys are immature and backwards minded and more muscle than intelligence, but he has always been attracted to the stereotypical frat bro douche that would never feel the same way about a lanky, effeminate nerd like him.
Not long after he speaks the wish, however, Neil watches as the driver’s side door slams closed on the clunker. Kody looks surprised in the driver’s seat with the window rolled up, his lips are moving but Neil can’t hear the question being asked. Catching them both off guard, Neil can only watch on in confusion and fear as green mist begins to appear around Kody, first thin tendrils of smoke and then suddenly, the coughing form of his equally skinny, pale haired twink of a friend is consumed in the cloud of green fumes. Before Neil can process this, he hears the crunch of metal, unable to do anything as he stares and watches the cheap old car morph into a larger, more modern truck on massive wheels, with a blaring bass system and lots of fancy gadgets modded onto the vehicle. It reminds him of the same rides his crushes would drive around in, revving up their engines and trying to impress all the chicks they could find.
Once the car finishes changing, granting Neil’s wish and making him smile, he rushes to the car door to make sure that Kody is inside and safe. He’ll be so excited when he sees what he’s sitting inside of now! But as he opens the door, all Neil can do is gag as his eyes begin to water immediately, the fumes of green gas pouring over him and reeking of rotten eggs, protein, and the stale dank scent of a men’s locker room. As the fog disperses, the man left sitting in the driver’s seat is not Kody, but instead a much more brutish and swollen version of him, cute hair cropped short and his now square, stubbles face leering down at Neil. He grips the steering wheel, and it makes his bicep look even more swole.
He flexes to show the little nerd what sets them apart. In this situation, and all others, the new and improved Kolton is in control. “Okay, fag. I know it’s your birthday so I’m gonna raw dog your ass just this once, but we gotta be quick. And don’t be fucking clingy and try to reach out to me after this. This is a one time thing, your boy cunt is an appetizer but pussy is the only meal I’m interested in.” Neil could barely process the vanishing of his bestie, too occupied with the tenting of his tiny cock. The man in front of him looks like he’s stepped out of a wet dream, or more accurately, a wish. Clearly this truck belonged to Kolton, and not himself, and surely some essence of Kody must have still been inside under all that muscle and rank stench.
But it is Neil’s birthday… he runs around to the passenger side, allowing himself inside and getting straight to work by taking Kolton’s cock into his mouth. He enjoys the rough, calloused hand pressing his nose into the wiry bush of hairs, the thick length making him gag like the smell had, he moans and whimpers and he is in heaven. Fuck having a car, this was the best gift he could ask for.
Kolton just sits there and closes his eyes, imagining breasts bouncing and pussies dripping as the twink works his magic on his fat dick. It was nice of him to make the fag’s wish come true today, but he’d be shoving his tongue into some pussy as quickly as he can find it after this. He’ll leave this twink in the dust and never look back.
Poor Kody, though… looks like he’ll be a passenger for the rest of his life. A twink trapped in the body of a hulking, reeking, walking stereotype. The picture perfect image of a straight frat bro.
Kolton’s got the wheel now.
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?
--- Originally posted on 2020-05-27 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
Caption 3 - Wednesday
For today’s caption, due to many of y’all requesting that I write this particular kind of TF again, I will be using more photos than just the one that @mystrangetfs provided. You can view that image here!
Have you been keeping up with his stories? Here’s his latest caption! He’s going above and beyond, folks. This has been as much of a treat for me as it’s been for y’all. I hope you keep enjoying what we have to offer!
Stud Pride
Emily was a prodigy.
She was the valedictorian of her high school class, first chair flute, captain of the debate team, and a state-qualified cross country runner. The girl had a lot of skills under her belt — anything she set her mind to, it seemed like she could accomplish — but what she lacked was confidence.
For all of her brilliance, there was an insecure shyness, too. She found it difficult to share herself with people, not sure how to string together a compelling conversation outside of her many debate-required arguments.It was easier being a wallflower, watching the world pass her by and telling herself she’d catch up with it when she was ready to put herself out there.
But here she was on the first day of her college career, after months of telling herself that this would be the push she needed to finally break out of her cocoon. Nothing seemed all that different as she hugged one of her textbooks to her chest, dodging around the sea of unfamiliar students and coming to a halt by the campus fountain of Parkview University.
She stared at the stone horses, idolizing how majestic they were, scolding herself for being so meek and quiet and reserved. Here she was, a Parkview Stallion in her own right, but there was nothing free or strong about her. She should have went to a university with a more appropriate mascot, she considered with a small frown. Something like a mouse.
But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the galloping horses, pulling a penny from her pocket without even considering how childish it was. Wishing on coins and fountains was not logical in the slightest, but maybe that was her problem. Maybe Emily needed just a little bit of magic in her life. So she let the coin fly, watching it flip gracefully through the air before it collided with the water, and she made her wish.
“I wish I was worthy of this school. I want to live up to all the expectations of being a Stallion.”
It was simple enough, the tried and true ‘speak it into existence’ method, but nothing really changed or clicked for her. There were butterflies fluttering in her stomach, a swirling unease deep in the pit of her gut, but she was convinced that had been there the whole time. She sucked in a breath and went about her day.
The strange thing was how her fellow classmates began to interact with her. They didn’t say anything at first, just a series of nods and enthusiastic waves as Emily moved through the packed crowd. A few of the female students smirked at her in an oddly flirtatious manner, and many of the college jocks looked pumped to see the nerdy girl. She tried to play it off, blushing shyly.
But then she heard a low voice shout, “Bro, the legend is finally here! How you been, man?” It took her a moment to realize the beefy frat boy suddenly standing by her side was talking to her, let alone about her. He definitely wasn’t someone she knew, certainly not someone she went to high school with, and she was positive he didn’t have any interest in her. With a cautious sniff, she wasn’t sure he even had an interest in basic hygiene.
He was smiling such a goofy grin, though, and he looked so happy and excited to see her that it made her smile, too. Maybe someone had dared him to prank her? Maybe he was just getting too into the act? For just a moment, she felt confidence stir in her, and she let herself ponder the possibility that maybe he really was thrilled to see her. Maybe she had a reputation already. Maybe she didn’t have to question every little thing that happened.
“Yeah, uh, it’s me. I’ve been good.” Emily spread her legs a little wider, lowering the textbook she was clutching to her chest and letting it hang casually by her side. She needed to relax, or she was going to scare this guy off with how uptight she was. “How have you been?” She got the question out easily enough, but there was a slight pause as her tongue nearly pushed out the word ‘bro.’
That would have been pushing it a bit too far, she told herself, trying to find a balance between being chill enough to hang out with this dude and acting enough like herself that she wasn’t coming across as fake. The jock didn’t seem as lost in his head as Emily was, breaking out into a wider smile and moving into a double bicep flex without a second thought. “Bro, you see these gains? Summer was a fuckin’ pump fest. I’ve been great!”
Emily wasn’t sure how to respond to that, looking around the large campus and down at herself as she tried to come up with the right words — wait, was she wearing this outfit the whole time? She could have sworn she had dressed more formal for the occasion, but at least she felt comfortable. That was really all that mattered. The workout shirt and elastic denim pants were large on her, but warm from years of use, so warm they calmed her down and slowed her thoughts.
“You’re a total beast, man. Keep it up.” And then she patted the jock on the shoulder, like it was the most natural thing, and he kept smiling and chuckling like there was nothing strange about them interacting like this. “I’ll catch up with ya later, bro.” Her vocal chords were stirring, shortening, and taking control. She didn’t realize what she had called the guy until he grabbed her hand in some sort of weird frat boy handshake and mock-saluted at her.
“See ya, bro.”
It ran through her mind that she needed to find her dorm as she watched the musky jock leave, shaking her head to break out of her daze. She didn’t feel her hair whipping around her face as she moved, but then she reached up and grazed her backwards cap, and that felt right. She had said she wanted to make a change, to not be so lost in her head, so she was sure to dress down on her first day. She was in college now. It didn’t matter what brand of clothes she wore, she was a fuckin’ athlete with a full ride scholarship. All that mattered was how much weight she could bench.
She stopped in her tracks, scratching at the back of her exposed neck and scrunching her thick eyebrows together. No, she was here on an academic scholarship — right? “Uh,” was all she could say, standing there like an idiot who couldn’t get her brain to function properly. The deep sound moved through her, down the length of her throat and causing an Adam’s apple to swell. She had been changing since she made her wish, and she should have noticed by now — definitely by now — but she couldn’t figure it out. Everything felt right.
All of a sudden she was so chill, and slow, strolling through campus like she had no better place to be. She started waving back at all the dudes and chicks who greeted her, feeling her legs burn as she started to stretch up and up until she was beginning to have to glance down at her new friends. Her worn out workout clothes were starting to become more than just warm, and she even lifted a pit to breathe in her rank stench. Something on the inside winced, and shouted out in displeasure, but all she expressed on the outside was a low, dumb chuckle.
They called him Stink Bomb for a reason.
Emily stopped again, this time pressing a meaty hand to her forehead and gasping from the sudden shocking memory. “No, bro. That’s not me.” She was so aware, for just a moment, hearing the stretch of fabric as she glanced down at the pecs ballooning against her shirt. Her thighs were becoming thick and straining the elastic of her pants, there were sweat stains all over her body, she was getting huge and smelly and losing every aspect of her former self.
She moaned in pleasure as something hot awakened between her legs, looking around her help, but all she saw were smiling faces and waving hands and a sea of strangers masquerading as her new friends. It was like the world had turned a blind eye to what was happening to her, just like she had, but now she was forced to watch as something thick and long snaked out from her crotch, pushing so tightly against her pants that she whimpered in pain and pleasure. “Bro, I’m too fucking big.”
And, fuck, he really was. Em couldn’t really think of anything else. He was so focused on his muscles as they continued to pump, he loved watching his pecs dance beneath his shirt, seeing his sleeves bunch up around his bowling ball biceps. He had thrown on the clothes he wore during yesterday’s workout, because he was fuckin’ late to his first day of college, but no one cared. They loved him. He was the big man on campus, the star freshman football team recruit. It was okay if he stank.
Em was here to stay, or was it Ev — an inward vice screamed, “Your name is Emily! Please don’t forget!” — but Evan’s new thoughts were so big and beefy and dumb that he squashed every last trace of the nerdy girl he had been. What kind of bro would go by Emily? He clearly wasn’t a fag. He smirked at all the babes checking him out, even being so crass as to rub the fat cock he was hiding in his boxers. He was gonna have so much fucking fun at the parties on campus, that was his priority beyond staying swole for sports. Yeah, he was going to flunk all his business classes, but Coach said he’d help him out. He scratched at his chin with a snicker, loving the feeling of his stylin’ stubble.
Pair that with the diamond studs in his ears? His shaven, tatted up body? God, he was such a pussy magnet. He didn’t have to do shit, just one flex and the panties went flying up into the air. He was such a smug, dumb douche, throwing up peace signs and duck lips like he didn’t know the meaning of growing up. Like this wasn’t a serious college. Evan was Peter Pan on steroids, frozen on an elementary school education with the rocking body of a prize stud horse.
And, hell, he fuckin’ was one now! PARKVIEW STALLIONS REPRESENT, BRO. His brain was wired to promote his university team, to live up to the mascot with every fiber of his being. He already had the horse cock down, and the full breeding balls. He squeezed out a silent but deadly fart as he strolled up to the fraternity he pledged to, and he chuckled even louder. He even had the stink down to an, uh… an S? Because stink starts with S?
He didn’t fuckin’ understand some shit, but who the fuck cared? He was loud, and brash, and popular. He felt his body pulse with energy one last time, moaning without a care in the world as his shoulders popped into place, his jaw squaring out, growing thicker and sexier and knowing he still had so much bigger to get. That’s why he pumped so hard. That’s why we was going to pump some more right now. When he saw the jock he had greeted that morning, he jogged over and slapped him hard on the back.
“Bro,” he almost slurred, grasping the boy’s shoulder tight and holding him in place as he let out a booming, sputtering fart. He was so fuckin’ proud of how he smelled. He was so gross, but the ladies couldn’t get enough of this stud. He couldn’t get enough of himself, either. He loved watching people choke on the mere scent of him.
“Show me where the gym is. Stink Bomb needs to get his pump on NOW.”
Evan was a Parkview Stallion, through and through.
Maybe he couldn’t do basic math anymore, or hold a flute in his big meaty hands, or win an argument without burping in the other person’s face, or do anything that involved too much cardio without exhausting his hulking body — but at least he was a confident son of a bitch now. He wasn’t shy about anything.
That was a fair trade off, right?
--- Originally posted on 2023-03-28 by breedertfs ---
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That Wish Stinks
“W-wait, let me be more clear!” The blonde twink barely has the chance to lift his hands up, gasping in shock, as a glowing rift appears in front of him.
In a half hour, his boyfriend is coming over to spend a fun evening cuddling in the sheets watching their favorite show together, but to Christopher’s dismay, his older brother is still crashing at his place. What was supposed to be a weekend has turned into a near month of free-loading, and for all that time, the admittedly prissy and tidy twink has been at his absolute limit.
Chad got laid off at his construction job, and their parents moved out of state years ago, so they couldn’t offer help. And as much as Christopher was horrified by the idea of being trapped in a house with his slob older bro again… what else could he do? But now, wading through beer cans and fast food wrappers and choking on the fumes that only a straight jock can produce, his empathy seems more like a mistake than a virtue.
It’s as Christopher is trying to clean under his couch that his fingers come into contact with a very warm and very sticky and EXTREMELY foul smelling sock. His big bro’s cum sock, hardened in some spots but still moist in others. “EWWW!” was all Christopher could cry out, rushing to grab more paper towels and cleaning supplies. In his frustration, going down on both knees to better clean the pig sty, he makes his wish.
“I wish my brother wasn’t the absolute filthiest, most stereotypical, stupid jock in town,” he started sassily, happy that his brother was gone and pumping iron at the gym so that he could express his thoughts openly. But that’s when the rift appeared, a glowing and radiant energy that somehow seemed to stare right at him, pulsing with light.
Wish granted.
Try as he might to protest, not realizing some entity was listening to his ill fated wish, Christopher is powerless as the rift consumes him. It feels like he is being stretched on all sides, legs extending and arms stretching, far past the limits of his older bro. In the rift, he could only stare in horror at a swirling mass of green fumes, reeking of the same foul, gnarly scent of Chad’s farts. The same ones that haunted Christopher in his youth, pretty little face squashed under those hairy, sweaty cheeks after no-consent wrestling.
He’s trying to scream when the gas goes straight down his throat, pouring into his being, making his eyes water as the last remnants of the twink wail and gag. He could down every inch of his boyfriend’s cock, but this was unalike anything he had ever experienced. As he inhaled the fart, his stretched body filled in all the spaces his former lithe frame couldn’t compensate for. His newfound stout, commanding figure bore a striking resemblance to Chad’s, but it seemed to go a step further. More swole, more reeking.
In a flash, his thin jaw cracks into a strong, lantern cleft chin. His shoulders pop up and broaden into boulders, football sized biceps following suit, he can’t help but to flex them. The twink used to hate burly men, Christopher used to hate size and smell and hair, but now Topher is grinning down at his sick ass gains, his huge muscular thighs straining against his sweatpants. His cock stirs, hardening, growing in size and length as the head of it rubs against the fabric, going commando because that’s just who he is. The new him. It throbs with the urge to be released, to penetrate, the flood of testosterone in his senses rewiring all of his urges, erasing every aspect of who he used to be to make room for who he wishes to be.
All he wanted right now was to plow a bimbo and seed her, pass on his majestic jock genes for the future generation, and make her cry out his name as he plays with her tits. He can’t even remember his boyfriend anymore. That’s not something he’s ever considered, not Topher. If you think Chad is a walking stereotype, just meet his brother, that’s what everyone says. Chad’s got nothing on Topher.
The absolute filthiest, most stereotypical, stupid jock in the house.
He settles into reality, raising his arms into his new favorite pose, breathing in deep the scent of his musk. His workout shirt is stained to hell and back, but he’s proud. There’s a bag of fast food junk he smashed earlier for his bulk, and there’s two cum rag socks under the coach he and his little bro share when they gotta let off some steam. Shit, what he wouldn’t give for some pussy right now. Maybe when Chad gets home from his pump Topher can propose a night out to go and satisfy their pythons. He’d be home in about twenty minutes, and Topher has a mean fart brewing in his gut that’s he’s gonna use for a glorious, protein reeking prank to greet him.
Then the doorbell rings, and Topher is surprised to see some fairy stumbling over his words on his porch, asking where his boyfriend is. Topher just chuckles, dim eyes looking sharp for possibly the first time ever. “Hey, uh, I still get two wishes?” A familiar rift started to appear over the frightened queer’s head as Topher, pawing his engorging cock, thought of how great life was doing to be living in his man cave with his bro, the next best thing to himself, and how even still it could be all just a little bit better.
“I wish I had a bimbo side piece standing on my front porch right about now.”
--- Originally posted on 2022-11-27 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
thrift shift: camo hat
“Yeah, thanks but no, guys who wear hats like this are the bane of my existence.” The blonde twink grimaced at the cap shoved into his hands, but the shopkeeper kept on insisting. Presley was a pacifist vegetarian with a successful fashion blog, and the last thing he needed was to blend into nature. What on earth was he going to hunt except for a sugar daddy? But the longer he held the hat in his hands, the more he felt a pulling in the pit of his stomach. Anxious energy rose in him, strangely inclined to listen to the owner of the new thrift store that had opened in town. He could always write a bad review on his blog later, what was the harm in playing nice now? Without bothering to search for a changing room for something so simple, he huffed. “Fine, whatever. But babes, we need to talk about your eye for style.”
He secured the cap on his head, but as he reached to adjust the strap to tighten it, he felt a wave of energy roll through his body as he poofed! out of the shop, leaving the clerk smiling happily and going on to help the next customer seeking their perfect Thrift Shift experience. Elsewhere, phasing into existence in a field outside a rural farmhouse, the new and improved Preston found himself feeling bloated, dirty, and exposed. He looked down for a brief moment of panic, trying to process the filthy slab of meat and thick hair and trashy tattoos attached to his new head.
The once new camo cap felt stretched to its limits around his broad face, lantern jaw falling slack at the sheer smell of sweat wafting off him. The hat felt hot on his scalp, damp to the touch, and the last remnants of Presley assimilated to his new environment quickly. Preston belched out in the open, pressing a calloused hand to his painfully full beer gut. He could smell the alcohol on his rank breath, suddenly and completely a full grown corn fed man acting like a drunken fool out in the backwoods. But damn, this was his fuckin’ property! All he wanted to do now was chug another can of beer and take his four wheeler for a spin down the backwoods. Maybe bring his rifle along and look for a nice buck.
The only real passions in his life were beer, hunting, and tight pussy. He’d have his fill of all that, but first… he could feel the pressure building in his gut, and he had no shame letting his rank odor fill the air, thick hairy ass cheeks jiggling from the sheer force of one longgg fuckin’ fart.
He lowered his underwear so that he could listen to the sound with pride.
“Awww yeah, that’s real nice. I tell ya what man, this is the life.”
--- Originally posted on 2021-01-16 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
What You Desire: Poll Story
Personality Change. Masculine - Hairy, Dirty, Daddy. Straight to Gay. Mental Change - IQ Loss. Nerd to Jock. Muscle Growth. Race Change: Latino. Himbo TF. Changed By: Clothing/Wish Gone Wrong.
Hope y’all enjoy! More stories coming soon.
( update after the flagging issue: thank you for your patience! i reposted every image by itself to find the culprits, and i even found two variants to make up for taking them out. we should be good to go!! )
It had started off innocent. As innocent as stealing the college quarterback’s sweaty jockstrap could possibly be.
I know how it seems, but Nathan here isn’t a pervert. He doesn’t even like guys, let alone the toxic fumes that the jocks around campus seem to produce. So if you’re thinking that he stole Miguel Vega’s underwear to sniff the piss and cum-stained glory in private, you’ve got it all wrong.
If we’re being entirely honest, Nathan has always admired the jocks - in some quiet way that he’s never been able to put into words. As obnoxious as they are, always making vulgar jokes and putting fitness over their education, one fact remains true. They always get the girl.
For all their belching and farting, smashing their heads together on the football field day in and day out, Nathan can’t deny that the jocks seem to have it all figured out. They’re the big guys on campus, always surrounded by friends and bringing a new girl back to their rooms each night. And Miguel is the top dog, the boss man, the undisputed king.
As much as Nathan wants to be happy with his life, with his good grades and bright future and the strong friendships that he’s built with his teachers, well… he can’t help being envious of the other side. It’s lonely being a nerd. Only a few friends to call his own, invited to even fewer parties. Zero girls.
Maybe that frustrated horniness is what made him steal Miguel’s jockstrap. He had been helping the janitors clean out the football locker room, hoping to add some volunteer hours to his already shining resume, and then there they were, Abandoned under a bench and reeking even from a distance. The straps were strained and the pouch was stretched. Only the biggest cock could pull that off.
He grimaced as he stuffed them into the inside pocket of his hoodie without thinking, grateful for the gloves on his hands. He instantly felt dirty, the damp heat radiating against the side of his stomach, the raw smell already wafting up to his nose. He zipped up his hoodie and got back to work, but the whole time he was thinking of Miguel’s girlfriend, Cindy The head cheerleader, of course.
Nathan couldn’t help but to wonder - was Cindy attracted to Miguel’s musk? The combined force of sweat, testosterone, and gas was only making his eyes water, but his dick started to chub up when he imagined Cindy breathing in the scent of Miguel’s armpits, licking his biceps clean. That’s the kind of girlfriend he wanted. Someone wild and freaky; someone who would worship every inch of him.
But he wasn’t Miguel Vega. He was thin and tall, happy to wear his prescription glasses and button up shirts. He was Clark Kent without the alter ego, forever living his life as a shy, awkward nerd. Nathan wanted more. As much as it frightened him, he longed for Miguel’s life. To be carefree and popular, to have a body that made people want him, to have a girl like Cindy riding his cock.
That night, he stripped off his clothes and held the jockstrap in his bare hands. His features looked uncomfortable in the mirror, and for a moment he considered stopping. This was ridiculous, and gross, and he was losing himself in the fantasy. He was always going to be a nerd. He would always be forgotten, and he’d never get the girl. But he couldn’t stop… he wanted more.
All he wanted was a visual reminder of the goal he was about to set for himself, a way of looking himself in his blue eyes and telling himself that one day he could have what Miguel had. He slid the jockstrap over his long, pale legs, shivering as the sweat helped them to glide along his skin. The stretched fabric drooped on his waist, so he held it in place with a shy smile.
He stared at himself for a long while, taking in his average looks and timid personality, only to glance down and see Miguel’s jockstrap on his slender body. Breathing in the rank scent of him, letting himself imagine that it was his own. Pretending like one day his body could swell to fill the fabric, that his cock could support the large pouch. That a girl could place herself between his legs and breathe him in. Nathan’s musk. Not Miguel’s.
Nathan opened his eyes with a euphoric smile, making a promise to himself to start working out, to put less pressure on himself in his classes, to learn how to talk to girls. “I wish I was worthy of wearing these,” he whispered to himself as his fingers hooked around the straps, thrusting his hips into the soiled underwear. “I will be.”
For a moment, he imagined Miguel’s reflection staring back at him in the mirror. That’s the kind of guy he was going to become. A stud, a superstar, a king. A real pussy hound. He knew it was silly, thinking he could go from being himself to being anything like Miguel, but he had to let himself believe. It would be a long road to become worthy of wearing the star quarterback’s jockstrap.
“I wish it could happen sooner.”
And that’s when he yelped in pain, breaking free from his imagination and glancing down at the jockstrap constricting around his waist. It seemed to vibrate with life, sliding its wet fabric along his cock shaft and causing him to moan. Out of nowhere the loose underwear had become snug on him, grinding itself against him in an impossible way.
He cupped his hands over his crotch, trying to swallow down his moans, trying to ignore the energy that was swelling inside of him. “You’ll be worthy of me,” an unfamiliar voice purred in his mind, making him glance around the room in fear. “Look down at your new master.” He lowered his gaze to jockstrap, shining with a blue light, still working its sweaty fabric along his cock.
“You’ll be a stud.” Nathan gasped in pleasure, knees buckling as he crashed to the floor. The energy inside of him swelled to the surface, and he watched in shock as his body began to inflate with thick muscle. His chest ballooned out into a perky pair of pecs, his stomach became broad and firm, even his waist began to spread out, stretching the shrunken jockstrap back to its former size.
And then it kept stretching, his legs becoming massive tree trunks, his hands still pawing at his crotch. Even as his fingers became thick and meaty, his biceps swelling until they rubbed against his bloated chest. He could feel the cold floor against his ass, but even that was slowly swallowed by muscle and fat, lifting him up higher. “You think Miguel was worthy of me? I want a man.”
Nathan tried to steady himself, but his new body felt foreign and strange. Everything was rubbing against something, causing his body to keep shaking in pleasure. Even as the itching started, he couldn’t stop himself from rolling onto his stomach, thrusting against the air as dark, wiry hair broke through the surface of his skin. It spread everywhere that he could see, and where he couldn’t, he could feel the warmth of the hair sprouting into forests. He touched his sensitive nipples, piercings and tattoos manifesting out of nowhere.
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Inside the jockstrap, he felt his lengthening cock throb against the thick bush around it, and he could feel the hairs thickening beneath his arms and on his chest. It was everywhere. His ass, his face, a stinging kind of pleasure that made him let out a howl of pain and euphoria. “A grown man. The only thing Miguel had going for him was his race.”
Nathan lifted his hands to his now bearded face, still shivering in pleasure and watching as they became weathered and worn, darkening with a tan from many years out in the sun… and then darkening further, watching the complexion drip down his arms and move across his chest, over his body in waves and up past his throat. He could only imagine what was becoming of him. He knew what he was becoming.
He moved his eyes to the mirror again, seeing the last of this new change as his new beard connected with his ginger hair, staining it black as the curls became thicker and glossier, his whole body shining with sweat and dark hair, looking like he’d lived his entire life under the sun. He was glorious, and handsomely matured, the pinnacle of Latino sexiness. “You’ll be a superstar. I want sweat, and filth, and I want you to want it, too.”
There was a flash of blue light, and then something moved beneath Nathan. He looked down in shock, then at his surroundings, trying to make sense of why he was suddenly straddling another man in a room he couldn’t recognize. He felt his dick become softer, trying to remove himself from this unknown hunk, before the horny man tightened his grasp on Nathan’s waist. He smiled so sexily.
The voice came from inside his head again.
“I want men, Nathan. You want them, too. My whole existence is worshipping cock.” Nathan felt his features shift with anxiety, feeling himself come to the surface for the first time. It had been so easy to lose himself in the pleasure, enjoying every moment of what the jockstrap was making him become, but now he was afraid. He didn’t want this. He wanted to be on top of a woman, feeling her squirm beneath him. Not this meathead.
“Your whole existence is worshipping cock.”
Then his mind snapped, and he let his lust take control. The stranger cried out in pleasure as Nathan lifted the guy’s leg to get easier access to his ripe asshole. He lowered the waistband of his jockstrap and wasted no time plowing the stud on his king sized bed. “Cum on me,” he spoke in accented English, unable to take his eyes off the younger man’s cock. “Cover me with it. Please.”
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“And don’t forget worshipping pits. Ass. Anything sweaty. That’s what you and I are built for, after all.”
Nathan didn’t hesitate, still thrusting his cock in and out of the sweaty asshole as he leaned down, shoving his face into the nearest armpit. His large tongue started licking up the sweet taste, shoving his nose and entire face into the glorious warmth, making the stranger cry out in ecstasy.
“Don’t you feel like a king now? Don’t you feel worthy of me?” But Nathan couldn’t even think of a reply, he couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t a thick cock, or a man’s sweaty body. He only wanted to be used, to be worshipped, to worship in return. “I am a man. A superstar. A king.” With a shock, he recognized the deep, accented baritone in his head as his own voice. His new voice. He had been listening to himself speak the entire time.
His jockstrap started squirming again, but he ignored the feeling. He felt like a jockstrap in human form now, made to devour cock and suck up sweat, bringing home a new man each and every night, never washing the scent of them out of his beard or off his body, always reeking and stained and loving every fucking minute of it.
He started doing porn under the screen name miguelsjockstrap69, though he never introduced himself with that name. He went by Rodrigo Royale in person, a real himbo of a man that had the gay community wrapped around his thick, smelly finger. His videos were the filthiest, and he had no standards. If you had a cock, he wanted to explore every inch of it.
“So, like, who is Miguel?” his conquests would sometimes ask after filling themselves up on his pit stink, and he’d chuckle to himself and flex his huge biceps for them to worship. “Nobody important. Just an old friend.” He was a man Miguel could only dream of becoming. A stud. A superstar. A king.
Funnily enough, he had a strange habit of calling his worn out, stained yellow jockstrap Nathan - not that his hook ups or fans cared, they thought it was hot. He was always wearing that jockstrap. Getting a chance to get between Rodrigo’s legs and sniff Nathan was worth every penny, and they both loved to please. Sometimes you could even see the underwear squirming in excitement.
Maybe fear.
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“Yeah, Nathan,” Rodrigo purred in private. “You’re worthy of me now.”
--- Originally posted on 2020-09-17 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
A Better Son
Apologies for my absence! Been without power for almost a month, still working on sorting some things out - but I’m still alive! And still kinky as ever, of course.
Here’s a quick story as a treat.
Matthew was a good kid.
Good looks, good grades, good future - but he was never able to come to terms with being abandoned by his father as a baby. Not that his mother did a bad job of raising him, she was wonderful, but like most young men he craved having a father figure in his life.
Someone to play ball with, to introduce to his girlfriend that he was sure he’d marry one day, to teach him how to be a good man - not that he even knew anything about his father, only that his mother said he wasn’t missing out on much. That he left for a reason.
But still, Matthew liked to fantasize. He imagined a great, incredible guy, a guy that chose to give up on Matthew before he even had a chance. He couldn’t get around it. So maybe that’s why he made the wish, “I wish I could be the son my father wanted,” and maybe that’s why everything began to shift.
He could sense the world warping around him, everything changing in a blur, himself included. He felt a cold breeze run over his body as suddenly he was nude, felt himself tumbling through time and space, but nothing was stranger than the feeling of his body stretching and expanding. Inflating.
When he tried to scream, all he could do was moan. Each sensual purr soared higher and higher than the last, as he felt his body writhing in the air and screaming femininely, biceps pressing against a bloating chest and ass cheeks jiggling just behind him. He was terrified, but he couldn’t stop himself. He felt huge, and horny.
And then he crash landed, knees making contact with a soft king sized bed. All he had time to do was look down at himself, at the beefy tattooed body and tiny speedo he was now trapped inside, before he lost control again and began grinding against the plush blanket like a bitch in heat.
“Papi,” he was forced to moan, not recognizing the accented voice that left his mouth. He sounded so dumb, and desperate, no longer able to find the English language anywhere on his large tongue. He had no control over his body, over the bouncing booty or the fingers dancing across his cobblestone abs.
When his father walked into the room, looking like the symbol of masculinity Matthew had always imagined, Matthew wanted to cry out in joy. He could recognize him from childhood pictures, and he had aged well. He was well dressed, and ripped, and smelled of leather and wood. He hated that his father was meeting him while he was trapped in this slutty body.
But his father was thrilled, and didn’t seem to be surprised in the least by his presence. “Daddy’s home, Mateo,” the man said as he began to pull off his shirt, revealing his lean body that reeked of power and control. “Have been a good slut while I was at work? Are you going to welcome me?”
All Matthew - or Mateo, it now seemed - could say was “Si, papi,” jumping to his feet and starting to twerk and twist his body like some sort of male stripper. His father smiled, inching closer to his trophy boy, enjoying every jiggle of his perfect body. It was then that Matthew began to realize the truth.
His father left because he was gay. He didn’t want kids. His mother had been right, he hadn’t been missing out on anything at all, and the kind of son that his father truly wanted… wasn’t a real son at all. Just a beefy whore that was good for nothing but moving his body and taking his daddy’s huge cock.
Matthew was never able to free himself from Mateo. To the world, that was who he was now, just a beautiful slut with a huge ass and bigger muscles, who had a daddy that flew him to the states and bought him everything his little heart and smaller brain could desire. He was living his best life.
But Matthew was in agony, forever spending the rest of his life with the man he wanted to want him so desperately, only to get exactly what he wished for in the worst way. He’d never go to college for football, he’d never marry his high school sweetheart, all of the good things were gone.
He was daddy’s pride and joy now. His juicy treasure, forever waiting on him hand and foot. Begging for mercy in his mind while he was forced to tell his new papi to do terrible, nasty things to him. Nothing more than a sentient sex toy.
But at least his father wanted him now. Loved him, even.
That was all that mattered in the end.
--- Originally posted on 2024-02-18 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
A Bad Wet Dream
Aaron would have never made the wish to become his hookup's walking wet dream if he had known what the gorgeous twink was truly into. He was just so nervous, happy and giddy that the beautiful bottom had even agreed to meet up with him in the first place, but he was also feeling anxious that the evening was undoubtably going to end up as a dead end one night stand. He wanted more, wanted a relationship, wanted to be worthy of that beautiful, sweet, bubbly handsome boy.
The first sign that something was wrong after his wish was as he was trying to get prepped, feeling a strong itching from beneath his arms. Thick, black hairs were curling outwards from once smooth skin, sticky and slick and dripping sweat down his broadening sides. He had always been on the larger end of the scale, but now his body was being molded and chiseled by invisible masculine hands, reshaped into something bigger and better. He smirked at his reflection, a little unlike himself, his jaw seeming a little more sculpted, his gaze more commanding, his features more ruggedly handsome. He couldn't help but to bounce his firm pecs as they swelled, nipples perky and suckable, dark brown flesh rising from rosy hues. His pale skin was washed over by a wave of bronzed, sunkissed shades. His blue eyes turned to dark honey, glittering with power and lust, his stomach hardening with rippling abs. His legs stretched taller, his frame looming in the room, his thighs growing thick and shredded and accenting his tree trunk legs. He felt so powerful, his every inhale of air a surge of alpha coded influence moving through him.
And then the dark, thick beard broke through his chiseled jaw, reeking of pussy juice and the aftermath of rank morning breath. His thick, fattening ass cheeks rumbled, crack growing dank and slick and hairy as a protein fart trumpeted through the meaty globes. His cock was snaking outward, growing thick, mushroom head flared against his tight gym shorts. The cock print was visible.
A golden cross materialized around his thick neck, nestled safely between his firm pecs. It jostled about his body flexed and tensed, his hungry, domineering gaze drinking up his superior masculine form. He was confused by the smells, by the sudden feelings of devotion inside his mind, the faith he wore so proudly around his throat- but he thought of his handsome face, his thick body, his impressive cock. It was only natural the faggot- the twink was turned on by pure, uncorrupted alpha men. Every inch of him radiated power, the rancid stench of a king, the throbbing fat python of a breeder leaking pre into his shorts. Somewhere in Amir's newly forming mind, the last traces of Aaron tried to make sense of his new form, his new thoughts, the way his wish was being twisted- but he was quickly smothered and quietened between the sheer amount of fat, jiggling breasts and squirting pussies Amir was conjuring into his mind.
When a knock sounded on his front door, strolling through a haze of hookah smoke and the stale scent of a jock boy's sweat and farts and dirty gym gear, he opened it to come face to face with a tiny, pathetic, already drooling twink. Amir smirked at him, his fat cock still throbbing to the thoughts of women in his mind, ready to pull out his phone and call over a bitch to service him. But not this one. The twink was already popping a boner, his cheeks flushing, coming face to face with one of the cocky obviously straight men he jerked off to on his social media feeds nightly.
Aaron wailed for help, a feminine nipple entering his open mouth, a dizzy daydream of motorboating tits forming in Amir's hazy, stupid, alpha mind. He laughed, and went to shut the door in the faggot's face. "Not even in your pathetic dreams, little man." Thud.
Stop babe
--- Originally posted on 2024-07-13 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
“Stop, babe!! You have to stop or we’re going to keep changing!” When the jock said he’d help us enjoy the straight bar after my boyfriend & I spent the whole night complaining about the lack of fun drinks and cute decor, I never thought he’d curse my boyfriend to have a straight man’s impulses, and worse: a transformative kiss.
As soon as he pecked me on the cheek to calm me down, my beard pulled back into my skin, and when he kissed my neck my Adam’s apple sank away into a smooth line; at first he was trying to help me relax, shrugging off the jock’s warning, but the more feminine I started to appear the more I noticed it looked like his cock was fattening up and drooling pre in his shorts; looking at him I could see that his jaw was more square, his body more defined and still bulking up, his stare hungry.
When he grabbed me harshly and pulled me in, wrapping his arms around me like a trap and planting a big, wet kiss on my flat chest after ripping off my shirt, all I could do was gasp and moan and struggle to push him off as I felt my tits starting to swell, at first two soft mounds and then eventually fat bouncy mountains, his tongue swirling expertly around my sensitive flesh, I just kept moaning and trembling, the entirety of my body changing the longer he held contact; longer hair, narrower waist, wider hips, my cock receding as it began to be slurped by two wet, dripping folds. He has one hand squeezing my fat tit like it’s about to burst and I can feel as he reaches down his other one to stick his greedy fingers up my cunt, slick with juices.
“Please, baby,” I try to plead again as I feel the dizziness in my brain starting to take over my urge to fight back, missing my sweet and intelligent boyfriend and not at all recognizing this muscular, musky straight man treating my body like his sex toy, “remember we’re gay! You’re my boyfriend! Please don’t do this to me!”
The man that has taken the place of the love of my life pulls away from my jiggling breasts just long enough to smirk down at me, gripping me by the waist with strong hands and jerking me forward, sliding his cock into my pussy like it was made to fit his length. “This feel gay to you, baby?” he says gruffly, beginning to buck his hips as he pleasures my slit, a whiny moan leaving my lips, fucking away all my resistance and memories. “And I’m not your fucking boyfriend, slut.”
Better use of a twink
--- Originally posted on 2024-07-12 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
Clark couldn’t stop pounding his cock in and out of the warm, slick sex toy that was now sprawled out in front of him. A black silicone body with an arched back like a bimbo presenting her ass in the air, not to mention the vertical slit opening and deliciously tight, lubed rubber folds that lined the inside. Clark moaned loudly and dumbly, hands pressing down on the leather and shoving it into his sweaty sheets, drool trickling out of his mouth, hips bucking back and forth as the last of his changes occur.
A chinstrap beard on his jaw, backwards ball cap on his head, thoughts full of fat bouncing tits and leaking pussies and blasting his load deep inside a bitch’s womb - unfortunately, he forgets entirely about the sweet, smooth twink he once loved, the one he was just celebrating his anniversary with only moments before the flash of red light came through their bedroom window and shone on them, and that was when Clark started bulking up and feeling horny and talking like a total douche despite his internal protests; “bro, I need to fuckin’ breed!”
He insisted, pleaded, pressing down on his skinny little boyfriend and holding him in place as his slender limbs were slurped back into his compacting body, head and face smoothing out as his tears turned into old cum stains, taking a vaguely feminine shape simply meant to help alpha men assert their dominance even in the mere act of jacking off their cocks.
When Clark shoots his load all over the sex toy’s insides, it forgets ever being anything more than its Master’s convenient fuck toy, enjoying the sensation of the cum cooling inside of it but feeling pity that the alpha seed was wasted on it. Master deserves to breed the real thing.
Don't be a queer, be a breeder
--- Originally posted on 2024-07-10 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
That, that last post, fuck, those pics of the guy with his girl, I feel they flipped a switch in my brain.
And that switch will never be flipped back down.
Your cock is gonna be hard forever now, throbbing and aching for some slick pussy. Aren’t chicks so fucking hot? Don’t you love the idea of a sexy bimbo sitting in your lap, running her hands over your powerful muscles? You deserve to be worshipped. Imagine your cock resting against her pussy slit, her whiny moans as she grinds against you like a bitch in heat. When your big hands close around her fat ass, she’s gonna feel so soft and good. That will pale in comparison to the feeling of her huge breasts filling your palms, your fingertips squeezing her squirting nipples.
Now that you want this, there’s no going back. Go be a good straight boy and jerk it to some lesbian porn.
You’ll have a woman of your own in your bed before long. Make it reality, bro. Don’t be a queer, be a breeder.
Born to be a father
--- Originally posted on 2024-07-10 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
I'm a gay man in my early 20's. I know I'm young but I keep having these thoughts.....or this desperate need to be a father. I don't understand where it's coming from.
That's your body telling you how things are gonna be now, bro. This is your new normal.
It's in your muscle memory - even if you claim to have never wanted to be a breeder before now. This urge to spread your seed has been lying dormant in your DNA, just waiting for your desires to waken inside your throbbing cock and for the hunger for wet pussy to cloud your rational mind. Don't you love the way I talk about women and their bodies? The way the men in my stories just can't help but to suck on a pair of fat, bouncing tits? How their thick, slobby tongues want nothing more than to slide between some wet, slick pussy lips?
Imagine the squelch, the squirt, the sound of her high pitched moaning. The way her eyelids will flutter when you unleash your hot, thick load inside her.
You're rock hard, bro. Don't deny it. Your hips buck with pleasure, your package feels so fat and hot, your wide cock head rubbing the fabric of your underwear with each needy thrust you make. The young gay man who made his home inside your mind finds himself surrounded by a sudden harem of hot women, blondes and redheads and brunettes, all with their huge breasts exposed and their greedy fingers between their juicy thighs. This makes you moan in the outside world, your boner raging as you continue to gyrate, your work pants growing taut around your much stronger, hairier legs.
"Yeah, you like that, bitch?" an unfamiliar voice speaks from your lips, bristles of dark hair framing your strengthening jaw. Your hands grow larger and callused, reaching out in front of you and gripping around the waist of an imaginary slut. Your eyes turn dark and brooding, your once youthful face growing older and more grizzled. The strange voice continues to deepen and shift as you moan, your arms growing thick with muscle as your larger fingers pretend to reach towards a pair of jiggling tits. You swear you've never touched a set of breasts before, but your new body can conjure the feeling so easily, as if you were just squeezing a pair the very night before. Perky nipples under your fingertips, jiggling flesh in your palms. It's so natural. "Fuck. Tell Daddy what a needy whore you are."
Your once trendy hair pulls back into your scalp and darkens, becoming a close cropped masculine hairstyle. Your work clothes become more professional, colorful pastel shirt becoming a simple short sleeved blue button up, your khakis fading into simple denim. You're a straight man, after all. You don't feel the need to dress up or stand out. You just feel the need to push your cock into a wide open cunt, to feel the pussy juice accepting your shaft and allowing your nine inches to slide right in. Your nuts swell inside your underwear, full of virile seed that desperately wants to be fired into a waiting womb. You moan again, drool sliding down your stubbled chin, your expression taken over by primal lust.
The former you is still trapped inside his mind, staring at the group of women that have him cornered. To his horror, he watches as the moaning bimbos begin to cry out louder, reaching their soft hands up to grab their breasts as each of their tits begin to swell with milk. The old you watches in horror and amazement, all these big boobed beauties suddenly taking it to a new level, but your awe settles into shocked terror as suddenly all of the women begin to reach down to their stomachs, which begin to rapidly inflate as pussy juice squirts and runs down their trembling legs. In a matter of seconds, your fading former self is trapped with a harem of pregnant women. Everywhere you look is a wet cunt, a fat tit dribbling milk, a pair of kissable lips sighing a moan.
The old you doesn't stand a chance inside the mind of a breeder. He begins to shake, his image blurring and beginning to fade, all of his youth and former goals burning away to make room for the superior man who has made your body his home. Inside and out. This is you. The women in your mind are just memories of former and future conquests alike, an endless sea of women that will swell with your seed and raise your children. Nothing turns you on more than this. You have found your purpose in life.
And there's no shame in that. You want to be a father because you were quite literally born to be a father. And now, my dear friend, your new body is going to make sure you have no choice but to be fruitful and multiply.
Better clock in those hours at your new office job. You're gonna have a lot of hungry mouths to feed - and no shortage of women to impregnate.
Born to Breed
--- Originally posted on 2024-07-10 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
If have to tell you, genuinely beyond the fantasy, that your stories are incredibly hot and make me somewhat question how gay I am haha.
If you’re questioning, bro, then you’re not fully gay. 😈
Listen to your urges, accept your attraction, there’s nothing wrong with being so turned on by all this. I totally understand how good it feels. When you’re watching porn with women in it, or even just jerking it to a sexy GIF of a pussy being eaten out, try imagining yourself as the guy in the frame. Focus on the woman and her curves, the way her tits jiggle, the way her fingers touch her cunt like a greedy slut. Ignore the male, he’s just a stand-in for you, a manifestation of all the things you want to do to this bimbo. Your lust and focus will always be on the female sex.
No going back.
There’s no shame, bro, this is all natural. Your cock is aching because you’re finally realizing how desperately you want to slide it into a wet, warm cunt. It’s going to feel so good, so right, you’re not gonna be able to stop once you get going. Imagine her moans, the wet slap of your cock pushing through her folds, the warmth of her pussy juice touching your skin. Once you unleash your hot, potent load inside her, there’s no going back.
If you are finding women hot now, just think how mind fucked you’re gonna be when you watch one swell with your child. Bigger tits, a huge pregnant belly, her skin glowing with maternal pride.
You’ll be glowing, too, and growing inside your shorts as you stroke your shaft to the idea of loading her up with another baby as soon as she pushes this one out.
Women are undeniably hot. Men are born to breed. Accept this gift that’s being given to you, and take what is yours.
Breedertfs Story Index
This author also went by the following names:
Hogtfs
Shapedbydesire
Stories:
A Bad Wet Dream
A better ride
A better son
Arabian Nectar
Drawn
Better use of a twink
Born to Breed
Born to be a father
Chet
Don't be a queer, be a breeder
Frat Boy Fantasy
OnlyWishes
Put a sock in it
Set free
Shady Unit
Stop babe
Stud Pride
What You Desire
Taboo
That Wish Stinks
Thrift Shift: Camo Hat
This post will be updated this week as I reposted/reblogged more stories.
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.
--- Originally posted on 2024-07-03 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
Definitely am a proud gay guy but i've definitely seen a few of these gay to straight tfs and they're hot af! Your writing makes me want to transform myself, hit the gym, and chug a beer with the bros regardless of sexuality!
You're letting this affect you the right way, my man. All my readers should learn from you.
It's been feeling so natural, hasn't it? The way your cock starts to grow fat in your underwear the minute I start describing a hot chick. All those guys you used to hate, the ones you roll your eyes at and claim so proudly to be different than, there's something about them that has you fascinated. You can't help it. It's like some part of yourself, deep down, is calling out to be realized. To be brought to the surface.
To be set free from the cage you've been building. You love the way I make these straight bros speak, the way they act with snide arrogance, so sluggish and dumb and yet so primal. An apex predator, an alpha, a handsome stud with rippling abs and huge biceps always flexed. A cocky smirk, a strong jaw. Not to mention the forests of damp hair beneath his arms, the sour stench of sweat, cum, and sex lingering around his body like noxious gas. He's a stink bomb that is continuously going off.
You love how he belches, how he farts and blames it on the protein, how all he cares about are his brothers. Toxic masculinity really isn't so bad when you're standing on this side of the fence. Your feet are starting to feel secure on the ground, aren't they? Wide, and long, and so firm. Dusted with wiry curls of dark hair. You feel sweat squelch between your fat toes, but you pay it no mind. You think about being surrounded by your bros, how they'll joke about your huge feet and how you must have a massive cock, too. You love the kind of men I write about. You want their respect, their approval, their brotherhood so badly.
You are the kind of man I write about. Because if your cock is getting so hard to the idea of embracing traditional masculinity, if you're about to start jerking your cock to the descriptions I will soon make, then the truth has already revealed itself. I barely have to change anything. Your bones crack and shift, your shoulders grow broad and your nose is strong, your brow harsh and your eyes blazing with dominance. Your body inflates with courage, with conceit, as your leaking, lengthening cock already starts to ooze a thick wad of pre. It's so easy to reshape the outside. Pump up the muscles, make the features a little more rugged, all I'm really doing is making the outside match the inside.
There's a familiar voice that sounds like your own calling out, demanding you to snap out of it, to value your identity and what you know to be true, that this is just a fetish and the world you're stepping into isn't the right one. But it feels so natural, so good, as that whiny voice gets drowned out under the low, domineering tone that makes its home inside your head. I want my cock in a wet cunt, the new you drawls, your wider hips bucking with pleasure and your fat cock jiggling in your tight underwear. You can see the engorged veins beneath the fabric, the fat cock head oozing pre and leaving a splotch. It jerks in place, bobs up and down, it wants so desperately to be plunged between a pair of bouncing, fat, silicone filled tits.
You throw your head back with a low, masculine moan, your meaty hand reaching down to grab your package, stroking your thumb along the shaft. Every trace of the old you, the lie you were telling, is eradicated beneath a tidal wave of new information. All that fancy college learning goes down the drain, all those old dreams and desires and falsehoods, all that's left is a powerful, straight conservative man who knows exactly what he wants. He has never questioned his instincts a day in his life, he has always known he has been an unrivaled male specimen. Wasting his superior seed and not siring a shit ton of sons would be a crime.
Your seed.
It swells in your balls, it makes you ache and tingle, all of the feelings and lust that are taking over belong to you. There's no going back. You're one cocky fucker, a man sculpted by genetics and a conservative upbringing, a man who has always known where he stands in the hierarchy. At the fucking top, with your massive muscles exposed and your fat cock pointing at the next babe it wants to erupt inside of. You continue to jerk your cock, losing all memory of my stories and my silly little kinks, all too happy to spend a night being pleasured by your callused fist knowing it'll take you no effort to get hard again. You think about which bitch you're gonna call later, the blonde with the bee stung lips or the sexy goth, and your cock pulses with the need to impregnate a fertile womb.
Your mind settles into a happy haze of sports knowledge, cockiness, and camaraderie for your fellow traditional man. Most of all, forever filling the empty space of your brain, what remains of you will be wedged in eternity between the hot, breedable women you can't go an hour without daydreaming about. A hot blonde and a brunette with huge tits are scissoring in your mind, making your red blooded cock surge with need and lust. Every last essence of the gay man you once were is smothered between rubbing folds, bouncing breasts, and oozing pussy juice. This loss of self doesn't bother you. It doesn't really feel like you're losing anything at all.
You blow your load all over your chest, basking in the afterglow for all of ten seconds, and then you lift your muscled leg and squeeze out a droning protein fart. The strong smell makes you proud, and the loud sound makes you chuckle like an idiot. Life is going to be so simple, so correct for you from now on. No going back, only forward.
Go ahead and shoot a message to your future baby mama. It's time for you to breed.
Drawn
--- Originally posted on 2024-06-29 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories 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.
Definitely am a proud gay guy but i've definitely seen a few of these gay to straight tfs and they're hot af! Your writing makes me want to transform myself, hit the gym, and chug a beer with the bros regardless of sexuality!
You're letting this affect you the right way, my man. All my readers should learn from you.
It's been feeling so natural, hasn't it? The way your cock starts to grow fat in your underwear the minute I start describing a hot chick. All those guys you used to hate, the ones you roll your eyes at and claim so proudly to be different than, there's something about them that has you fascinated. You can't help it. It's like some part of yourself, deep down, is calling out to be realized. To be brought to the surface.
To be set free from the cage you've been building. You love the way I make these straight bros speak, the way they act with snide arrogance, so sluggish and dumb and yet so primal. An apex predator, an alpha, a handsome stud with rippling abs and huge biceps always flexed. A cocky smirk, a strong jaw. Not to mention the forests of damp hair beneath his arms, the sour stench of sweat, cum, and sex lingering around his body like noxious gas. He's a stink bomb that is continuously going off.
You love how he belches, how he farts and blames it on the protein, how all he cares about are his brothers. Toxic masculinity really isn't so bad when you're standing on this side of the fence. Your feet are starting to feel secure on the ground, aren't they? Wide, and long, and so firm. Dusted with wiry curls of dark hair. You feel sweat squelch between your fat toes, but you pay it no mind. You think about being surrounded by your bros, how they'll joke about your huge feet and how you must have a massive cock, too. You love the kind of men I write about. You want their respect, their approval, their brotherhood so badly.
You are the kind of man I write about. Because if your cock is getting so hard to the idea of embracing traditional masculinity, if you're about to start jerking your cock to the descriptions I will soon make, then the truth has already revealed itself. I barely have to change anything. Your bones crack and shift, your shoulders grow broad and your nose is strong, your brow harsh and your eyes blazing with dominance. Your body inflates with courage, with conceit, as your leaking, lengthening cock already starts to ooze a thick wad of pre. It's so easy to reshape the outside. Pump up the muscles, make the features a little more rugged, all I'm really doing is making the outside match the inside.
There's a familiar voice that sounds like your own calling out, demanding you to snap out of it, to value your identity and what you know to be true, that this is just a fetish and the world you're stepping into isn't the right one. But it feels so natural, so good, as that whiny voice gets drowned out under the low, domineering tone that makes its home inside your head. I want my cock in a wet cunt, the new you drawls, your wider hips bucking with pleasure and your fat cock jiggling in your tight underwear. You can see the engorged veins beneath the fabric, the fat cock head oozing pre and leaving a splotch. It jerks in place, bobs up and down, it wants so desperately to be plunged between a pair of bouncing, fat, silicone filled tits.
You throw your head back with a low, masculine moan, your meaty hand reaching down to grab your package, stroking your thumb along the shaft. Every trace of the old you, the lie you were telling, is eradicated beneath a tidal wave of new information. All that fancy college learning goes down the drain, all those old dreams and desires and falsehoods, all that's left is a powerful, straight conservative man who knows exactly what he wants. He has never questioned his instincts a day in his life, he has always known he has been an unrivaled male specimen. Wasting his superior seed and not siring a shit ton of sons would be a crime.
Your seed.
It swells in your balls, it makes you ache and tingle, all of the feelings and lust that are taking over belong to you. There's no going back. You're one cocky fucker, a man sculpted by genetics and a conservative upbringing, a man who has always known where he stands in the hierarchy. At the fucking top, with your massive muscles exposed and your fat cock pointing at the next babe it wants to erupt inside of. You continue to jerk your cock, losing all memory of my stories and my silly little kinks, all too happy to spend a night being pleasured by your callused fist knowing it'll take you no effort to get hard again. You think about which bitch you're gonna call later, the blonde with the bee stung lips or the sexy goth, and your cock pulses with the need to impregnate a fertile womb.
Your mind settles into a happy haze of sports knowledge, cockiness, and camaraderie for your fellow traditional man. Most of all, forever filling the empty space of your brain, what remains of you will be wedged in eternity between the hot, breedable women you can't go an hour without daydreaming about. A hot blonde and a brunette with huge tits are scissoring in your mind, making your red blooded cock surge with need and lust. Every last essence of the gay man you once were is smothered between rubbing folds, bouncing breasts, and oozing pussy juice. This loss of self doesn't bother you. It doesn't really feel like you're losing anything at all.
You blow your load all over your chest, basking in the afterglow for all of ten seconds, and then you lift your muscled leg and squeeze out a droning protein fart. The strong smell makes you proud, and the loud sound makes you chuckle like an idiot. Life is going to be so simple, so correct for you from now on. No going back, only forward.
Go ahead and shoot a message to your future baby mama. It's time for you to breed.